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Prose Poetry Song Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Song

These Prose Poetry Song poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Song. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Song poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Knew That You Were Waitting

I knew that you were waiting                                                                                                        Somewhere between the last war                                                                                               And the next kiss                                                                                                                               And that you where dreaming of sweet angels and vampires                                                         Because they have always known                                                                                                     In spite of John Cameron Swayze and timex                                                                                        Or the mechanical of Mickey Mouse                                                                                                           That the nights are always longer                                                                                                    I knew that you were waiting                                                                                                                  For the summer to turn to silk again                                                                                              And carry you away before the next big flood arrived                                                                        Before the thunder and after the lightning                                                                                             Before the smoke and after the fire                                                                                                Before the dance and after the song                                                                                                Before the hope and after the the prayer                                                                                       I knew that you where waiting                                                                                                          Like an eagle's wing and a child's song                                                                                               I was waiting too


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mama's Song

I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful 
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention

There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden  
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart?  Should I?
And to what profit?  Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs.  However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant 
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me 
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family 
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody 
and "Mama's Song"!

Note:  For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children.  RIP w/Papa!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Twist in Time

As I stand here in front of my closet , starring in to the space...
I wonder which black dress to choose, and how I am going to face..
All the guests that will be there , at your final resting place...
I look in the mirror and what do I see ?
But cuts and scratches all over me...
Although I don’t feel any physical pain...
Oh, what’s that I hear ?..could it be rain ?
I miss you already...what went wrong ?..
We were driving along just listening to our favorite song...
I remember the curve on that old mountain road...
And then heard the train crash... and then explode...
Time to go called out my Mother...
It was a cold November morning, and very heavy rain...
And I swear I heard the whistle of a train...
As I looked around I could see...
So many friends and family...
Standing in the crowd was Aunt Sarah and Uncle Fred...
OMG ! I thought they were dead...
And there’s dear old Michael...
I had heard he crashed his motorcycle...
All of a sudden I saw YOU stand...
With a bright red rose, you held in your hand...
What are you doing I wanted to shout...
But then I realized what you were about...
You dropped the rose upon MY grave...
It was then I realized You were the one that was saved...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Somewhere over the rainbow

I had heard this song by an obscure artist, with a twist as it played verses 
of 'Somewhere over the rainbow, with 'What a wonderful' world entwined. 
It's simply melody strummed on a ukalele mesmerized me as I listened on the radio 
in the car.
I remember saying to my wife, "I want this at my funeral." I was morbidly honest 
that way.
Several years later, I was watching an episode of E.R. in which our favorite 
character, Dr. Green discovers he has brain cancer, and a short time to live. He's 
basically given the advice we all wish to avoid. "You don't have long, retire, enjoy 
the time you have left."
 Dr Green, plans a vacation with his daughter, who's relationship has been strained 
since his divorce. For the next three or four episodes Dr. Green and his daughter 
spend his last days surfing in Hawaii. Mending the relationship slowly, to a degree 
of understanding only a father and daughter could know. He's still Dad, and she's a 
teen working on letting go of her resentments.
In the last episode of the story, he's not doing well. He keeps passing out and his 
strength is waning. He knows it's only a matter of days, possibly hours; but doesn't 
share this with his daughter, the scenary is of a bungalo on the beach, white sands 
surround the openness of the primitive bungalo, palm trees speckle the beach, and 
in the distance lies the royal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
A day of surfing is suddenly changed as he suggests that his daughter go ahead of 
him, he'll stay back and watch until his strength returns. So he sits in a hammock, 
and watches out in the water as she strolls off to surf, Background music grows to 
this song I'd so loved, by and artist named Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole and as the 
music is playing softly, the camera pans in on the face of Dr. Green for his death 
scene, and his last breath. The camera pulls back, from the back of his head, above 
the bungalo, above the beach as if we are Dr Green's soul departing this earth.
Yes, I cried like a little school girl as realized that my favorite character had just 
been erased from our show, with no chance to come back for a Cameo... What!? of 
course that's why I cried! OKAY! it was a tear jerker! and the saddest part, was the 
relationship with his daughter was still in repair . Moral of the story i guess-- You 
never know when its your time, so don't hold on to petty resentments, and love 
every minute of life.  

I later learned, Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole; had also died






Details | Prose Poetry | |

Siren's Song

I long for the open sea while gentle waves call to me in my sleep
Dreams of salt air and a boundless horizon
No words ride the night, yet I hear her song and know her voice.

Stand I here at waters' edge while the moon bids her rise to greet me
To embrace her as she beckons me to follow
To become one with her, or perish in the striving

Marooned, here I stand on this island in the sun
Afraid to plunge into the depths, I am rooted…captive
Denying myself passage to that distant horizon

O happy tide, would that I were as free to leave


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sweet River Man

Let's wait for the sunset one summer's day
down by the river where I always liked to play
we can kick off our shoes and bury our feet in the sand
come on please be my sweet river man
We can call the wild geese up with a little dab of feed
or jump in the water a little too deep
in that old Red River we can laugh and sing
take me by the hand, make that leap

Write our names in a heart in the sand
you can be my sweet river man
and I'll be your sweet lady river friend
we can hold on for life and scare the catfish twice
anything’s possible that time of day
my white sundress is a little bit dirty
from that red water that always stays so murky

I wouldn't want to be any other place
than down by the river where I always liked to play
and when the moon comes out tonight
and the stars shine bright
your sweet river lady
is going to sing to her sweet river man under the moonlight

watch those stars shooting in the dark as you hold me tight
until we see the sun start to rise
yeah down on the river where I always liked to play
nothing’s changed much since I was just a babe
but now I share with my sweet river man, my favorite place to play


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hot Liquid Love

hot liquid love, 
pouring down from the skies,
splashing into your gorgeous, star speckled eyes,
my heart blows wide open,
and cries out in delight, 
the light of you blinding, 
so warm and so bright,
I'm a heavenly feather, 
floating high, and so free,
drowning deep in your heart, 
love's sweet ecstasy.

http://lovestruehome.com/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Concerto of the Enchanting Night

Concerto of the Enchanting Night
 Arabic Poem by: Fadhil Aziz Farman *
 Translated Into English by:
 Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
 =========================

You suggest the songs
And leave me deep
In the splendor of the rhythm and melody. 
Drag my day out of the dream to wakefulness 
I have not known 
But the philosophy of dreams 
In all my days.

You suggest the songs
And leave me floating in a wave of fragrance 
Showered down By Lynol Ritchie 
With his love songs 
Or by Yanni with his tunes.
 
And dance
Do the tango 
Do the waltz 
Do the ballet or the jerk dance
Dance as you please 
Or spin around the Earth-pole,
O symbol of amazing taste, 
Rouser of lightning in the sky,
And crown of all beauties.
 
Here I am intoxicated
By the melody pulsating in your figure 
And by the bashful roses 
On your cheeks,
O sweet wine in my chalice and my vats.
 
You suggest the songs
And at the end of the round
Put your head on my chest, 
O child of my poems, 
And listen to my heart singing them 
With the virgin tears of joy 
Flowing down the violin’s cheek.
 
You suggest the songs
You suggest the melody 
And hint the sweet words
They’ll come to you 
Then hold me to your chest like a child.
I will need your ear 
To whisper to you 
All that baffles my heart 
And my tongue 

You suggest the songs
And strew them
Such as roses 
On the desert of my life.
What remains for us 
Of all our years, 
But joy
Strewn like roses
And like dew
On the seconds? 
********* 
Translated by Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 USA
 * Fadhil Aziz Farman is a poet from Iraq
 ---------------
 The original poem in Arabic https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10202962662165969&set=p.10202962662165969&type=1&theater
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

STRONG WOMAN

Strong woman
That woman 
Who tears behind the mirror? 
Made me who I am 
My hardened heart she took
Tenderized it with love
Took my salty tears 
Turned into joyful tears

That woman 
Who sighs behind the mirror 
Sighs in memory
Memories and feelings
Hardships she went through 
To feed my whole stomach

That woman
The woman pulling back her mucors
Does so in fear
Fear that ill not be what she hoped
That teared woman 
Crys in fast and prayer 
Crys for my dark self 
Cries for my future 

That woman crying 
Tears down her body fluids
Hopefully that her anger and disappointments
May atleast flow out with them
Her body almost running dry by now
That woman calls upon God
GOD atleast make him better
That woman cries for me 
That woman cries for her lineage
That woman cries night and day

How I came to be 
To be what I am 
I don’t know how
A slave of the world
A slave with one work song 
A song entitled failure 
The first stanza of calamity
The last stanza dead man where I am heading





Looking at her cry 
Twists my brains 
Is this what I am?
Is this my purpose to the world? 
Is this the man the world wants? 
Is this what God spent time Molding 
Is this what the bible describes? 
Just for her 
Just for her I take my life back 
Just for her God I stand strong 
Just for her I say no
NO no no this is not me 

Come mummy take this handkerchief 
I don’t wannna see those tears again
I love you mummy


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Trolling for Love

I'm floatin in a boat,
in the middle of the sea,
and I've got my trusty fishing rod with me.
I'm trolling for love, 
sweet, soft and demure,
so I cast our my line, 
and my heart is the lure.
come on precious mermaid, 
come hither sweet girl,
hop into my boat, 
and lets give it a whirl,
with our wing tips igniting, 
and our eyes brightly glowing,
deep passion pulsating, 
sweet liquid love flowing.

http://lovestruehome.com/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Nineteen fable

 Nineteen fable 
Nineteen fable 
 
MUSICK NONnude Review 
 
 
CHarlaxFabels 
 
Grand Funk Railroad was a fave group of mine the best time eye ever had was in 
a house on a rug listening to this song of hard rock and rhinocerous thumps. 
Wait. FOGHAT was the best for sex but lucky mee was never a Catholic. The 
Horns blew for Chicago and there was lots of other groups to make this fable 
bleed there was the Creedence Clearwater Revival so cool so wonderful a thing. 
John Fogarty sure must have been a saint. Eye wish he had not got so mad and 
left the other members of his group. But Creedence Song became a new fave 
thing. 
Daddy had a band 
Played him a little guitar 
Traveled in a van 
Livin' that rock and roll 
Night after night 
People comin' up to the bandstand 
Say you can't go wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 

It was late one night 
Cruisin' on down the interstate 
Stopped into a diner 
To get him some chili and fries 
Heard the waitress tell a guy 
Standin' over by the jukebox 
Hey you can't go wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 

Well daddy took a shine 
To the lil' girl behind the counter 
She movin' her hips to the swamp beat 
Right on time 
Said could he play her somethin' 
Over there on the jukebox 
She said you can't wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 

Daddy had a plan 
He asked that girl to marry 
With a brand new wife 
They're livin' on rock and roll 
Night after night 
She whispers oh so sweetly 
Hey you can't go wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 




Details | Prose Poetry | |

WORDS FROM MY HEART TO YOU DEAR

MY LOVE - straight from my heart......

My love is not just a name of yours written on sand;
which can be easily washed by watery waves away.
but; it is something that is craved in streaks of my hand;
which can never ever be rubbed by any one away.

My love is not just an aroma that comes with haze;
which will be easily blown away by allied like air.
It is the cluster of your memories to kill my every rage;
which will never ever keep us apart at any reason fair.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A silent song

I waved a silent song
past its strongest heights
For a sating revision
of a shy sound to ignite
Asks for melodic tense,
for its sequence of time 
heaves a better song
and lights up a star-deprived 
haze 
regardless of time,
Promises
to sign a sympathetic course 
for us in bloodless keys… 
and for the lost keys 
discarded,
to toe
the empty line
and reside 
in our unkempt places 

Yet reluctantly,
and 
in defeat,
invokes a right
to fill its 
self-declared silence 
with lasting doubt
And braises a cold heartfelt petal
of pain 
To open and fit
a rising reduction of triumph
in different keys

But till then
My best bequeaths to each
of us a silent song
Our second tries aim
a daunting recourse to pasts below
We signed off
in single file
In endless cells, 
walled in our own unforgiving pasts
As they
echo beneath
a soldered 
and silent core of song
While we wait
for the sympathy of 
a melodic distance..
that heaves 
and leaves 
a silent song to die
a second time


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Song I Heard

When I heard thy beckoning song, my eyes
Saw signs of things to be done. Things your mind's
Eyes made different and sweet, and so I
learned the songs rhythm, letting it come to me
Again and again till I knew each pause
And beat and enjoyed the patterns of an idea
Filled song reminding me of my own dreams

I was a patient dog yet not hungry
For meat. I followed thy path even on 
Sunny days, I watched thy hand master thy
Every tool, I watched some more till I
Was good and they wore me beads and chanted my
Name, yet behind their praise I heard your voice
Saying honour should follow gray hair, and gentle
spirit should never die. I heard thee till 
thou turned to dust and then I began the 
Beckoning song preserving the circle of
Life and your dream since our problems began


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My song

My light doesn’t tell the truth"
except in the darkness"
This is my song ,
 during  the republic of your night .
………………………………………………


This Poem  written by : Salman Dawood Mohammed   (Iraqi Poet ) 
Translated by : Laith Seher


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An early song-2

I once joined the procession of colors and lost my heart
Till a wave colors distilled through night knocked me down dead.
Besides the mountain,  the midnight festival of colors is on.
Lying in my arms you imagine your blood is burning in my veins
 I am only listening to the chariot of the queen joining the revelry.

I knew you were being vain when you came to see me
I did know when your heart missed a beat. For the air was my friend.
And the tiny bird building its nest in the rafters of my roof
Did  not bring a straw as long as you talked. 

You never said bye.  For you wanted me to do that. But I had no time 
And kept riding on the wave. The storm is not away. What if I fall.
 Tomorrow I will be lying in these shores caressed to sleep by a smiling sun.

 I don’t have the time to forget you in the endless expanse of this blank night. 
Last night’s sun was but a spot hewn out of the tragedy of the heavens.
A tragedy that  survived the ages to live in my heart in fire and smoke.

You keep away while I create my pieces in these desert sands. When I proceed
 To give them the finishing touches, you shriek in despair. For you think
 I am going to spoil the lovely piece of some great master with my clumsy hands.
                                           -2-
Tomorrow is the illegal child of today abandoned in the dark.
I end up at night  and my child is born at night, having passed 
Through  the summer that seared my skin and heart.
The cup of sorrow is never full, so there is no overflowing.
Yesterday we witnessed the winter night breathing its last.
Winter was in lament for the little bird that went up but never returned.

I bear no gifts for you. I know not your names. I know not who you are
But I recognize you without mistake against this backdrop of misery.
I come here with my empty bag to gather the drops of your sobs
And consign them to the flame in my mind leaving your smiles behind.





For: Catie Lindsey's Free Verse contest



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Our Mother's Song

We sing a song to our Mother's soul who has passed and gone
she sings back as an angel from beyond and drops a tear 
as we sleep so we won't wake and weep

On earth she gave us birth and strength to shine in this universe
and to remember family comes first for even in death
we have rebirth and a life of worth

So, we sing a song to our Mother's soul who has passed and gone
we will remain strong and will carry on for this beautiful angel
from beyond who has bygone for our mom. 

T Reams 2/10/2015   to my sweet sister Jenny in memory of our mother Barbara


Details | Prose Poetry | |

SONG OF DEMOCRACY

Democracy In Nigeria
It’s been ages you passed into deep slumber
Or rather you were long dead, democracy
You have striven to rise but fall many times
Your limbs were over-powered by some political demons
You have been crushed in the dust by some powerful beasts
The people with green skinned body, white spirit and green soul
Are eager to see you come alive again and take your full course
Take control to the fullness you place in their leadership
They know the time has come and now is the hour
They cry, they sing, they shout, they talk, they pray, they hope and believe
Equally important, they are ready to work, support, and vote
To see the emergence of a new democratic Nigeria
The reality, evidential rebirth of democracy in a new Nigeria

(c) 2010


Details | Prose Poetry | |

BHARAT SANCHAR NIGAM LIMITED: THE SONG OF ETERNITY

BHARAT SANCHAR NIGAM LIMITED: THE SONG OF ETERNITY
A poet gets rest, a poet is drowsy
When Internet speed goes down to zero
Screen shows searching searching searching
(Who are you searching for my sweet Inta?)
2 hours, 3 hours, 4,5,6,7, a count up to meditation
I cannot connect; my brain is blank Thanks to BSNL
I am thankful for your gracious indifference.
I am thankful for your” O I will see”
I am thankful for your “Me?! Oh I just forgot”
I am thankful for your “All messed up sir, not only you”
I am thankful for your high tariff” we must survive, you know”
I am thankful for your” Better see the boss”
I am thankful for the rest I do not deserve.
Thank you Sanchar Nigam Silchar for your song
“Searching searching searching searching ....”
As a refrain to chanting in a coven
“Blow off the dirt and go down to hell”
Wind sweeps the dirty leaves in Barak
The dead city gasping, air is sulfur
Searching searching searching searching
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13...........
0 byte 0 byte 0 byte 0 byte 0 byte 0 byte
My BeeSNL have you heard “digital India”?
O don’t count your digits, it’s a fact
But devil’s wind strikes every notch:
Searching searching searching searching
The song of Eternity, poet sleeps.




BSNL is a major state-owned Internet service provider in India.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Strange philosophy

i've always been so afraid of flying,
is it my fear of heights,is it my fear of falling?
it's a strange philosophy,
a troubled heart,a shooting star,life's a remedy
for who we are.
oftentimes my hope is fleeting,
so engrossed in so believing,
in who i am ,the calling,
it's a strange philosophy,
that up is down and down is up,
no doubt my truth is your lie,
but this is music,hear the heart.
it's a strange philosophy,
i live in you,you live in me,
you're trying hard to make it,
work it!
you lose your soul and hope it's worth it?
we trusted in whoever we believed,
Jesus died for my own fault,
i heard that all things pass away,
but love like this never fades away.
one last thing,
it is what it is,
a seriously strange philosophy,
all that and so much more.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Accretion

morning brought an arcane song to my ears
i was observing the spilling of light
between the curtain and the wall
the way the light seemed to carry the dust
when my quite moment 
was dispatched
by the sensation of the earth and 
its 30 km/ps rate of motion

by comparison 
i wasn't even a mite 
on an elephants eyelash
i was a microbe 
riding on a rock
on a massive migration through space

my body became filled with avidity-
something was about to happen
the dam was made of mud
and it was monsoon season

looking into the hallway mirror
i was astonished to see the image inside
was not me
this was some type of apparition
a ghost 
that belonged to someone else

the electrons in my brain swirled
forming the loose pattern of wafting smoke
an electrified current

all of this energy
shot past the sleeping dogs
though the house 
pierced the atmosphere
then outward into the deep vastness of the heavens

a remarkable paroxysm and
i was back with myself
yet
i felt subtly metamorphosed

looking around,
all of the stuff
i had worked so diligently
to acquire
took on a look of being frivolous
unnecessary

it was all the programming of someone else
the whims of a schizophrenic
with vainglorious proclivities

a booming voice announces:

if you do not abide to the constructs
of this lovely societal aggregation
you are an outcast
a luddite
a nihilist
a lost soul
a demagogue
a loser
a shoe shiner
a sewage swiller
weak,
pathetic,
unable to assimilate
due to anachronistic tendencies
...

we have viewed into the aperture 
that gives a glimpse
of both dissonnant living and
ways to slough off the insanity
but
we are controlled by dna's unblinking eyes
we make love and war simultaneously
we are the amalgamation of genes we conspire against

dna spirals up my spine
then feathers across my neurons
entrenching its fingers into my convolutions

i am the product of a mad scientist 
who has designed me with used atoms
from distant, dead stars
i breathe oxygen
that have been around since the birth
of the universe

yet,
despite it all,
these animated atomic miracles
have fought to keep us all held together
so that we may witness the splendor
of being alive

the morning song wasn't so veiled after all


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Alabama Snow

The long never ending landscape of southern Alabama never runs cold. Today it decided to. The wind was at 
ease and all the snow flakes were about. The cold ground shuddered beneath me but I could tell it was a good 
kind of shiver. The snow fell down in a hurry yet it still took it's time swaying in the wind. All the snowflakes 
danceing around soon started a low tune far off on the wind. The band played a song that the world has been 
playing for centerys. One of love and peace. One that has no bounds or experation date. The song was cold 
enough to freeze the earth but here I stood warm as I basked in my happieness. The world seemed still as the 
orchestra played it's beautiful tune. The wind swirling and twirling as if it were a finely tuned violin. I couldn't 
bare to close my eyes for it was just to beautiful to look away from. As the wind picked up in it's gusts the 
snow felt ever so heavier and the skys begain to melt the love within the snow as all the snowflakes fell down 
as rain. "What a beautiful conversion" crossed my thaughts. The snowed over feild grew dreadfully quiet as the 
beautiful tune escaped into the wind. This was when I sudenly realized I was soaked and freezing. Almost killed 
me but I steped inside away from the Alabama snow. But I knew she'd come back for me.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Erin's Song

Erin's Song
~~~~~~~~~~
Against Sang the fates do conspire
It seems that I am cursed and blessed 
Over and over again
To meet this most beautiful woman I do adore 
Without thoughts of a carnal sin
It's tough enough to refrain and keep  
Wandering eyes where they belong
My lord she’s such a wonderful thing
That’s the chorus of Erin's song
Today she told me her name and touched
My hand, so I can die with a smile on my face
So much more than just cute playing the strings 
Of my heart with the presence of her opulent grace
If not in this life then for sure in the next
As I sing of how I will love her in bliss
There is nothing so grand on the earth 
That I tread, only god can I place above 
The taste of her kiss
This feeling I crave and a smile so bright
As the sun shines all the day long
My soul is forever singing from the joy of
My lovely Erin's song.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE SONG OF RIO HONDO

Beneath the fuschia painted sky of the setting sun,
war torn houses still burning,
razed into rubbles along the river banks of rio hondo,
with walls devastated by bombs' explosions,
and one by one the ceilings began to fly.

The river's shallow but crystal clear water,
with green sea weeds,mussels and oysters,
once our childhoods' undisturbed playground,
instantly became the unholy graveyard of the
slain MNLF fighters,
decaying cadavers scattered everywhere
like worthless pieces of garbages,
worst than dead animals,
arms detached and eaten by the dogs displaced
by the war they had created,
brains splattered by bullets on mangrooves' roots,
and face swollen with worms appeared beyond recognition.

While the river that once flowed with
the rhythm of neo-gothicism,
singing with the sweet harmonies from the
birds under the falling rain,
but the chords suddenly went out of tune,
disturbed by the torrential beat of a
violent human upheaval,
the orchestra of war bombs,cannons, and guns raised
the flags of war concerts,
and the water ran wild with the musical
note of destruction,
hysterically dancing along the melodies of blood,
a tragic symphony of death.




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Eleventh Fable

 Eleventh Fable     
 
 
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 Subject: Eleventh Fable   Today at 18:26      

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Eleventh Fable 

Eleventh Fable 

The Millionth Dollar 

Charlaxes Fables 

Some people live in misery afraid to spend a dollar bill is one a friend but he just 
won't let it go. The man walks or rides his bike even in the snow not using public 
transportation anywhere he goes. A Child is young too young to knoe just what 
money's for. She takes the dollar in her hand and keeps it never spending it and 
never letting go. 
Song 1001 
Aern't ewe the one that eye love 
Aern't ewe the love the only love that eye have 
Aern't ewe the one that eye love 
Aern't ewe the reason this man gets up 
Aren't ewe the love that eye have 
Aern't ewe the purple cloud 
Aern't ewe the heart of the rain 
Aren't ewe the name in the sky? 
Aren't you the song 1001? 
Aern't eye the one? 
The millionth dollar has been spent the millionth tear eye cried the millionth time 
eye tried to make a song was this one number one thousand one. Time will wait 
for no one let us rule the time with love. 
 
           
 
 Eleventh Fable 
 


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A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket

A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket (Part I)
Arabic Poem by: Salman Dawood Mohammed 
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================

A blaze
Sticking out
Its tongue 
At firefighters
That’s what love is!
***

(2)
Do you remember my soul,
When I gathered the tweets
One feather at a time
So your cages wouldn’t suffer dreariness?

Do you remember my soul,
When I said to the god of the sea:
- I 'm the drowning man who disturbed your water
So that it wouldn’t accuse your sneaking away boats of falsehood?

Do you remember my soul,
When it raced my heart murmur
In the game of “Who Beats for You More”
Till my soul beat itself
 For no award..?!

Do you remember my soul,
When I exclaimed, at the time of dividing the estate: 
“I am a stork’s child
Descending down like a black child
From the chimney of your lofty home as a wound”
Just for the sake of resemblance
With black molasses
 Dissolved in the bitterness of your time!

I doubt that you remember,
As this unique ash is all that remains,
Of the ignition of my memory,
In the darkness of your oblivion;
So how 
Could the monsters of grief 
Not be mothers to me, 
When death is a father?
***

(3)
Once I enumerate my years 
A kiss...
After a kiss
On your fingers,
Your lips utter butterflies
And the sun becomes your mirror;
That’s how I love you and flare up
So that the others
Would not accuse me
Of …
Darkness...
***
(4)
Oh! Times and times I’ve I told you 
Waiting on harbor docks hurts me;
It piles the mobs of grief onto me 
 And forces me to burst
Like a tear gas bomb
For the pains to disperse successfully with tears
Leaving their banner behind:
A banner in the form of
A palm leaf pulled off of its tree...,
Oh! How eagerly, the hunger of hearths will be
 Flocking around the elegance of its dry corpse,
And the name will be, 
As usual:
Me.
***

(5)
Just like the wind 
I drive out loneliness of an empty bench for two... 
And, like a curfew, I mourn pedestrians’ noise;
And as a shirt hanging on a laundry line,
I drip down, with all my moisture, on the surface of your days
And curse the cloud standing in the queue of ablution.
Then, I hate 
Music,
The guards,
The law,
College students’ uniforms,
And astronauts;
And I dislike my life!

***
****
Translated by: Em. Prof.    Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
* Salman Dawood Mohammed. A poet from Iraq
** Part II will follow
___________
See The text In Arabic with a Foreward at this link
http://www.alnoor.se/article.asp?id=217305


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~ (~) ~ The Beauty of a Song ~ (~) ~

~ (~) "Barters are made and bought... sold-for-and-sought-after; eternities light shown down- from-there-to-here into-here-after... ." (~) ~ ~ (~) "Because jovial now I know the truth, yes the only difference today remains to be the indifference I know we all-carry-for-all-things, empowered-and-entrusted to each one of us by God for our own fulfillment of the world's society as a whole, though it often abandoned its virtue, yes the way that I've seen we all do when we defile for-each-one, the-other, our certain God- given-individuality... ." (~) ~ ~ (~) "You carry me I carry you... because I hunger to offer another their freedom, comfort same as anyone would, yes as they have-often-done themselves-with-me... ." (~) ~ ~ (~) "As does the goodness-of-the-rains I assume falling down embracing everyone in their tender way — and-if in-the end the-farce... was-the-simple-fact that-we-were-all-different — of what other origin, and far-kinder-premise yes greater purpose for all things would it-or- could-it even-eventually serve, that is at all to be considered forthright... if anything; for myself, my sanity... I can-honestly barter-nothing... ?" (~) ~ ~ (~) Of struggle, prudent-sacrifice and triumph funny how things always remain. (~) ~ ~ (~) Hot summers high noon of virtue... grace, back rooms sweaty barber shops they first bellowed out the melodies carrying Americas tunes, blue grass, that rock and roll... the blues. (~) ~ ~ (~) They drift now from junkie old garages the subtle basements of today; yes some things I hope always remain, stay the same, albeit because this country I could not call as much a home... because what is the latter of both its struggle and triumph, if it's not its sacrifice for this being captured merely in the beauty of a song... ! (~) ~ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-Ro7baEa6w


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Untitled 16

My sweet tongue is coiled, prepared to pounce,
ready to be free of those three heavy notes.
The major cadence forms in my chest and 
the melody rises: a spectrum of mutinous lyrics, 
a crescendo that’s longed to sing from my throat.

They are released from their cage in a discordant chord,
each tuneless, grey syllable tumbling from my mouth.
The raw words widow me three times over, 
each ponderous sound confronts your puzzled face 
as the tune melts in your silence, dispersing in the pale air.


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Adulteress's missing thread

missing threads
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She looks outside. The pale moonlight has fallen across the tributary, illusory moonshine,
like an intimate emission, now that the urgency is gone, meaningless. 
She looks inside. The sprawled bed sheet of flesh shines in luminous darkness which she
thinks she is. 
Remember the worth and compare with leaving behind the cords, one son and a lethargic
clergy who divides his self between interpreting the God and being her husband. 
She remembers the cats, the weekend cooking classes and small garden of oriental roses.
The pale moon is always hiding behind the clouds when you need it. The clarity is a burnt
out butt of the cigarette learning to jump overboard. She waves away the smoke. She looks,
once more, inside and outside.  
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar


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for a contest contrasting light -n- dark

SUCCUBUS

kiss my neck,
bite it through.
watch it bleed my love for you.
suck it up,
lick it clean;
i watch from above,
deeply in dream.
and then i think,
and now i scream!!!!!!

(woke up(thank God!))
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THE LOVERS

kiss my neck,
i love it when you do.
i long to share, my love with you;
my passion filling you, like a buttercup.
our affections, so erotic, yet sweet and shiny clean.
heaven smiles down on love;
entertwined like water, and the stream.
passions ardour, we share this heady drink;
if love is milk, then this moment is the cream.

(fell asleep(thank you, God.))
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