The Poetry At Night Time And Beethoven's Piano Music
this is like playing the piano pieces
at night when everyone in the neighborhood is already sleeping,
they wonder if there is a ghost in this house
someone that cannot accept death someone that claims
an unfinished business
still roaming in limbo and plays the piano at night
they are all disturbed and will close their windows earlier
turn off the lights and retreat inside their thick blankets
the piano is heard and it is playing some pieces of Beethoven
the story of his death...
it is not the same with your poetry
all night long, you write, and there is no stopping and the neighbors think
that everything is all right
that the lights are on because there is a baby in the house
it is you that sob silently inside the limbo of your dreams
that refuse to die
roaming the streets at night
breathing the cold in the darkness
the following morning, nothing is changed
the neighbors as usual do their normal activities
the street is heavy with traffic
people are busy chasing the hours
and there is no stopping anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
For All Pianos All Around The World
pi
piano
piano use
piano key
piano roll
piano wire
piano note
pianoforte
piano store
piano pedal
piano bench
piano effect
piano sound
piano string
piano mover
piano maker
piano music
piano action
piano player
piano lesson
piano design
piano course
piano soloist
piano tuning
piano recital
piano replica
piano sonata
piano rhythm
piano sample
piano teacher
piano program
piano concerto
piano repertoire
piano brand name
anno piano twenty twelve
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Through Paris 1970
As you rode through Paris
in the packed coach
the radio played
Beethoven's Piano Concerto #5
and Mamie
sat beside you
her head to one side
sleeping
her mouth open
like some fish
out of water
her hands tucked
between her thighs
her blue skirt
riding high
and the slow movement
of the Beethoven piece
began
the piano playing softy
as the bright lights
of Paris
lit up
the dull space
inside the coach
and you closed your eyes
laying a hand
surreptiously
over hers
hearing the piano
and orchestra
as if in a dream
and Mamie
never minded
your hand
on hers
or so you thought then
and as now
it would seem.
poem by Terry Collett
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Failed Musician
Failed Musician?
My uncle died, he was on holiday in Piraeus when a pig fell off
a balcony, he left a piano and since his wife didn’t want it in her
house, mother took it, only because it would lend an impression
of high culture, and no one else in our neighbourhood had one.
I played on it day and night, picked up tunes on radio and played
them on the piano; people where impressed, mother too, but she
needed her rest worked long hours at a canning factory; one day,
coming home from school, a big empty space, I cried mother gave
me Danish pastry, they were a day old but still tasty. I’m glad she
sold the piano, though I might have ended up a restaurant pianist
driving from town to town playing evergreens as background music
for bored diners
poem by Oskar Hansen
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That Old Piano
On a lonely corner of an old house
A permanent feature for a decade
An old piano played the living witness
Of singing and dancing till the wee hours
in the morning
Grandma and Mama made the house turn around
Playing old familiar boogie, waltz and mambo sounds
Kids just played around
Munching goodies, cookies and cakes
Oh, ... those happy days
Seeing that old piano, the living witness
Holding back these tears
But life is what is all about..
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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Bedsitterland
Writers: leo sayer & frank farrell
Im thinking of taking
The easy way out
Open the window
Ill fall to the ground
I could do it -- wouldnt be much too it
I gotta little place here in the city
Its kind of small and dirty, its a bedsitter
And theres a lot of us living here
Wall to wall in one big house
And when the night comes round
I can see a lot of lonely lights
There are people in there breathing
But it dont seem right
In the streets way down below me
Im listening for just a sound
But nobody comes around
In bedsitterland
And theres a man below me on the balcony
Crying to be heard
Screaming to be heard
Im haunted by his words
And the people in the street just shrug their shoulders
Saying hes disturbed
Hes in another world
Screaming at the birds
Crying to be heard
I hear his every word
Ive slept in the gutter on a summers day
Oh Ive bummed cigarettes in the night cafes
Ive joined the breadline
Believe I got a deadline
I gotta little place here in the city
Its kind of small and dirty, its a bedsitter
And theres a lot of us living here
Wall to wall in one big house
And when the night comes round
I can see a lot of lonely lights
There are people in there breathing
But it dont seem right
In the streets way down below me
Im listening for just a sound
But nobody comes around
The lights are going down
Nobody comes around
In bedsitterland
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Melancholic....
I have my own dreams
i keep them in my house
and no one sees them
every night i look at all
these dreams of mine
my treasure, my gold
they do not glitter anymore
i have my own rusty dreams
and i keep them inside my house
there they all turn to powder
to dust, to nothing
one night i am tired of all these dreams
put them all inside a box
and throw them all to the sea
and then the sea has all my dreams
now i have my house without dreams
it is an empty house
proud with nothing but myself alone
i am the dream of this house
it's only dream
soon the house shall be gone
soon i shall be too gone
someone shall build another house
another dream......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Day the Piano Came
His fingers caressed the new, shiny keys, pulling out the strings
of Chopin melodies and chords that tugged at the heart.
We had never heard anything so beautiful as the gentle notes
that rolled into my ears, soft and warm. I shivered
in this warmth. It was too beautiful. This man
was a genius, bringing us this new and beautiful happiness.
That night, while everyone slept, I crept downstairs
and sat at the new piano. The smooth white glistened
under my curious fingertips. They itched to play.
This was a real piano.
I had never seen such an elegantly monstrous instrument,
and it was right here, in my house, under my fingers.
I was wrapped in bliss that night, and in the years
that followed, that silent piano brought me peace.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Pieces Of Ice
(m. jordan/j. capek)
Walking blind across this silver room
Looking through a smoke menagerie
Looking at your face inside of me
In the darkness youre tunisia
Nights are long entropic
I cant seem to cope
Its cold when I look in your eyes
Pieces of ice
Pieces of ice
Pieces of ice
Pieces of ice
Where the zebra lightning strikes the room
Foreign words are strutted through the gloom
Women swooping down like birds of prey
Never close but never far away
Night are long entropic
I cant seem to cope
Its cold when I look in your eyes
Pieces of ice
Pieces of ice
Pieces of ice
Pieces of ice
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One More Night
One more night ...
City lights are
Burning in the distance
Seems they're tellin' me
To hurry home
But i can't push these
Wheels of mine no harder
So hold on baby for
One more night alone
There's time for me to take just
One look over my shoulder
One last glance at
What's been going on
'cause i'll be there at
First light in the morning
We'll pick up the pieces
And baby, then we'll be long gone
Pick up the pieces and run with me
As fast as you can
You know you always said
I was the man
Pick up the pieces, let's do it now
Let's say our last farewell
Tomorrow may be too late
As far as i can tell
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I bought a piano once because I had the dream of playing As Time Goes By as some girl's leaning on it drinking a martini. Great image. But none of it worked out. I can't even play Chopsticks. But I've got a nice piano at my house!
quote by George Clooney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Morning Watch
'Tis near the morning watch, the dim lamp burns
But scarcely shows how dark the slumbering street;
No sound of life the silent mart returns;
No friends from house to house their neighbors greet;
It is the sleep of death; a deeper sleep
Than e'er before on mortal eyelids fell;
No stars above the gloom their places keep;
No faithful watchmen of the morning tell;
Yet still they slumber on, though rising day
Hath through their windows poured the awakening light;
Or, turning in their sluggard trances, say—
'There yet are many hours to fill the night;'
They rise not yet; while on the bridegroom goes
'Till he the day's bright gates forever on them close!
poem by Jones Very
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The House
They are building a house
half a block down
and I sit up here
with the shades down
listening to the sounds,
the hammers pounding in nails,
thack thack thack thack,
and then I hear birds,
and thack thack thack,
and I go to bed,
I pull the covers to my throat;
they have been building this house
for a month, and soon it will have
its people...sleeping, eating,
loving, moving around,
but somehow
now
it is not right,
there seems a madness,
men walk on top with nails
in their mouths
and I read about Castro and Cuba,
and at night I walk by
and the ribs of the house show
and inside I can see cats walking
the way cats walk,
and then a boy rides by on a bicycle
and still the house is not done
and in the morning the men
will be back
walking around on the house
with their hammers,
and it seems people should not build houses
anymore,
it seems people should not get married
anymore,
it seems people should stop working
and sit in small rooms
on 2nd floors
under electric lights without shades;
it seems there is a lot to forget
and a lot not to do,
and in drugstores, markets, bars,
the people are tired, they do not want
to move, and I stand there at night
and look through this house and the
house does not want to be built;
through its sides I can see the purple hills
and the first lights of evening,
and it is cold
and I button my coat
and I stand there looking through the house
and the cats stop and look at me
until I am embarrased
and move North up the sidewalk
where I will buy
cigarettes and beer
and return to my room.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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In The Placid Summer Midnight
In the placid summer midnight,
Under the drowsy sky,
I seem to hear in the stillness
The moths go glimmering by.
One by one from the windows
The lights have all been sped.
Never a blind looks conscious -
The street is asleep in bed!
But I come where a living casement
Laughs luminous and wide;
I hear the song of a piano
Break in a sparkling tide;
And I feel, in the waltz that frolics
And warbles swift and clear,
A sudden sense of shelter
And friendliness and cheer . . .
A sense of tinkling glasses,
Of love and laughter and light -
The piano stops, and the window
Stares blank out into the night.
The blind goes out, and I wander
To the old, unfriendly sea,
The lonelier for the memory
That walks like a ghost with me.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Inside Story
No one really knew him like I did,
He taught me everything I know
No one really knew him like I did,
While he starts playing the piano,
(? ) was a preacher,
Every night at church we had to go,
Mother always playing on the organ,
(? ) so low,
(? ) are complaining,
(? )
Oh lord my god
Some times I wander
Oh lord my god
Consider what you will
Inside story (x3)
Last years glory
Inside story (x4)
How great thought art?
How great the art?
How great his art
His art
Oh lord my god
Some times I wander
Oh lord my god
Consider what you will
His art
Your art
My art
His art
Your art
My art.
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Piano {Klavier}
They say to me
Open this door
curiosity screams
Whatever could it be
Back behind that door
A piano
The keys are all dusty
The strings are all untuned
Back behind that door
At the piano
But she plays no more
It so long ago
On the piano
She's who I hear
She began to play
She took my breath away
She said to me too
That I'll stay with you
But it just seemed to be
She played alone for me
I poured her blood
On the fire of my rage
I locked up her shrine
They questioned in time
At the piano
She's who I hear
She began to play
She took my breath away
At the piano
I stand by her
But it just seemed to be
She played alone for me
They opened up the door
And how they cried
I heard her mother plea
her father struck out at me
They tore her from her chair
No one believed me there
I was so insane
With the strech and the pain
At the piano
She's who I hear
She began to play
She took my breath away
At the piano
She's who I hear
As I began to play
I took her breath away
song performed by by Rammstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swollen (Final Chapter)
they talked throught the night
as the candle burned down, exchanging
the stories of their lives.
then finally, they just sat in the stillness,
listening to the walls of the old house
breathe.
he thought about his life, the work, the
family, the love... all gone.
she whispered, 'be still, they're coming...'
the lights of the cruiser inched up the
street. stopping, they shone a light into
the old house, like fingers probing.
they sat motionless, afraid to move..
finally, they moved on.
'they'll be back, someone's called...' she
began to cry.
he sat up and dug in his pocket. pulling
out a wadded up old black and white photo,
he straightened it out, taking out a fifty
dollar bill.
'i want you to have it... when they go to chasing
me, take the baby, and run...'
before she could say anything, he was up and
out the door.
he crouched in the bushes at the end of the drive.
when he saw the cruiser coming, he stood up and
let out a whoop. he took off running as fast as he
could go, trying to put distance between them and
the old house
when they finally cornered him, one street over, he
put up a struggle. as they beat him to the ground
with their batons, he imagined he could see the lights
of a car going down the street. it was the last thing
he ever remembered!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ghostly Nurses and Piano Playing
I went to elementary school,
In some old buildings,
That were at that time called,
An independant school district.
The school only went up to eighth grade.
After you finished up there,
They would bus you,
To another independant school district,
That had a high school.
As I am sure other schools have,
Our fine school had a ghost.
The ghost was supposed to haunt,
Our lunchroom / music room.
The building was about eighty feet long,
And half of it had tables and benches,
So you could sit and eat,
Whatever you brought for lunch,
In your brown paper bag.
The ghost was supposedly a school nurse,
That was supposed to have died,
In the lunchroom.
Now I don't know,
If she had a heart attack,
Or she choked on a chicken bone,
Whatever the cause,
She haunted our school.
I never saw her,
And Pepe my blood brother,
Never saw her either.
One night,
After a terrible day,
With the board of education,
(That hung above Mr. Spinks desk)
Pepe and I decided,
To investigate the school room.
At nine o'clock at night.
In those days,
One telephone pole,
With a single light on top,
Illumined the entire school.
Also, most of the school buildings,
Were left unlocked,
Since Mr. Spinks doubled,
As night watchman,
And lived on the property.
The doors being unlocked,
Proved to be a moot point.
Pepe and I were adept,
Second story men,
Even though the lunchroom was a single floor.
We climbed in through the window,
And made our way,
To the half of the lunchroom, that was the music room.
Quickly we peeked inside,
The music teachers office,
And found no discernible difference.
Then we searched all the closets,
And the utility room,
But that nurse was nowhere to be found.
After a while we got bored.
Thats when I sat at the piano,
And did my best Lon Chaney,
Impression from the silent classic,
The Phantom Of The Opera,
TA, TA, TA TOM.
Pepe started laughing hysterically,
And pretended to be Mary Philbin,
Coming up behind Erik,
To yank off his mask.
Right at that precise moment,
We heard noises outside,
And took a peek through the window.
Mr. Spinks was doing his best,
Elmer Fud impression,
Sneaking up on the lunchroom,
Shotgun and all.
Pepe and I decided to retreat,
And crawled out the window,
Oposite the side our principle was arriving at.
We made straight for the woods,
Just ten feet from the lunchroom.
There we watched as the lights came on,
Inside the lunchroom,
And Mr. Spinks doing what we had so recently,
Been doing.
After about half an hour,
He left walking in a manner,
Not like himself at all.
He would take a few steps,
Then turn, and look at the lunchroom.
He did this several times,
Until he got to the house,
He and his wife Lorretta shared with their daughter Dixie.
The next day when we got to school,
We found out,
That the ghost of the school nurse,
Had made another apparition.
Apparently she also played the music room piano,
And laughed hysterically all night long.
There were maybe forty kids,
In that little school.
And they all swore,
That they had seen the ghost of the school nurse.
I think Mr. Spinks did too.
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Grandma's Old Piano Was Sold
grandma's piano is old.
she died ten years ago
being the second wife of grandpa.
my mother is her second child
that she sent to piano school
but father found her and married
her when she was still 18.
and i was born as their fourth
child. Mother knows how to play
the moonlight sonata which father
loves to listen at night when
i learn how to smile and laugh.
One day Papa found another woman
whom he said made him new again
and he left Mama.
One day Mama died and Papa married
that woman.
One day i left home.
One day the piano was sold
One day the piano was taken to another
town so far away from us.
One day, all these things, the piano, Papa
and my step mother are forgotten.
But then the Moonlight Sonata comes again
One night
From another piano nearby.
The keys are no longer made
From elephant tusks like grandma's old piano.
Not the off white of ivory.
So white and smooth like a well brushed teeth
of a very young boy.
I like to hear it when he learns
how to gnash.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Will You Come Back Home?
There's something in the way she eases my mind
And lays me across the bed till I close my eyes
Stirs me in the morning till I can ever be satisfied
I leave Carolina every night in my dreams
Like the girls that try to love me that I only leave
Rock me like a baby doll and hold me to your chest
But I'm always moving too fast
If I could find my way back home, where would I go?
When everything about me, I used to be,
Shivers in the sheets and the blankets of snow
Lost out in the woods were you're looking for me
When, when will you come back home
No one leave the lights on in a house
Where nobody lives anymore
Loaded like the boxes up in the bedroom
Coming off the hinges like the door
The shadows dancing up in the window
They're not who we are but who we were
And I'm not gonna break, but if I do
I'm gonna shatter like the glass I turned your heart into
I'm broken like the windos in the house where I used to live
And If I could find my way back home, where would I go?
When everything about me, I used to be,
Shivers in the sheets and the blankets of snow
I'm lost out in the woods looking for you
When, when will you come back home
No one leave the lights on in a house
Where nobody lives anymore
Everything about me you liked is already gone
Everything about me you loved is gone
When, when will you come back home
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Running With The Night
The heart of the city street was beating
Lights from the neons
Turned the dark to day
We were too hot to think of sleeping
We had to get out
Before the magic got away
We were running with the night
Playingin the shadows
Just you and i
Till the morning light
(we were running) oh, oh
Running with the night
You were looking so good girl
Heads were turning
You and me on the town
Ooh, we let it all hang out
The fire was in us, we were running
We were gonna go all the way
And we never had a doubt
We were running with the night
Playing in the shadows
Just you and i
Till the morning light
Running with the night
We were so in love you and me
On the boulevard wild and free
Giving all we got, we laid it down
Taking every shot, we took the town
We were running with the night
Playing in the shadows
Just you and i
Girl, it was so right
Girl, it was so right.
song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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