Rachel Lynn O Nov 2011
Where tears would have met, the silence falls
Crashing into explosions of empty
Where words would have ricocheted, violins play
The cello enters where you would have departed
Where decibels would have pierced my ears
My heartbeat pounds the only sounds
Where broken pieces should have flown
Tension lingers- leaving me bound to the bed
My eyes will not open
My heart will not hush
My thoughts will not calm
Until you sing
Sing violence into our walls
Sing forgiveness into my lips
Sing anything at all
Those were the times — exclaimed master's maid;
When youthful glow was understood —
As dust on shelves — did beauty fade;
Completely changing fair Sir's mood.

The ceremony of served tea
Remains — a consolation sweet,
As beauty brings us — peaceful glee  
The Twinings charms — the air suite.

My master is for — Pianissimo;  
He plays piano — violin —  
Splendidly Fast and Fortissimo;
All sounds swirl into my bosom like Dream!

I'll master perfect iambs late at Night
And Metre and Rhyme will be Sir's Delight!
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic beauty
Samm Marie Moore Sep 2016
I sat upon my bench so black
So battered
So lonely
My brother sat in the chair to my right
To my consciousness
To my awareness
On his way out I asked him to kill the lights
Kill the distractions
Kill the white noise
And I sat in the dark after opening that dusty lid
Sleek lid
Smooth lid
And there were my emotions
Poured out into my foot and flighty fingers
I closed my eyes to deepen my thoughts
To clear my mind
And for the first time in a long time
I felt my soul being touched
Being warmed
Being remembered
I prayed outloud as the strings of the piano
Reflected the strings of my heart
I allowed the tears and mascara to freely run
And the anger to burn fiery red
Fading into an abusive purple
Melting into a blue depression
And finally waltzing into yellow hope
Splattered with a foxtrot of grey forgiveness
In the dark basement
All alone tonight
I found myself again
"I thought you were lost"
"I wasn't lost, you just needed to search"
Fortisitisimo might have sounded like truth
But the most sacred things I've ever learnt
Have been in life's rare
Pianissimo moments
Dorotea Dec 2014
Play me.
Play me like piano keys.
Play me piano, pianissimo.
Play me forte, fortissimo.
Play me like a song, gently.
Play me with feeling.
Robert Peck Sep 2015
1 the chemical essential to the covalent bond, that is amorous,
2 the non-verbal communication that’s equivalent to conversing for hours,
3 Vibrations
4 The aromatics of bed sheets and perspiration
5 The forte of a night club and the pianissimo of a night spent star gazing
6 Libations
Lavender Joy Jan 2011
clink clink clank cling ding
ding-ding clack
ding ding clink clink clack

pianissimo charade
heart strings pulled taught
by a known gentleman
transformed into an unknown savior

flying faces
other worldly in expression but not intent
all are drawn blankly lustful
craving distinction from
a sea of flamboyant feathers
stretched personas

freedom is her trade
the light in your eyes
the corners of your lips
for a mask
and a fanciful freedom
alive in compartmentalized limits

clink clink clank cling ding
ding-ding clack
ding ding clink clink clack
ding ding

the song masked musicians play
isn't a song at all
but  a simple masquerade
Crystal June Jul 2016
There is no experience in the world
      that I cherish more
            than hearing my father play the piano.

It's imperfect and beautiful and
                                                          ­     like
                                                            ­      home.

The notes are often choppy, and there are pauses
      as his mind turns over what keys to play next --
            sort of like our lives as a family.

We're awkward
      and have
            broken             periods,
but altogether we're making music.

Every breath a note,
      every laugh a chord,
every      "I love you"      a harmony
only our family
      can hear.

And there's staccato! arguments,

and there's fortissimo days with pianissimo nights,

and there's repeat on repeat on repeat,
      making our lives seem
      constantly       andante.

But life is like a series of randomly placed fermatas --
unpredictable, yet musically enriched because of it.

            And I wouldn't want it any other way.
The day my father stops playing piano is the day a piece of my soul dies.
peter oram Dec 2011
They snore in turn: a soft antiphony
of hoarse vibrations, left, a dull Darth Vader,
and right, though sometimes slipping off the radar,
a tremolando shudder. Stiff, uneven,
a third threads in a slow polyphony,
divisions on a ground that swell or fade, or
pause, then unexpectedly cascade, a
purred glissando, an epiphany
of coarse cadenzas. Soon an overwhelming
sadness percolates from other realms
where yellow stains an ocean’s perfect white
and who can say how many hours to go
till, rallentando, pianissimo,
the music is dissolved into the night.
what is this tip toe dance I’m doing
around a purple room
without me moving a limb?
this pursing of lips and
imaginary fingers catching their kiss
at the other end

and this song?
I know this song
the sounds climbing my frame
up and down, up and down
from pianissimo to forte to pianissimo
why sing it now, in my dressing gown
smiling in front of a mirror like a dumb man
staring at his feet in a summer puddle

a child is blowing soap bubbles through a straw
in my head
and while my hat is still on
and no one can see a thing
I'm going to corner him
I'm going to catch him
I'm going to grab him by the hand and ask him:

what is this? what is this?
Ralph E Peck Dec 2011
Keepers of the time hold the harps, and pluck the strings,
Sending the resonance of the future forward, and back
In the listeners ear, plotting every move, filling
The voids and molding, shaping, creating the destiny.

The sounds first pure, then impure, a learned amateur
Taking the expected mistakes in playing new notes,
Leading, guiding, misdirecting, sounds so close
To perfection, so close to tragedy.

Keepers of the time hold the harps, each listener
Discerning the tones and changes, the falling of a key,
The breaking of a crescendo, winds swept with music;
The calm of the pianissimo, direction to the end.
Gigi Tiji Oct 2014
Synchronicities coalescing
like an orchestral crescendo
bubbling up all at once
no longer guessing
no shorter waiting
the pot is boiling
I might
   be synch
a pod
of killer whales
quite a commotion
up, out, and back
down into the ocean
born into the storm like
a frightful forte
a front brake

fickle angel
screams pianissimo
on tiptoes, reaching out
toward tomorrows

contagious incapacitation
tells me it straight like an arrow through time
like a taught fishing hook line
and sinker —

trying to figure out
your reason your rhyme
parsley, sage, rosemary and crime
please, let me in on your
pickled paradigm

a stormy sea, all your own,
decides for you, where
you're thrown.
'Seems that the wrath of the Gods
Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow;
I think I might be sinking.
Throw me a line if I reach it in time
I'll meet you up there where the path
Runs straight and high.'
(Going to California - Led Zeppelin)
Robb Sep 2013
Con spirito
By days
then weeks
then months they go
Bouncing around in my mind
Refrain from hope
Don't trust in those
Markings telling you to go
fast or slow
Allegro or adagio?
Make up your mind and
tell me so
I can come off of the strings
col legno
to a crescendo
and steal away
in ritardando
theresa the tree Jun 2014
paint strokes, garbage puddles, blue
dead electric bones
Next page