A Song at Sunrise
He sang the song at sunrise, to the morning dawn
It rose into the atmosphere and carried on and on
It fell in gentle rain upon the barren lands
It moistened upturned faces and was caught in outstretched hands
It blew within warm winds across the marshy fen
Was whispered through the waving reeds and reached the hearts of men
This song is never ending all around the earth
The song that started long ago with our sweet Saviour's birth
POULTER'S MEASURE that is in alternating 12 then 14 syllables lines and so on
(the form always commences with a 12 syllable line)
Courtesy of Brian Strand
Margaret Foster: 18th February 2010
Blast it bird! Where are ye off to?
Don’t ye know the day is through?
Oh but I’ve a lovely song to sing,
I must ere I do another thing.
To the man in the garden who works with the hoe,
He’s tired and lonely and his heart needs to grow.
Then off to the widow who thinks of her lost mate,
And meditates on the gorgeous sunset of late.
It is my heartfelt, joyful duty for which I long,
To comfort God’s people with my little song.
Oh, well off you go then,
Your song wins again..
Inspired by Francine Robert's contest 5/8/11
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
I met some creepy crawly cockroaches in my kitchen one day
I opened the cupboard door to find a surprise party under way
Not sure of the occasion, but there were hundreds in attendance
They were singing a song about macaroni tasting stupendous
Revenge is bliss, I slammed the door, and wrote them an upbeat tune
about munching on chocolate covered cockroaches all afternoon!
My song was a hit, an instant success, about a chocolateer named Shirley
An exterminator was not needed since they left the party early
For Craig Cornish's Contest~Funny Poem~
The sun sinks low within the sky as does his heart
For from his own true love he knows that he must part
Walks-With-Sorrow plays a song of lasting grace
To shield him from the tears cascading down his face
The silence of these woods brings him a sense of calm
And with his song he finds himself a healing balm
Way off in the distance there's a bride-to-be
With watchful eye just waiting for her man to see
The beauty and the ecstasy their union brings
Unaware of his decision she still sings
Songs of wonderment and glory she will carry
For today she gives herself to him to marry
But Walks-With-Sorrow knows that they can never wed
They will not be together in their marriage bed
Warring families forced them to keep their love hid
Passion for each other tribe elders forbid
So now he calls upon the skies to the Great Spirit
In the distance his bride cries but he can't hear it
Walks-With-Sorrow is a man so filled with pain
He'll never leave these woods or ever love again
By Deb Wilson
for contest"Tell HIS Story"
sponsored by Constance La France~A Rambling Poet~~
Touching me deep in my core;
strings vibrating,fingers sore.
Long into the night I strive
to figure out the jumping jive.
Won't stop strumming till I find
that tune implanted in my mind.
The logical and lyrical
combine into a miracle.
Crescendo lifts into the sky;
a band of angels standing by.
Playing now with all my might
this song is born into the night.
I'm gratified with every note
and every lilting word I wrote.
I hope you will remember this;
That music-making is my bliss!
for "Limitless" contest
sponsored by Paula Swanson
Play the everyday tune
And laugh at the need to swoon,
Over habits and needs
And all the worry it feeds.
Record the everyday woe
And question where should I go,
To the easy comfortable place
Or to the mysterious hard to trace.
Sing the everyday song
And seize the moment, make it long,
Amongst the short course of the day
The present has a melody to play.
I have a little treasure trove where I keep special things.
Today I thought I'd take it out, search through my memories.
Inside were pictures, souvenirs and things almost forgot,
And then among some special notes, a paper I knew not.
It seemed at first a poem that was started long ago.
Written just for me, in secret by my beau.
He must have written hurriedly, and stuck it in my hand,
To tell me I was special, he thought that I was grand.
I've kept that note, his song of love, for lo these many years;
And as I read it through again, it still brings me to tears;
For this song was like his love, he said it had no end,
Till I became his wife and so a new song could begin.
For Treasure Trove Contest by Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of PS
Potato chip, I love you up,
my darling little buttercup.
A cup! A Reese’s chocolate one
with peanut butter. Oh, what fun!
What fun is time with nacho chips;
delightful cheese to tease my lips.
My lips around a hamburger,
with onion rings my heart to stir.
Stir the chili in the pot.
Add tabasco; cook it hot.
Hot, that snack I love so well,
is buttered popcorn that I smell.
Smell the pasta fantasy-
sauce and parmesan for me.
Me and cheesecake, cherries atop.
Once I start, I cannot stop.
Stop for ice cream; what I wish-
a sundae sitting in a dish.
Dish me up some southern fried
with mashed potatoes on the side.
A side of bacon, crispy fat.
I see nothing wrong in that!
That’s a spicy hot tamale.
Enchiladas make me jolly.
Jolly Christmas; candies sweet,
turkey, ham; so much to eat.
Eat a pizza. It’s the best.
Now I’ve gotta take a rest.
For Deb Wilson's "My Passion" Poetry Contest
Hear the song she plays night after night
Willing it calling you to make peace or fight
You hear the song calling on all
whether it weak or strong, you hear the call
calling the willing and unwilling
The song she is sure to sing
It will catch you
How its interpreted is how you hear
The song she sings with a tear