Best Soloists Poems
Azure-accentuated ambiance awaits aspiring artists
Baby’s birth brings blessings, blowing boredom-blues
Cool calmness charms circumspect chefs to create cuisine cravings
Daybreak dos and don’ts discipline drivers from direction-dazzles
Enlightenment-exercise empowers engineers in their endeavors...
Fiery fluorescent fearlessness fuels firefighters’ faith-fortitude’s fervor
Glowing grace of God gears guardians for guiding governance
Hope highlights health-helpers’ handlings midst heightened heaviness
Illumined instructors inspire with their influence-iridescence
Justice-jubilation juxtaposed with jurisprudence-judgment joins jury...
Kaleidoscopic kindness-keys keep kinship’s knot kindling
Light’s luster leads liberation-lovers to lift the lamenting and lowly
Morning’s majestic magnificence moves mothers with mercies'* might
Nourishing nurses’ nurture and nature negates night’s negligence
Overwhelming opportunities open officials for output-optimization...
Peace-packed period pulls prayer-partners into Providence presence
Quality quotes quiet the querulous' qualms and quixotics' questions
Redolent reflections refocus reviewers against regretful reveries
Spiritual songs by soprano soloists shut silence-stillness
Triumphant thanksgiving tops tight timetable of tenacious teachers...
Ultimate urgency upholds undaunted umpires unto usefulness
Verses vanquish vanities vying against vision of the victors
Watchfulness warmth wakes the weary to welcome words of wisdom
X rays of ‘xpertise ‘xamination x-out ‘xpectations for a Xanadu
Yes-yells yearn for youth yielded yeah-yowls from yesterdays’ yets
Zion's zephyr zooms the zealously zestful to zenith of prize-zillions!!!
*Lamentations 3:22-23 It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning:
great is thy faithfulness.
Abecedarian and alliteration forms
July 28, 2018
Edited on May 19, 2022
1st place, "ABCEDARIAN POEM" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 6/4/2022.
Written: June 22, 2023
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The celestial symphony begins.
A harmony of cosmic sound
Each twinkling star is a note.
Creating a melody profound
The moon, a conductor's baton
Guiding the orchestra of the night
Constellations join in, each playing its part,
With their gentle glow and radiant light
Creating a masterpiece of art
Orion Belt, a string quartet
Playing melodies with idyllic fret
A theater edifice with a tall parapet.
The vast dipper, a brass section.
Blaring out a triumphant reflection
And the Milky Way, a choir of voices
Singing harmonies that the soul rejoices.
The planets, as soloists, shine so bright.
Each with its own unique celestial light.
Jupiter, the king of planets, with its mighty roar
Saturn, with its rings, is a sight to adore.
Mars, the fiery warrior, is blazing red.
Venus, the goddess, with love spreads
Mercury, the messenger, darting across the sky
Uranus and Neptune, mysterious and shy
Pluto, the dwarf planet, is still holding its place.
In this celestial symphony, each plays their grace.
As I lay here, lost in awe,
The sort earth will sleep in universal law.
My mind transcends the earthly realm.
I became one with the universe.
As the harmony overwhelms
I am but a speck in this vast expanse.
Yet connected to it all.
The beauty and wonder of the cosmos
Hold me in their thrall.
Hold my words as a deck of cards close.
For in this celestial symphony
I find solace and serenity.
A reminder of our place in time
And the mysteries that lie beyond the sublime.
So as I lie here gazing skyward,
I surrender myself to the celestial chord.
The symphony plays on, filling the night.
And I am content with this cosmic delight.
You are gagged and bound, seated
In a hot seat among the hard of hearing
Harrowing tales from the trenches
At the deep end of a ravenous beast
A narrowing outlook, hope fading
Shape shifting fiends on the cliffs of sleep
Captured drifts shaping up to squeeze
Harassed by the wail of the haunt
You cry within reach of eardrums
Albeit all wearing earplugs
Wallowing, itching skin turning sallow
You are reminded of the sordid detail
The devil in it too hard to swallow
You reckon it's the lunch in your throat
That crouching shifting restless toad
You are not alone but on your own
Roasting in the heat of your moaning
Voice within a crowd of voices making noises
Choir of soloists, yet never about choices
You were placed where you were placed
In a furnace of dreams from dusk till dawn
Never warned that you were in for the duration
Written: December 28, 2023
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flounder in fictional field
—squeals and squeaks
Whimpers and growls
Sylphic swaying,
of flames spewing,
inwardly throbbing
of my nostril
lobotomized cosmic orbs.
scent of cinnamon
and coral on a rosary
interlaced of aurulent rimes.
Shrouded your burgundy &
coniferous ravines
loop of vitality
& unbearable redemption
in spanning eons,
ineffable wonder cradled
by melodic hums and buzzes
of lazy heat
and whistles of pitches
of endless hymns
echoes of choral chants
sung by soloists.
black ravens croaking,
like peals of doom
dewy allelomorphs
with waft-aloft wings
angels of ethereal whisper
of thunder,
that rang deafeningly
through the crevices,
of anodal motion
scurrilous loci
modeled as diploid.
from hazy pastel shades of blue
bound by storms
a fiery glow
smooth and shiny
zigzags of xanthous and marigold
zooming the horizon
rolling tyrolean choric runes
exquisitely enhanced wall murals
with a flaxen-colored scheme.
as well as soloists
dazzling tangents and
waves of origami art
tune tones and beguile the waves
to an oneiric shimmer
Written: April 17, 2023
3rd place contest winner
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1209 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
The young Maple Leaf stands there,
Canada's favorite tree.
The young sapling,,
Layered to perfection.
Admired by Canadians everywhere,
Sign for our Canadian hockey team.
A beautiful tree to behold,
Leaves swaying in the breeze.
The Maple Leaf is a coveted song,
Sung by choirs and soloists.
Beautiful to behold,
Perfect in shape and form.
I view you from the dinning-hall window,
Watching you gain prowess each day/
What a miracle you are,
God's chosen beautiful tree.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schuetz
It’s so difficult, too ungraspable,
poetry can only mimic with deaf words.
The beginning:
our turning earth gently rises
from the rim of the unseen.
Notes and tones spellbind
with intimations and murmurs.
Then a brow-beating sound stamps upon the ground
only to rise weightless into the air.
Voices declare the ethereal,
the joy becomes too much,
it overwhelms a dyke of ecstasy.
Now a triumphal march walks into a fugue,
A hundred voices first,
then another thousand within our blood sing out,
after which, the orchestra dances,
it’s a rustic ‘kick up our heels’ affair
set to a grand drama.
This time though, the dam busts suddenly,
completely
Joy,
joy overspilling.
The music must come to its senses,
it ponders and questions,
angels answer in their trance-tongues.
A quietus descends, hovers, and rises
a sound not of this earth
becomes a contrapuntal desiderata of faith,
followed by a whispered vision of ascension
then a prayer.
The music plays a quick jig,
Then a pause, a sacred second,
Standing forth, 3 solo voices speak out
resounding , magnified.
amazed,
the orchestra, soloists, and choir
are now boundless.
Heaven has come down to earth.
We who merely listen
are made great, whole, maybe for a lifetime
or only for a moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHgIi_C9w5E
Afar off as Luna disturbs the briny sea air, its pallid
lips farewell kiss of former throne fairs to absence.
Heir apparent solace a crown restored as its Hymn
privilege rejuvenates Sol's nurtured Hawaiian Isles.
As guests, while a tad, in Hawaii's wild, there they'll
see groundbreakers of Plumeria painted plumes don
guest guessing tree colors that rival Picasso's rarity,
Rose Period of benevolent hues missing silent blues.
On yonder rise further untamed, yielding in strength,
the Bird of Paradise, queues surround a mound. Find
true value in their weight of numbers enabled on top
of the tabled bouquet than solo left alone--so lonely.
Siding with soloists that orchestrate scents, like that
of the Gardenia, Puakenikeni, Kahili Yellow Ginger or
Pikake/Jasmine and Tuberose many more aromatics
redolent a symphonic scores, an orchid won, adored.
The
theme
of the
soloists
ripples and resounds-
harmony echoes all around.
Grave Music- -
When I thought of music
Those the song never tuning
Musicians so are cocooning
Taking thy hymn from out my heart
That moment my soul grew routine
Just what does this mean
Grave music
The grave a funeral
I saw the composers
Music is dead
Yet we still sing
And so I screamed, 'Is that a psalm?'
The recurrent repertoire refraining
It was attaining
It was reigning
Grave music
Once upon a midnight splendid
My passion is a phonographic guitar
When I thought of the music
I awoke and flung the score
Much I marveled the ragtime bluegrass
By the grave I saw the artists
I heard a musical, copyright copyrighting
Deep into that darkness availing choir yet still praising
Singing my songs of songs
Grave music
I awoke and flung the voice I have dreamed of the soloists
Screaming aloud with pitch voice, my choice
Deep into that darkness playing
Ever praising yet
Still
Music
Grave music
1/4/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
The discovery of feelings,
That transcend the stage in human form.
Dance a story,
The reptoire of company dancers are on stage.
Act a formal play,
The theatre company guests.
Songs renacted romanticly and religiously with themes,
A singer or choir are on stage.
The audience receptive and welcoming,
Soloists emerge with the company with excellence.
Chosen because they have the knowledge, maturity and talent,
To preform as an elite class, all the while humble and proud, appreciated.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
. for public domain
Hauled away in chains alone,
their names are carved in granite stone;
and kings once perched upon a throne,
now long forgotten, lost, unknown.
And yet they did not so live
to be remembered, or to give
us lessons how to live,
to condemn, ignore, or forgive.
They took birth as they took death,
a beginning and an end of breath,
claiming their own sacred hymn.
We forget kings, remember them.