Poems about cello


№ 1145414


Slick, sturdy, undeniably burgundy
Whippy, supple, but no need for more than
A couple

A needle, sharper than the sharpness of the ice cream snow, shrouding my metallic skin like but an extension of my ice fingers, so perfect, so wonderfully clear and clean

*the bow is my mind and the strings my queen


Author: a
Date: 08/02/2020

№ 1066112

Dear man playing the giant cello (double bass)

I watched you silently from my place amid the masses
As you sat alone on stage

Around you stood the empty chairs
Still awaiting instruments and bodies
But you didn't seem to notice

Slowly drawing the bow across the strings
While fingers danced seemingly unaided

I sketched you then in my mind so that I might always remember the way your brow was furrowed
Hair astray in the fashion most expected by a being that has not slept in as many days as artists of unheard merit are apt to do

I traced the joints of your fingers curled around the dark wooden handle almost, but never touching the off white fabric that stretched between one point and the other

In my mind I found I could only liken you and your appearance to that of others I had only read of
All fictional of course

Here a wayward detective long since run down but never out sank his sorrows in a bottle while his mind fractured but still brilliant carried on

But then there were so many others that also came to mind, each tugging at the corners of my imagination with passionate desperation
Attempting in the only way they knew to be the sole capture of my attention

In this corner I found a journalist well traveled as he was versed, with the quality beseeching that of a gentleman hidden under two days worth of growth

But perhaps your likeness might be more suited to the air of a more scientific mind, secret genius cultivating cures for every kind of illness while still trapped in the depths of madness

I sat and watched as you played unnoticed for what seemed to me just a moment but was far more then that as my mind turned over the possibility of all the people you could have been

But when asked softly why didn't I rise from my unnoticed place and put to rest my chaotic thoughts by moving close to speak to you if only for a moment

I resisted

What could I say to let them understand the path my mind had run
How I was unwilling to leave my seat, held there by this slight fear

That if I dared to find my voice, to rise and cross the space between the seats... to draw close enough that you might see me
All that I had imagined you to be would be crushed or somehow dulled by the harsh light of reality

You might not be a gentleman, suave and smooth with charm or reflect even a bit the madness of a scientist whose sanity has long since gone...
You might be so far from the truth that I'd never write this poem

So I sat silently in my place amid the masses

Watching you draw your bow across the strings while your fingers danced unaided

bass,  cello,  dear,  double,  giant,  man.

Author: Sam Greig-Mohns
Date: 28/11/2019

№ 1024633

Ignited Cello

I find your strength within your weakness,
And your spontaneousness stutters in the melody of your lisps.

I find the power in your unspoken favorite flavor,
And the taste leaks from a puncture of your unconscious gesture.

I find your pain in the discourse of your taciturn glance,
And your fear preserved with the muscles of your midnight beard.

I find a lot in the nothingness in your insolvent pocket,
I find joy, glamour and an **ignited cello.

cello,  ignited.

Author: Sillage
Date: 21/10/2019

№ 978280

The Cello

Here above the spider's bed
Balanced on a tiny thread
Soft the sound his cello plays
In harmony with summer days

~Melodically he moves his bow
In mystic motioned rhythm'd flow
O' the cast of crescent moon
Illuminates his wondrous tune

~A thousand dragonflies appear
His cello sound they long to hear
Now as he plays this mellow song
A cricket choir sings along

~The audience in grand delight
Embrace the magic on this night
For as all earth has come to know
No sweeter sound than his cello


Author: Jack
Date: 09/09/2019

№ 952178

The Cello

For Madison Grace

So nice to know
You play the cello,
Such a fine upstanding
Instrument this.
It holds itself so
Firm to the floor,
But needs the knees
To keep it still.

That resonant rich
Bottom C, it never fails
To move me. So when
At the end of Bach's
Fifth Suite, the music
Dances its gigueing way
To that low tessitura, it's
An open string end *san pareil.


Author: Nigel Morgan
Date: 17/08/2019

№ 909592

The Sound of a Cello

In the sound
Of a cello lives
A dark prayer,
A dark prayer
From land,
A dark prayer
From sea,

A rosin
Death, designed
And crafted
With blood
And guts
And elements
And trees,

And notes,
Soaked in
Barrels that
Surround and
Wrap me
Like golden

Enters and
Suspends me
Out of time,
And bears up
The world,

Like a dark prayer.

cello,  sound.

Author: Pio Jasso
Date: 09/07/2019

№ 903149

Cello'd Revenge

Softly tensed- a string of cello's harm (ony)
Begins a journey through hollow sounds to soothe
Uplifted pricks of ferocity orchestrate
The rise and fall of inner control lost to tranquility

What of peace remains in melodic conduct?
Unbecoming of such distraught frustration
Two-timed tones elude and mislead
Anger augments the pitch in higher discord

Stressed tethers corrupt and oppressed
Buckle under sighed regrets of torture
Unsatisfied feelings upon completion
Strings snap back and play blood-lust tunes of revenge.

© 2008

cello,  revenge.

Author: Neal Emanuelson
Date: 03/07/2019

№ 898357

The Cello

The cello sings Ave Maria.
Distilled calm; blister packs
In a wet July.

There is peace in every grain,
So fine. Wore away the stone,
Three drownings in the sea.

To build a monument
We settle upon:
Our paradise recovery.

There is warmth after the rain.
Ukulele played on the
Gran Cervantes balcony.
Off-white scars;
Pyramids with no eyes.

Every stoner sleeps.
Every kind heart cries.

The Arc of Life sings a lullaby,
Still I cannot get calm.
In a wet July

A comfort to staying inside.
We tried, wore away our lungs,
Three renewals in the sea.
A leap of faith,

An old keepsake
We contrived upon:
Our lunatic discovery.

There is movement in death.
Pollen falls to the ground;
Exhale of recovery.
Dead-end joy,
Statuettes with no eyes.

Every criminal weeps,
Every kind heart lies.

The cello sings Ave Maria.
The strings that heal
In a wet July.


Author: Edward Coles
Date: 29/06/2019