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Narrative Song Poems | Narrative Poems About Song

These Narrative Song poems are examples of Narrative poems about Song. These are the best examples of Narrative Song poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |


In the warmest of seasons,
when the cheerless moon of a remote town
rises from beyond the fir and maple-covered hills,
in great suspense and silence,
a brief song is played by this guitar
with a few chords and numerous notes:
making up the merriest melody
sustained by a perfect and simple harmony...

I am the author and the composer,
expressing my feelings in an unusual norm,
regardless how the critics will judge it,
for words and music should have an effective form:
free of impurity, lively and up-beat, 
something likable by every singer, 
to make such a unique composition notable,
and be remembered by every mortal... 

I play it to my oldest friend, a royal friend who listens
and seldom gets bored by the lively strokes of the strings;
melancholic moon, I like to see you smile for a change:
to be sad is evoking death itself when no bird sings,
and darkness shows its cadaverous, unmerciful face!   
When fear is very real and perceptible in each sense,
life departs from us and evil spirits frantically dance;
melancholic moon, gaze down and lighten up your rage...

I am no genius or pretend to be, 
and my humanness and wisdom are always
reflected by a justified action and a truthful word: 
to draw the attention of the stubborn;
and playing a brief song with this guitar, elates me
and dissolves my grim look of loneliness,
to  confidently get me through this lovely and eternal night,
but hesitant and murky moon, turn on that luminous light!

Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci

Details | Narrative | |


            A long time ago
            A little boy - he was only three
            Blue eyes and hair white like snow
            The sun was his playmate
            The rain was his enemy
            Drip, drip wet and cold
            He asked for YELLOW boots
            Yellow boots wondered his mom and dad
            Boys use blue or black boots
            No - YELLOW they had to be
            The boy in just three years got new YELLOW boots
            First rainy day the boy was ready
            Drip, drip wet and cold
            YELLOW boots are singing - they will sing the sun back
            Under his big black umbrella
            the boy goes with his singing YELLOW boots
            This little boy was my brother

            * " - A true YELLOW song - "

Sponsor: Monterey Sirak
Deadline	12/15/2013 12:00:00 AM

A-L Andresen :)

Details | Narrative | |

A Land Bearing Green White Green

Which way leads to the 
land of green white 
Which way are we 
   A country the wicked 
bears the rulership, and 
the people sighing 
   A terrible thing sprouts 
beneath the sun: a 
pregnant woman 
delivering not.
Imps come to lime-light 
by snuffing air from the 
goose that laid the 
golden eggs.
The blind guiding the un
The weak suppressing 
the strong-a terrible 
Like the overthrow of the 
gods at Mt. Olympus by 
the Titans.
A country where also 
thieves appear as men of 
Land of green white 
green,which way?
A land where the 
enlightened ones are 
overshadowed and 
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that 
eat the crumbs.
 Which way to go you 
Iliterates stand on 
podium of power 
bellowing orders as milk 
of sorrow known as 
dividends of democracy 
is passed around.
The machine of progress 
manned by the 
"There is better 
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white 
green,my country 
where rule of law walk 
beside anarchy.
The proles are sentenced 
to adversity,and there 
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People 
dancing on thorns 
whimpering as they 
  I see a new sun rising 
from the horizon,hope is 
rekindled as its rays 
grace on hopeless bodies.
 Look!! there soon be 


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Upon The Wind

It was a still October night when I was cold and all alone
as through the forest of my mind in thought I wandered on my own
The moon lay hidden by the clouds that rested heavy on my eyes
and as I stumbled through the dark I felt the wind begin to rise
I heard my name upon the wind as he was flying through the night
he called to me to come to him so he could take me on his flight
In soothing tones he spoke to me, his voice sang gentle through my mind
and in a flowing melody he spoke of wonders I would find

The wind sang out to me that night and with his song I was entranced
and it was windward  my thoughts turned as in my heart his tempest danced
But still my feet stayed on the ground for I was too afraid to fly
and as the wind washed over me in mournful howls I heard him cry
As indecision split my mind my eyes were stinging with my tears
and tenderly with his caress he tried to ease me from my fears 
Across my face his gentle breath had blown the clouds out of my eyes
and then he summoned to the moon who came to light my darkened skies

And when the moon had risen high his servants came into my sight
these waiting visions that I saw were whispers in the silver light
They came to carry me to him who now is waiting there for me
they said they'd help me find my way into his arms where I'd  fly free
They said they wouldn't let me fall, they told me that they understand
and so I let them lead the way as I had given them my hand
Then I was lifted off the ground and we were soaring through the sky
and as I came into his arms he took away my fear to fly

Above the earth he carried me and as I watched it spin around
from in the heavens I could see all of the wonders to be found
I'll fly forever in his arms, among the stars where I will play
across the never ending sky, the spinning world so far away
Upon the wind you'll hear my song as we are sailing through the sky
and joyous is the song I sing as we are scaling ever high
I am alive upon the wind,  I'm flying in his arms tonight
and like an echo I will fade as we are blowing out of sight......

Inspired by Elaine Georges' Tell Me A Story contest

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Swan song

The passionate young man on his way to his love
Walked by a lake carrying a snow-white dove
Inside his shirt he held it close to his heart
When he heard a song - an enchanting work of art

The melody was captivating, full of sorrow -
The cries of a soul for whom there’s no tomorrow
An unknown fear gripped the young man’s heart 
Dark crevasses of life to him were an unknown part

So full of life and hope, inevitability he never had to face
The source of the irresistible sound he wished to trace
He looked behind the dense brushes hiding the water
On seeing a wondrous swan his agitated mind grew calmer

He stood there mesmerized, the scene not comprehending
And a chill he felt from the bottom of his spine ascending
Why does something as beautiful as this must end?
Against a dark premonition himself he could not defend

The song told him everything that was, and ever will be
As he stood there listening, in his mind’s eye he could see
The birth of dreams and hopes, the path and the finish,
The igniting spark, the flame and the death of every wish

The swan sang his last and was swallowed by the lake
Slowly the young man from his vision did wake
He felt the dove in his shirt frantically flutter
He gently held it high and let it go, not a word did he utter

Innocence cannot build his nest in a bosom laden 
And burdened with knowledge so dark and craven
The young man continued his journey to meet his darling
A long shadow followed him in his footsteps crawling

Across the lake on yonder side, hidden by the morning fog
An old man, frail and haggard, sat quietly on a bone-white log
He heard the swan too, and watched it get swallowed by the deep
But at this lonely funeral his half closed eyes did not weep

He felt it in his bones, and knew the end was near 
So the swan song filled his feeble mind with fear
Since he was a young man he searched for the answer
The question being: What comes when to death we do surrender?	

He looked to the sky but in vain, he begged but to no avail
The heavens did not open; his body and spirit were broken
When with the last notes of the swan song resounding
Asking for a sign, he saw a dove above the clouds climbing

On his crooked legs he stood as straight as he could
Raising his hands he pleaded, “Take me, if you would”
The solemn swan song became a victorious celebration,
A joyous symphony of the never ending glory of creation

The frail old body fell back onto the bone-white log
Never again to emerge from that otherworldly fog
But a peaceful smile on the old man’s face remained
Having his long-lost innocence of youth finally regained

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morning shower

Morning Shower

This morning I have carefully slumbered into the bathroom to start the shower
Groggy and tired I turn the control counterclockwise to a satisfying temperature
I step inside the cubical and shiver with the initial shock of water pouring on me
My body starts to melt as the warmth covers me like a warm blanket

Worries and agendas come seeping through the shower tiles like unavoidable green monsters
Clouds of steam give a ferocious roar and the mischievous scoundrels scamper off into hiding,
Knowing that they will return once again

I’m taken to some place new
A beach with sand white as snow and the sun’s rays kissing every inch of my skin;
With the sounds of a soothing melody and a reggae beat off in the distance
I don’t recall the song but find myself knowing every word and sing along,
As my mood is calmed and contented 

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My Song of Painful Plea

Suddenly,wild flames thud out
Of our little kerosene lamp
Mocking flames danced on me
With expertise. their hungry mouths
Ate my perfumed flesh in glee
My manful cries went heaven high
That aunt Priscilla came running wild 
That Wednesday night of 10 November
Began my song of painful plea

Goat burnt skin as soft plum peeled
Sneering scissors thrust stubborn gauze and 
Red rain rush quickly out, then
When on it iodine oil is released 
Tormenting pains my body feel it's when
I begin, my songs of painful plea

My mouth tore in anguished laughter
Myself been prisoner of frustrating pains
When my eyes beheld my white hands
And my skin embellished with ugly scars
My soul  could not but raise that song
My song of painful plea

My song of painful plea
Echoes loud across the sky
For my heart made fragments
Of peaceful past, and a 
Library of scars in each tiny half
My heart will take no more
For I've done no wrong
Let happiness be a distant dream
To them who adulterated our kerosene.
My song of painful plea.

Details | Narrative | |

B52's and Dire Straits

 June 1987. All is well as we sit celebrating 
 my 30th birthday in the best little bar and 
 Dance club in our quiet little town. Empty 
 B52 shot glasses line the table and the 
 mood was PARTY. We all sat laughing and 
 enjoying the evening but then I hear
 a birthday shout out with a dedication
 for my favourite song.
 Dee de, da da Dee de de daa da
 Dada Dee de dada de de de daa da
 Hu hu
 Now I’ll never be able to tell you in which
 order these take place because in my opinion 
 it all happens at once. Your blood pressure 
 rises to 200 over 140, my eyes were popping 
 out of their sockets and I was stumbling 
 to the dance floor with all my friends. We 
 weren’t about to miss one second more then 
 we had too of dancing to our favourite song. 
 With our legs already to go it starts
“Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goodies
 Be-bop-a-Lula Baby what I say.”
 Out on the dance floor that night
 we danced our hearts out and still to 
 this day, when I hear that electric organ
 Playing Dee de, da da Dee de de daa da
 my blood pressure rises my eyes open 
 widely and I start rocking from deep inside
 As I sing. 

 The Walk of Life by
 Dire Straits
 I Love Rock N Roll

Details | Narrative | |

If, for instance

If, for might imagine it all...
Do try,... if you can.......

Pretending, perhaps, that it was long ago....
And let's say,...that you were on the brink of discovery, 
      16 years old, and thinking the world lay at your feet.
      It is the last week of your sophomore year,
      and we would find you at a graduation party, 
      mingling with friends, in the dwindling twilight 

Let us make it a sparkling, warm evening in June.

Try to imagine, if you can, that over the yard and trees
     are strings of little lights, criss-crossed streams of light-beams
         twinkling like fireflies, over the patio, over the yard
             just as the swarm of summer stars 
             are waiting to complete the scene...
Someone may have even set up an old phonograph, so there could be dancing....
Say, for instance,..Johnny Mathis was singing "Chances Are"..
And you are entranced, listening,...sipping a coke or something..

Now, imagine this great looking senior boy,...
         (whom you had seen around school, but had never met)
                        ..walks over to stand by you..,.... can you picture it...?
And let's just say, your heart is pounding nervously,
   and just when you thought you might faint... he asks you to dance!
                          Of course you'll say yes!!,....Just imagine!!....
Imagine then, you are tongue tied....can hardly catch your breath!
And when the song ends,...he doesn't let go of your hand?!

And just about then, .more music fills the air...
        something rare, something beautiful... 
        Something makes you swoon, it's "Moonglow"...just think about it!  
        And the rhythm fits the mood..and your feet seem to move on air

And let's say he begins humming softly, and his breath ruffles your hair.... 
and you close your eyes, he pulls you close, with your head resting with a sigh.....

Then another song, another dance, the phonograph plays on.. 
And the music blends, and the night is long, and you hope the moment never ends

And let's just say, it is very late 
    and your parents will be waiting,....

So he asks to walk you home...and you say, ...well..of course you'll say yes!.... 

And finally....we might have to say..
       ......well,.......what if..., what if from then on...
           he has been the only one who ever,......ever again, walked you home?

               We might just say that,......if only,.... if only you can imagine......

True story :)

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Reaching You

From the moment I saw you,
I'd never stop on dreaming about you.
Every night I watch the skies,
Wishing there I'll see your smile.

And when I reach the stars up high,
I suddenly realized..
Oh, they were so bright
As bright as your eyes

But, I know I'll never be with you
So tonight I'd rather sing this poem for you

Like the stars in the sky
You're so hard to reach
And I don't know why
You're like the stars in the sky
Feels so near but seems too high
Like the stars in the sky
Yea, you've made me smile
Even for a while
But I don't know why
And I have to face the truth
You'll never be mine
Like the stars in the sky
That will never be mine

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The Song Of David

Enlighten days have past
He comes excel in all, so he thinks
"I am greater than man,
I know what ignorant man does not.
Come to me for knowledge unsurpassed!".
He points to the blue heaven,
"Where is thy wisdom? For I know all.
Where is thy command? That makes the ground shake
And brings forth water that lives?"

At the great gatherings,
He flocks the shepherds, blind, mute and deaf  
He answers to the multitude of questions
He asked the shepherds, "but what are thy questions?",
“I know not what do ask a man of your wisdom, but what  is a dream?
What is life?” asked the young herdsman.
"I know not what you speak of", said the Man.
"I only know what i can feel, touch and see"

"A dream is dream that passes us by, like gentle breeze of fresh spring.
Life holds all things mystery and doubts.
Shepherd knows to flock, not life or dreams".
"The shepherds are those who are humble, noble one", said the herdsman
"The blind cannot see, the mute cannot speak and the deaf cannot hear".
"Who are you preaching to? Silent and amaze, the man looks on.  

"If the blind could see you, 
They would say, 'look here is the man who tried to humble the blind
For they can see what others cannot,
If the mute could speak, they would humble you!
And if the deaf could hear they would shamed your wisdom".
"Was I a fool?" said the Man "or are you not that young herdsman?
Who knows nothing of life and passes his days tending the sheep's?
What could you learn from such simpleton life?"

"Life I live is simple indeed, 
No one knows that the shepherds are those who protects the weak"
"Nature is a friend of the shepherd; we sing the song of David
And rubs the olive oil to our young sheep, to keep away the flies".
Insulted, the man's fury turns over to the young herdsman
"Nature? Protect the weak? The song of David? Flies?
How can nature befriend a lonely shepherd? Protect who?
Song of David the Shepherd who became the king? 
What flies would harm the young flocks?"

The young herdsman smiled at the frown face of the man,
Left without a word
The blind, the mute and deaf ignored the man.
An unyielding shame kept the man humbled
He wonders why the young herdsman smiled about.
He came about a bridge and crossed the rocky roads
On the hill top he stood 
And saw the young herdsman singing the Song of David.

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Morning Raga - "Tell Me A Story!"

In the first grey light of dawn, a young woman begins the morning song.
The simple cadences of her song are as tranquil and liquid as the monsoon rain, 
Trickling down the broad leaves in her mother’s garden.
The steady drumming on the veranda roof echoes her rhythms. 

She sings of joys, of sorrows, and of love … always of love … 

This morning song is as familiar and comforting as a lullaby.
Her mother brought it with her from the South, 
And sang it every morning for her father.
Now, she sings for them both, as they begin the day.

Today will be special for her.
She is to meet her future husband for the first time.
She has never seen him, but she trusts her parents’ judgement … 
After all, they love her, don’t they?

She hopes he will be kind, and maybe a little bit handsome … 
Like the boy she’s seen in town.
But she must try to forget him … 

On another veranda, a young man sits silent, listening.
He sits here at every dawn to hear the morning raga, 
Entranced by the voice of a girl he cannot see.

He, too, is to meet his betrothed today.
He wishes she might be a singer, or at least enjoy the morning song,
When she comes to live at his mother’s house.

He remembers a lovely girl he saw … sly glances, shy smiles … 
If his new wife is half as pretty, he will be well content.
Yes! He will … 

He believes his secret is safe, but mothers see everything … 
And his mother loves him. So she whispered to a friend,
And her friend whispered to another, and, well … 
A good husband is not hard to persuade … 

The sun has risen above the clouds.
There is much to do today – and if the young people agree,
There will be a lucky Monsoon wedding to arrange.

But first, the song.

Entered in Elaine's "Tell me a story" contest

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Love Is Most Powerful

The sun cries poorly on the bare skin of my arms
It's dreadful rays melting my eyes burning the lashes
Begging me to wake up and sing a song for it
I sing my song with a voice of a violin
Move my hands back and forth they went
This was back then

I head down stairs with a noisy thump sound of my feet
I hear mom calling up to me
Good morning I would say
Hoping it was a better day
Was I dreaming or hesitating
What it this?

Flashback it was indeed
I have mother or father either
I want them back please!
The devil took them away from me
Now it's his turn for me I defeat

I run to the graveyard realized I cut both feet
I keep going cause that's just me
Running faster and faster 
Ignoring the pain each step I take

Cover with armor rose in my hair
I represent faith and courage I yell about
You can't bring me down this time
I with angels by my side
Can defeat the true power of evil
Leave or be forced to leave!

He ignores and walks away 
In his ugly red palms lies my parents
I love them more than you can kill
LEAVE!  He runs towards me 
I see a white light and head to sleep


I end up in my room still singing
I think to myself and head downstairs
My parents there
What's going on?
Am I alive I say over and over in my head.......
Is this a lie?

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Fill In The Blank

I looked at the room broken bottles blood fragments of clothes.
maybe a tooth from somebody not fast are to drunk to get outta the way of a conversation 
turned bad. 

The juke box had almost made it threw but it just had to
play that one song that caused it to become a target 
for a flying cue ball.

And I herd someone speaking to the toilet I thought maybe 
I wasnt that hungry after all.
As to what caused the riot slash the human tornado of fun I cannot say
But in my opinion that jukebox had it coming always playing the wrong songs at the right 
time no one likes a smartass.

And that drag queen could sure throw a mean left hook.
While looking fierce and lip sinking to madonna at the same time that my friends take true 
talent .

Seems as though the register had went on vacation but they
left the wild turkey and pretzels thank god happy hour was almost apon us.

And theres nothing worse than telling a proffesional drinker as myself 
theres no snacks it's like tellinga kid theres no santa claus. 
And that big fat guy in the red suit with his little dwarfs 
were really just some of momies friends.

I always wondred why santa was so into getting the crap beat outta him
by a woman in a latex outfit calling herself mistress Claus.

Yes coffee always made things better mixed with some of my personal corn whiskey yeah 
grandpa may went insane and herd voices from drinking the stuff but at least he always had 
someone to talk to.

As I looked at the chaos that was my headquarters memories came to me in a flood the 
booth were I met my first wife.
that same booth were i caught her with my best friend and worst enemy and santa i swear 
he gets around.

So much for online dating dam you napster.
I should just stick with street walkers and circus people.

And I think after my tweenty first DUI 
that it was good i never had a license to start with.
cause i really hate losing anything.

It's a shame about my mind.

So really other than this little get togather turned riot turned 
love in turned back to brawl turned into 
big kid slumber party.

It was after the jukebox had to put in it's two cents 
that it all turned to      .

For nothing kills the mood worse than a bad song 
at the right time.

Love always Dr Gonzo

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The Bird Song

   The Bird Song   

Icy fingers from the lake
tenderly caress the dew.
Foggy digits turn to vapor 
when the sun comes into view.

Sunlight bursts into the meadow.
Birds sing the song of a new day.
A family of deer finishing up breakfast.
I watch as the fawn begin to play.

Staring at the splendor of nature I'm humbled
by the magnificent day the Lord has made.
I'm reminded of a game of hide n seek as I watch
the sun playfully find the hiding shade.

The trees changing colors tell the season.
As the warmth of summer gives in to the fall.
Time rolling on in sweet harmony.
The bird song a testimony to it all.

As a visitor to this glorious moment 
I must give the Lord praise,glory,and fame.
After a fleeting look back at the meadow
I shall go back from whence I came.

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Frozen Feelings

Frozen Feelings

Like ice and ice
Satin purple ribbon in between
Describe the lines
Echoes, and voice in between
Like a sculpture of an angel
Holding a frozen ice cold heart
She’s the ice princess of your
Fenced in world
Defined by limits of your own mind
Co-sign her heart to dependence
For you can’t overcome the shadows of your past
And the horns sound
To glorify her
And what are you supposed to do 
When the world adores the ice princess
Of your heart
If only you could melt her
To only to chisel her
Into your truest of true beauty queen
But no she’s your angel 
Frozen and unmoving at times
To an exaggerated few

Sing her praises
Compliment her ways
See the angel and not your past
See the in between lines of what is not being said
Hear the silence of her words
That you are her comfort and company
And your heart is irreplaceable to her
Skate an imperfectly perfect line
As the flowers adorn your love
Yeah,  co-sign your lover and skate 
On the ice in the vehicle of your  chariots
And the song never ends
And the story only bends
And the days grow shorter
And the years grow longer
And together you sing a song together
Melted hearts become one beating 
To the sound of its
Own drum

By Susan Mills

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Voices Rose Beyond the Sea

A song she carries in black locks,
Her treasure brings their ship to dock.
Transparent to the deafened mute,
To eloquent a note to loot.
Set to mesmerize the men,
Fixed upon this maiden gem.
So caught up in her melody,
Forgot a cast beyond the sea.

A drink to her!
Another round!
To satisfy,
A lustful hound.
So beautiful,
A girl so fair;
Like mermaids,
In a water’s lair.

Tonight they’ll empty Davy’s fears,
And bask in heaven’s light and tears.
To smell the lavender and blooms,
A rare treasure sure to lift the gloom.
To drink and sing their past regrets,
tomorrow’s day brings toil and sweat.
For death awaits in lines and sails,
Their true mistress - the sea-bound trails.

Another drink!
And fare thee well…
A tale of wonder,
Sure to tell.
About this night,
Her song will swell -
Above the open sky,
And dwell.

They sailed from Nova Scotia‘s Pier.
The jealous ocean soon brought fear,
As waves as tall as mighty oaks;
Did crash into their fishing boats.
The mast did crack and slam her deck,
The men all struggled soaking wet.
Then voices rose “Farewell to thee,
Our maiden…” then sunk into the sea.

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It  was not an endearing place, a storybook place
With little cottages and
Loaded fruit trees from which apples could be casually filched, 
Nor were there  sparkling streams for pushing hot feet into in July, 
Or even grassy parks where the dog and the kids could romp 
And old men sit and smoke pipes.
My childhood England was industrial, dark  and dirty, 
And instead of the skirl of bagpipes or the weeping of a fiddle, 
There were the round-the-clock sirens and   
Whistle-changes of factory shifts 
And the clash of steel loads being trucked to the docks.

It threatened to suffocate me,
To imprison my mind between slabs of coal and pints of brown ale,
And when I walked the streets in search of meaning I found nothing
Except a weekly cycle of  movies showing how real people lived.

I emerged from  it and never returned  -
And quickly forgot its worthless heritage of coal-dust,   and
Found real places and lived a real life far beyond the horizons 
Drawn by the schools of Gateshead.
Now, however, in the silent moments of creeping age and grown children,
The steep streets pitching down to the teeth of the Tyne
Gnaw into my fattened mind and reach to the bones of my brain
Where the smell of coaldust still lingers -
And always will.
And I feel again the empty  places,  the dark places, the places calling 
My name in a strange dialect I have long abandoned.

Somehow   they seem less  cold and uninviting:
Their song is not off-key;
And the  horizons drawn by my own hand 
Seem to merge together in that blackened townscape.

God forbid I should ever end up there for good;
But I hear its siren song  and cannot shake its 
Foundation stones free of my structured life.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 


Gateshead is an industrial city in northern England.... imagine  Akron, Youngstown, Toledo, Essen, Chemnitz, or similar towns, and it will give an idea of Gateshead.

River Tyne is the river on which Gateshead stands, now a pleasant waterway , then  more like an open sewer.

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winters weapon

the harmony of the clouds
in the sky sing
the silent song of snow
half notes and whole notes
denoted in the air
while winds whistle
and whispers it's constant dare
eye's worship and stare
at the greatness of the shroud
hiding us from the moon
and stars
a frozen blanket stretches
so far
it equals the size of the sea
it speaks in the tongues of winter
cold, freezing and froze
contemporary names
for conditions under it's rule
the powers of the heavens
employ destruction
to those who do not fear
who have not shelter
and are not strong
whom time has scheduled
for an end
rocks break
mountains fall
the sun hath no protection 
for those whom winter covers
with it's shawl
it stands only to witness
the rules of winters regions
the extreme north and south
the white worlds
where solitude is inevitable
and nothing moves 
except the wind
to deliver it's stiffening potion
to liquid beings flowing with 
water and blood
the winter invades the south
with intentions of creating
a new ice age
but sand defends
the southern shores
time and time again
the silent song of the snow
eventually must end
giving in to the sun
to melt the weapons
of winters sin

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Why song birds sing

I sit and wonder why the song birds sing?
Do they even know of the joy they bring?
Are they calling out to join with everyone?
Come fly with me and with the sky be one.

Still they sing, at the beginning of the night.
Take these broken wings join with me in flight.
Open these sunken eyes and learn to see.
Fly into the night and set your spirit free.

They continue to sing, although the light is gone.
Searching for another to send an answer to their song.
The song carries through the darkness of the night.
The moon rises up, the stars are shining bright.

They fly into the tree top where there is a nest.
It seems the perfect spot for a bird to rest.
Deep within the branches I still hear the song.
Soon they will be sleeping, the singing will be gone.

It’s amazing such a sound comes from a tiny bird.
The song rings through the valley, everywhere it’s heard.
I listen to the song then wonder what it meant?
Then I view another to which the song was sent.

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It's so mild in the quite suburbs
with rain falling in October,
and unable to sleep, I face 
insomnia for certain;
rain, keep on falling and let me hear
that steady, pelting sound on
the closed windows....a melody for
the saddest song should be written.

I must choose the right mood,
a minor scale to match this melancholy,
and a slow tempo growing into a crescendo,
and I could even throw in a scherzo;
and transport it with a C Major to smooth
some sadness out of the melody,
which tomorrow somebody
will hum, or whistle by learning the easy tune.

Hoping this song will be a hit,
thanks to the falling rain 
in October for the sudden inspiration...
when I couldn't think of anything else!
Wishing the rain would stop at six,
so I could see the rising sun across
the eastern sky and listen to the lark
that built his nest under my windowsill.

It's past sunrise, and the shimmering clouds hesitate to leave,
and with nothing to look forward to... I must believe
that the rain falling in October, 
can teach me the game of solitaire;
and pinned against my warm pillow,
I don't have anything to share but sorrow!
Flap your wide wings, friendly lark and repeat my song,
note by note; and without a lead sheet, I can't play it for very long...

Copyright by Andrew Crisci

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The Part We Play


As the wind rustles through the sycamore trees,
      It brings such a peaceful spirit that hovers over me.
It’s like the words spoken from a million foreign tongues,
      Hypnotizing and luring is the rhythm as the song is sung.
Ten thousand leaves all move in perfect harmony,
     As the trunk sways gently so majestically.
And the little brook that flows by this little forest of trees,
    Babbles it’s own little song not affected by the breeze.
And standing on her banks is a young whitetail doe,
    Just looking around not caring which way to go.
It’s so peaceful out here it’s like life has slowed down.
     Things are so beautiful when mans not around.
It seems like what ever God creates we have an obligation to mess it up,
     We act more like an unruly and disobedient spoiled little pup.
We’re not in tune to nature we never were,
     We are like the Vikings we’ve ravaged and pillaged her.
As long as we are comfortable no matter the cost,
     It doesn’t matter about tomorrow or if it is completely lost.
So who do we blame if tomorrow doesn’t show.
    It really could happen but who really knows?

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Sitting in my room I sigh
‘What kind of life is this?’
A supernatural song fills my mind
Suddenly I'm not alone
An angel stands before me

Words are useless
And thought are gone
One idea is left
Where this was coming from I do not know
But I obey

My mouth opens
And out flow words and notes not of my knowledge
The song continues
Though there is no music

Abruptly the lyrics stop their movement
The angel steps forward
And I fall on my knees

He touches my head and smiles
'This is God's gift
Use it to its fullest'

My head falls and I sob
'My lips are unclean
My heart is impure
I am unholy'

The angels lifts my face
He touches my lips and my heart
'You are clean
You are pure
You are holy'

Tears fill my eyes
And a lump forms in my throat

Words are unused

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Momma's Love

The wisdom that I learned from her.
    Were like pure diamonds, oh yes they were.
The one true thing I can truly say.
    Is her faith in God and how she loved to pray.
And all the years that I created much pain.
    And I figured somehow I’d cause her faith to strain.
But to my surprise it only grew and it got so strong.
    Still determined as she was to help me along.
She prayed for me with a never ending and a faithful heart.
    She prayed to God that I’d straighten up, and somehow maybe I’d get smart.
Before she died her wish came true.
    I found redemption I was made anew.
 There was a song called “ I Was The Only Hell My Momma Ever Raised.”
     That was my song it fit me in so many ways.
Mrs. Christy wrote a poem called ‘That Mother Of Mine.”
     That got me to thinking on how my mother would shine.
A very kind hearted woman that always to her, her family came first.
    When grandkids came around you’d think she would burst.
I know in my heart she did her very best.
    And if she were given a score she'd get an A+ on this test.
I know I was a lucky man to have a mother that cared.
    And so her memories that come to mind is what I love to share.
The day the Lord took her He took a chunk of me.
     And I love her so and I just thank God for sharing you see.

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Memories Captured in a Song


An old song just came on over the radio, 
   And it took me back to a happy time so long, long ago.
I was young and so were you,
    Two foolish kids having fun and not knowing what to do.
Reaching new heights as our love we shared,
    Searching forbidden places as our excitement flared.
I never dreamed our love would last for forever more,
    As I think back on that night we spent together on that sandy shore.
An enchanting night as you gave yourself to me,
    That night was made to capture all our memories.
A short time later we became wed,
    A whirlwind romance that won’t last is what they said.
Nearly forty years have passed so I guess they were right,
    We haven’t reached eternity the love we pledged that summer night.
But you know it just made our love grow strong,
    As we fell in love listening to the words you said was our song.
You said that song must have been written for just you and me,
    It captured our love forever that night, Thanks for the memories!

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My Favorite Song


The most beautiful and the saddest song I’ve ever heard,
    Was the Old Rugged Cross as I hung on to every word.
It brought sadness the brutal way our Savior died,
   And the way He was mocked, and so viciously crucified.
But His death was short lived,
    His prophecy He fulfilled.
He suffered His death like any mortal man,
    Succumbing to the pain that was part of the plan.
Beaten and bruised before being nailed on that cross,
    The day the world experienced it’s greatest ever loss.
And, yes I do I cherish that old rugged cross with all my heart.
    Knowing that He died for me helps me to play my part.
And the beauty part of the song is where I lay my worldly trophies down,
    Knowing that the Lord Himself holds for me my crown.
Sometimes I see visions of those crosses on that hill of so long ago.
    And I feel like crying out, Stop this madness, Stop it don’t you know?
Then reality awakens me to thought that this deed has already been done.
    Nailed on that cross, Jesus Christ, God’s only son
What He Gave,
     Was probably our only way for us to be saved
So yes I will cling to that old rugged cross,
    For without what it stands for we all would be lost.