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Song Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Song

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

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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

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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...

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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

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Nineteen fable

 Nineteen fable 
Nineteen fable 
MUSICK NONnude Review 
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 
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 

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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

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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

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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
 * Fadhil Aziz Farman is a poet from Iraq
 The original poem in Arabic

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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.

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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
i felt subtly metamorphosed

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

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
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
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

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

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Eleventh Fable

 Eleventh Fable     
Author Message 

Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 719

 Subject: Eleventh Fable   Today at 18:26      

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!

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?

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 …
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:

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 
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

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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... ! (~) ~

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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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The Desert Edge (part two)

On comes a traveler from lands that I have not wandered only visited
Bringing with him memories of the pains I have borne through my life
Like the desert whose dunes I dared only once to climb when youth held me fast
A fleeting grasp, a tentative hold that was as it must be for us all I have come to see
In those valleys of sand where the sun drank from my body ravenously to crack my skin
I saw only once the whispering vision of life in the distance
Shimmering in the heat of the burning sands stood an oasis many miles deeper
So I set out with that vision hardly in my mind across the desert
Over mountainous dunes and into abyssal valleys with the sun raking my back
I walked and then I crawled when my feet became blistered stumps rubbed raw
I crawled until my hands and knees bled
I crawled until I held my head high no longer
Still I wandered, still I moved despite the sand choking my eyes closed
I crawled my body burned and my eyes blinded by sun and sand
Only to find my way back to this shack on the Desert’s edge
My journey had betrayed me I believed
My journey had twisted me all around I thought
Until today when came a wanderer through the desert forge
To sit down and rest with heavy sigh and cloud of slowly settling sands

On his shoulder sat a grey old owl watching me silently with eyes of tired wisdom
In his arms the man carried his second friend a satyr with ivory pipes to match his horns
I nodded in quiet solitude rocking back and forth in my old wooden chair

So it was that we listened to the gentle creaking of the wood
Listened to thunder rolling in off the great Blue Divide
Listened to wind shushing through the leaves of Heaven’s Gate
Felt the heat wafting over us from the Desert’s edge

Neither of we two speaking, only listening until at long last with the sun beginning to set
The satyr stirred just enough to lift the pipes to his lips and then to play
A hauntingly sweet song of blissful sorrow like age-old memories of lost youth
And we listened to him play his song long into the night
Until the stars failed to shine and the curtain of day touched the veil of dreams

“Time to leave, time to go, time to say farewell
For there are roads still to travel and I have yet much to see
And so long a way to go,” he said with a quiet voice of strength

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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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Once my mom told me a story
About a swan singing a song…
She says the swan knew death was coming
And before it happens…
It wanted all birds around listen
A beautiful Love song to sparkle the lake

She told me the swan was enchanted
Because never ever a swan sang a song
As a girl I was listening attentively
Without understanding
The story at all

She continued… and I was delighted
To hear the end of my mom’s tale
But instead, I saw her eyes closing
… As she whispered
A song… I will never forget

Later on I discover the story
Was not even true, was only a fairy- tale
But I keep in my heart her anecdote
As I believe truth… everything she said
As I remember her
In a Love song … through sparkles
As the Swan in the lake…

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A Song Of Frozen Birds

It was an unexpected chill 
As the icy north wind 
Pierced like a shooting needle 
Through the morning sun 
So cold 
That you could almost see it 
Tumble down the mountainside 

It was a morning of frozen birds 
Falling like rain from the sky 
Off the boughs of trees 
Dripping down 
And splashing like colored drops 
On the rock hard ground 

As I walked the wintry woods 
I pictured the ice-cold wind as a brush 
Painting the woods with drops of color 
Bird colors of blues, greens and reds 
That seemed to come alive 
And sing

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Cut a Rug With Daddy

~ Cut a Rug ~ Come On ~ Dance with Daddy ~ (The "As A WRITER I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO INSPIRE, PUBLISH A BOOK YET TO BE WRITTEN... ." ~ Song sung by good old Bob Dylan - it's called - Things Have Changed ~ ~ "Copy and paste in your browser lets dance... ~" "TURN IT UP!" ~ I wasn't being non reverent I believe... talking about us all dancing with JESUS shaking His gracious booty... . Haven't you ever wanted to see one of your parents cut loose... Why do you think He refers to it in the Bible by calling it "Loosing"... ? Yes I wanna see my Daddy dance... . he's gatta just be the best... ! Yes? Boy you are so precious, so so precious... . Cut a rug and chat with me some more won't you... . I needed help man He gave it to me I cursed Him out vigorously and HE still loved me... . Dear-heart can't you see, sure He's THE BIGGEST BADEST ENTITY IN THE ENTIER LIFE EXISTENCE but I and you and all of us are His Babies, He's gonna dance and teach us all to dance with Him... . Bet He'll shake that booty well, real good too, and offer all of us the same... . His kingdom of freedom with Him... . Yes no disrespect I know people THINK that it is, entirely, disrespectful for Him, but friend David danced for the Lord, people said the same thing you are hun... . But goodness, and Grace and mercy, forgiveness compassion, at-it's-very root, love-He came to save them, share it with us all, yes as He is trying to do with all of us... . Shake the booty hun, Put on a good song and cut a rug with Daddy... . He's pure love... . He'll come and you'll feel Him and be whole having fun with Him, it's all he wants... . Because like with me, and you and everyone, you can't do enough to stop it, the only thing you can is to deny Him of this pleasure He wants to share with you... ? I love you dear-heart! Cut a rug with your Daddy... . It's fun... ! Talk with me any time... . ~ Love ~ James ~

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the time that is moving round me now 1 - 3

some are going ahead
some are going back 

having my fingers wielded 
on an old type-writer
i’m thinking what should i do 

a pretty long time passed away
since the village alphabet 
had bade me farewell 

in my recent thinking 
there is a severe harikiri 

the song 
that i have sung in a deep forest 
in front of the wild flowers 

now when i am sitting  
under the ceiling-fan 
of the heaven 

i can see that both 
the lyric and the tune of the song 
have vanished

this morning 
i’ve woke up little earlier 
to observe the dawn 

the flags of my behaviour 
are posted in the grass-land 
around me 

no one should take them 
as the handkerchiefs of 
a demon 

a group of people is harvesting 
the paddy of the spring-season 

i too join them to remember 
the water-game of the ducks 

i’m speaking less 
or keeping mum 

but there remains so many topics 
to be discussed 

the battle of the ballots… 
the global recession… 
the climate-change…
the terrorism…
the joint-force…

i’ve made a thorough discussion 
with myself 

so many arguments which lead to 
even so much fighting 

i see that there has been not 
much lamentation or brooding  
not much grief or sorrow 
not much tension or anxiety 
of my own 

all the time 
surrounding me only is a grey 
and a joy sans any emotion 

then i think 
if the rose can forget its sorrow and distress 
why should I remember them 
with so much pain and pancreatic problems

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A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket - Part II

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

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 
The guards,
The law,
College students’ uniforms,
And astronauts;
And I dislike my life!

That all developed in the centennial commemoration of my wilting, 
Amidst an assembly of militias and tambourines
Endorsing the funeral procession of my lamps
In the alleys
Of your absence.
(6) deleted

The Ministry of love,
College youngsters,
Guests of No-Stars hotels,
Traffic controllers,
Victims of the national anthem, 
Train drivers, 
Bin Laden,
Weather report announcers,
Speech writers for the President,
And my mother,
All shouted to my face:
“Don’t do it, O crazy! Or else you will die!”
O  Glory!
I did it
I fell in love with you!

Rest assured 
After you, I wouldn’t be alone
A labyrinth is a home
And footsteps a family.

Your desertion, the deep rooted in wilting,
Is like a nail untouched by hammers;
Here it is, with its only sharp tooth, 
Signing the deeds of tears
On the body of waiting. 

Your painful desertion 
Has pulverized me
Hence, I saluted the remaining ashes of my burning with you,
I lay on my blood
The heart of sunset
I  ..... Died!

I loved you and went on
Just like a cloud skipping school.
I strewed my shirt buttons on your fields
And let down science class;
So my rain couldn’t be in a bottle anymore
And the road leading to you
Is no more a battle field 
Or a bird market;
My soul is pouring down on you
And my hand
An umbrella.

The teacher said: “Draw a human heart.” 
I laid a kiss on your palm,
And locked it in with the softness of your fingers.
The teacher is now in the recovery room
And I am
Of forgery.
Translated by: Em. Prof.    Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
* Salman Dawood Mohammed. A poet from Iraq

Details | Prose Poetry | |


your my soul
baby your gold
my love is bold
its will never fold
so much we together
been thru
you pick up when i was blue

Details | Prose Poetry | |


As one waits for the morning and looks for the first flush in the east,
February strains its eyes and ears for the earliest signs of spring,
The signs could be a slight increase of some birds in their passing,
From mere call-notes to twittering and an occasional song and a flower.

February comes in as a month of thaw from a cold winter to wet and dreary,
It is a month of anticipation, and the birds from the continent regard it so,
Expressing their feeling as a carnival by all sorts of merriment's and gaiety's,
It is also the month of the snowdrop, and sap stirring in trees, buds swelling.

Snow birds begin to sing and dance and a song sparrow joins in from a high branch,
As it sings, a beautiful bird, its bright ruddy breast appears, the first robin,
February, just now and again, delivers a faint undercurrent of bubbling life,
Like a mountainous country, before the sunrise, peak after peak, a rosy light.

Delusive days, a whiff of spring today gets buried under a foot of snow tomorrow,
Magical sounds of the early song sparrow, strikes the first blow, of winter fetters,
Flocks of ceder-birds, called cherry birds, and wax wings dressed in their Sunday best,
Wax wing, is named, because on its feathers and tail bits resembling red sealing wax.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fallen Snow

A snow flake drops on an empty forest floor
For a moment the small *thud* echoes
Suddenly two more fall 
And that small *thud* 
The *thud* that started in echoes ended
And started in a beautiful winter song
And that song echoed through the trees and the forest
Then moments later ending its song in small repeating flurries
Singing, “Fallen snow, fallen snow, fallen snow shall come once more!”
Then finally one snow flake ends that song with a *thud*
A *thud* on an empty forest floor…

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The song We Once Knew

It is a song 
that we grew up with

A song which contains 
our hopes, joys and fears

But the mists of time 
obscured our sight, our sensitivity

The mists of time 
began to block the flow of chi

But we persevered
Once again our song shall be sung

Over the land 
A bird wings its way home

And we watch 
enchanted by the sight

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I am at a place that is not seen with others eyes but with my voice i could ring open the
door and with my hand i could grasp the knob and pull it further open for i must always
reach to achieve the wider range of feat that is the gap of unseen treasures that lay
behind this unopened waiting chance that i have let pass many times before but today today
i feel i must try to strive a different sight that may not be sitting there for me this
time may not be waiting for me with a charming smile and hopeful look of you are welcomed

(i decided to listen to a song and type nonstop till the song ended, i started typing
after maybe 10-15 seconds of the song playing and the song is only 2minutes through
2minutes22seconds long. it was fun! you guys should give it a try!)