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!
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.
Wind chimes make chance music,
moved by shifting air.
Invisible breeze soothes hot passion.
Harmony resounds.
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
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
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.”
It was the big band era, lots of brass
Billy whalin’ on the drums
while Johnny waited for his riff
makin’ the keyboard swing.
And me, standin’ on the riser
my long arms waitin’ too.
“Wing span of a hawk” mama said,
just the ticket for a trombone man.
Yeah, I could slide that brass
hear the notes clear and smooth
no strings or keys,
just that long sleek glide.
And Mabel at the mic,
feathers clipped in henna dyed hair
sultry voice in the sweet spots
hips, always swingin’ to the beat.
Never made it big like the Duke
but we had our gigs.
A glass of gin between sets
and smoke swirlin’ round our heads.
They’re all gone now.
Pawned my ‘bone long time ago.
But sometimes, while I’m sittin’ here
I can put myself there.
I close my eyes and start to sway
Mabel leanin’ real close like she did.
I wheel this chair around a bit
and I can feel us back there again,
swingin’ to that big band sound.
Rescored for dVerse Poetics Fantasia. This was originally posted in 2015, inspired by Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia. I’ve reworked it a bit — thinking it a good one for today’s prompt. I am hosting dVerse today — wonderful experience. In the words of Carl Sandburg, Go to it oh jazzmen!
Cuz you kazoo,
he slaps spoons
and I wuv to whistle.
Musical melody makers
we pat upon pans,
yodel-lodel-lustily.
Silly songsters three!
Click here to see and hear spoon playing! De, tending the bar at dVerse, asked us to write a Sevenling: two stanzas and a final line. Each of the two stanzas must contain something of threes. Decided to take the playful side today!
lillian the home poet 