"reinhardt" poems - Hello Poetry

Every ounce of pressure against my veins, like the flood of heavy summer rains. Trying to escape the coating of my flesh, internal tensions I could not oppress. I hear crickets, smell the morning dew. All I can ever concentrate on is you. Made to feel nervous but oh so calm, sometimes even sweet like cherry lip balm. A moment of combustion then release, your tongue wanders onto my body, into a crease. I'll never care if I get rich, so ever long as you ease my twitch. Stale smoke and the scent of butane, breath seeps into me like a bloodstain. You, a child at heart and I, a freak into abstract art, like Ad Reinhardt. What a fine creation, our own constellation, an innovation, better than intoxication.

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Dec 6, 2016

Dec 6, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC

thenapkinpoet

CHERRY LIP BALM

Every ounce of pressure against my veins, like the flood of heavy summer rains. Trying to escape the coating of my flesh, internal tensions I could not oppress. I hear crickets, smell the morning dew. All I can ever concentrate on is you. Made to feel nervous but oh so calm, sometimes even sweet like cherry lip balm. A moment of combustion then release, your tongue wanders onto my body, into a crease. I'll never care if I get rich, so ever long as you ease my twitch. Stale smoke and the scent of butane, breath seeps into me like a bloodstain. You, a child at heart and I, a freak into abstract art, like Ad Reinhardt. What a fine creation, our own constellation, an innovation, better than intoxication.

18

The u-turn of uninterrupted talk Falls short before the midnight hour And through the remembrances The hushed Echoing of a printed face smiles Among the old and new. But only you know he has gone, For your heart is broken And thrown about the room Where your old man's chair sits alone.... Where you once shared A laugh and a joke, A tear and a smoke, A kiss and a hug, A poem and a mug Of tea, (With a wee dram of Glenmorangie) On a cold night By the firelight, Reading Frost - 'The Grindstone' In candlelight, Listening to Django Reinhardt's 'Crazy Rhythm' On the radio As it beats out a frenetic system Of notes that runs and parts Into segments of your mind. Now you are on your own, You sit back to find What you have lost.... ©Jack Aylward, July 2013

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Jul 31, 2015

Jul 31, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC

jack-stuart-aylward

He Passed Away Today

The u-turn of uninterrupted talk Falls short before the midnight hour And through the remembrances The hushed Echoing of a printed face smiles Among the old and new. But only you know he has gone, For your heart is broken And thrown about the room Where your old man's chair sits alone.... Where you once shared A laugh and a joke, A tear and a smoke, A kiss and a hug, A poem and a mug Of tea, (With a wee dram of Glenmorangie) On a cold night By the firelight, Reading Frost - 'The Grindstone' In candlelight, Listening to Django Reinhardt's 'Crazy Rhythm' On the radio As it beats out a frenetic system Of notes that runs and parts Into segments of your mind. Now you are on your own, You sit back to find What you have lost.... ©Jack Aylward, July 2013

33

a twist of legs, a sort of side jump shadow getting wild behaviour to its happy roots no-body can resist to this merry-go-round virus “amour” is the only word remained in his dictionary the only drink accepted in his clans like a shard of life sparkling greater than the sun itself ashy moustache hides a strange confidence when lifted from the always-filled glass with potion called manouche in the eyes of Lewis he caresses the immortal chords © Marius Surleac

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Apr 30, 2010

Apr 30, 2010 at 9:59 AM UTC

marius-surleac

I awake – in the memory of Django Reinhardt

a twist of legs, a sort of side jump shadow getting wild behaviour to its happy roots no-body can resist to this merry-go-round virus “amour” is the only word remained in his dictionary the only drink accepted in his clans like a shard of life sparkling greater than the sun itself ashy moustache hides a strange confidence when lifted from the always-filled glass with potion called manouche in the eyes of Lewis he caresses the immortal chords © Marius Surleac

15

Reinhardt and Hendrix , snowflakes , unscripted speech and the month of March ! Schools of fish , butterflies in flight , true love , dreams , the gaggles of blackbirds in Fall . You and I have the power of deja vu coupled with the gift of improvisation , like musicians , keys or boundaries exist but we are granted the freedom to choose any note within these parameters not unlike our brief time on Earth , for better or worse !

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Sep 16, 2015

Sep 16, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC

randolph-l-wilson

Life Fantasia

Reinhardt and Hendrix , snowflakes , unscripted speech and the month of March ! Schools of fish , butterflies in flight , true love , dreams , the gaggles of blackbirds in Fall . You and I have the power of deja vu coupled with the gift of improvisation , like musicians , keys or boundaries exist but we are granted the freedom to choose any note within these parameters not unlike our brief time on Earth , for better or worse !

1

Things may not be easy to get through right now but they will get better When it rains it pours. But when it's sunny It's beautiful No matter how hard it rains or how much the sun shines, your not in control. But only you can choose how it makes your days. God may close a pathway but there always another door. door-to-door he's the cure say faithful u have a heart of gold behold there's better things to come. just holded on what hurts us makes us stronger! -maded by richard reinhardt

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Jun 23, 2016

Jun 23, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC

richard-paul-reinhardt

send to the people who haded someone die in there family!

Things may not be easy to get through right now but they will get better When it rains it pours. But when it's sunny It's beautiful No matter how hard it rains or how much the sun shines, your not in control. But only you can choose how it makes your days. God may close a pathway but there always another door. door-to-door he's the cure say faithful u have a heart of gold behold there's better things to come. just holded on what hurts us makes us stronger! -maded by richard reinhardt

21

to the one who played django reinhardt for me on vinyl, who cooked me pancakes and bacon for breakfast, who gave human names to the animals at the zoo, who senses thunder in the air before it happens, who made me try sponge candy and coffee and good indian food, who bought me a candy bar with a poem on the wrapper -- on the bus ride back (all 8 hours) I couldn't stop thinking about you and when I fell asleep, I dreamed of you immediately, missing you already before I'd even made it home you're the opposite of everything I'm supposed to want and you're not easy to explain we run out of things to talk about (or perhaps there's too much to say) i'm afraid to reach for your hand under the table, to sleep next to you in the bed instead of curling up at the end, or to lean my head on your shoulder, nervous because I don't quite know where I stand and it's still enough, in an easy, sunday-morning, pajamas kind of way. it's enough to be with you without having anything to say, to drink orange juice from a coffee mug, the electric precipice of wanting to know the answer yet being afraid to ask the question i wonder if i'll ever stop being afraid of myself -- that i'm too shy, too quiet, too boring, with nothing that could hold you, no magnetic field, no gravitational orbit to keep you you, who is infinitely magnetic. but how can I want to keep you when I don't even know what it is that we are? to the one who grabbed my hand in the parking lot even though your parents were with us, who let me sleep in your bed while you took the couch, who looked at me with sleepy eyes and said "come here," to that one, the only one -- as long as you keep asking, i'll always come.

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May 16, 2016

May 16, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC

ella-catherine

a weekend

to the one who played django reinhardt for me on vinyl, who cooked me pancakes and bacon for breakfast, who gave human names to the animals at the zoo, who senses thunder in the air before it happens, who made me try sponge candy and coffee and good indian food, who bought me a candy bar with a poem on the wrapper -- on the bus ride back (all 8 hours) I couldn't stop thinking about you and when I fell asleep, I dreamed of you immediately, missing you already before I'd even made it home you're the opposite of everything I'm supposed to want and you're not easy to explain we run out of things to talk about (or perhaps there's too much to say) i'm afraid to reach for your hand under the table, to sleep next to you in the bed instead of curling up at the end, or to lean my head on your shoulder, nervous because I don't quite know where I stand and it's still enough, in an easy, sunday-morning, pajamas kind of way. it's enough to be with you without having anything to say, to drink orange juice from a coffee mug, the electric precipice of wanting to know the answer yet being afraid to ask the question i wonder if i'll ever stop being afraid of myself -- that i'm too shy, too quiet, too boring, with nothing that could hold you, no magnetic field, no gravitational orbit to keep you you, who is infinitely magnetic. but how can I want to keep you when I don't even know what it is that we are? to the one who grabbed my hand in the parking lot even though your parents were with us, who let me sleep in your bed while you took the couch, who looked at me with sleepy eyes and said "come here," to that one, the only one -- as long as you keep asking, i'll always come.

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