The cottage reeks with
fluid tides of hope,
My baby’s here.
I’ve still no word
coming down the line from Dover.
Spring rains have come
and with it comes the tears all over.
I weep again, my child it seems,
will never know her father.
Today down by the spring
I prayed the prayer so often said,
sorrow turned desperation.
I found a ring left in the cup, since
yesterday laying there, scribed “M”
upon a jeweled stone.
My heart leaped in
I heard his voice inside my head,
where also his face I saw.
I turned and looked...
no one was there...
please God give me
this one discretion.
There must be peace somewhere to find.
I look but must be led
by your grace and mercy.
Again at chores, the babe
asleep, the knock came loudly.
A letter from Michael O’brian maam,
please sign here for delivery.
I hurriedly skimmed,
he was dead,
two days before,
Our little Rose, still in my care,
to receive his name
if she so chose
and all else he owned in Dover.
A ring for me
it seems was gone,
a large garnet with the letter M
on the stone, had disappeared
A seed was planted in winter,
planted in sweetness of youth.
It was a gift from Michael.
He left me alone in the spring---yet,
his flower grew in my garden.
Our error was human.
First feeling trapped, then love,
from this Rose in my life.
Forgiveness is divine.
Love is eternal.
11 Jan 2011 Charles Henderson
Copyright © Charles Henderson
Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand,
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could –
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet;
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach,
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing
about our best years – our long ago days together?
If there is any part of that teenage girl
left within that beautiful head of yours…please;
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember?
My love, do you hear?
They’re playing our favorite song…
*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds
I've been a lot of places in this land,
From sea to shining sea.
There's a place in the hills of Arkansas
That means more than them all to me,
A little wildwood church where people meet
To praise the Lord above.
They don't have a lot of money,
But they're rich in a thing called love
You'll see a friendly smile upon each face
The moment you walk in.
They'll make you feel so loved and right at home,
That you'll want to go back again.
They will pour you out a cup of kindness
Then they'll take you home and feed you,
And they'll treat you like family.
You're always more than welcome;
There's no lock upon the door.
There's preaching and singing and praising the Lord,
And they know what the altar's for.
Don't look for a grand cathedral,
Standing proud and tall;
It’s a humble little church, beside the road,
At Ben Hur Arkansas.
Copyright © William Robinson
Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.
I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.
Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.
Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.
This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.
Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Copyright © sara ribar
The times of which the prophets wrote is taking shape at last. It won't be long till
that fateful day we hear the trumpets blast.
The bright blue heavens will disappear, as the stars drop out of sight, the
stillness in our hearts as each day turns to night.
The times of which the prophets wrote we won't have long to wait.
As this was written long ago our destiny our fate.
We've walked not a straight and narrow path now it's time to pay our dues.
It seems the fate of all mankind is in the hands of fools.
This Prophecy is not hard to see it's the coming of the end.
On that day we're all forgiven and free to start again.
The nightmare that we all will share we don't have long to wait.
Yes it was written long ago, our Destiny, our Fate
Copyright © Patrick Foote
Here she comes, walking with pride.
Her face is so vibrant, she looks so alive.
Nothing can stop her, no one dares to try.
Her entire life is corroded with deals, tricks, and lies.
Her beauty is everything, her smile kills all
It brings down the strongest men, makes the highest building fall.
But when she comes home,
The story does change.
Her life’s not so perfect,
The positions rearrange.
Her father's an alcoholic, and not very nice.
She has a brother who gave up on school, and can’t read or write
Of all of her family, her mother is the worse.
Sometimes she wonders if she'll survive this curse.
He mother yells,and tells her that she's no good.
She would give it all up, if only she could.
At the end of the night she goes into her room,
She begins to weep, and eventually cries herself to sleep.
She wakes up the next day,
Puts on a happy face,
And goes to school as if nothing happened the previous night,
Or that absolutely nothing is wrong with her life.
So now that you’ve seen what’s behind the closed door,
I hoped you’ve thought about this girl a little more.
With the utmost respect,
I present to you, the life of someone "perfect".
Copyright © Kelsey Kopec
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
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
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
Copyright © Robin L. Gass
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
Contest Name:THE SOUND OF COLOR
Deadline 12/15/2013 12:00:00 AM
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen
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
Imps come to lime-light
by snuffing air from the
goose that laid the
The blind guiding the un
The weak suppressing
the strong-a terrible
Like the overthrow of the
gods at Mt. Olympus by
A country where also
thieves appear as men of
Land of green white
A land where the
enlightened ones are
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
where rule of law walk
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
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu
TYPICAL 30 - The Start of the 2013-2014 NHL Season
30 of them began their battle with hopeful beginnings
But 14 of them will have their early exit...
As for the 16 teams, their Stanley Cup Playoffs dream begins
The SWEET 16 were chosen, who will be the ones to take the fall?
Round 1 of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
Let the First Round Battle Begin!
SWEET 16 - The First Round of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
16 of them sprinted out from the starting line
But 8 of them fell short to advance...
The Tampa Bay Lightning couldn't produce any more thunder
The Detroit Red Wings ran its last engine
The St. Louis Blues have played its final note
The Dallas Stars could no longer lead the charge
The Columbus Blue Jackets fired its last cannon
The Philadelphia Flyers have crashed down
The Colorado Avalanche buried themselves in the snow
And the San Jose Sharks couldn't take a final bite
The ELITE 8 were chosen, who will the ones to take the fall?
Round 2 of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
Let the Second Round Battle Begin!
ELITE 8 - The Second Round of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
8 of them advanced to the next stage
But 4 of them failed to advance...
The Minnesota Wild could no longer pull a wild run
The Pittsburgh Penguins were left on frozen thin ice
The Boston Bruins were hunted down
And the Anaheim Ducks quacked no more
The FINAL 4 were chosen, who will the ones to take the fall?
Round 3 of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
Let the Conference Finals Begin!
FINAL 4 - The Third Round of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
4 of them advanced to the next stage
But only 2 of them will go to the final stage...
The Montreal Canadiens were left in a cold state
And the Chicago Blackhawks final stand ended in complete defeat
The TREMENDOUS 2 were chosen, who will be the one to win it all?
The Final Round of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
Let the Stanley Cup Final Begin!
TREMENDOUS 2 - The Final Round of the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs
2 of them danced on the big stage
But only 1 of them was crowned as the champion...
The New York Rangers could not lead the way to the finish
The ONLY 1 was chosen, a team who won through it all!
Los Angeles Kings - The 2014 Stanley Cup Champions
Let the Stanley Cup Playoffs End!
Copyright © Nileisha Giselle Deliz Diana
These were my confessions
(A message to God)
The light begins to fade
(It’s time to go)
Back into the shadows
(That hard black fog)
Where darkness has its way
(God rest your soul)
Nothing left to tell you
(It’s all been said)
No more songs to write
(This silent Fall)
Nothing left to offer
(The well’s been bled)
From a shadow’s waning life
(Who lost it all)
Take my words and hold them
(Don’t be afraid)
Place them near your heart
(And heal your pain)
Shadow words will kiss you
(And heal your pain)
When your world turns dark
(Don’t’ be afraid)
And I kiss you
I kiss you in the dark……..
Copyright © Catman Cohen
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
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
I Love Rock N Roll
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans
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
Copyright © laszlo kecsedi
These are my confessions
Secrets of my mind
Everything that mattered
Truth I can not hide
Nothing but a shadow
What I was, What I am
What I’m supposed to be
Forgive me, God, forgive me
For being so unkind
Cynical and blind
To those who thought they knew me
And those who never did
To those who hear my songs
In the places where they live
I offer my confessions
Honest to the core
Offer my confessions
There won’t be anymore
Copyright © Catman Cohen
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
Copyright © Madison Mittelbrun
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.
Copyright © Ingibo Benson
Fender strung upside down
big hands pressing strings to frets.
Woodstocks’ last scheduled act, Jimi
exercized his “Right to Free Speech.”
The world heard an eclectic electric version
of “Star Spangled Banner.” Those notes still
reverberate “All Along the Watchtower.”
“Hey Joe,” “Are You Experienced?”
“WELL, I AM !”
*To honor Jimi Hendrix in Raul Moreno's contest.
Copyright © John Trusty
July 4, 1961
Well HELLO MARY LOU,
You won’t believe this but I just HEARD IT THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE that someone else was
getting a DOUBLE SHOT OF MY BABYS’ LOVE. Right now TIME WON’T LET ME alone ever
since I heard GLORIA saying please, BE MY BABY. I was just WALKIN’ THE DOG when I SAW
HER STANDING THERE. She came right out and told me she would GIVE ME SOME LOVIN in
the MIDNIGHT HOUR. She guaranteed we would feel JUST LIKE ROMEO AND JULIET; all I
had to do was HOLD ON TIGHT. But I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW, thanks to the warm
I remember when I was playing the field; all I ever thought was WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN
LOVE? I’d give anything to get back to someone like sweet little SHEILA. You remember her
don’t you? OH DONNA, if your sister lets you read THE LETTER I wrote from SAN
FRANSCICO, you know I’d be taking ROUTE 66 back to see that little BROWN EYED GIRL.
Then maybe CUPID can draw back his bow because until now this TRAVELING MAN
has just been SINGIN’ THE BLUES.
I’ve got to find some kind of LOCOMOTION because WE GOTTA GET OUT OF THIS PLACE!
Maybe I could hitch a ride with MUSTANG SALLY; you know I was BORN TO BE WILD if I’m
thinking of asking her for a ride. Remember when you and I used to cruise down to
PALISADES PARK just to KEEP ON DANCIN’ to ROCK AND ROLL MUSIC on a BEAUTIFUL
SUNDAY afternoon. If it rained we kept time with the wipers and the RHYTHM OF THE RAIN.
By the way, did you hear that BONEY MARONEY really did DO RON-RON after she drank that
bottle of LOVE POTION # 9? I guess it is just another example of we really have to LOVE
ONE ANOTHER because a little SUGARTIME will go a long way towards making it a
Poor LOUIE LOUIE told everyone that I FOUGHT THE LAW after spending a few hours
drinking down at MARGARITAVILLE, don’t believe him. There are always two sides to every
story and BLACK IS BLACK because THAT’LL BE THE DAY I’d be handcuffed by that CHAIN
IT’S MY PARTY next weekend but it will be just ANOTHER SATURDAY NIGHT unless I can find
a little RUNAWAY to be my DREAM LOVER. After all, what would a WORLD WITHOUT LOVE be
like? If I can’t hook up with her, DO YOU WANNA DANCE the LA BAMBA, or maybe LET’S
TWIST AGAIN? We can do anything that you wanna do but LET’S DANCE to that hot little
oldies band called THE RUNAWAYS.
All my Loving,
*Written as a tribute to a local 50’s/60’s cover band called the “RUNAWAY’S” using their play
Copyright © John Trusty
If, for instance.......you 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 :)
Copyright © Carrie Richards
Seriously thinking of calling it quits
I'm rapidly running out of gas
Dragging up stuff from the bottom of the barrel
Scrounging around looking for inspiration
Can't seem to find any anymore
Think to myself it'll pass
Not quite so sure this time around
Maybe just the mood I've been in lately
Lost my fun loving approach to things
Perhaps my age is finally having an impact
And I'm finally growing up
Well whatever the reason
It's not exciting and new anymore
Everything has a beginning and an end
I am not resigning from the site
I am just backing off a bit
I have too many friends here that I would miss
I hope you will all understand
You guys are and have always been
© Jack Ellison 2014
Copyright © Jack Ellison
Deep in the woods I hear an angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.
Where the oaks and wildflowers shade the creek,
reflections fall to earth from rays of destiny,
refreshing my soul and setting my spirit free.
I smell the aroma of rain mixed with the paradise breeze.
Tranquil and serene, a natural wonder and rainbow of peace.
A cascading sparkling jewel,
above a wave rippling whirlpool.
Upon the wind rides the angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.
Copyright © shannon farlouis
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
Copyright © Stephanie Sinday
It's confusing, the way the song is made.
It can tell so much
With so little use of words.
When I hear these words,
They so much as motivate me more than I think they should.
I begin to play the song over and over, and several times again.
The words mesmerizing my being, clinging to my mind.
But then I catch myself singing the words,
Serenading a crowd of no one
For I had always like the feeling of loneliness.
I try to stop myself
But the words flow from my lips like liquid.
I know just what I am saying, but the meaning is lost to me.
Such a beautiful noise I was creating.
But dumbfounded I was..
When the song comes to an end
And the lyrics came no more.
I close my eyes
And start to think to myself,
It's confusing, the way the song is made.
Copyright © Shalaya Sandness
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.
Copyright © LIde Sangtam
On arrival in the American Outback I was warned.
“ Beware of the red man.”
“ He is a lazy drunk.”
“A dishonest gambler.”
“And makes an unworthy neighbor.”
In the late summer heat of a state fair,
I discovered an expansive white tent.
A native greeted me with respect at the entrance.
He granted my children each a small gift,
and invited us to watch a performance.
I warily seated my family on folding chairs.
The floor beneath us piled with fresh straw.
A handful of locals drifted in from distracted crowds.
The din of the tractor pulls, cattle auctions,
and singing celebrity impersonators carried under canvas.
Moccasins ushered in a distinctive young woman,
wearing a deer skin vest fringed with tiny beads,
an outfit untouched by machine.
Her long black hair brushed to a single braid,
hung perfectly on her proud back.
She summoned a hand carved wooden flute
from her pack, and lifted the object to trained lips.
Slow, haunting notes ran together without seam,
falling like dry, colorless leaves upon sacred ground.
The tone, somber yet peaceful, filled the still air.
A conveyance of subjugated emotion sprung forth,
from a language untranslated yet comprehended.
The sorrows of centuries washed into my blood.
No longer did I sit at a common fair.
The melancholy song of the native maiden had transported all.
The seeds of iniquity, spread by the winds of fear,
washed from my being. Mystically cleansed,
by music from a pure source.
This native woman had cast a spell.
The prison of ignorance crumbled before me.
Copyright © Michael Wayne
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
Copyright © Frances King
I dont know much about her
but I heard she wasnt that talkative
She didnt like being alive
She was numb to all the pain she had to go through
I heard she didnt like anything that was green
She ate roman noodles everynight for supper
She always wore flannels and bellbottoms
Sometimes i seen her wear dresses and fancy tops
But lately shes been wearing band shirts
She wears converse shoes and uses an army bag for school
I know that she dosent like to communicate through talking... only through her peoms
or sometimes even her songs.
I see her drawing and painting all the time
She draws famous people
She would like to be famous and not so unknown
When she tries to speak to anyone they always walk away and leave her alone
When she gets home she goes upstairs to play her bass guitar
She hates chocolate cake but loves chocolate
Her family left her behind because she cant forget her past
Sometimes when shes alone she contemplates the meaning behind her life
Her favorite color is gray because her life is black and white
Everything she says is false according to the world
She is not so innocent
I understand that she dreams about the perfect life
When she opens her eyes they are pitch black
She is someone that is fake
She acts nothing like she should
She is very grungy and unclean
She knows of no safety
and of no time
Her life is smashed into pieces by the giant sun
She will always be a ghost
She knows of no god
She crawls around in the world of death
She remains forgotten
Copyright © Shayla Dendinger
A song of songs
Of a love so strong,
A serenade of love-
The inexpressible,now heard
Spelt out ,in passion's word.
Full story @Song Of Solomon
Copyright © Brian Strand
With every note there comes a motion
With every motion another note
Simultaneous facial expressions form
From harmonious melodies the guitarist wrote
He unselfishly shares his immensely sharp talent
With patrons he lovingly calls friends
Grateful friends that listen in true adoration
Hoping and praying his performance does not end
They cannot help but twist and shout or simply tap their feet
To the tireless momentum of lightning fast fingers
Evoking emotions that mesh with the beat
Bringing feelings of thrills that forever linger
The crowd cheers on as the guitarist performs
Casting expressions through sounds being born
From his guitar that exudes a true love of life
Exalting to feverous peaks of delight
The guitarist will be the first to tell you
That his out of this world talent is not of his own
In humble hesitation that exists in his voice, slightly trembling
Spills out confessions for God’s Love, all powerful, never ending
Author: David G. Pennington
Copyright © David Pennington