"violins" poems
You laugh
Angels weep out of jealousy
Devils have no single conspiracy
Demons dancing in harmony
Men hearts go broken with no remedy
Women eyes tearing continuously
Violins break out of envy terribly
Composers have no more creativity
Music plays with no melody
Silence starts listening joyfully
Happiness laughters left in agony
Beautiful words describe nothing but misery
Tulip flowers become colorless shamefully
Believers lose their faith immediately
Infidels drop their convictions instantly
Hearts start beating rapidly
Lungs oxygenating quickly
Living ones laying listening carefully
The dead come back miraculously
--Hisham Alshaikh
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
O Distinct
Lady of my unkempt adoration
if I have made
a fragile curtain
song under the window of your soul
it is not like any songs
(the singers the others
they have been faithful
to many things and which
die
i have been sometimes true
to Nothing and which lives
they were fond of the handsome
moon never spoke ill of the
pretty stars and to
the serene the complicated
and the obvious
they were faithful
and which i despise,
frankly
admitting i have been true
only to the noise of worms
in the eligible day
under the unaccountable sun)
Distinct Lady
swiftly take
my fragile certain song
that we may watch together
how behind the doomed
exact smile of life’s
placid obscure palpable
carnival where to a normal
melody of probable violins dance
the square virtues with the oblong sins
perfectly
gesticulate the accurate
strenuous lips of incorruptible
Nothing under the ample
sun, under the insufficient
day under the noise of worms
11.8k
You and I
A song that started clumsily, mid-stumble, then fell into a beautiful flurry of violins playing lithe.
It’s a Shakespearean epic draped in a cheap suit of modern conjectures that caught my eye.
You and I
It’s climbing up a mountain-side, daring & tempestuous -cherishing every moment, not just the peak, but the hike.
Even as you’re pushing so hard its hurts to breathe, the air so thin your gasps are overlapping fighting for air– you’ll die if you quit, having the time of your life.
You and I
Seeing sheet-music for your favorite tune, as an illiterate fool, but somehow feeling the rhythm and time.
It’s enticing & startling, it’s the smell of privet-hedge and pine –familiar, refreshing, & divine.
It’s you and I.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
Trees (haiku #1)
Tree wood with fire
Nature equips survival
Light, heat, and cooking
-------------------------
Trees (haiku #2)
Leafy beings, green
Wood umbrellas, ancient roots
Growing, reaching sky
-------------------------------
Trees (haiku #3)
Pluck the tender fruit
Motherly branches feed all
Body and soul, blessed
---------------------------------
Trees (haiku #4)
Shelter for our homes
Furniture within our walls
Uses-myriads
--------------------------------
Trees (haiku #5)
Pencils, books, paper
Education thanks to trees
Writing, poetry
-------------------------------
Trees (haiku #6)
Trees crafted, songs sung
Guitars, violins, harps-more
Wood, melodious
---------------------------------
Trees ( haiku #7)
Birds, critters depend
Harmonious relations
Trees magical grace
------------------------------
Trees (haiku #8)
Bountiful beauty
Standing upright or chopped down
More precious than gold
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
My caressing hands have stopped trying to tame the strings.
They move now more to harmony than to melodious things.
Brassy bands, drunk sailors and the sound of laughter.
The D string, the rough bar-stool clamp and clatter.
The sound of voices, raucous and hoarse with song.
The sound of voices, laughing as they all yell along.
It's a barstool anthem;
It's great and it's loud.
There're no classics here...
but Bach would be proud.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
Like a meme of activism
This women's coalition
Mothers
Sister
Friends
Pioneers and heroines
There's courage in their convictions
A guild of collectivism
They hold luncheons in their kitchens
Talk of abolition
Mysticism
Feminism
Of heroes and magnetism
Seduction
Love
Eroticism
They scream like banshees at a crucifixion
About injustice
Dereliction
Terrorism
A tradition underwritten
With symbolism
Drums
Violins
Musicians
They may be sitting
They may be knitting
Baking muffins
Folding linen
Running errands
Stuffing chickens
A juxtaposition to their ambition
Of inspiring the unwilling
Turning derision to optimism
Their fire and brimstone
Will have history rewritten
Freedom of reproduction
Liberalism
Animism
They have wisdom
Intuition
Rhythm
They are fearsome
This women's coalition
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, everyone dreams of a movie life that they never had:>
'do you have a movie idea?' she is asked
my piano's stuck on notes that made a blast
'what is your absolute dream?'
no clue!!! I scream
now with that blood reaches my knees when I lie
and shattered glass stains a cry
but one selfish day
of a one grey warning day
on a Storm
out of Vivaldi's norm
I'll make November's violins
spin the veins under my skin
when an alarm's clock won't erase history
nor dust the ink in black poetry
the purple eye
would know a who and an exact why
when a sudden mother's scream won't defeat
the eclipsed expressions or invisible heart beat
nor the recall of empty lines
things that used to be an impossible of possible defines
when a sun's light won't make a memory in sleep swing
nor the unnotice of a summer autumn winter or spring
wouldn't keep the pen's color on a compass' tip
on an adventure of a lost ship
east kills west north kills south
when the kissed would be a clear mouth
to live for the hope of it all
the said would be spit on a train station's phone call
the fall would reach the death quest
the unknown would be unraveled for the moment in rest
but the dream's missing pieces has nothing to do with the recorder
and that is why I would record ONCE then put the puzzle in a folder
**** the ones who saw
burn the **** machine after created in raw
I did title 'Waste Before You Taste' a long time ago surely
some greed changed my idea of mercy
a question to be answered is jeopardy
when no human shall know of there will be misery
when a heart of glass would be dropped and broken
when the darkest thunder of the dream was golden
once the ought to be a secret would be a wonderland stolen
I warned it would be a selfish day
yet you listened and now the death penalty you pay
-------ravenfeels
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 7:49 AM UTC
*Flowers are hung over the voices
where hope is not denied.
A story of unimaginable innocence
has been embraced
and now sings a melody
of a perfect smile
that has become one
with the skies.
Life laughs and takes flight
while violins play
for the stars,
chasing storms of fear
until our mouths speak its words
no more.
We wait with doves
we feed by hand
as we rejoice
on golden shores.
The depth of forever
knows
that no sadness
shall make waves or leave symbols
in our minds
that cannot fly away.
Together we will celebrate innocence
rippling
through our days.*
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 5:35 PM UTC
Puffs of thistledown
floating in the air.
Lovely lady
dark blue plums
and the tracery of lace.
'Toot' says a trumpet
to the cry from a clarinet.
Tinkling piano notes
flowing
lilting, rippling, fleeting
fleeing.
Bows, strings and violins.
Echoes of yesterday
fading into grey.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
Orange skylines with
Copper inconsistencies,
Cobbled pavements
Converging, at odd angles,
Stepped on
By fairytale homes
And tourist feet,
Almost, just almost,
Drowning out the violins
And the voices,
Almost making me forget
That Europe isn’t home,
Somehow.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
4.6k
I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
But still
I got to be on TV shows
Winning games and merchandise
However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts
Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
∞
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
Rhythm flow but caught me unexpectedly,music but the essence of soul taken by heart beat, bit by bit it beat healthy cause of its flow ......The Violins called it the food for the soul....
My emotions turn to be emotional, yes I cry ,My Heart beat gentle then I turn to be gentle with my wearing fashion,My passion is where I'm passionate but to The Violin .......
Halls and concert full crying emotionally,automatically by hearing the sound of The Violin The Violin created the wearing fashion of Gentleness and personality.....black and white suit with bore tie,ladies with beautiful dresses and shining shoes with a movement of tales but of Violin
We love ,cry ,caring and showing kindness on each other because of the sound we heard from THE VIOLIN.......
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
I've closed my balcony
for I don't want to hear the weeping,
yet out beyond the grey walls
nothing is heard but weeping.
There are very few angels singing
there are very few dogs barking,
a thousand violins fit in the palm of my hand.
But the weeping's a dog, immense,
the weeping's an angel, immense,
the weepin's a violin, immense
the tears have silenced the wind,
and nothing is heard but weeping.
4.1k
Met you the day I thought I'd die
You cured my god **** January blues
After losing all I had to lose
I called you knowing loneliness poison
Intending to one night stand
You up
Late night mellow rock and
Balcony smokes in ice age Michigan
Bodies moving like snowflakes
Tears melting like liberated ice
My old world fading like a faraway pebble's wakes
My love becoming so loud I couldn't hear a word again
In silence I heard violins
An invisible orchestra playing to
The life I thought I was conducting
Too late did I learn
I was merely another violin
There for you to play
And without you pulling at my heartstrings
I would fall out of tune
And into disrepair
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
Snorers all
scattered world-wide
in offices and homes
in boardrooms
and bedrooms;
O Snorers all
loud and clear
low and shrill -
listen ye
to the loud wake-up call
as from Rip Van Winkle's Snore
stand up united
and drown the howl of protests
against snoring that is surely no less divine
than the Chorus of Angels in Heaven -
for the great God who made the Aurora
no doubt also conceived of the Divine Snore!
and so, stand up, ye sonorous Snorers!
unite! I call unto ye!
unite against the detractors
and the critics
and the complainants
and those of low culture
who cannot
lie still and listen to Snoring
as one rightly would at a concert hall
listening to the delightful play
of a quartet of violins
O how long will you take it lying down,
ye blessed Snorers of the World?
let the world know
the first divine music was indeed the Snore;
and the very height of human communication
is the unabashed snore
for all other modes of communication
lead to mis-communication
but the language of the snore is always exact and crisp!
the message of the Snore always precise!
the meaning always loud and clear!
and the very height of the snore
(let us declare to the world)
is the couple in bed
snoring away together
beside each other
making such divine music
making love with the rolling thunder of snores
so that one might say:
*do we have a couple of wild boars
copulating in the next room?*
stand up, O Snorers of the World -
and defy the mockers
and those who seek divorce
on grounds of insufferable Snoring;
stand up against those who sue
for loss of sleep from
friendly, neighborly Snorers;
stand up now
against these losers, these whingeing nags
uncouth and untutored
in the mysteries of the art of the Snore!
stand up and with one loud blast of
a universal Snore,
with one melodious Snore
let us
drown their dissenting voices,
their unprovoked cacophonous complaints!
stand up, Snorers young and old!
unite, Snorers black, white and gold!
defy the world! O ye Snorers
of quite nights and of lazy days:
let us overwhelm the world
with the pleasing symphony of Snores;
let us bless the ears of the world
with the dulcet streams of varied notes and arias!
stand up! unite! - O much-maligned Snorers of the World!
with one voice raised
in a triumphant Snore
let us declare:
*No longer will we be silent!
Our voices will be heard!*
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
I listen
and let you take me along
always yearning, wishing
hoping that I might land, wondering why
I even need to find my footing.
I am a complex soul,
I keep telling myself that,
while around me,
in the active bustle of a sidewalk cafe,
I see faces,
so many lovely minds,
untapped but directed,
finding their own place,
their own quiet destiny.
~
I hear the winds of 'winter's
discontent.'
Remains in my mind,
always knocking in silence,
my pulse awaits a shift,
some opportunity to tick lasting effects,
define my confusion,
while you journey me on,
music, my violins,
I listen and feel pain,
then resonant delight.
I am alone,
inside a quiet dream of human interaction.
yet, where am I supposed to land.
I can at least, count on you,
the rhythms of my soul,
to take me along on a quiet journey.
Please remain discreet,
lest those around recognize
I may be incomplete.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
freak of nature
"selfish" screaming in my ears
I digress violently now
Whitman bleeding out of
my ears
I cannot bow
seventeen and furious
I am the poet of the
human skin; of violins
and softly fingered clarinets
singing of the dirt under
my fingernails
self-loathing--the evil twin
of guilt--is blinding
I cannot read graphing
calculators or the
future
but both seem empty
like the box under my bed
that used to hold pieces of my
soul (or I thought it did)
now I am scattered
I would like to
hold onto your hand
(I will be less abrasive this way)
instead of purging myself
of every doubt that
has rudely accosted me
in the marrow of
my simple human
structure
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
*Cheer up, my sweetest Sis
Even though we are miles away we are so near
The bonds of love that we give each other
Make us seem so near
Please, my dearest you are my inspiration
So please, I beg you not to cry
And if I could play the harp for you and make
It's songs all sunshine and joy dedicated to YOU I would!
I'm happy now, my sis for
My Dad has been thinking a lot of your Cello
And how it's songs sound so pretty
And I've been thinking of the same
We spoke about your Cello just last night
And how all Cellos sound so pretty
And about Harps and Bassos we spoke
We talked about Trumpets and all kinds of instruments
Spoke about their beauty
And I still wondered how your Cello would sound
But I know it would sound very pretty and sad
Because I've heard Cellos before but none played as beautifully as yours!
That I know! And all I've said about you is true, SWEETEST Sis
And I understand your passion for all animals and can't
Stand when they get hit on the road
I can't stand it either so I can relate
If I could walk with you through fields of flowers,
Walk with you by the sea, pick some hibiscus blooms,
And listen to your Cello songs I would do so
But I feel so sad. . . and I am sickened at what I've done
Just look! I've made my sweetest Sis sad!
Oh, my Sis if only I could dry your tears
So let this poem comfort you, my Love
Please, feel happy
And know this if I could play Harps,
Cellos, Trumpets, Flutes, Violins,
Celestas, Chimes, Bassos, and the rest
I would, to make you happy and smile
What can I do, sweet Sis to make you smile?
If I were to play the Piano would your tears turn to smiles?
If I were to make an Hibicus Crown to grace your head,
Would your tears turn to dew?
If I were to walk with you by the sea would your tears turn to laughter?
What can I do to make you happy, my dearest sweetest Sis?
If I were to take you to Fairyland would you be glad
Instead of sad?*
~Marian~
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
I was watching the
Nutcracker,
stage drinking blue
The violins
pizzicato,
pizzicato
the wood sprung floor
breathing with the knock
of ballet shoes
I was watching the
Nutcracker,
sitting in the
mezzanine,
Mezzanine
the red kiss of
cherry wood and
green,
I live in
the mezzanine
I was watching the
Nutcracker,
peering into the
pit,
a small gap in the
stage floor where
I could see your
wrist,
holding your bow,
swaying your
bow,
pushing back and forth making my
carpal tunnel
ache, oh your
bow
I was watching the
Nutcracker
and you were playing
the score
Tchaikovsky
Tchaikovsky
beneath the
stage floor
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
Symphony No.9 in d – minor, opus 125
Allegro ma non troppo
The silence gives way gently
to quiet tremolos rustling
beneath the beckoning
call of distant horns.
A melodic cell, nascent in violins,
spirals down to the somber depths
of cello and contrabass.
A sudden cataclysm
shakes the hall like thunder
heralding our universal birth.
Gales of sonic force
splashed like turbulent waves
against the rocky shores.
Drifting sans glass or sextant
on a sea of expanding mystery,
we gaze to the heavens
in hopes for a glimpse
of our father’s aetherial dwelling.
Molto vivace
With hands intertwined,
we dance in a ring
to the capricious airs
of the laughing gods
with Zeus himself on timpani.
So pass the wine and kiss your neighbor
and fill your glass to the brim!
For today is yesterday’s morrow
and tomorrow’s history.
Adagio molto e cantabile
There is no greater and more healing light
than the candles that shine
in the eyes of a friend
or loving spouse -
tenderly lighting our paths
through the storms and fogs
that cloud our lives.
Peace abides in a friend's embrace.
An die Freude
Against raging storms of
strife and sorrow.
we hear a healing voice
A calm cello hymn -
that migrates up to higher cords
of violas and violins -
breaking into joyous song
sung by trumpets, winds and drums.
Casting all shrillness of discord aside,
a baritone lines out Schiller’s ode -
and sings of Elysium’s daughter.
Quartet and chorus enter in
proclaiming hope for the human family,
A tenor raises a stein to valor
in the company of his friends.
The quiet pulsing of horns and winds
ushers in torrents of ecstasy.
Arms clasped in communal embrace,
we gaze to heaven on bended knees
then rise with a majestic fugue
that illuminates our souls
like a blazing Alpine dawn.
In a cyclone of passion,
Schiller's words and Beethoven's notes
entreat us to restore
what custom has rent apart
that each of us may live our lives
as brothers in heavenly sanctuary.
May 25, 2007
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
THREE violins are trying their hearts.
The piece is MacDowell's Wild Rose.
And the time of the wild rose
And the leaves of the wild rose
And the dew-shot eyes of the wild rose
Sing in the air over three violins.
Somebody like you was in the heart of MacDowell.
Somebody like you is in three violins.
3.1k
Mistress Misery,
You remind me of many things
Of things such as an aching, thudding heart
Of lost marriage rings
Of rainfall
During a bleak, cloudy day
Pattering a tune of blues
With a black cat lurking, a homeless stray
Of slow-played violins
Strumming across many a sad note
Of pointless lives, causing crushing depression
To which many a person does devote
Of abandoned houses, of creaking floorboards
Of dust, cobwebs and failing light
Of storm thundering whilst the moon is up
A desolate, cold, wet and empty street in the midst of night.
Mistress Misery,
You remind me of darker times in life
It's just in your nature
To show the dark, to show the afterlife
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC