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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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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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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


Details | Prose Poetry |

~ (~) ~ 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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