Opus
There was a widow pianist
Who plays most pristinely
That would drag your feet
Into an emollient waltz
But you would never hear
The banshee caterwauling;
His opus.
There was a limped painter
Who paints in fluid levity
That extends such gaiety
To purge the ashen scene
But you would never see
The withering canvass;
His opus.
There was a smug architect
Who design most intricately
That your eyes and mouth gape
Musing in an ornate beauty
But you would never find
The crying skyscraper;
His opus.
There was a coy poet
Who wrote in enigmatic strokes
That would pull a knot in your head
And sometimes in your chest
But you can never read
The written yearning;
His opus.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
I ignore Hallmark Holidays. And this comes from a guy who has sold a million Opus greeting cards.
quote by Berke Breathed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buena Vista
Wake up butterfly
The sun's fallen down
The clouds are rolling over
And we still got many miles to go
From winter days come starless nights
The constellations frown
And when the heavens start to open
Even monkeys gonna need a coat
And the masterpiece slipped through my hand
Stole a car and drove to a foreign land
The man with the camera said he'd seen it all before, uh huh
And Opus 49's to blame
From moon illusion Buena Vista in flames
The man with the camera said nice try but..er..fly...
Wake up butterfly
The sun's fallen down
The wind is blowing backwards
And it's opening the eye of the storm
The spiders circuit spinning out on the ground
They're wishing they were younger
There's a little bit of that in us all
Take it down
Take it down
There's a little bit of that in us all
Yeah, come on and bring it around
Bring me round
There's a little bit of that in us all...
The masterpiece slipped through my hand
Stole a car and drove to a foreign land
The man with the camera said he'd seen it all before, uh huh
And Opus 49's to blame
From moon illusion Buena Vista in flames
The man with the camera said nice try but..er...flyyyy...
[Jamming to the end]
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Choices...
he never wished
to be just another contributor
of ugliness
to this world,
in fact, he
wants to be another
great artist
to convert all trash
into a beautiful
magnum opus
to cover all shit
in one huge can
and bury it on
earth
to hide all evil
back in Pandora's box
obviously, another
mission impossible
it is easier this way
let shit be shit
and let beauty be beauty
let them thrive
and let us see who wins
this drive
meanwhile, let us sit
and relax,
we shall just be the
gods and
if not
at least be judges
or jury
or
just another garbage
collector.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To A Poet....
Ah,
while you were reading
your opus,
i did not listen
i am a fly trapped in a bottle
and i am preoccupied with my own
problem
i am not looking for an exit
i am not asking for help
i am buzzing
and i will just be buzzing
in this short
very short stint....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dreaming In The Southern Polar Cap Of Your Thin Arms
You jump with joined feets
You draw a smiley face
You chew sugar free gum
A constant flow of air
Your hair damp and wet
Your opus 27,4
Your cotton pillow cover
You turn the door knob
A vanilla orchid
An orange snowfall in the county
A heart beats only across your chest
You come from the cedar moutain
Your raised eyebrows
As close as possible
Your baptismal font
A holy water
A starry morning.
(with a music of Bruce Leitch) .
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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The Song For My Beloved
The song for my beloved, voiced sweetly to thee-
My opus, others may only surmise as to its beauty!
A melodious tune surely, yet there be not word-
The love in my heart, the only sounds heard!
Its magic seen, its power felt-over many a mile-
Many years its nemesis, though it lasted all the while!
Nothing is there surely to dispute its glory,
So is the wondrous tale of my heart's story!
In every beautiful moment, I hear it louder still-
In the power of the summer sun, the winter's chill;
I hear it as when, to me, He did deliver-
Hear it surely, as my heart doth quiver!
This, my melodic muse, since I was young-
Surely, the sweetest song ever to be sung!
Maurice Harris,28 August 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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This Beauty I Do Adore
All in nature which inspires awe, now more still
Shall be seen in each day's passing, surely until
I make consort again with the beauty at it's cause;
Yearn do I for this day, with nary a moment's pause!
Memories made more enduring, mirth more abiding;
Bereft of explication am I-the elation now providing
Strength, hope and faith, like naught else has before-
Mere thought of this grace, this beauty I do adore!
The Sun, the Moon, the resplendent star;
All that is beautificent, more still, whether near or far-
Wondrous works of art, an opus most melodious,
Satiate my heart, yet it still remains commodious;
Naturally, I need not repeat from whence:
All is made ever more splendiferous since!
Maurice Harris,20 September 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Drunken Roads
Oh, sundered lampposts ignite
The oil black streets for a night
And in the phosphorescent facet
I shall amble in levity from musing a casket
Debonairly alluring in its jet black glaze
I'll let my tattered heels loose in the haze
Such a suede wintry patio to trample
A fervent flee to a famished black hole
And dispense the baneful protraction
Of a lifelong subsistence in fractions
Buoy me upon your macadamized skin
Oh, drunken roads, far from the chagrin
These undulating fluid pavements
Would stretch the vexing torments
Though I would rather linger a phantom
Salt and burned beneath a tombstone,
A banshee caterwauling for camaraderie
Among the drunken roads I opted be
And I shall drag my marbled toes
To find direst on your concrete prose
Will I become a squandered vagabond
And lose myself by the skewing seconds?
Or will I bequeath the hefty bounty
Of my vying in a Stygian country?
poem by Norman Santos
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Dog Day Afternoon
Humorous
Dog Day Afternoon
Opus 30
dog,
hog,
wog,
wallow!
fog,
dog,
log,
hollow!
crawl,
small,
call,
meddle!
stuck,
luck,
muck,
wheedle!
smell,
yelp!
help!
needing!
wet,
set,
fret,
pleading!
me,
plea,
see,
freedom!
dog,
hog,
wog,
wallow!
Not again! ! Dedicated to all great dogs!
Steven B. Taylor
August 13,1997
poem by Steven B. Taylor
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Guitar Askew'' by. Kevin Mireles
Standing here
in the darkness
hidden before
an unknowing
audience,
one image
prevails;
That of
a blemished
instrument
whose varnish
chipped body
and fret-less neck
maligns
underneath
the uncovering touch
of the spotlight,
My pseudo stance,
a boisterous opus,
announces
my imperfections,
music note
messages
reveal
unseen cracks
in my facade.
As I serenade
silent eyes,
tiresome strokes
coronate
into a life
I've always
dreamnt,
honest music
that makes
all eyes speak.
Vibrant rifts
of expression
expose me
as oblique,
born and raised
in the shards
of broken lives,
a tainted song.
Strumming release
vulnerable
beginning
melodic tones
from worn out
strings
validates me,
true harmony
unbound.
poem by Kevin Mireles
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Stuff
The realization has just fallen:
Her birthday card to me has been
Hidden on my desk-that
Cluttered mess of books and stuff (count: I) -
And since last August I forgot
That it was there.
[Over time, I oft overlook the opus words that
Make life more marvelous, less mundane.]
Have I been too worried with myself? Does she mind
My mind still figuring, still learning stuff (count: II) ?
The craft card on my desktop counter
Sits still. It is opened, words re-read.
And 'til next August,
There it rests.
As always,
Every word is a delight.
poem by Antoine Lavoisier
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Brooding Silently
Entire age was spent in search
of self ultimate and he was still
unable to redeem a sad tree.
The silent unglorious drop. Florets falling
one by one like dreams.
White spread. Orange opus. Good-
bye crescent. Blue sky shying away.
A cuckoo on mango grove starts
a melodious croon. Sweet allegation
of betrayal, but for what gain?
Pain bounces back in the eyes of
a sparrow. Cannot find a window to
enter. Concrete walls. Closed doors.
Ad infinitum will move the traffic.
Where to stop? And when to fly?
Qualities were crashing down. Faint
bruises on face. Sticking plaster on
eyes. So many already gone to galaxy.
Sitting on a garbage dump.
He was brooding silently.
poem by Satish Verma
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Trapped In Memories
Nothing that has me trapped,
In memories passed is coming back!
No thrill I will upon myself...
Comes to repeat.
Like soft keys on a piano played!
And although I may mellow with age,
Like a fine wine...
No amount of it I drink,
Dances in my mind to comfort or soothe
The reality of you not being near
With me now!
I am hungover with too much hope!
Doped up,
With a love I can't let go!
And I'm paying too much of a price,
Trying to drink you here into my life again!
'Once more...
Play for me Frederic!
I am in a prelude in e-minor mood.
Play until this opus leaves my scope! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unfinished Opus
You, my beloved, are my unfinished opus;
Though now we lead disparate lives, my hope is
That, through the Grace of God, we will meet again,
And this long-hoped-for consort may finally begin!
Like two melodic diapasons, without a chorus,
He alone, may provide cause, for us
To believe in our still-unseen Providence...
We need only demonstrate our faith, through patience!
We must cause our minds to believe
What now, only our inspired hearts may conceive:
We are but one song, fashioned by two instruments;
We alone may ensure our future makes sense
Of what is now only aspiration, for want of reality-
Only we make make a harmonic unity, out of our duality!
poem by Maurice Harris
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May...
May the Sun continue to gather upon you;
May the light of the Moon be count upon too,
To lead your way, should you need its guide;
May all your wants and needs, find provide!
May flowers continue bloom, more beauteous;
May Heaven's calling bear on still, as duteous!
May nature's madrigal sustain its opus, melodious-
May too, your heart brim with love, yet remain commodious!
May smiles be with you all the time;
May all of your laughter be genuine;
May your heart be gladdened-your soul, uplifted-
For this-and so much more, to me, you have gifted!
May you know without equivocation, this one verity-
You are my soul's solitary compeer-beautiful in its clarity!
Maurice Harris,1 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Let Us Have Peace
In maudlin spite let Thracians fight
Above their bowls of liquor;
But such as we, when on a spree,
Should never brawl and bicker!
These angry words and clashing swords
Are quite _de trop_, I'm thinking;
Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise,
And drown your wrath in drinking.
Aha, 't is fine,--this mellow wine
With which our host would dope us!
Now let us hear what pretty dear
Entangles him of Opus.
I see you blush,--nay, comrades, hush!
Come, friend, though they despise you,
Tell me the name of that fair dame,--
Perchance I may advise you.
O wretched youth! and is it truth
You love that fickle lady?
I, doting dunce, courted her once;
Since when, she's reckoned shady!
poem by Eugene Field
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Widow Pianist
Two hours before existence
He struck mindlessly
Lashing out, trying blindly
With ears bolted
From the contoured melody
And lips busy
In a genocide
A banshee fritters away
With the pressing of
His stale scrawny fingers
In a somnolent levity
Teeming with apprehension
And siphoned of tranquility
I am not a widow pianist.
How can I endure this?
poem by Norman Santos
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The Harder They Come
Well they tell me about the pie up in the sky.
Waiting for me when I die.
But between the day your born and when you die.
They never seem to hear even your cry.
So as soon as the sun will shine.
Im gonna get my shine out whats mine.
And then the harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
The harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
Well the opus are trying to keep me down.
Trying to drag me under-ground.
And they think that they have got the battle won.
Oh! I say forgive them lord the do not what theyve done.
So as soon as the sun will shine.
Im gonna get my shine out whats mine.
And then the harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all. (what I say, now what I say)
The harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
(yeah!)
(yeah!)
Well Ill keep on fighting for the things I want. (for the things I want.)
Though I know that when you dead you gone.
But Id rather be a free man in my grave.
Then living as a puppet or a slave.
So as soon as the sun will shine.
Im gonna get my shine out whats mine.
And then the harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all. (its true)
Oh! the harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
Oh! the harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all. (what I say, now what I say)
The harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
[instrumental]
The harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
Oh! the harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all. (yes.)
The harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all. (what I say.)
The harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
Oh! the harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all. (what I say.)
The harder they come, the harder they fall.
One and all.
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lucidity
A slipping sonata of screams,
The breaking breeze of boiling blood,
An over-worked opus of odium,
Endure it all, to the very seams,
Endure it all for some selfish bliss,
Bliss I’ll never have, I never could.
An age of anonymous antipathy,
Underestimated umbrage of ‘us’,
A distant dream forever doomed,
I’ve learned to despise sympathy,
Endure it all for incipient love
I’m still enduring thus.
So carry my canorous cries,
Assuage my angry ache,
Save for me a superfluous sunrise,
Or just love me for God’s sake.
poem by Ella Veyes
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Real Colours
Despite your satsuma the real colours matter,
Restart the savage beast with red colours.
Spikes, with satyrs that reside in your garden,
Are gory and gorgeous, making the satsuma of blood.
The restive operatic folk learn anew for want of blood
And curds of hatred, vampiric sub-stations await.
The orange colour is of horrors and entrapment,
No sweetheart created or admitted this colour.
May the real colours inhibit the offspring
And the opus of life and its workings.
poem by Naveed Akram
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