Quadrille Passion

Murmur me
sweet poetic words.
Play softly
fingertip arpeggios.

Mirror my passion.
Bounce you to me to you,
rhythmic cadence
tonal harmony.

Blood moon
burns ebony sky.
Come lie with me
in lunar lust.

Staccato.
Allegro.
Crescendo.
Nighttime symphonic love.

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Created for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where it’s Quadrille Monday (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Kim hosts, asking us to include the word “egg.” I’ve included “egg” within a word: arpeggios. Past prompts for this quadrille series have included burn, murmur, poet, and bounce: all are included here. We may always use a form of the word . Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! Postscript:  I think this may not include all the words afterall….as in I think there may be others in this Quadrille series and I may even have listed some wrong ones. I claim Bermudaful scenery outside my window as an excuse….but the poem stands as is 🙂

Jive with Me

This score’s for you.
None of that silent reading please,
move your mouth and loose those chords.
This gig is made for jumpin’ jive
words like notes, should come alive

Drum set movin’ stickin’ strong
keh-nock that rim
keh-nock, keh-nock
keh-nockin’ smooth and stickin’ strong.
Brushes swishing smoothing so
brushing brushing softly go.
Brushing cymbals smoothly now
brushing brushing, soon to splash.
Two feet pumping work the set
bouncing, grooving rhythms’ beat.
High hat moving by the left,
bopping bass drum boomed by right.

Trumpet blaring bleating high
sax is sobbing, crooning low.
Clarinet steps up to lead,
fingers pop and swing that reed.
Trombone arm moves in and out
o-o-o-o-zing up
and o-o-o-o-zing down,
gliding in and sliding out.

Pedal pumping, player plunking
blacks and whites bring pure delight.
Fingers fly then magically join
chords crescendo, conclude the jam.

So come my friends and keep it movin’
snap your fingers, sway your way.
Don’t just sit there silently still,
find your groove to rock your day.
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I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics over at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. Asking folks how they feel today.  Suggesting that they find their groove somehow and create a poem of any form, that uses the word “groove” or a derivation of the word. Come join us! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time.

Edvard Grieg

Concertos orchestrate dawn to dusk,
etudes study dancing shadows.
Sonatinas spring wildflowers,
octaves ripple cross the lake.

Confident fingers crescendo,
crossing ivory and ebony.
Norwegian master of the keys
and lover of the land.

Photos taken in Bergen, Norway as we visited the lake home and composition hut of Norwegian composer, Edvard Grieg. Bergen averages 280+ day of rain a year. We had incredibly beautiful weather! 

The Old Lamp Lighter

Lamplighter of yesteryear
resides light years away.
Nightly strolls relocated,
he illuminates the stars.

Written for dVerse where I’m hosting today, asking folks to write a poem that contains the title of a Billboard Magazine #1 hit recording from the year they were born, or their early years of growing up. The Old Lamp Lighter, recorded by Sammy Kaye and His Orchestra, 1947. Below is a drawing my 10 year old grandson did for this post.

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Opus Us

When
life
gets
all
staccato,
insert
a
rest    

and slow yourself down.
Don’t beat yourself up.
Think key largo
and slip into three-quarter time.

Note:
I’ll dance with you
to any music, any time,
any place, any where.
Except the polka.
I hate dots and oompah bands.

Note_lines_horizontal

Victoria is hosting dVerse today, a virtual pub for poets. She asks us to write a poem that incorporates music. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time….stop by and add your own musical voice, scat with us, or just enjoy some of the other folks jammin’.  For those non-musicians among my readers, opus, staccato, rest, beat, key (as in key signature), largo (as in slowly), 3/4 time, note and of course polka all refer to music. Photo/graphic credit to freepik.com

Urban Scene

jazz in the city
cello, saxophone, paper cone
playin’ for tips and the city dawgs

makin’ music
strummin’, blowin’, puffin’ too
flyin’ high with life

city nomad, gigs of the soul

claudia-music-2

WONDERFUL art by Claudia Schoenfeld, also one of the founders of dVerse, a poets’ pub. Could not resist writing a second sevenling to conincide with this great piece of art, Urbanity. A sevenling is composed of two tercets and one final line — and includes somehow an element of three in each of the tercets. 

Drum me a Sevenling

Swing it, oh jazz man!
Brush me lazy eights. Swish-arc-swirl, swish-arc-swirl.
Tap-atink rim shots, bass-drum-thuds.

Stick it LOUD, oh ROCK man!
KaBAM a-BANG-BAM. CRASH cymbal SPLASH.
PUMP WHOLE FOOT PEDAL. BASS DRUM BOOMS.

Soothe me melancholy, then BAM ME A BEAT.

psychedelic-drums-eduardo-tavares

To be read aloud. Try it!
Written for dVerse, a poet’s virtual pub, where Grace is tending bar and asks us to write a sevenling related to music. A sevenling is two tercets and a final single line – each tercet includes an element of three — here the sounds of a drummer. Celebrating the 5th anniversary of dVerse with a wonderful interview with Claudia, one of the founders and, I might add, painter extraordinaire!  Painting credit: Psychedelic Drummer by Eduardo Tavares. 

Star Song

one star per dance
beneath the sliver moon
come with me and be my love
one star per dance

one star per dance
your lips and mine shall meet
bodies meld together
one star per dance

one star per dance
look up and know my love
the galaxy forevermore
one star per dance

universe-1282375_1920

It’s Poetic Tuesday at dVerse and  Mish asks us to become songwriters today, remembering to “lighten up our phrases to make them singable” — use repetition, create a refrain.  I’ll leave you to make up the tune! 🙂  Photo from pixabay.com

 

 

Cowboys and Me and Junie Z

Junie Z and I,
we had a lot of fun
watchin’ Winky Dink and Me
eatin’ PB and J sandwiches
in front of her black and white tv.

But she liked Gene Autry
that singin’ cowboy,
and Roy Rogers and Dale
croonin’ Happy Trails to You,
like it was just for her.

Me? I was the silent type.
Who would guess it now.
The Lone Ranger was my guy.
No sissy singin’ – just that masked man
ridin’ into those far off hills.

So imagine my surprise
hearin’ good ole Gene
on the radio today
preachin’ at me in song,
There’s no back door to heaven.

And I guess he’d know,
at least in the eyes of Junie Z
after all these years,
but not for tone-deaf me.

Couldn’t resist putting up a more light hearted one for the prompt. Take a listen — ah the childhood memories of me and Junie Z!  Posted for Dverse Tuesday Poetics, a poem somehow related to “doors.”