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Song On Writing And Words Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Song

These Song On Writing And Words poems are examples of On Writing And Words poems about Song. These are the best examples of Song On Writing And Words poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Rhyme | |

Heart of Fire

As I sit in front of these black and white keys,
I can't find the right tune to flow with my breeze..
I stare out the window, over the trees and past
the sky of mine..
Searching for a word and note that can capture
my feelings in a rhyme..
Sometimes a world away or a mile, but still out of
reach to hold..
Then my fingers move and a thought comes out
with a melody not yet sold..
A song of peace, a song of desire..
That builds in my mind and a heart of fire..


Details | Lyric | |

An Ordinary Man

I want to be inspired to write
    a song people really want to sing;
I want to be inspired to compose
    a requiem for the King;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
    doing the best I can
        at writing poems
            that have no homes.

I want to be inspired to find
    a cure for this cancer thing;
I want to be inspired to reach
    out for the golden ring;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
    doing the best I can
        at getting by
            with the good old college try.

I want to be inspired to lead
    a revolutionary coup;
I want to be inspired to be
    the best at everything I do;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
    doing the best I can
        to make ends meet
            and not live on the street.

I have the motivation;
I’ll put in the perspiration;
I can give it concentration;
But, I lack the inspiration;

Inspire me.
What will it take to inspire me?

I want to be inspired to write
    a song people really want to sing;
I want to be inspired to compose
    a requiem for the King;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
    doing the best I can
        at writing poems
            that have no homes.


Details | Verse | |

Poetry in Process

For night long 
No sleep came 
But song and song and song 
Melting in the candles' flame 
Of thought, fore I wrote them all 
That with silvern flashes broke 
The net and swam, and swam, and swam 
In a pool gulping words, then choke 
Upon the imagery of the lamb 
Bleating where no shepherd hears it call. 
I reeled them out and in again 
Each rhyme a little hook 
While the boat throbs with the strain 
Of waves opening like a book. 
Can you see my freckled sea 
In the night all night long 
My sleep tortured by a song


Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.


Details | Cinquain | |

Blind I Walk With Only Sound

Blind, I walk tap tap
to find my way, rap echo.
Sing song carry me
home to you, bring it home tap
straight to my heart so I hear.

When I see the beat 
boomerang back rap to me
I know your sound space
I know the song of your sense
I hear the cry of your dream

The echoes build loud
Add fluid to the white space
Thoughts of listeners
Adding additional beat
Making new heart, soul, song, sound 

One by one you come
One by one you come online
Choir adding rhythm rip
choir adding some  filigree
add understanding to world

What the rap you make
What the taps you spell out loud
Becomes an image
Shared by all who listen, sing
Wonderful sound, our heartbeat.


Details | Rhyme | |

A Song Unsung

A song unsung is not a song Until the music plays. And the verse meant to come alive Is just a meaningless phrase. But there is no song without the words That give meaning to it all And to separate the two will bring Nothing you’ll recall But if the two are blended In a very special way Something magic happens That you don’t see every day. You’ll find rhythm in the music, And a rhyme for all the words And if you listen closely Angels can be heard. To put it all together May seem a mighty chore For what you’re really looking for No one’s heard before. The words may come from wisdom Or from deep within your heart And the chord that brings these words to life Requires a very special art Then, when you think it’s finished, And all the work is done Just give it one more edit And then enjoy the fun. Written by John Posey 04/02/13


Details | Lyric | |

I Can't Say It Without You

I was your never ending composer
We spent many a nights, and many an hour together
But now you’re lost inside
And I can’t find my way, again.

( chorus )
Cause I can’t say it without you		
It hurts to be without the feeling		
Never knowing when it will return		
But I know that you would stay with me	
If you came back, again some day		
But till then I’ll wait till you appear.	

I really miss the way you make me feel
People said we were meant to be together
Why’d you leave me so unexpectedly
I hope you come back soon.

( Chorus )

It’s been two months since I’ve written you
All I’ve got to show is crumpled bits of paper
The passion and creativity is now gone
So come back home so I can work it out.	


Details | Haiku | |

All About the Music: Sole On Soul

Click clack; Sole on soul.
Swaying shoes to the rhythms 
The beat makes you whole.


Details | Haiku | |

All About the Music: The Infinite Magic of Lyricism

Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.


(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Concrete | |

LET ME LIVE FREE

Your company restricts me,
To get around with others in world.
Whenever walks with you,
Assumes there are only me and you.

Forget my pains,
With you only bliss is what I gains.
Even in the darkness,
My every way is enlightened.
The reason was your glowing face.

Today got to know,
You want to remain free.
You believe in living without any bounds and so love,
But trust me,
Instead of getting nervous, I thanked you.
I am not upset for the reason
that we can’t be what I desired.
Though you’ve broken my heart,
But you thought me, “IT’S BETTER TO BE FREE”
Thank you!

My morpho was in my world,
But soul was entirely with you.
Now; let me also live free,
Want to fly in azure sky, like you….

Those streets started calling me,
Where I used to stroll all alone.
Again the emptiness wants to be with me,
With whom I used to stay till yet so long.

You will be always in my heart,
As a friend, but not as its part.
I wanted you in my life,
Now I desire purity of your heart.
Under any circumstances,
I’ll stand by your side.
If you’ll be alone,
I’ll come near to you.
In your bliss,
I’ll laugh with you.

You believed that song was more important for me than you,
How could I tell you?
That song had feeling of you in it…..

More is there to tell you,
But don’t want to make this poem endless.
Rest other remained things,
You can find in my eyes when we’ll meet next.

Request you don’t take my heart away,
Now let me live like you
Without any bindings, restrictions, obstacles
Without love.

LET ME LIVE FREE……..


Details | Rhyme | |

The Muse Has Gone

I think I may write, but of what I am not sure
It could a be a love verse or one not so pure
I think I would like to write a verse on love and life
But it gets so hard and can be full of such strife

What can I write for this new one-to-one
My thoughts are dried up, and now they are gone
The muse she has left me, what am I to do?
I will just send these lines, as they are now to you.

Please do not judge me, if I get it wrong
But this is a breeze, I may now write a song
A song of love or a song on what will be will be?
Come muse I beg, send a new thought down to me.

No I am not there yet, I can’t think of a new one
So I give up on this piece that was for the one-to-one.
I will do the next one when I know what to say
So this is the end of it, I will send this one your way.

© 13/01/2013

Contest Entry One To One


Details | Light Poetry | |

The Ones That Get Away

The best ideas come to me when driving or asleep

When driving 
I often have an out of body chuckle
as during the eureka moment I look down and see myself w/
one hand on the wheel the other 
frantically digging in the back seat of the car in search of 
a pen, a purpose, or my notebook with the snoopy stickers . . .

whichever comes first

In the midst of this confusion
the phone begins its siren song from some location
Southwest of my foot
Thinking this could actually be someone, everyone - anyone
I drop my pen begin to search 
Finallyfinditdesperatelypushbuttonsputituptomyear
but no one is there
kind of like my life 

Oh but when I’m asleep things are different . . .

When asleep, I know restless rest of the damned
Those in daylight held back from true knowledge of man
Inspiration waits just by the palm of my hand
To thumb a ride with me up out of dreamland
Deep conscious-filled concepts - like e-mail spam
Give me hope that I am not a poetic ham
They ache in my soul, till before you I stand
With this song in my mouth and my heart in my hand

They wait with great patience for me to wake up
And dispense knowledge that waking doubts can’t corrupt
Stir emotions, feelings, dreams, disrupt
Status quo, preconceived notions, closed minds and such
But It’s over the limit - becoming too much
I turn I twist wrestling with ideas I clutch
The tail end of a mind-blowing image of such
A unfathomable concept, there’s just not enough

Time to develop before the abrupt
Sound of my clock says it time to get up
(I gotta’ have something to write down this stuff!)
A recorder, a notebook, it’s getting quite rough
To remember the concepts that followed me through
The entire night so I’d bring them to you

Wait. A cat with a hat - a ball in the hall . . .

Was it really that simple?  Was that really all? 
There has to be more, I remember it well
I dreamed of a poem as savvy as hell!
It was deeply poetic, insightful as well. 
Could fix the whole world in the places it ails but
I just can’t recall it . . . my memory fails

Ideas also come when sitting quietly at my desk 

There I sit in peace 
writing poems that are not in the form of car hieroglyphics
rare thoughts that sometimes make sense
and would make me happy
If my nose didn't burn with the exhaust 
of all the ones that got away


Details | Free verse | |

Thoughts of A Song Writer

From my thoughts on the paper in which it lies, 
My everlasting passion is inked as it dries.
The way I feel inside, you might want to spy,
But if you pry, how will my lyrics surprise?
A song for thought will only leave a thought.
May sound difficult, but that’s just how I talk.
I was lost, but I found me.
Dreaming and believing that writing was my key.
The way it flows and the way that it goes pumps me to speak
the very thoughts that many minds chose to keep.
Many rocks I’ve kicked and many decisions I’ve made.
Any wrongs I take the blame.
Tic-tac-toe is only a game.
I plagiarize your eyes with the notes that I’ve taken,
A high note here and a low note there-
You’d swear I’m in your head when my song hits your ear.
Pain recognizes pain
And I’ve have my share of bandages.
 My vibes from life heals the permanent damages.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
Reaches farther beyond the beat,
Over the lyrics on the sheet,
Not only is it about the speech,
 But more of what the message seeks.
True enough a theme is touched and a heart is rushed.
With the mind-throbbing picture disappearing 
Through the ink of my pen and revealed through your lens,
You can’t hear me, but do you feel me?
I cherish my talent and where it could possibly sweep me.
My doubts and my worries are beneath me.
I love for brighter days and pray for more things to pave.
Call my life my number because its infinite.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
My mentality drips it.


Details | Ballade | |

CAGES

                           

                                    ***

A day can crumple like discarded verse,
Poets pat the hands of weakened hours,
Time will not heal and its ways are terse,
We mop its brow, bring it dying flowers.
Due to its disdain, within we cower
for the dearth of minutes and blank pages
that can either impeach or empower
enslaved words kept in wrought iron cages.

The past can debate, draw blood and curse,
Behold sunken motes, cold, lofty towers,
All scribes hide old wounds, unable to nurse
what rots under skin, hardened and sour,
Red carnage disguised by rose and bower.
Minds and hearts jar, the old battle wages
in lines that cleanse, but can never scour
enslaved words kept in wrought iron cages.

All prisons hold, most refuse to disperse,
and walls are thick between act and ardor,  
We bards ache for paths we can not traverse,  
Oh, the pen should surrender to splendor,
Remain unshackled, free from marauders 
and villains that consume us in stages.
Life downs rhymes, a thousand tasks devour
enslaved words kept in wrought iron cages.

Tonight I write, release autumn showers,
but a song for a winter’s night ages
in its cell; oh, the sighs which escape our
enslaved words kept in wrought iron cages.




For Francine's Gordon Lightfoot Contest
Song used: Song for a Winter's Night


Details | Free verse | |

My Song- (Solfège)

Do- Re- Mi-

Do..Dodo flightless bird
fearless of humans; easy prey!
Extinct so long many believe you a myth....

Re master of universe
mirror image of Ra...worshiped
by millions seeking a ray of hope..
a ray of sunshine warming heart and soul...

Mi.. Mi.. ME
Calm me.. breath..deeply breath..
help me.. bless me.. sing my song..
Do - Re- Mi-

Fa- So- La-

Fa away from everything;
everyone I love.. wishing..
dreaming.. desolate..

So- so- Sewing
Grandma's old sewing machine..
bright colors.. tiny stitches..
warm quilts... So- so- Sew!

La- La- La-
Sadness.. Dark.. gloomy..
overwhelmed.. lonely.. Tears..
La-La-La-...LA! LA! LA!

La- Ti- Do-

ti-Ti- piercing.. Heart weary.. 
Ti.. Ti.. Tea!
a hot cup with lemon and honey..
faith....hope.. a ray..

Do- stronger now!
Do- Do- Do what you have to!
find strength.. it's there..deep inside you..
survive! grow! learn! LIVE!!

do- re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do...
DO- RE- MI- Fa-So- La- ti-  do!


Details | Free verse | |

Words, Song of

Created by this ink
These words sink 
Unto a page
Forever Woven

I’m the creator of these words
Father of these letters
My soul, Fiery, ignites
Life born into shapes

Lord of Words 
I’m the weaver of this ink
Woven into a quilt
These words tell a story

With the breath of life
I read these words aloud
They are not words, alone
But another life unfolding

Beyond your wildest dreams
Words let you escape
Into a world unforeseen
Either cold or full of life

A beautiful life
Set for a strife
Or a deadly soul
Setting no goal

Blessed blood
A black heart
The running ink
Like blood in veins

A pen is a sword
Destroying a life
Or sacrificing one
From only ink

Separated by pages
Chosen by readers
A book only given life
Over only openings

Secluded on a dusty bookshelf
Or stacked a tower 
Seen by many
Read by few

Words are a song 
Singing a life
Into a book
Awakening a soul

Pleading to fly
Into the mind
Of a lover 
Of life

Beautifully written
A life unspoken
Words are wrote 
On a dreary night

Beckoning Elements
Fire, Water, Earth, Wind
Into its pages 
Scenery unfolds

Forever and ever
A book brings many things
Into this world
Such as a Song of Words


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fabel38

 Fabel38 
Fabel38 
 
 
Pheonix 
 
 
CharlaxFabels 
 
 “Pheonix is experimental courses involving the release of prisoners into society”: 
Professor Hardon was now speaking to his children “he was thinking of them 
already as his child and children he was daydreaming of a future world 
populated by his prisoners released into Society to jerk the world around on HIS 
string. When you do a book report eye the TUTOR have to grade them please 
read only CharlaxFables so you will learn something better and eye can pass all 
of you with highest honors. The Bathroom has been painted and the graffiti is 
fresh and it has to be one of you. NO almost Screaming Tommy Gunn jumped up 
and SPEWED his filthy words at the teacher. We think it is the girl that works as a 
Library assistant for she is not helping the people who are not students. The 
rules would work in a NAZI society there would be no loud talking in the library 
they Matron would walk among the computors and swing her MILLYCLUB if 
someone snickered. The portable classrooms have not yet arrived and the 
prisoners keep milling about in the library chasing a hope and a dream to the 
door of a classroom hoping it will magically appear in front of them while Charlax 
cries. 
 Plugs are not available only in the outlets at the mall where you can also buy 
coffee in a latte snicker at the freezing cold and hold thy nose with burgers 
smelling like a dead old cow went yearning in the afterbrushes reeds and 
rushes in the ditches working on the center stone of the idea of the century. The 
Pig is dead the Rat is born a Chinaman's surprised the chinaberry's were so 
plastic tasting never boiled them never tried them after fried in oil and butter and 
the batter would be better with some butter and some soil. A man told me bugs 
are good sources of protein how can one man go so very wrong he is not alive in 
the same sense as ewe and eye. The semblance of an android to this human 
image eye become is striking mee on both my nerves today seems like a 
memory of half baked love. The Pheonix is now rising up the ashes of the 
judgments' won. 
 The Tutor is the elephant. The classroom is the world the students are the girls 
in love. The lady has a favorite song 

ewe aer my song 

my hearts desire 

my love of fortune 

smiling down 

my sweetYheart ewe 

my early life 

my later years 

my only love 

a song 

The Teacher is a ruler and a lover of the song. 
The professor is a lover and a ruler of them all. 


Details | Ballad | |

Sing A Song Of People

Sing a song of people
Walking fast or slow;
People in the city
Up and down they go.

People with their hats on,
Going in the doors.
People with umbrellas
When it rains and pours.
People in tall buildings
And in stores below;
Riding elevators,
Up and down they go.

People walking singly,
People in a crowd;
People saying nothing,
People talking loud.
People laughing,smilling,
Grumpy people too;
People who just hurry,
And never look at you!

Sing a song of people
Who like to come and go;
Sing of city people
You see but never know!



Details | Free verse | |

Writing my reading aloud

Reading poetry
and writing poetry i realize
that creative writing it is soo expressive that it is best produced
when actually talking almost
out loud in your head
slowly dramatically physically producing audible sound in your head
like tiny little speakers

and reading other peoples 
works
of art
out loud to see their pauses
and ponder the voice
as to wether the were
a las
lonely in a bed 
of thorns
or tired 
of coughing from a broken iron lung


and when you find the audience of which whom you entertain and they slide away 
and you rebirth your self again
and the major audiences are grasped at
the several voices of target audiences appealed to in on e piece
you have a best seller
and this is your royal novel sucker patrol routine

When i make a cd i pick the best song of every abulm i have on a disk
and the best song of those disks into themes
and write one line form every song into a data base then organize those 
sentences into rhymes and different themes
see what missing in the vocabulary of sang language
as we fit this and that memorized busted 
all you did in school all day when you taught me a s a teacher was read stuff out 
of text books and then regurgitate it anyway where you just made up the answers




Details | I do not know? | |

A Song For The Angels To Sing

Last year I knew a poet that died,
He was tired of suffering
I wander if he’s still writing now
Writing songs that the angel’s to sing.

I know he made it to Heaven so fair
But I’m still left wandering.
If this servant of God is still writing songs
Writing songs for the angel’s to sing.

I know my uncle’s in the presence of God
I want to know what in Heaven he’s doing.
I figure he’s still doing the writing he loves,
He’s writing songs for the angel’s to sing.


Details | Narrative | |

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.