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Mother Music Poems | Mother Poems About Music

These Mother Music poems are examples of Mother poems about Music. These are the best examples of Mother Music poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Her Little Black Dress

It was perfect for any occasion, with 
the right accessories, like the traveling 
pieces Mozart carried court to court. 
No matter what style or instrument 
the reigning virtuoso favored, violin 
or piano left-hand, the master would have 
just the thing to sparkle an entertainment.

Just so. One small stone would sparkle 
at her throat, or her left hand, to favor 
the violet of her eyes. A virtuoso 
she was, a Mozart in the instrument 
of style. Perfectly right, one dress 
would carry her, court to court, as she
traveled through life on her accessories.

Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2005

Details | Cinquain | |

Lullabye

Whisper Soft lullabies A mother's melody Soothingly shushes fretful cries Precious.
Kim Merryman For nette onclaud's Melody of Cinquain contest 2nd place win 9/8/11 For PD's 2nd place winners contest

Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

GREET THE LITTLE KING

Greet the little King,
who has been born in a cold manger
on the holiest of nights;
and by the glitter of a descending star,
He will spread peace in the land...
follow the shepherds and find that sight! 


My gift to Him is my joyful song,
and with this clarinet I will usher in His coming...
walk side by side with the pretty angels and rejoice;
bring Him your gift, and surround Him with joy!
See the three Magi arriving on jewel-draped camels,
holding in their laps the gifts of His destiny.  


A winter's night has always been completely bright,
every hill is hidden by darkness, but an heavenly light 
appears across the frosty sky of Bethlehem, while divine
voices announce Emmanuel's glorious birth,
everyone wakes up and sees that star and follows it;
and where it stops, they find a baby without a crown.   


Greet the Son of the Highest, the Wonderful Redeemer, 
whom the Virgin Mary has borne in the humblest of places...
in the small town without a temple, or a palace for the Emperor,
where Mary and Joseph will train their child in Godly ways;
greet the little king, He will smile and invite you in,
and His smile will spread peace beyond the star-lit hill. 
 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme | |

MAMMA ANNA MADE THE BEST BABBA' AL RHUM

Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!


And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks, 
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"


Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!


It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!


Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Triolet | |

THE BLACK AND BLUE BLUES

THE BLACK AND BLUE BLUES

There was blood on the street
On his shirt
And on his shoes
Yet it never made the news

Just another person
Just another tale
Just another sister with a sorry story for sale
A beauty bound to lose
Yet it never made the news

There had been thousands of tears
Throughout the years
And nights of varied and sundry fears
Her face was painted with blacks and blues
Yet it never made the news

She’d been to the cops to tell her story
“listen lady, no guts no glory”
To them it was too ordinary so they’d refuse
I’d pick up a newspaper to peruse
And still her story never made the fu**ing news
 
When the law finally caught the case
They understood the condition of her face
Needed not was D.N.A.for the culprit was known
After he beat, bludgeoned and broke every bone

This was a couple who should had never become a pair
She with morals and he with his nose in  the air
Because she was his dynamite and he was the fuse
And she died yet it never made the fu**ing news
     © 2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~ 


Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2011

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Family Grief Family Happiness

  
   Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
        
    My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
        My Mother caring about all five in different ways
      Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays 
     My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
          
      Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John. 
       music  a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !

     Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
          The music  takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "    
      My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
                 My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
        feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food               
         
       the yelling , slamming of doors ,  tempers Flare , passion 
         Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
        
        After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
         Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?

       Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee  
                 No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
          the  Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .  
        Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
             Excited in Chicago !  seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
        Cubs ,  museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
        
       Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
             Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `  
        Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones , 
          scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
        
           ~ That is the Family I Love ,
                     that is the Family I choose to miss ~    
                       
              

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse | |

The Wound That Never Heals

Science can’t save you, neither can religion,
at least Popper and Niebuhr, philosophers and poets,
are entertainers, which is why actors and athletes
are paid so much. Thanks for the summaries.
I was teaching Shakespeare’s 92nd ridiculous sonnet
to my student who lays blacktop in the off season
Shakespeare bellyaching about dying without her love
a feeling foreign to a modern adolescent sensibility
although many teens are pretty far gone searching
for their mothers or fathers in their dazed lovers’ eyes.
Which is why we call it “the wound that never heals.”
Or the lesion that’s always lengthening. And bleeding.

Muslim fundamentalists and their Christian counterparts
are a mystery to me. Pews and prayer rugs, the airless
indoor environment of religious worship, reading
scriptures, hypnotized by hymns and fainting from staring
at candles through stained glass windows, almost certain
the preacher is faking his certainty about the afterlife.
It’s not my problem. A more immediate concern:
receding gums and tooth extractions, swollen joints,
poor lubrication and circulation, wave after wave
of viral infection, the occasional antibiotic-resistant
bacterial attack, usually urinary, and who knows
what internal organs are dividing and conquering
without mercy or cease, i.e. the wound that never heals.

It is wise not to overvalue your continued existence,
good not to be innumerate, unable to compare
a mere 80 years with say 6.0 x 109 or all of time
(to date) times the multiverse. Conversely,
it is interesting all of space and most of history is contained
in your little mind (realizing of course it’s just a map
of the cosmos not the cosmos itself, or is it?). I’m
unable to wrestle free, tongue in that cavity
and locked in my memories, so separate and disparate
from the biomass in the crosswalks, even my spouse.
Alone, so alone, even your doctor can only devote
limited thought to your situational mortality through
the redress of poetry—also a wound that never heals.

Snow for eternity, that’s what this February’s been.
All to the good, for someone it’s the final February
so enjoy it to the extent you can. By that I mean joy.
Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy. All times. Anyway.
That was Shakespeare’s message: even tragedies are comedies. 
May, a Buddhist, chants each morning.
Her husband, Marc, who’s Jewish, plays league tennis.
Their son, Aaron, will soon make Eagle scout.
How does it relate to your wound that never heals?
Luck runs out. For D.H. Lawrence in New Mexico
or Ulysses S. Grant in Ohio or Yasujiro Ozu in
Tokyo or Satyajit Ray in Bombay or Rabindranath
Tagore in Bangalore or at the Battle of the Atlantic in the Azores.

The night is a poultice, winter or summer solstice.
My anonymity will not effect the anomie ghettoside
seeing for myself how season by season
vacations and accomplishments accumulate, late in life
and early on, sunrise over mountains or moonrise over Bronx.
Masturbator, prisoner of war. Hospice of the Holy Roman Empire.
Numerous blue notes: the 3 flat, 7 flat, 5 flat,
the 6 flat and the 2 flat too. I don’t get
what Wallace Stevens means by imagination.
When groundhog shows up as a totem, there is opportunity
to explore the mystery of death without dying.
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!
Now what about that wound that never heals.

The Skeptical Observer column in Scientific American
was somewhat alarming when he accepted a paranormal
explanation for how his wife’s grandfather’s inoperable
transistor radio played music from its hiding spot
in his sock drawer on, and only on, their wedding day.
Now I’ll have to believe my father (or mother!) is watching me
perform private sexual acts with (or without) partners
or that they could even know my thoughts. Or aliens
are attending our committee meetings and making
perfectly reasonable decisions given the available information
and the world is rotating just fine without humans.
These possibilities–angels, ghosts, aliens–are better
than holocaust and genocide. In this way,
and only in this way, does doom become endurable.
The wound that never heals in the end is all you’ll feel.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Etheree | |

Grace

Grace,
she sang
as she danced
in slow circles
her voice of rich gold
Held the babe in her arms
kissed the wet blossom-lashes
and cheeks that glowed of plum and rose
With her song of murmured tunes she wove
a coat of stories that she wrapped around.

Copyright © Grace EunSong Lee | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain | |

The best investment I ever made

My son upon this Christmas Eve 
I reminisce of midnight hours
Your fingers dancing over tenuous keys
And the emotions your talent empowers

I couldn't comprehend how you taught yourself to play 
Or just how this symphony of one became 
The songs you have inside of you like heaven on display
I revel in your poignant craft uniquely unprofaned

It's true that your propensity 
Can lean toward darkened depth
A common vein for artists 
To be moody and depressed

For your pain releases beauty 
by your gift it's voice relates
You know your in the masters company 
of Mozart, Bach, and Hemingway

So when your struggles weigh 
As the sea laden oceans sand
Take your seat and breathe
Stretch out your feral hands

Creating an instrumental euphoria 
For the lonely and the damned
Open the gate to moods your feigning
Though others will misunderstand 

Christmas Eve and it's memories
This flashback came my way
Of your very first piano 
The best investment I ever made

But one day when I'm aged and old
It will be you who cares for me
Play for me then on that Christmas Eve 
With your love in every stroke 







Copyright © Sarai Romani | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Wisdom of Heights---Climb with Me

This morning
bells toll
a trumpet sounds
but refuses to blare
it just doesn't know 
how to harm
what it takes
to infect the living 

trees
earth
and sound
survive sadness
out last the past
bond brothers and sisters
of sky
air 
mud 
and water
as it loses 
to a force

some days...

this morning
it wins
because the vibration knows god
and is ONE

and though human imperfections
sit in the shadows of it's path
perfections will
and forever will
prevail

people
so arrogant 
we choose to destroy 
but how can we concentrate 
on methods of malcontent
when god sits at our breakfast table?
urging
as father urges child
"get up!"
"move on!"
"stand on two feet!"
"breath child!"

he tolls the bell
as we lay on deaf ears
he loosens ties with anger 
as the path warns and wears
thrusting
driving this cosmic ship 
of no loses
only tiny
arrogant setbacks

and he smiles
for he knows
what we yet
have to find...
and all is well.

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012

Details | Bio | |

INGREDIENT OF AN ARTIST

One ingredient of the artists is woman 
That is why they love their mothers
I love to become an artist
So I will love my mother
She is the precious ingredient of my life
Not less than the love that speaks out itself
She is my womb when I was alone
She is my hug when I am in tears
Now I am old still I love her
I love her, I love her, I love her
So much...
I need to be old for me to get young
I realized that in my younger days
I don’t give a damn to loving her
But requested many things as if I don’t care
I love my mother, please forgive me!
I love you so much 
Never and never will you leave me?
I am indeed wanted to become an artist
But the real artist is my mother
Never surrendered to hardship
I will stop not to end
Remember I wanted to become an artist
And you are my ingredient!


Neldy Jolo 
WM-KL 5:43PM
28 March 2012
 

Copyright © Neldy Jolo | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

LISA'S IVORY MUSIC BOX

Many Christmas stories are told every year,
and many songs are sung with pure cheer;
do I have a good story, at least one, I can tell,
or a simple song I can hum and spread good will?


When Lisa's grandmother passed away unexpectedly...
by her dying bed she kept an ivory music box,
and to her lovely granddaughter she gave it
to saying," Take care of it, and smile when you think of me!"


The day after granny died, she went down the dark cellar
to hide the ivory music box in an old dresser's drawer,
and once in a while she would open it and play it and listen to it sadly;
the pretty angel swirled...and Silent Night played as Lisa touched it tenderly.


It was almost Christmas Day and the pine tree wasn't decorated yet,
she rushed outside carrying a red basket with ornaments in it;
how could she had forgotten to adorn it with bulbs and garlands?
" Oh gosh, I feel like the Grinch!"  she displeasingly uttered to herself. 


There was no snow predicted for that evening and the illuminated town
was lacking Nature's magical snowflakes to make it festive and vibrant;
five minutes to midnight the choir from the nearest church gathered outside,
and waited for a miracle...silence...tranquility...every heart felt so alone.


But Lisa with an indomitable spirit ordered them to sing, 
and they began singing looking up the clearest, starriest sky;
everyone seemed sad and some of them wanted to cry,
but before sadness set in...snowflakes began falling.


Lisa knew that it was the miracle she had been waiting for,
but something was missing from the snowy scenery...
she remembered her ivory music box she had put away,
and running, with awe in her bright eyes, she opened the cellar's door...


Clutched in her caring, careful hands, she carried the ivory music box,
laid it gently underneath the twinkling, scented Christmas Tree;
Lisa kissed it tenderly...until the golden angel started to swirl at midnight,
as that divine music filled the nippy air...making all cheeks so peachy.        


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Cowboy | |

Untitled

Tainted love 
or tired love?
Smug attitudes
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
NOT EVER!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!

Copyright © MARGARITA VERA | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Faked

I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me 
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!" 
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it  everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat

He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face

I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there 
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them




Copyright © Shayla Dendinger | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

Always the same

I remember the smiles
From a thousand miles,
The crowd that gathered,
The smiling baby to be fathered,
The blessings made,
That their hopes do not fade,
I heard the general chorus,
The strength, the happiness, the force.
But a different group,
Came in a huge troop,
All, new faces of a different birth,
To witness a fallen strength.

Copyright © chinonso eke | Year Posted 2010

Details | I do not know? | |

Her DNA

Ohhh you don't have to pay
            
                   It's in Her DNA

   What am I trying to say

                   It's in her DNA

                                       Her DNA

   What am I trying to say

         You do not need Silicon

                   Said her DNA

                    my Girl Tawny Marie, Love your Mommy Forever.
                                           Throughout 
                                                        the 
                                                          next
                                                            Life

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku | |

Cloud Watching

Cloud Watching



Grass tickling your neck
white pillows across the sky
           Your own gallery

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

marking time....to my friends on poetry soup.- the Lord helped me fight death and won.

i don't want to be just marking

time.  i died on november 20,

2008, during surgery.  i was

on a vent when i awakened 

december 2, 2008....my sisters'

birthday. what made me llive

i'll never know.  i know there

are things to do on this side

of death.



i have no time for marking time.

i have a stupid bag hanging from

my side now.  i am supposed to

"get comfortable with it".  well

that was a laugh.

that was a laugh until i thought

of the people that had these

things with no hope of ever

getting away from them.



i am so lucky.  14 days i laid

on a vent, then 22 more.

i came home 3 days, 



then 


i had
great pain in my chest...
.
well this is great i said,

a pulmonary emboli, 15 more

days, three days home.



then back to e.r. blood pressure

too high.  this bought me 

4 more days in e.r.



i am home now and finally 

have spent 19 days home.

i feel every pain and i feel

every time that i feel good



yes, i am never marking

time again.....there is

something about fighting

for your life and your sanity

that straightens things out.



i don't recommend it but

i wish i could let your hearts

know what i know.

janetta

Copyright © janetta harrington | Year Posted 2009

Details | Blank verse | |

music lesson

Music Lesson 

My uncle died, was on holiday in Piraeus, 
a pig fell off a balcony. 
He left a piano and since his wife didn’t 
want it in her house, mother took it, 
only because it would lend an impression 
of high culture, 
no one else in our neighbourhood had one.
I played on it day and night, 
picked up tunes on radio and played 
them on the piano; 
people where impressed, mother too, 
but she needed her rest worked long hours 
at a fish canning factory. 
One day, coming home from school, 
a big empty space, 
I cried mother gave me Danish pastry, 
they were a day old but still tasty. 
I’m glad she sold the piano, though I might 
have ended up a restaurant pianist 
driving from town to town playing evergreens 
as background music for bored diners;
a bitter pianist who dreams of 
becoming a car mechanic.   

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epic | |

A Sisters Love By PjWilliams jim and Jack Oslager

(POEM ENTRY)
                                 A SISTER'S LOVE

THERES A HELL I FEEL INSIDE, AS A LOST CHILD CRIED, I WAS HELPLESS TO SAVE HER LIFE
SHE WASNT READY TO BE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME LORD,SHE WASNT READY TO DIE
TEAR A HOLE IN THE SHY TONIGHT, LET THE ASHES OF RAIN,PUT OUT THE FIRES OF RAGE INSIDE
THIS I WILL FOREVER KNOW IS TRUE SISTER , I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU

FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN, FEELS LIKE THERES NOTHING LEFT TO HOLD ON TO
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY,FLY THROUGH THE SKIES OF YOUR DESTINY
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY,RESTING IN THE ARMS OF ETERNAL GRACE
I WISH I COULD WALK DOWN THE STREETS OF YESTERDAY, NOT A CARE IN THE WORLD,JUST HAPPY YO BE PART OF A FAMILY
BLACK CLOUDS ABOVE, AN ONCOMING STORM ARRIVES, IM FIGHTING TO SURVIVE, I MUST CARRY ON HER NAME NOW, AND FIND AN END TO THE HARD TIMES
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN, FEELS LIKE THERES NOTHING TO HOLD ON TO
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP FALLIN
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY,FLY THROUGH THE SKIES OF YOUR DESTINY
A SISTERS LOVE,  NEVER GOES AWAY. RESTING IN THE ARMS OF ETERNAL GRACE
AS I LOOK UP AT THE SKY, WATCHING THE CLOUDS PASSING ME BY
I SEE AN ANGEL FLY,THERES A FEATHER FALLIN IN MY EYE,
THE SEEDS THAT WERE ONCES SOWN,WILL FOREVER GROW, YOUR SPIRIT LIVES ON, INSIDE YOUR CHLIDRENS MINDS, YOU ARE THE BEATING HEART OF THEIR HAPPINESS, CREATOR OF ALL OF THIER DREAMS IN LIFE
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN, FEELS LIKE THERES NOTHING LEFT TO HOLD ON TO
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP FALLIN
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY, FLY THROUGH THE SKIES OF YOUR DESTINY
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY, RESTING IN THE ARMS OF ETERNAL GRACE
THERS A HEEL I FEEL INSIDE,AS A LOST CHILD CRIED, I WAS HELPLESS TO SAVE HER LIFE,SHE WASNT READY TO BE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME LORD,SHE WASNT READY TO DIE, TEAR A HOLE IN THE SKY TONIIGHT,LET THE ASHES OF RAIN, PUT OUT THE FIRE OF RAGE INSIDE
THIS I WILL FORVEVR KNOW IS TRUE SISTER, I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.

RESPECTFULLY SUBMIITED & THANK YOU FOR TAKEN TIME TO READ AND CONTINUE A MEMORY

Written & Dedicated to Joy M Williams
Etched in Paper & Everlasting Marked PJW
Collaboration by Paul J Williams, jim Oslager, Jack Oslager
All Words Lyrics & Music  
320 S  3rd Street
Oxford  Pa 19363
215 901 3073 cell


Copyright © Paul Williams | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

My Family and Me

It's amazing how quick things can change.
First your running with the kings, and then you're knocked out of range.
It's strange. I used to worry and stress over friends.
Now I've grown to be a man. Maybe know a few of them.
All that time I could of studied. Did better in school.
Got a job and made it big. Maybe now I'd be cool.
Who's the fool? Now who's the bull? I know that's not me on the top.
Life is always making turns weather you like it or not.
The past will always be the past. My glory days may seem gone.
But, now its time to start a new.The stories keep coming on.
I've got a new girl. She means the world to me.
She keeps me warm at night, my best friend, my new dream.
Since my car accident, still got a limp on one side.
Still working with my memory, still need a friend who can drive.
I love to Karaoke. I get noticed in bars.
My mom's always there to catch me. Tom's working with my mom's cars.
My sister's in the Army, my niece is a big part of my life,
Friend Zach keeps assholes off me, and God is my wife.
AJ's always there to help, Brian is my LOST bud,
Mary's out of school, Lil cousin, Hunter's a stud.
Grandpa still is my idol, JT is still the music man .
The Adam's still can party. Chris, living good on the sand.
I may only use one hand, but I plan to be the best.
At all I do in life, cause there's not that much time left.
The blood test that I took says Landon is mine.
I hope this all works out fine in time and help to make my son's life shine.
JC who's down in Georiga, my heart is screaming for you.
I hope that you recover well. It can't be worse then what I went through.
Uncle Jimmy where you at? Where's Matt, Corie, and Pete?
I know you all are doing good. Serviolo's are a hard team to beat.
How's the rest of the family? I love and miss you all!
I hope you all are standing tall and I pray we never fall.
These last words that I say, I say only to you.
We've got the best family in the world and you know I LOVE YOU!

Copyright © Travis Flasnick | Year Posted 2009

Details | Verse | |

Songs of Power

 
When I need words to write my poems,
      The song by the Beatles, Let It Be, inspires me;
I feel the pain and the hope within the lyrics,
            And I can relate to the feelings of sadness.

And in the night my mother comes to me,
      She fills me with strength just like mother Mary;
In this song of Let It Be, and I feel happiness,
            And can write my poems more beautifully,

And though my life is shattered and broken,
      I leave my problems far behind and let go;
And I will make mother proud of me always,
            I let it be, and write my weeping poetry.

Never will I be afraid to dream of mother,
      From heaven she is always there for me;
And when I need a reminder of the love,
            I will listen to this song of, Let It Be.


_________________________
November 7, 2015

Verse

Inspiration Song - Let It Be

For the contest, Songs of Power, sponsor, Silent One

Second Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Mama's Soft Music

When tears rolled down little Mia's cheeks 
mama's soft music was always there to sing her lullabies to sleep 
during the summer, winter, and even in the springs 
mama's music still sang even when mama wasn't around to speak 

Her music sufficed 
and was always there to inscribe a melodious picture in her little Mia's eyes 
they reflected mama's feelings, her teachings, her conscience, her thoughts, her hopes, and her pride 
the music emerged as Mama danced her subtle fingers gently between her favorite harp's hips 
gradually entertaining and inviting courage, comfort and laughter to surge around her little Mia's teeth 
quietly sending little Mia to sleep 

Mama's composition and words made little Mia wonder what vanished fear from her little feet, 
and mama silently hoped that her little baby would grow to attain the legacy left within her reach.

Copyright © Johnny Pyro | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

You Live Where Your Heart Lives

You Live Where Your Heart Lives

As I listened to my favourite instrumental music 
Its frequencies sunk me into deep calmness 
Wistfully I looked out of the window
To see the morning sun piercing through the
The leafless pruned fruit trees 
Which brushed my face with hope

My thoughts travelled to our daughters living ashore
Summer vacations were a few months away
And the desires surged as the delta waves
For speedy flights to our loving daughters for
They had unlocked the doors of their new abodes
Uncontrollable desires arose to bless their homes and kids

I paused and prayed to the benevolent gods 
To listen to the rhythm of my writhing soul 
My heartbeats went asunder building bridges to them
The binaural wave sounds uplifted my sagging spirits
Kabir's words of wisdom flashed and brought a smile
'You travel with the heart, you live where your heart lives'.



*Three Hour Meditation Music by Brainwave Power Music was being played in the background as I penned wistful thoughts.
* Kabir is a 15th century Indian mystic poet and saint

February 8, 2016
Contest: Solitary Moments
Sponsor: Mystic Rose

Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2016

Details | Bio | |

City Two

leotard atrocities may 
never have been led, 
down, 
the path of glory…  
had she not kissed the 
air in alphabetical designs, 

Copyright © William Ward | Year Posted 2006

Details | I do not know? | |

Upon this Christmas Day

He sleeps there in a stable
The babe born to the world
Both mother, father watch with care

Though swaddled in a cloth
He is born, yet, to be king
With but just rags for Him to wear

This special morning
The sun now shines bright
From stars there in the Heavens
To the rise of morning light
The world now is much brighter
As angels, too, now play
There’s hope and happiness to share
Upon this Christmas Day

For within the early morning
Angels brought the sky a voice
Calling forth those who wish to hear

Along then, came all others
Knowing truth within their hearts
That all now have nothing to fear

This special morning
The sun now shines bright
From stars there in the Heavens
To the rise of morning light
The world now is much brighter
As angels, too, now play
There’s hope and happiness to share
Upon this Christmas Day

Go forth and tell all others
Who had no chance to hear
The news of hope and of the joy

Let them know the Gift of God
That comes to save us all
His son sent as this little boy

This special morning
The sun now shines bright
From stars there in the Heavens
To the rise of morning light
The world now is much brighter
As angels, too, now play
There’s hope and happiness to share
Upon this Christmas Day

Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

A woman's body

I dream of a woman's body 
and of wrapping it in my arms
and watching as it gets slushy
and as she progressively 
becomes more slutty.
 
I'd like to play with it 
like a fishers price toy.
And go fishing until 
I've reached the treasure.

With a woman's body the fun
is never really over and I'll 
keep scobba diving until 
I've seen all four walls.
And pushed each and every lever. 

Some women than like to sever 
all ties and be the player. 
But when I dream of a woman's 
body I dream that time is frozen.
And that this one sensuous moment
could last forever.

But I haven't found her body yet.
I regret....    

  

Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2010

Details | I do not know? | |

-Sunlight, Moonlight, Listen To Your Daughters Calls-

Fogive me Mother, I have not forgotten your grace,
That saved me with your celestial light from the dark,
I still stand ready to walk one day in your place,
Still ready for the training I will need before this path I embark,
The rain still decends and with the worlds tears, it cleanses my soul,
I pray for it to come, chant to you my song, and wonder why it will not fall,
The earth still shares with me, and I learn from all that it knows,
If only dearest Goddess you would listen to my calls,
Dearest mother, after which I am named, do not take from me your gifts,
The war readys near and you have not time enough, to find a new leader for us,
I still walk your path as your namesake, Ma'mam I swear, I have not forgotten this,
Without your guidence I am lost and in distress,
Show me forgiveness, oh my dearest Mother that I bless...

Forgive me my father, I have not forgotten your warmth,
That gave me life, through your brilliant light, 
And saved me from the dead, cold dark,
I still stand ready, as your child warrior of white,
The wind still whispers to me ancient tales,
I pray for the dreams and yet I cannot tell why they wont retain,
The fire still burns bright within the sky, and I follow its ember trails,
Dearest God, without your guidence I will fall in pain,
Oh Father, do not steal your visions from me,
Without them I cannot see, and my Guides and I cannot talk and agree,
We send to thee, oh Father, an offering of sweet petal potpourri,
Do not revoke me for I am one of those chosen three,
Show me forgiveness, oh my dearest Father, and I shall act as your emcee...

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2010

Details | Lyric | |

In Your Love

Every time you kiss my lips 
I am drowning, I'm drowning
Like a never ending abyss
I am drowning, I'm drowning
Every time you whisper I miss you
I am drowning, I'm drowning
In your love,  in your love.

Life doesn't seem dangerous
When I'm drowning, yeah I'm drowning
Don't take it so serious
Cause I'm drowning, yeah I'm drowning
I don't care what they think of us
Cause I'm drowning, yeah I'm drowning
In your love, in your love

~ Leonard Napierskie

Copyright © Leonard Napierskie | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Thank you for the music a short story poem

I was born in the waves of music
so long ago now 
when the music was faint.
barely audible almost silent.
I was a accident a beautiful one
but still an accident.
She was a concert pianist
he was a guitar player in a rock band.
they should have hated each other
but that's where I came in 
they didn't.
her father was a control freak
all he could see was her career.
after my parents met 
it was something at first sight.
They slept together
on a bench on a new York rooftop.
I guess you could say 
that's where I came in.
Her father took her away
to her recital in California.
she did not even know his name.
but I found out later
she never married 
nor did he.
When Mom found she was pregnant
her father said it must be adopted.
I became an it instead the baby 
or my grandson or even the boy.
Mom had an accident
after the news she was 
to put me up for adoption.
She ran into the street
and a bike courier hit her hard.
I was born 
but her father 
I still cannot call him gandfather.
forged her name on adoption papers.
when she woke up in hospital
he said the baby was lost.
that I did not make it.
I was put into the orphanage.
I never got adopted 
I guess I was bit weird.
I listened to music everywhere
in the grass the street the wind.
and I knew somehow 
She was out there.
I could feel it.
I became a musical prodigy at seven
I could write music without lessons.
I could play any instrument
you threw at me.
the nuns at the orphanage
sent me to juliard.
I was their youngest student at nine.
Then her father confessed 
what he had done on his deathbed.
Mom searched and searched
until she released the adoption papers
with the forged signature.
she saw my photo for the first time.
she said that's him.
at juliard I wrote a symphony.
it was put forward to play
in central park for best new composers.
The moon played 
its music loud that night
The park was full
and she was playing 
the concert piano.
when my music played
it awakened in her heart
I could see her feeling it
she felt me.
She felt my music.
She felt her son.
The concert finished
they called me to the stage
to take a bow.
but she came to me
in her beautiful gown.
she was so pretty.
she held me in her arms
I felt for the first time
the softness of my mother.
her eye makeup 
was running down
her beautiful face.
is it..is it ...you she asked.
I kissed her cheek
and whispered yes mom.
thank you for the music

Copyright © Jude Kyrie | Year Posted 2016