An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
Memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes of music come wafting down its stairs
So poignant is its melody that my poor heart tears.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
When I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory
Picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed.
And a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
And I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Dear ghost valentine, will you please return
And play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
For the I Ain't Afraid Of No Ghosts Contest of Casarah Nance
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
We danced amongst the stars that night
when joy had fallen far from sight
We danced under the sun so bright
And when all seemed lost, we held on tight
We danced to the music of hummingbirds
And we danced in the silence when there were no words.
We danced in the shadows of fear and doubt
And we danced when we questioned what life’s about
We danced amongst the evergreens
That posed for painters winter scenes.
We danced in the winters bitter chill
And when we danced our world stood still.
For that’s what love was meant to be
To find the dance when we cannot see.
To write a new song when the music stops
With lyrics that caress every tear that drops.
For when the rhythm changes and tempo slowed
We’re called to dance with the seeds we sowed.
For life is hard, there is no doubt
But Dancing through it, is what life’s about.
Copyright © Bernard Colasurdo | Year Posted 2012
In harmony that the angels hear
Sweet music of a Midnight Clear
With reverent voices, in joyful mode
A sacred song of long ago
A velvet night while stars appear
Old carols sung on captured ear
Around a piano, where candles glow
Outside the air, with breath of snow
A fireside, where flames enchant
Old memories, from lips recant
'Neath mistletoe, two lovers kiss
A soul renewed, a spirit lifts
Some lift their glass to make a toast
While others sing of Heavenly Host
Beneath a tree, the children guess
Then off to bed, with kisses blessed
In harmony that the angels hear
Sweet music about a Midnight Clear
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
Inside pub steins stout magic spoke
‘neath genie wisps of bangle smoke
Brown cone cigars, deep chubby pipes
Aromatic spills to breach the night.
Music calls to muted songs
Rough knuckles echo Bodhrán drums.
Flute, melodeon, bouzouki*, mandolin
Penny whistles, uilleann pipes, one feisty violin.
Pied piper rhythms, pied piper beats
Bold Celtic persuasions to move proud legs and feet.
To Daver and friendship, thank you!
* Bouzouki...A stringed instrument that could stand up to the volume and intensity of fiddles, flutes, accordions, and pipes.
*uilleann pipes...Irish bagpipes...melodeon. an Irish accordian
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2014
Ah! To bask in the melodious harmony of orchestral violins and dream!
'Tis as soothing as the music of water rippling along a meandering stream!
'Tis as smooth as golden honey flowing from a splendid crystal jar!
'Tis as pleasing to the soul as legions of angels' harps heard from afar!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 7 in Dr. Ram Mehta's "Music and Meditation" Contest - April 2011
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
Have you thought about the music to send you on your way
If they played you Bach not Beethoven would there be hell to pay
I had to make the difficult choices when my father died
Mario Lanza ‘I’ll walk with God’ – oh how my mother cried
The Lithuanian National Anthem, of his heritage dad was proud
I can still picture him proudly singing it; he always sang it loud
Gaudeamus Igitur was another favourite song of dad’s
He would sing it regularly when he had a beer with the lads
Maybe its time now for you all to think ahead
For it will be too late when you are already dead
So think about the songs that you would choose
Do it while you are still here – you have nothing to lose!
16th August 2015
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Hearing talented young voices provides such pleasure
In our quest for America’s latest idol treasure
Next year the judging panel will not be the same
The man we love to hate will leave for bigger game
What will it be like without the infamous scowl
Of the Brit who tells it like it is -- Simon Cowell
“That was simply dreadful,” says he with a wry smirk
“You came off karaoke; it just didn’t work.”
Randy asks, "Yo, Dog, what's with the off-key pitches?"
Ellen’s there for laughs; she leaves us in stitches
Kara strokes her long, brown hair, bats her lashes too
Asks Casey to remove his shirt, flirts as he follows through
But Simon never offers consolation prizes
Contestants' egos crash down as their anger rises
If he tells Big Mike he sounds karaoke
We may find Simon adrift in the Okefenokee
Choosing a replacement will surely not be easy
Adam Lambert? Paula's return? Oh, it makes us queasy
Simon will be missed, the show will suffer ratings
Viewers may depart for loss of the man they’re hating
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
If I were to work a miracle I know what it would be
In selfish quest I'd ask to grow in someone's company
Then we could prosper sharing precious moments in life
If I could have the same children, I'd pray she would be my wife
I would treasure the ground she walks on, in joyous harmony
For before I requested this miracle, she opened my eyes to see
Many things we share, architecture and music are two
There's history and geography, she says binds me and you
But it's the music that cements us, especially with Queen
If I were to work a miracle, then this would be my dream
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011
Jean Valjean was a bad convict
With Javert he had a conflict
For nineteen years the con went to jail
When his plan to steal bread was a fail
When he got out, he was ignored
He was by the people abhorred
A bishop welcomed him with open arms
Unaware of the con's great harms
Some precious silver was stolen
But it made the bishop solemn
But finally the con became good
And became the mayor of towns he would
Copyright © Phoebe Irawan | Year Posted 2014
UNWANTED VIOLIN SOLO
She wrested notes from unwilling
And resisting rosined string.
The rhythm struggled to assert control
Over her strained and anxious soul.
Mother shushed her resisting offspring,
Father struggled with his watch’s mainspring.
Children twisted hair and faces :
All wished to be in other places.
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2013
Synopsis: The events in this poem never actually happened. I wrote this in a metaphor to
express what was going on at the time.
The stage lights up,
The curtains rise.
I raise my head,
And look in your eyes.
Sounds come through,
The music plays.
This song's for you,
You're in a daze.
The crowd is vast,
The fans are crazed.
You're leaving fast,
You looked amazed...
I keep on singing,
I don't understand.
Your ears are ringing,
I look at the band.
They're still playing,
I walk off stage,
Drop the mic,
I'm running for you,
And you look back,
You keep walking,
It feels like a smack.
I know you don't like it,
When i leave,
Pick up the mic,
And make you grieve.
There isn't much time,
At all anymore,
To see you be mine.
The music took o'er.
You couldn't take it,
Thats why you left.
I know I missed.
I know you planned,
And I ignored.
Now I'm banned,
From entering your door.
I finally catch up,
Tell you I'm sorry.
You give me a hug,
That night so starry.
I left the band,
We both kissed again.
I hope you understand,
I loved you more then.
Copyright © Parker Dellinger | Year Posted 2010
His freak flag is still out there flying; He never has put it down;
Hope for peace and power to the people; will stay with him; as long as He’s around.
People make remarks about it; and act like they don’t care;
But he bets some wish it was; those days of flowers and flowing hair.
Everybody’s joining up; with the popular opinions;
And persecuting those who chose; not to live in there dominion.
Is this the new reality; if you wear it you can own it;
Or is reality only that which is; convenient for the moment?
Today He pulled his music out; and played some old time tunes;
Savoy Brown, Electric Flag and the dark side of the moon.
Now here we are with newer days; and we still can’t ban the bomb;
How long before the words “we trust in God” from money will be gone?
Oh yeah He trusts; He trust that Standard oil still pays no taxes;
And when put to the forefront most of us; will claim that all’s well when they ask us.
Then again somebody could wind up dead; stranger things have happened you know.
John's dead so is Bobby, Martin too; and all the witness at the grassy knoll.
Need attention, hell yes; He’s looking for anyone who really is paying attention;
And not too busy living out life’s negative contentions.
Black power, women rule, east side, west side; but we the people; grow pale
We’re living in a type of matrix telling us not to pass go but go straight to jail.
Oh your pardon, you’ve never been behind bars; bars don’t make the prison you see;
If you take a closer look; you might notice your choices really aren’t that free
Tell him the answer to this; why are we always making people do things our way;
Does this country really try to liberate; or just make a junior U.S.A.?
I’ll tell you what he thinks; we’re to busy trying to survive to bother with injustices;
He thinks that’s how the bureaucrats want it; and he supposes that’s just how it is.
What are you going to do cry; that don’t help; Get violent, that’s not a good deal;
There isn’t anything to do as far as he can see; so give it a break just keep it real.
We the people aren’t happening anymore; that just isn’t nice thing to face now is it?
Who knows, move to Canada maybe; as far as him hoping though; that He’ll never quit
Copyright © Leonard Taormina | Year Posted 2007
So much of my life I spent doing wrong
If I could write music I would write a song
I have done things a man shouldn't do
These words are written for they are true
If you open your heart and look to the sky
Ask of the Lord then hear the reply
It won't come in words not words you can hear
It may come with a smile or fall as a tear
I found an angel said bye to my ghost
After I lost everything I gained the most
I found the Lord through the poems I pray
Sometimes it’s best to just give it away
I write out my words for they help me see
Simple is best for simple is free
Think of yourself just never think down
Your mind holds the music just listen to the sound
Everyone you meet has something to say
Be sure to include them in the prayers that you pray
All that you do and all that you see
Shares in your story and your destiny
When dealing with others do what you do
Just be kind and gentle to those you do it to
Everything is nothing that it shouldn't be
As a seconds a second and a tree is a tree
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008
After I left you alone in the firelight
I wondered if ever I'd see you again
the day of departure loomed on my horizon
the last time I'd ever have time with my friend,
nobody told you to pack allyour heartstrings
to turn off the future you planned in your head,
nobody warned you of incoming missles
imploding within ,turning everything red.
you sit there in silence to gaze at the embers
humming a tune a piano once played
out on a stage surrounded by angels
oblivious maestro ,you ebb and you fade.
but I see that moment you triumphed in Paris,
white doves all released to welcome the one,
who soared on the notes of ultimate beauty
who carried us up to the fire of the sun.
Dear Phoenix I know you must die in your ashes
before your rebirth can ever take place,
but there in the fireglow I still see the flashes
of genius alive in the light of .your face
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
"It happened at dusk, on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head
Whistles and pattering, octaves outstretched
Violins wailing and tubas distressed
Starlight shone into my window in white
heaving my breath with this musical sight
leaving my features and shadows in grey
while the melody mastery started to play
First all the strings, then came the percussion
Brass building stamina, with no discussion
Drums most determined and then all at once
the notes of the piano, fortissimo jaunt
Lights popped and fizzled and wrinkled in time
Walls bending backwards a musical rhyme
Bass like a heart beat moving the air
all in the blink of an eye, I was there.
My skin soaked and battered, my eyes shining bright
all concentrating on motion, on flight
After they slowed I beamed with devotion
and stood on my tiptoes, a standing ovation
I've packed solidarity into my chest
to tell you this story, to truly impress
for it happened at dusk on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head"
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
Music is life and life is the muse
she leads us shows us how to fuse
happiness in every realm
just put music at the helm
throw aside those traps and reins
come with me and ease your pains
you think too much come have some fun
hold out your arms,let music come
you can't hold her ,force her ,mold her
you can't ever even scold her
she is with you or she's not
you have no choice
it's just your lot.
so give it up and let it lie
come with me and touch the sky
and when we touch back on the ground
the staff will fill
we'll write it down.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
Knowing her song
still she won't sing it,
her bag's full of notes,
and still she won't bring it,
with veins full of music
she floats on a tune,
she soars on concertos
far over the moon,
I beg and cajole but I'm
just not her Mother,
she won't shed a note
it seems for another,
we're playing piano
on notes on a page
waiting for morning
when she can asuage,
all of the grief that she finds
on the keys,
see how the muses
are down on their knees
whispering hope into
lyrics she hears
sonatas that shimmer
away on her tears.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
Music needs lyrics to make it whole
Lyrics are words that touch the soul
Listening to one song after another
Springsteen singing "My Blood Brother"
It tells a story of of childhood friends
A genuine love that never ends
Growing up and parting ways
Changes coming in passing days
And it takes me back to the things we did
The friends I had when I was just a kid
Although time has pulled us all apart
I still carry each one in my heart
But the stars are burnin' bright like some mystery uncovered
I'll keep movin' through the dark with you in my heart
My blood brother--Bruce Springsteen
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2011
Homage to Bon Jovi
I’m going out in a “Blaze of Glory”
So “Bang A Drum” as I tell my story
With “One Light Burning” “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead”
“Chained” to the “Right Side of Wrong” in my head.
“Shot Through The Heart”, “You Really Got Me Now”...
Your “Bad Medicine” destroyed me—somehow.
“Dead Or Alive” don’t “Lay Your Hands On Me”!
“The Boys Are Back In Town”--I’m not lonely!
“Dying Ain’t Much of A Living”…you’re right
Too late found “Good Guys Don’t Always Wear White”!
So, “Billy Get Your Guns” and “Raise Your Hands”…
There’s “Justice In The Barrel” of time’s sands.
“I’ll Be There For You” and your “Cold Hard Heart”.
“You Give Love A Bad Name”--Feel "Lucky"? Start!
Titles in quotes are songs by Jon Bon Jovi
Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012
Harsh cold breaths blowing gale force pounding drum bold
to the lightning striking blue diamond against ice freezing cold
Enrapturing a dark ebony satin night sky white silk cream velvet clouds
as the snow capped mountain lights up in a silver mist gleaming sparkles
One chain running a flood down the face as clouds of heaven open gates
lashing downpours of heavy pelting rain mixed with hail driven like bullets
Harshly outside roaring thunderstorms waves of air tossing this ship asleep
crying waves of voices through the breeze howling out rocking
Bending blows bowing down and asking for mercy the trees cry out moaning
spirits of the wind branches getting tore from the limbs standing to defense
Turf upon the fire rising white smoke signals it's warm here love
on this lonely cold winters night smiling faraway kisses a dream
Charming within deep loving warmth shipwrecked alone
crying howls into a cold full face moon entranced beautiful
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015
JJust an old trumpet player with a worn out horn –
Seems he had played it ever since he was born.
Sometimes his lively music put dancing in your feet.
Then there were times he rendered tones so tranquil and so sweet.
So many came to follow this magic little man
That soon he was known as the best in music land.
He drew the best unto him and formed a little band
And added perfect talent to the world of Dixieland.
Sometimes he would sing a little verse or two
And he would make it sound like it was just for you.
He was known the whole world over - heaven watched him too
And his music was so soulful it could sometimes make you blue.
In his life we witnessed greatness only artists can provide
And even heaven’s angels cried the day sweet Louis died.
Some say even Gabriel didn’t know how to behave
The day we put old ‘Satchmo’ in his grave.
So, gentle trumpet man, may you always rest in peace
We recall an instant, when you left us, all the music ceased.
Written by John Posey
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2014
As we live each day trying to find out about life
Questioning the misery and all the pain and strife
"Pilgrim on your journey you may travel far
Pilgrim it's a long way to find out who you are"
Sometimes it's hard to stay on the right track
You begin to believe you'll never get back
"All God's children get weary when they roam
Don't it make you want to go home"
"Every day seems a little longer
Every day love's a little stronger"
Now you pray That love will last forever
While Johnny Mathis sings about the "Twelfth of Never"
Now you've found the woman of your dreams
And all of the world is right it seems
She said that She will always be mine
"She's in love with me and I feel fine."
"Pilgrim" by Enya
"Don't It Make You Want to go Home" by Joe South
"Every Day" by Buddy Holly
"The Twelfth of Never" by Johnny Mathis
"I Feel Fine" by The Beatles
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2011
Silence not just opposite of voice
More of ear turning deaf to outside noise
Close ears to outside din
And hear subtle murmur within
Listen Heart beats in rhythm and rhyme
No music composer can beat the music divine
Listening same beats for sometime
Makes one slip in meditation anytime
One drops BODY then MIND falls
Weightless, thoughtless Light one feels
Slip one may in trance
Levitation one may experience
Eternal Bliss engulfing
As if in Heaven surfing
Longevity of blissful state, on practice depends
Veteran or amateur, sooner or later it ends
Silence ruptures, clamour overtakes whisper
Bliss vanishes, pang emerges
One day sound fails to impact hearing sense
That is when one is laid into permanent Silence
Silence of graveyard not just opposite of cry in maternity ward
More of listening to death than speaking of life as trump card
Silence not just opposite of voice
More of dropping body dead, aligning life suiting soul's choice
© Hitendra Mehta
For Poetry Soup Contest
Copyright © Hitendra Mehta | Year Posted 2010
Me and My Guitar
God to me was pleasant and nice
So nothing did I need to sacrifice
And every day would hold my hand
To tell me that He does understand.
God's willing to accept me as I am
Because I say yes and no ma'am
And to God will be always sure
That for everything Hehas a cure.
I may toil and tarry again and again
And every time when I start to sin
Forgives them even if black or white
Done morning, noon and into the night.
When I see a shining star in the sky
Stop everything and to God say Hi
He may be either close or away far
Loves songs I play on my great guitar.
If opera will be willing to welcome me
I am sure I will set their souls all free
As soon as they hear my fabulous voice
Will all sing along and start to rejoice.
James Joyful Jubilant Horn
Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015
Music, music, it’s in the air,
Here is a list of what I hear:
A B C D E F G
(1 e & a) (1 2 3)
Rhythm, beat, timing, and tempo,
Fermata, rest, and accelerando,
Forte, piano, half, and whole,
Quarter, dotted, and staccato,
Sharp, flat, and natural, too,
4/4, 3/4, 6/8, and 2/2,
Measure, scale, and arpeggio,
Chord, seventh, and legato,
Major, minor, and decrescendo,
Crescendo, seventh, and ritardando,
Staff, spaces, lines, and strings,
Sixteenth, in-tune, and fingering,
Woodwind, brass, position, and trill,
Treble, bass, mellow, and shrill,
Percussion, composer, style, and key,
Quickly, lively, somber, and freely,
Triplet, tone, tied, and up-beat,
Pick-up, slur, eight, and down-beat.
You may hear music here and there,
But I hear music everywhere.
Copyright © Tiffiny Hagan | Year Posted 2015
Son of a California Englishman
And a small-town Utah Mormon.
In his youth, nothing extraordinary;
Later served in Europe as a missionary.
Pianist, marching flutist, then a Guitarist;
Enlisted to be an Army Intelligence Analyst.
Speaks French; spoke Spanish, Russian,
Serbian, Croatian, some German and Macedonian.
Has resided mostly in California.
Spent months or years in Makedonija,
La France, le Belgique, Deutchesland,
Kuwait, Iraq; in the USA: Maryland,
Utah, Massachusettes, Kansas,
Arizona, Missouri, and Texas.
Of course, he’s known here as poetic,
But with charcoal, pens, and pastels is artistic.
He’s starting to slow down due to age,
But loves to sing original songs on stage.
During the French Bicentennial, went to Paris,
Where he met his future Mrs.
Has sons Steven and Tony, wife Nelly.
They’ll soon celebrate their silver anniversary.
Like many other military veterans,
He works with Dept. of Defense civilians….
Commuting between Salinas and Monterey
(Defense Language Institute, Presidio of Monterey).
He loves to read (especially military science fiction),
Go to cinemas, and grow food in his garden.
He’s interested in music production software,
And dreams his songs will someday go somewhere.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015
A song came on the jukebox and we listened with intent
He sang "Only The Lonely" with a voice that was heaven sent
I was only in eighth grade, a few years from being a man
There was "Blue Angel" and "I'm Hurtin' " and I became a die hard fan
We'd go downtown to the Coffee Cup to hang out and have some fun
Play some music and have a soda, "Running Scared" was number one
"Crying" is still a favorite, played "Candy Man" and "Dream Baby" so loud
I was mesmerized the first time I heard Roy Orbison sing "The Crowd"
There was "Evergreen", Working For The Man" and "Leah" in the year of 62
"In Dreams" , "Falling" , "Distant Drums" and I still love "Blue Bayou"
Roy rocked the house with "Mean Woman Blues"
"What'd I Say" made us put on our dancing shoes
"Indian Summer", "Indian Wedding", "She Wears My Ring"
"Oh Pretty Woman", "It's Over", "Goodnight" Roy would sing
When Roy sang "Lana" it would tear you apart
Don't forget "Breakin' Up is Breakin' My Heart"
When Roy sang, you didn't know which song to choose
He'd make you rock, make you cry, make you feel the blues
When Roy sang, he'd put a smile on your face
When Roy sang, the world seemed a better place.
Tribute to the greatest, bar none, singer song writer of all time.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2014
Las Vegas - Nineteen eighty six
I heard it was the city of the tricks
A great hotel, all-you-can-eat buffet
Our car was parked by the sexiest valet
The show already started, the lights dim
I - a Kangaroo with sleeping baby on my limb
The music started, "one mile" legs and feathers
An atmosphere of Cabaret with tens of Heathers
The music stopped, men lowered their defenses
Of topless dancers - awakened all their senses
As glittered bubbles shined on all the misses
" Look, Mommy, lots and lots of tzee-tzees !"
for Miranda's Contest " Burlesque Boutique"
Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2011
She sits and dreams as though in a trance
Of being on stage playing a wonderful dance
Clutches violin to her breast as though her heart could play
Teasing the strings , making music, night or day
She has practiced forever to get an overture right
A contest to win, so they can eat
She closes her eyes, in another world as she plays
The music echoes around the air in a magical way
Believlng it’s like Paganini* that she plays
She tenderly draws her bow creating a musical foray
No money to spare for lessons and such
Just a determination to bring happiness in touch
With all people, whatever their creed, music is for all
To listen and enjoy and bring hope to their soul
Now she dreams, but dreams do come true
She smiles knowing full well she will see it through
So raise a glass to the young girl who lives with hope in her heart
That her future will go smoothly, making her name as a star
• Paganini famous Italian Violinist
PENNED 24TH DECEMBER 2014
Copyright © SEREN ROBERTS | Year Posted 2014
To a tattered-clothed monster, the city of lights looked so dim,
only stone-faced gargoyles never grimmaced at the sight of him,
everyday, with hideous cries of horror, voices rose and rang out,
it may have been his tears running down from the rainspout.
A human creature who can easily fit in with festivals of fools,
his grotesque, deformed face deemed unfit by society's rules,
while this toll reverberates within his ears, until torn apart,
a song, so beautiful, still plays from the depths of his heart.
People turn their gaze skyward to breathtaking cathedral towers,
where a lone, strong back peals the bells to pass by the hours,
a golden melody floats from the heavens to the town below,
his outward gentle nature only the gypsies and peasants know.
At night, he peacefully slumbers with a picturesque view of Paris,
for, in his dreams alone, no one could ever mock or embarrass,
wishes to dance, to taste the cuisine, in this sanctuary are hidden,
still he carries on a hope, a longing, for a freedom forbidden.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015