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Quatrain Music Poems | Quatrain Poems About Music

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

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Across the Universe

   Across the universe

Has there ever been a band, 
That so many understand
Life changing music, made and played, 
By courtesy, of their hand

Imagination limitless, 
Creations lit the spark in us
Visions of a better time, unreal sublime, 
Took away, the dark in us

Those were the heady days, 
Absorbing us in many ways
Seducing ears, eyes filled with tears,
With how their songs amaze

Now I recall how sad we were, 
At the setting of the sun
But all good things, must come to end, 
When all is said and sung 

I would wrap up all those lines,
That tingle jingle at the nerves
And send them in a rocket ship, 
To burst, across the universe

Nothings gonna change their world
Nothings gonna change their words
Nothings gonna change their world
As they fly across the universe

For Beatlemania Contest
Poem Written 7 March 13


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High Hopes

Before we implode or reach cluster one
What do you want from me, as you humans dry run
We are Poles apart in what you and I do
Marooned you will be, if you don't turn to be true

I am only but a sphere, but your wearing the inside out
Our futures lost for words as we enter life's drought
There is time for dialogue to take it back
Will it be a great day for freedom, or will we enter our black

Around the table of powers we have to keep talking
We had high hopes when we stooped, we may cease to stop walking
It beggars belief that we are heading into strife
Maybe one day we'll acknowledge, that were coming back to life

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Give me this Water

There's a place under the sun-which provide shade for
everyone. Where is this place! not in a place of refuge, but
stored within yourself-providing an overflowing river of ever-
lasting prudentcy too anyone?... If you feel it - Shout! "Give me
this Water".
       This dampsel in this story come's at the point were absolute
direction was needed and finds herself speaking to the Messiah-who
would provide her with direction and deep quinching thirst for proph-
etic neccessities to get one's life in order. "Give me this water", are 
you at that point now? right now, whereas the decision you've made
has brought you upon that crossroad of your life.  A life whereas we're
sleeping with anyone, most times the wrong one, all looking for love
and emptiness has mis-lead us to become complacent and a nation
of unprotective boom-mer's has emerged and our live's has no order.
    Jesus say's - I will give you water, water that will provide fulfillment
of Place & Grace. Running to the next town she tells everyone come-
meet this man who has told me everything of my past and of myself.
This-this man-for he must be the Messiah, he speaks to me about a
special water, that shall be an atonement unto his Kingdom.  These
folk's come from all the places north of the border. Together we all

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Painting My Husband

His squarish jaw, waggles when he thinks,
holding his fingers entwined at his waist.
He stares past his silvery frame, sinks
into mind, until I break in and say hi.

His thin silvery hair, is plush with curls at neck.
He stoops over as if time has weighed in
I see him counting, saying what the heck
here’s a bird, a butterfly, noisy squirrels.

His hands have a pain in them, all webbed
inside, pulling muscles taut, but they wave
they stroke the air, my legs, the seas ebbed
the sand, the sky, building the future in mind.

And when he picks up his violin mistress,
he dances her, never still this man of mine.
His harmonica hoots the day’s stresses,
digging out his soul, bending him like grass.

Sometimes I have to silence his motions,
hold him close to heart, let him sleep.
But always he plays out his commotion
making me music, making him mine.

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Music and Meditation

Written by John Moses Freeman

Music and Meditation

~A Mozart symphony to soothe one’s soul,
meditation’s friend is good music’s blend.
 ~Quiets minds considerably so I’m told,
good music and vacation is man's friend.

~Meditations and soothing music relates,
put on a good record, do yoga stance.
~Drives out bad manners, bad spirits vacate,
bad thoughts of one’s mind, like ants in the pants!

For and in honor of Dr Ram
And contest: Music and Meditation

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Rick Roll

Rick, you got me once again;
I'm tired of feeling dumb.
Curse your mindless hyperlinks!
Kiss my big fat bum!

Rick, I'll never pass it on,
On this day or another.
Let the halfwits have their fun.
Let them have their druthers.

© 2011, R. Erin Lenth

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An Afternoon Of Music

How lovely this autumn afternoon
While I dream away this time alone
Listening to the bird outside the wall
Singing with the sweetest mellow tone

Gathered to me now this written music
Scrolls scribed by great masters of the lyre
The strings that bring to life my happiness
Sounds that set my joyfull heart on fire

Choosing one that calls the little bird
Whose voice is clear and  speaks of life
I will now play until the twilight deepens
For tomorrow I will become his wife

For the Scrolls contest...

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The Magic Guitarist

The thrumming thrumming thrumming can seem so very near as fingers strumming strumming make magic that I hear. Your fine guitar - passionate - What longing it can bring! As you stroke the strings of it, my heart is quivering! I wait for that resplendence - melodious and low - I know will soon commence. Your sweet words soon will flow. Your voice which hums, lilts and croons (forever gorgeously) a plethora of love tunes, keeps on bewitching me. I can’t know just who you are, but I can feel your glow as your music with guitar spills from my radio.

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Her Violin

Her Violin Deep love of music fills her soul... God-given talent makes her whole, Her friend, her lover, held to heart… One feels the bond will never part. Her violin, sweet violin, She plays her tune above the din Of earthly sounds, of mundane things Her melody of heaven sings. Deep passions rise in tones sublime, With magic bow, the soul will climb To fly enraptured by the joy Her violin and she employ. © Sandra M. Haight 2014 All Rights Reserved ~4th Place~ Contest: Let The Music Play On Sponsor: Mystic Rose Judged: 01/01/2015

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(3 May 2014;  For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)

Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?

Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.

What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,

And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.

And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.

Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, 
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)

Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.

It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.

All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.

But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.

To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.

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The Gift Of A Violin

He gave her the gift of music
The  violin, his greatest treasure
Grandpa once played it with joy
Now hers to find its sweet pleasure

She slowly started to learn the way
To make the strings begin to sing
Hours of practice a pure delight
Until the storied notes took wing

Born into a life barren of comfort
That one gift changed everything
Music lifted a soul that mourned
The comfort that beauty can bring…

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Tides of June Memories

The tides of June carry me over yesterday's sparkling waters to the distant shores preserved in my mind. Playful summer memories are just a light twinkling in my eye, pressed into worn photo albums, I find. Hotter days conjure thoughts of friends, no school to muddy the rippling lake and hours of summer fun. 'Last one in 's a rotten ..., splashing 'round, we kept cool, cannonballs and belly flops, a relief from the ruthless sun. An old boat dock became our fort, buckets of tadpoles were our mascots. Our neighborhood breathed new life and laughter... bikes flung upon the grass, lake waters beckoned of adventure 'til the ice cream man's music brought sweet dreams to chase after. Michael Jackson, The GoGos and Duran Duran played the soundtrack for our restless days. From our fort, the radio blared across the yard. Warm breezes held music and secrets of boy versus girl attacks. And though we often complained, the boys were never barred. Many years ago, summer time brought treasured carefree days of hide and seek, dodge ball, board games and cold lemonade. Slip and slides, cool lake swims and running through sprinkler sprays, all happy memories of our never ending June days on parade. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders for Memories of June Contest (Joann Grisetti)

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Playin' Man

A completely true story....

My grandpa was a playin' man
He had a local four piece band
I was without a doubt his number one fan
Grandpa and music went hand in hand

Get together's on Saturday night
A little moonshine to start out right
Dancin' a jig under stars so bright
Dancin' and playin' until mornins' light

My grandpa was a playin' man
He played harmonica in his four piece band
I was was without a doubt his number one fan
Grandpa and music went hand in hand

Singin' songs of long ago
Happy voices singin' way down low
Grandpa puttin' on quite a show
Where he learned those songs I don't know

My grandpa was a playin' man
His guitar makin' magic in that four piece band
I was without a doubt his number one fan
Grandpa and music went hand in hand

Fiddles screamin' out loud and clear
Folks would gather round from far and near
Everybody grinnin' from ear to ear
Those memories to me are oh so dear

My grandpa was a playin ' man!

©Donna Jones

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These Dreams

She wakes every night Around the same time Shivering and sweating As 3am chimes This nightmare she carries Fills her with fear As every night draws Her death she feels near At eighteen years old With her whole life ahead What attracts these dreams As she sleeps in her bed The nightmares increase As the weeks pass by To a party she's invited As she gives life a try Her previous nightmares Seem a distant past As she dances the night away Praying that this is the last She indicates it's late To home she must head In the back of her mind Is the dreams that she dreads She takes a shortcut Only to hear footsteps behind Before she knows it There are two by her side Taunting in ridicule Down a dark alley they lure Screaming and scratching This daughter so pure To a darkened room With this evil of two To her naked flesh As they do as they do Her eyes start to close And the last thing she sees Through a small basement window A clock face strikes three ).(

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No Words

Long ago, near a quiet lake lived The People
Living as one with Mother Earth and Father Sun
One day there came to them, a beautiful boy
Straight and strong, but of words he had none

With The People he grew to glorious manhood
But still he had no way to speak of his heart
So with love and patience Grandfather made a flute
And then No Words and his flute were never apart

You could find him in the first morning rays
Or in the quiet evening's soft comforting shade
Speaking to The People and to the spirit world
With the music his grandfather's flute had made

It's haunting notes spoke of the beauty around
Of the life lived and loved by the water blue
Rising up to fly with the wind and the clouds
The music of a No Words man of the Sioux

Barbara Gorelick..for the " Tell His Story" contest
Hosted by Constance, the Rambling Poet

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If Music Be The Food of Love, Play On

The notes, oh the notes that soared above The music to grab and hold the heart A rhythm carried by the winds of life Two things that cannot be keep apart So feed the soul with music then The sounds that bind us to each other Spoken with unbroken line and phrases Filling needs for self , for one another In time the music will have a softer tone But they belong together, hand and glove The melodies will linger in each memory Speaking softly..."If music be the food of love, play on.."
"If music be the food of love, play on....." Shakespeare, from- The Tempest-

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Something Like You

Something like a love song
Crossed my mind,
Sang to my soul,
Made my heart fly.

Something like a daydream
Drove me wild
Had me on cloud nine
Free like a child.

Something like a miracle
Hit me hard
Had me jumping and skipping.
I was touching the stars.

Something like a love story
Took my by surprise
Feeling like I won the lotto
Gave me butterflies.

Something like a love song
Played softly to my heart beat
Its all your fault
And I'm swept off my feet.

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An Hour Alone

When the day's living has left me full of stress
If only for an hour, I make the world go away
Lock the door, a hot bath and a glass of wine
And let music, perhaps a Bach symphony, play

Slowly my heavy burdens begin to lighten 
A sigh, a sip and with the sweet melody drift
Soon enough reality will call again, but for now
I appreciate this small but treasured gift…..

For the Indulgence contest...

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My Rock n Roll Party - In Memory of Mr Tom Bell - Poet

"Roll on tonight my mates are coming round For a few cold beers and some rocking sounds Time is drawing near, as I hear a knock at the door Blimey! at this time of the night, a vacuum salesmen stands before" "Hey pal make it quick, I have a party to host Tell me your pitch, now disappear your a ghost The best place for them is in the lunar craters Sucking on Listerine soaked tissues, singing, "see you later alligator" "Another knock on the door, and I'm pleasantly surprised All my intended buddies on my doorstep, the parties arrived For a night of drifting, ending with earache and pain Entering wormholes of insomnia, no pain no gain" "Our party is going to be like a cool Rock 'n' Roll gig Beers flowing a plenty, this ain't no highland jig We start with Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention Best friends and myself, our schooldays convention" "This is no wine and dine as Dire Straits play The "Sultans of Swing" sounds excellent any day Next we play Deep Purple, listening to Jon Lord's Hammond sounds Music is our medicine in six speaker surround" "In between sounds to the kitchen we head Tid-bits and more beers to keep our gig well fed We sample some Grunge Metal listening to Nuclear Waste But once again Classic Rocks rules, as Grunge is not our taste" "For the next couple of ours it's like The Monsters of Rock AC/DC and UFO, the Rock never stops We air guitar to "Whole Lotta Rosie" Wearing spandex boxer shorts, one of us drumming like Cozy" "We all awake in the morning, some with sore heads But it was never a night that we were ever going to dread It was a bunch of guys who met whilst at school Who released their friendly energy, like fools but really cool" "Tom, I never knew you, but I thank Catie for this Writing this poem, just fills me with bliss I know you will be busy, but if you happen to look down Give our convention a shout, join our Rock n Roll clowns" My tribute to Mr Tom Bell, so many people spoke about him. Reading what they said, I only wish I knew him.

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The Little Girls Abyss

Ever since I was young I always had this dream About a little girl who lived next door Who drowned in a nearby stream I don't know what possessed me But I always knew one day She would turn up at my door And ask me out to play I mentioned it to my parents They said "listen" and sat me down It happened before we moved here Her bigger sister let her drown The family we bought the house from Moved on from the fear of this Their teenage daughter suffered nightmares And dreamt of a wet abyss Many years have passed I am now well into my teens But this aura that still surrounds me Everywhere I look she's seen One evening I went to shower As normal I pulled back the screen I turned to look in the mirror She was there, staring back at me There was an incredible similarity She looked like me when i was young Now having shown herself, is it over Or has it really just begun UNSUPPORTED CODE

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Music Festival

Music Festival

Boys in glitter and gold quote the doors
With dreadlocks they beatbox drum and base
A girl balances my friend with her legs
He lies planked above her face

Flags ripple with colour
Cheers wave through the crowd
The clearest pitch of an angel
Embodies my soul with sound

I'm inhibited won't you accompany me
Sunlight replaced by lasers and neon Crucifixes
I lust for a disturbing insatiability
I've become transfixed

Paramedics attend to paralytics
While I unwind I feel
The sleepy sexy wind on my face
And I drift off

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Yes It Is

Scarlet were the clothes she wore. That was the color I’m sure. If you wear red tonight. I will not feel at all right. If those are the colors I see, it will bring back a bad memory. Please, I don’t want to spoil the party. Seeing you in red will be too much for me. I do want to hold your hand. But please, grant my small demand. When I see you standing there, Anything but red is what I want you to wear. If you want me to love you, then wear something in green or blue. Please don’t wear red tonight, Ms. It’s loathsome, yes it is.

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The best investment I ever made

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Weiser Bluegrass Festival

Never been to a festival before But agreed to go with AL to Weiser I had no idea what was in store The way Al described it, was a teaser The Weiser Festival is a week long We stayed in Al’s camper; kept the cost down On this kind of trip, I couldn’t go wrong All night playing music in the campground I mostly played folk, wasn’t bluegrass wise I’d had the mandolin less than a year We stopped on the way and bought our supplies And that included four cases of beer Al said, “When the campground picking begins, “Playing circles will be formed all about” “If the group is tight, you don’t just barge in” Join an outer circle and check things out” That first night, I couldn’t believe my eyes From circle to circle the pickers go The whole jamming scene was homogenized I just stuck with Al and went with the flow The music’s was great, joined in where I could But playing Bluegrass isn’t that easy In bed at four, couldn’t go when I should Couldn't sleep, the music wouldn’t let me Sleep half the day; take it slow; there’s no strife You’re ready for the picking to begin I got hooked, that night, on bluegrass for life And given a choice, I’d do it again A hot bluegrass band had a circle tight Al had set it up for me to enter I didn’t know Al had made it alright But there I was, in circle’s dead center Inside that circle, music all around An experience that no one can buy Before long I was consumed by the sound I experienced a “musical high” That’s how I got hooked; became such a fan Before I knew it, Bluegrass became king Now today, I have my own Bluegrass band I'm playing the music; doing my thing!

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Soft keys pressed by soft fingers moving swiftly
eyes close and heart slows down for once
words are not flowing like they usually do
so the music fills lungs and I find a bunce
words are everywhere and my thoughts are lost
writing with the soft rhythm of the piano keys
relief passes over, for it feels like ecstasy 
to write again like a passing breeze
my only comfort when the world is suffocating
the simple smile of a rhyme that makes sense
the beauty of the work that my fingers produce
the wonder of how the heart is so immense
soft keys pressed by soft fingers moving swiftly
eyes close, but my heart stays focused and ready
words are flowing faster than a silver waterfall
nonetheless they are sure, pure, and steady

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A Bluegrass Jam Fairy Tale -followed by The Sequel

Just having fun at a bluegrass jam When a stranger came up to me He asked, “What sex is your mandolin”? I said, “Where do I look to see”? Alright said he, does it have a name? Sure, I sometimes call her “Lexie” Well there you have it, she’s a female I guess you’re right, cause she’s sexy She’s dressed up in beautiful fashion Her skin has a velvety sheen Healthy and tuned to a perfect pitch “A Looker”, you know what I mean Check out her body, and all those curves She knows how to turn a guy on She can woo you with soprano notes Gently whisper, “You’re my Don Juan” Then he asked if he could play “Lexie” Probably, had you asked sooner But now, I view her differently And I’ll be her only tuner The Sequel Got home from the Jam after mid-night Asleep in my chair right away Woke up to a mandolin playing Knew it was “Lexie” right away Had to drag myself out of bed And headed to the music room The music had a sinuous sound I’d never before heard the tune Opened the door, sexy “Lexie” said “Heard your words at the jam today” I‘ve been waiting a long time for you Take me to your chest and let’s play” Cradling her and strumming her softly Warming up, she got short of breath “I love how you finger my fret board” “Your pick on my strings is the best” As I continued strumming softly She whispered, “Give me some action” Shifted to a rapid tremolo Heard her sigh with satisfaction When our “song of love” was completed I rubbed on polish and buffed her Then she asked, “When can we play again?” In my next dream, if you prefer
PERSONIFED: mandolin by Charles Sides

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The work I do is not the most prestigious one,
from four to twelve thirty I drive...until my shift is done;
a forklift driver rarely takes a coffee-break, 
and being courteous and helpful to customers means a lot.

My long-life dream was to be a songwriter like Andrew Lloyd Webber, but my songs
didn't click...they never made the Top Ten on the Billboard Charts;
and although they didn't sell well to make it my profession, I still hold my thumb up...
that if a famous recording artist performed them, I'd have a huge hit!

My free time is devoted to creating lyrics that I will set to music in late hours;
and I would never be a Mozart, Verdi, or Beethoven if didn't knock on doors
and expose my works to those who would be willing to listen without reluctance...
could one be old and succeed as the young ones with fresher, brighter ideas?

For now, I remain the same blue collar guy coloring more illusive dreams;
many approach me and say," Don't give have plenty of chances!".
I do want to believe that and wear the deserved crown and be lauded as others...  
'till my lucky day comes, I must make a living and have the faith of the achievers.

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My Original Spark

Chester Bennington's gravelly scream
Was to me, at one point, a melodic dream
Somewhere down the road I couldn't face the pain
That or my ears wore out under the strain

And who could forget that DJ who brought to life
That Asian stereotype?
When Mr. Hahn's hands were in sight
You really had faith the song would turn out right

I couldn't stay hardcore - the time had come to sit
I took detours listening to how others sing
But I never took any shame in it
Cause I knew for a fact that exploration was their thing

Yeah, Linkin Park
Was my original spark
And once kindled it was never the same
Before I knew it the whole house was aflame

Though difficult to believe - reading what I write now
This group irrevocably affected my life somehow
I now scan for stories in a rapper's rant
'Twas Shinoda that taught me that...

NOTE: I realize, after posting this, that not everyone will know who Linkin Park is (or have heard the name before and just isn't a fan of that style of music). But I think everyone can relate to being inspired by some sort of celebrity. Whether they're a singer, author, painter or whatever.

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I've felt the warmest and newest sunlight at sunrise,
and welcomed it gleefully with a thankful sigh
at an early hour when nobody seems too alive...
a cardinal with yellow feathers brought me a surprise!

That gorgeous bird was surrounded by butterflies
with colors brighter than wild flowers,
swirled around them, to acccompany them
to my silent doorstep and start his usual, daily hymn.

"Thank him with a grateful, happy heart,
look up and His image will appear among clouds;
and although nobody has ever seen Him but Christ...
believe that He'll reveal Himself to us!"

And who will be the chosen ones from every present race...
when this event will occur? Those who have kept the faith!
So pray and with your gratefulness ever alive, give praise!
That promise can be visualized by the multitudes that wait!   

"Thank Him with a grateful, happy heart,
take along those good friends who have separated themselves
from a worldliness, which kept them apart...
they run to greet Him in the traquil evening to exalt His kindness!" 

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Stage Personality

Up four steps, on the stage, become a different guy
I’m a Gemini; could it be that’s the reason why?
On the stage, the showman in me suddenly runs free
I don’t how, but I do become a  different me

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The Passage to on High

We’re in a heavenly bluegrass Band We made the passage to another land We sing and play because we must If it ain’t fun – it ain’t us Singing lonesome bluegrass songs Sometimes the angels sing along We don’t cry, moan or make a fuss If it ain’t fun – it ain’t us The folks below want a Bluegrass thrill Just play a recording by Banjo Bill When you get right down to the crust If it ain’t fun – it ain’t us Fiddlin’ Sam was someone to know Oh how he could saw that bow He’s had to fiddle or he’d bust If it ain’t fun – it ain’t us Gary, Jimmy and Charlie grin Played bass, guitar and mandolin Entertaining you was their “must” If it ain’t fun – it ain’t us We finished playing our last show It’s over for us, we had to go We’ll see you up here we hope and trust If it ain’t fun – it ain’t us
The Late Great, King of Bluegrass, Jimmy Martin

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Coursing through my veins
Infecting my brain
Drives me insane

I'm feindin' for those uppers
I'm feindin' to get down
I need to feel that ecstasy
That overwhelming sound

I'm cravin' me some instant death
I'm asking to raise hell
I hear my familiar shallow breath
That comfy, cushioned cell

I need to feel my insides out
I need to taste the pills
I feel the love and that's no doubt
That wretched, lovely taste that kills

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Pacific Valentine

No one asked her to dance at their Prom that night It beggars belief in me, what's wrong with these guys Her beauty is all I see, personified within my sight To not even to approach, I'm in total amazed surprise Moving now to the present, although pasts have lived Paths of life have drawn us to be amidst of each other Recent discussions daily, our template to never sieve It beggars belief to me that others they would rather Now you have to be me to see to what my eyes declare Breathe with me to see, within politeness my eyes grace It beggars belief in me what's wrong with these guys stare To never to ask her to dance, their Prom, invited place <*> The night has finally arrived for my ask to come to light To see her standing there for my eyes to behold Draped against her tanned a dress that so delights My heart in pumping joy as our evening starts to unfold At the edge of our bed she stands, her beauty immaculate I offer my girl my hand as she smiles we begin to dance Hands to shoulder to waist, two in movement calculate Engrossed, absorbed, I'm caught, her scented fragrance Slowly our hands in roam, listening to 'The Flame' by 'Dare Eyes in glancing look, anticipating minds in thinking wish Lobe to necks now met, disheveled clothes reveal bare Our song now nears it's end, our hands in touching bliss <*> Buttons open straps in slide, shoulders where fingers walk Gravity about to be tested, soft cotton just can't resist Tongues like fencing epee's, when earlier they just talked Unison hand in hand, engrossed in naked to bare assist Covers turned lie silken sheets, rose petals sporadic adorn Two souls in facing look, kisses aplenty caressing touches Entwined in loving join, hips grinding torsos bourne Rhythmic writhing palms in palms, lovingly in clutches <*>

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He lived when Elvis, the Beatles, Johnny Cash and the Rolling Stones
had strings of hits and he passionately hummed those up-beat songs...
dreaming of becoming as successful and famous as they were;
and following his dream, he turned into a big country singer!

Everywhere he went, he carried a heavy transistor radio
and listened to them and learned those country and rock lyrics...
and the longer he sung them, the more he fed his ego,
so he wrote words without music, hoping to create melodies!.

Sitting at the piano as Beethoven did, he frantically played those keys,
blending them with easiest chords; and if they sounded awkward to him,
he would certainly use another chord that was simpler and more harmonic...
so the boy's passion for music grew as he planned to hit many unknown roads!

Up North, people called country stars:  hillbillies with nasal, funny voices
and such names like rednecks caught on; one would be surprised by their remarks,
or at how they unfairly they were discriminated...and they were all proud Americans!
But the boy's passion for music took him to unimaginable heights and riches!

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Rastafari certainly was a young man of magnificent talent indeed...
He praised God, as Abraham did, in his chant and dance with true glee,
Bob Marlyn and Peter Posh helped him become a raggae star;
some folks thought he was crazy with those long, braided hair.

Since ninenteen-seventy when hippies abounded,
and revolted against the American Government with protest...
Rastafari wrote great songs of many themes for the oppressed
and poor who were denied civil liberties in their own land.

Listen to those songs, feel the vibrant beat in the his unique music
and walking in his shoes you can sing with him and become his friend,
because Rasatfari dreamed of seeing all peoples embrace around the troubled world...
has he died in vain or left an indelible legacy for those adoring his everlasting beat?

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Where I grew up; Texas Country music is king Three songs for a quarter And the Juke Box would sing When it’s Saturday night It’s Grand Old Opry time Turn the radio on Grab a chair and recline Hank was the top singer His songs came from the heart So much great music lost Because his life was short No other then or since Composed song after song Could sing and record them Each a hit before long His music inspired Learned a Uke; then Guitar To play and sing like Hank His music took me far Now I have my own band Bluegrass most of the time Still play one of Hanks songs They always sound so fine I still love his music Play and sing all his hits Thank you Hank Williams You’re as good as it gets
What Songwriter or writers Inspire you???? Poetry Contest Hank Williams

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A Life With Background Music

"Waltz Across Texas With Me"
Comes violining through my mind.
I may be the only one in the world
With background music of that kind.

Ever since I was a little shaver
The background music's been there
But when I mention it to others
They just raise an eyebrow and stare.

It's not like I'm looking for it
It just melodies in unbidden
A secret source, a covert concert,
The rhyme and the reason are hidden.

Sometimes it was kind of funny
From times now past and gone
For in battle it was the William Tell Overture
Exciting me, urging me on.

The Colonel Bogey March
And Richard Wagner's War Horses,
The music always appropriate
And I never wondered the sources.

But mostly these days the music has changed
And I'm hearing a lot of hymns.
This old machine is getting older
And I'm running on the rims.

I thank God for the background music
That lifts me above the herds.
So if you hear a humming sound,
Relax, I just forgot the words.

by E. Marshall Evans

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A Tarantella

I drift by, an open window Faintly I see a candle glow I hear the music's happy cry An open window, I drift by I linger there, to hear the beat The urge to dance grabs at my feet A bit of fun for me to share To hear the beat, I linger there A moments pleasure, in our days Perhaps the tarantella plays A small thing but such a treasure In our days, a moments pleasure
Fore Andrea's contest.

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A Woman's Voice

            A Woman’s Voice

Enter the universe after the billions of eons
Girls grow from it on a song  
Evolve with perfect sound and pitch into a woman
Their voice is everything the universe is not

Men adore the cosmic storm and war
But prefer the soft sensuous sounds
The perfect cure
Of a woman’s whispers in their ear   

Music resonates from their lovely lips
Made in a mystery on the mist
A woman’s voice is softer than an ocean bed
Calms the fever born in nature

Tragic life is darker in the silence                            
Love and whispers fill in with sound                
Warm kisses with the softest touch
Speak volumes when it's found
A woman’s voice fills in all holes                         
Lifts their song along the wind and void
Launched in laughter light escapes
Enters the soul and sooths 

When women cry, babies are born
Both sing and feel the sound of warmth
Cuddle up beside the cozy fireplace
Mom reads stories in her gentlest intonations
Eons take us back to the creation                                                            
Melodies formed from that deep womb
A women’s voice is magic
Listen… It sounds like this

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Amazing Grace

Who at my Door is Standing
Softly and Tenderly, Day by Day
Love Divine, All Loves Excelling
Teach Me, O Lord, I Pray

Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior
O Master, Let Me Walk with Thee
Break Thou the Bread of Life
Open My Eyes that I May See

Go, Tell It On the Mountain
Grace Greater than Our Sin
In Times Like These
Christ Receiveth Sinful Men

I've Got Peace Like a River
My Lord Is Near Me All the Time
Just When I Need Him Most
I An His, and He Is Mine

It Is Well with My Soul
There's a Glad new Song
Christ the Lord Is Risen Today
One Day, Lord, I'm Coming Home

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The Music of Water

Water makes its own music
Notes that often go unheard
Listen and you can here them
As lovely as the spoken word

Whispering a song of life
It flows in quiet streams
Bathing the earth with joy
The sounds you hear in dreams

Light as a new lover's voice
Or with  fevered  pitch it pounds
Rain falls with a varied score
Against the window pane it sounds

The ocean plays it own symphony
Movements boisterous and loud
With smooth and haunting moments
But always beautiful and proud

When you hear the sound of water
Makes no difference when or where
Open your heart to the music
It always has its song to share
9/27/11   Barbara Gorelick

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Music of Leaves

The tired leaves flutter down
One by one they kiss the fall
At the mercy of the breeze
They bow to cold winter's call...

The apple trees seem barren
But they gather strength for spring
A spark of life is resting there
Waiting until new life begins...

Beneath our feet leaves murmur
One last gift to end the year
A symphony is minor tones
Listen, their soft song to hear...

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O chiming bells of midnight,...
gladly announce Jesus' joyful birth;
see how the Heavens' stars shine...
to glorify the most glorious One!

Unpleasant is the cold December' air,
and a manger is the perfect shelter
away from the frost and the gelid wind;
see how He smiles as all the angels sing!

Come shepherds, bring along your sheep,
to warm up a King whose heart is so meek;
and as the Wise Men kneel down in divine adoration,
I watch the gifts in their hands with much trepidation!

O chiming bells of midnight...echo through my starry valley,
and cheer up this silent town that offers its true serenity;  
and if snowflakes fall and make all the stars seem too far,
my lamp will brighten up the path and lead me to the Messiah! 

Entered in Carolyn Devonnshire's contest, "Christmas in your town"

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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SING ME A LOVE SONG Peabo Bryson is a singer Platinum songwriter, too His lyrics of love are magic To romantics - me and you "Tonight I Celebrate My Love" Was a favourite one of ours We'd sing it to each other As we whiled away the hours "If Ever You're In My Arms Again" I now sing softly o'er and o'er As I wonder where you are But know our love's not over "Beauty and The Beast" This tale is oh so sweet Hear the melody and lyrics I'm your Beauty, you're my Beast c ELR 2013

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Sitting by a moss-covered tree illuminated by sunlight at three,
he plays the very song that his anscestors played yesterday;
remembering what the peaceful and wild land was and will be...
by accepting the fact that his tomorrow is decided by destiny.

He can spend an entire afternoon playing a hand-made flute color chestnut,
as every breeze-lulled maple tree seem to vanish in the increasing, grey fog;
and if his music with shrilling, melodic notes is a devise to find his stranded dog,
he will have the best friend to guide him safely home through beams of twilight. 

Play, handsome warrior the melody you forefathers played on those efflorescent days
underneath the same oak tree to celebrate their free manhood;
and resembling them with long hair and piercing, dreaming eyes,
you don't expect that intruders from other lands would compromise your happiness.

Foxes, grizzly bears, coyotes and buffaloes hear your music and come around to peek:
they know that you wouldn't hurt them and they wonder who's the Great Spirit;
little they suspect that they will be hunted down by the new-comers from the East;
be their friend, warrior...promise them protection when they'll encounter the Beast. 

All that you behold today, may be gone tomorrow making you weep,
grasslands and prairies will tun into towns and cities to make way for greed;
and blood will flow abundantly on meadows where only wildflowers grew...
devastation everywhere with mother's screams by red rivers not so blue.

You must have had dreams of what was coming with a spectacle so gruesome,
take heart...your tomorrow is decided by destiny, pray that you won't be harmed;
continue playing your flute by remembering everything that you deeply loved,
and if you'll die fighting heartless men, I'll remember that look so lonesome.

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Longing Dreams

Longing dreams as our eyes finally meet
A quaint introduction in this modern day sweet
To a park we stroll under winters darkening sky
Chatting and laughing in accommodating apply

The heavens declare their time of the year rains
Whilst two amble joyfully absorbing natures champagne
A few drinks they enjoy blending into their night
Confirmed by a kiss declares their meet right

Hand in hand, now closer than before
Their longing dreams in their minds they explored
With soft music playing and an oaky Lindemann's poured
Two hearts beating over the music they soar

Glasses laid down her hand he requests
As they dance to many songs, their sensing of zest
Again their eyes meet as a slow love song plays
Their previously explored minds start to show their displays

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~ You should know ~

When it comes to love 
and be loved
Its hurt to love someone 
with no return.
When it comes to cherich 
and being cherished
Its hurt to like someone 
with no return.

When it comes to having 
inner peace
It isn't easy to overcome
When it comes to lurid 
Don't call, laugh it loud 
to overcome.

~  Take caution please ~

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Fela Kuti,a Maverick

A legend who created the Afro-beat,
Sent to read medicine,but opted for  music,
Advocator for the poor,who refuses defeat,
He uses his music to strengthen his physique.

He fought against corruption by leaders
A legend who created the Afro-beat,
His songs traveled like an eagle with strong feathers,
To correct the ills in the society is no mean feat.

He lost many things in his struggle for bright lit,
homeless,orphans and poor he feeds and elevated,
A legend who created the Afro-beat,
He was tortured,imprisoned and humiliated.

Many tried to weaken him by making comments which are oblique,
Yet,he remained an ambassador for good work and seat,
The father of Yabis and king of the Talakuta republic,
A legend who created the Afro-beat.

*A quatrain with a refrain in line 1 of verse 1;line 2 of verse 2;line 3 of verse 3 and line 4 of verse 4....
*Yabis-means making jest of people,government and situations of life.This was created by Fela Anikulapo Kuti.He also named his shrine Talakuta republic where he entertained people/fans with his music before he died....

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Victory in Jesus

Praise God, from Whom All Blessings Flow
All Creatures of our God and King
I know that My Redeemer Liveth
O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God
Come Holy Spirit, Dove Divine
My Faith Has Found a Resting Place
Blessed Assurance, Jesus Is Mine

I Know Whom I Have Believed
Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross
Out of My Bondage, Sorrow, and Night
He Leadeth Me, O Blessed Thought

O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go
Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory
Send Me, O Lord, Send Me
I Will Sing the Wondrous Story


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The Composer

Give to me a sweet melody
So I can write a song
That will always be in my head
I'll never be alone

I need a song for me to sing
That's written by my hand
A song you can join in with me
For woman and a man

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The 50s Were Cool

The 50’s are special to me Started High School in ‘52 Wore shrink tight jeans and cowboy boots Long hair ducktails and sideburns too Rock and Roll music was “the thing” Meet your buddies with a high five The girls started looking good to me That’s when bop dancing came alive Buddy Holly, Little Richard Elvis Presley and the rest I’d listened to them all the time Soon Bebop music was the best Got a job at the Trading Post Learned to drive and got my first car Fender skirts and a necking knob And a muffler that sounded bazaar Then girls suddenly caught my eye Double dates to the drive-in movies Smooching when parked on lover’s lane A French kiss was something groovy Out of college in ‘59 And from then right up to today When I think about the 50’s I just grin, what else can I say?

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Quick and bright and dancing light
Close at hand where e’er I go
Slow sad whine cries in the night
Movement fast or rhythm slow

Rock or blues in hours of darkness
Tiny tinny notes in harmony
Fill the air with music breathless
Shining silver metal melody

Inner voice in wordless form
Which speaks a message  plain and clear
For me it’s always more the norm
To breathe that message in your ear

Round my neck its metal frame
Feels so soft with touch of lips
They kiss the notes  and call your name
Like wine received in gentle sips

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 


Instrument is of course  Harmonica.
Just gotta love that blues harp  -  solo soul music

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Written by Sydney Peck and entered in   
Nette Onclaud's  contest    SOUND MADNESS

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                     In the moonlit salty water I saw your face placidly suave   
                  Can I kiss the beautiful face drawing the water in my hands?
                   Breeze caressed the transparency blurring into small waves
                    Oh! It dissolved to colourless drops vaporizing to elements

                            Sometimes, in the dusk, you dance with clouds  
                      Yonder amongst the rainbow and evening stars glitter
                  Just begins to cast my eyes, enticing, the clouds enshrouds 
                           Had I wings to soar high and around you flutter!

                  And amongst the woods before winter fall with smile sheen 
                  Yellow leaves hide ‘cause sunbeams burn butter skin to pall 
                  Embarrassing me to seek and embrace you with heart keen
               Oh! Leaving only mounts of snow, yellow leaves rhythmically fall 

                      Tender hands fondle; I feel the lavender petals fall
                              In your chat with me your passions gush    
                            And just be in union with a kiss I feel a haul
                       Feeble hard I struggle to hug and away you rush!? 

                             In lonely night I hear your melodious song
                            Have a glance on the singer! Eagerly I roam 
              Only foggy hills and murmuring of leaves I see all night long 
                   Still yonder the other sides of the river the melody hum  

                                 You are a non-existing existence
                          Sun and moon are meaningless sans you
                           Sans you my existence is non-existence
                                    No dawn and dusk sans you

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free cee SEHGUH ASIL

                                 SEHGUH ASIL

Both of us were very well fed by a flame
Each gaze made right what once seemed so wrong
You gave me a gift and I was never the same
It was the gift of lyrics, music and song

But finally I have a freshly found fact, indeed
Information you may not know
It is a fact my fate has decreed
As you stroll with unawareness in tow

It’s about words as they relate to music and notes
Specifically the songs you bestowed upon me
A dozen fine tunes with a flute that floats
While waves of wonder flowed upon me

The lady lilts lyrics that are razor sharp
As the syncopation slices my flesh and soul
I pray to a piccolo while my heart hears the harp
And when she voices vibrato I’m pacified whether for a half-note or whole

So I merely care to point something out
About the intricacy of what a man like me learns
Each song is a scene that demands I should pout
and sadly the song now conveys why our flame no longer burns
                                  © 2013 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~

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The piano man stopped playing when you walked in
And that’s when I heard the brass begin
The flautist was taken aback by your grin
And then I heard the voice of a violin

The drummer stumbled over his beat
As I bumbled over my feet
Then a sax and the trumpet came to meet
And suddenly the syncopation was complete

I heard the shrill of a single piccolo
Played sweetly and haltingly low
The mellowness of a melody began to flow
As the band put on a thrilling show

You were a bigger star than the guitar
As the bass and bassoon began to spar
The rhythm was hotter than steaming tar
As you and I made our way to the bar

Your sashay got an okay from the crowd
And the singer’s song was not too loud
Dancing with you made me so damned proud
Pride born of the beauty with which you are endowed

Suddenly the song was over and done
As you smiled brighter than the summer’s sun
The story of a song had, at once, been spun
And even the band knew I love you more than anyone  
       © 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~

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Debussy Inspiration

Debussy Inspiration

I advanced from piano player to pianist
When I finally memorized Claire De Lune.
Since then I’ve migrated to a rhythm guitarist,
But I could never escape that flowing tune.

I played Debussy’s song so often without the sheets
That over time it evolved to something else.
A few different notes or off-rhythmic beats;
So that an expert would patently find it false.

I eventually learned to play more difficult songs:
Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini,
And many of Scott Joplin’s syncopated ragtime songs;
But Debussy’s Claire De Lune still remains a part of me.


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We danced all night as you listened to my serenade 
You heard the music romance made
While we two-stepped in your living room
Until that room filled with my tears became a tomb

I sang to you about the magic that could be
I crooned a tune about the mystic music made by you and me
We harmonized with notes so sweet
Until two part harmony met with defeat

My song contained lyrics of sheer adoration
So we sang and danced until your love’s cessation
When our music was silenced and your love as well
And no longer will my overture swell

My song was stilled by sorrow and tears
While I played a melody only a lover hears
Now there’s no more harmonious song
And we no longer dance all night long
       © 2011.…Phreepoetree ~free cee!~

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I reckon I'd let
a seed speak for itself. 
Too often though,
it doesn't flower.

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He's of a bright yellow and auburn color,
and Autumn leaves match his feathers well;
what a gorgeous canary stands on my window-sill...
and I call him the friendliest, most talented warbler!

Next door, there are heartless and crazy boys who harm birds
by using slings and stones to bring them down,
and then watch them die by inflicting more pain;
that's so cruel, don't ever do it to another canary, rascals!

Kids, don't kill my bird...he's a useful animal
with the biggest heart in the Fauna's kingdom,
if he ever died, I would be confined to dreary boredom!
Let him live, so that I can continue living through the Fall!

He comes to visit me hardly flipping his wings so fragile,
and he surprises me sometimes, while I play at the piano so carried away
by the notes that himself sings for me in a triad chord so simple;
would you want to hear him sing that melody...are you listening to me?

Birds are put in cages, if they were wild animals like lions and tigers,
but they are the beautiful and gentle creatures of the Wild and they run from hunters,
not from bird-watchers...and you say,"They aren't intelligent or wise!"
Watch them in their habitat:  you'll learn to adore them, and love them for life!

Kids, don't kill my bird...he has caring parents like those in a loving family,
I rescued him from a forest's trap...his legs were caught and they bled;
I took him home and gave him first aid, and he miraculously survived!
Did God send this bird to test me how compassionate I would be?

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There is music all around
Yet I cannot hear it
Beauty abounds
Yet and still I fear it

It’s a matter of fact I swear
A fact foreseen by fate
It’s a matter of fact I fear
And a matter of horrendous hate

I look around and wish I were blind
My eyes to be seared by the sun
I look around to things so unkind
And I am sorrow’s salient son

You may hear the music I cannot
So enjoy it please my friend
My heart is tied into a knot
And my soul prays for a justifiable end

I can’t hear the music mysticism once made
But I do hear a demonic diatribe
I’ve offered my life for death in trade
But God won’t accept this bastard’s most substantial bribe
            © 2012….copyright PHREEPOETREE....~free cee!~R

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Hooked on Bluegrass

I’d never been to a festival before
But agreed to go with AL to Weiser
Really had no idea what was in store
The way Al described it, was a teaser

The Weiser Festival is a week long
We stayed in Al’s camper; kept the cost down 
On this kind of trip, I couldn’t go wrong
All night playing music in the campground

I mostly played folk, wasn’t bluegrass wise
I’d had the mandolin less than a year
We stopped on the way and bought our supplies
And that included four cases of beer

Al said, “When the campground picking begins,
“Playing circles will be formed all about”
“If the group is tight, you don’t barge in”
Join an outer circle and check things out” 

That first night, I couldn’t believe my eyes
From circle to circle the pickers would go
 The whole jamming scene was homogenized
I just stuck with Al and went with the flow

The music was great, joined in where I could
But playing Bluegrass isn’t that easy 
Went to bed at four, couldn’t go when I should
Didn’t sleep, as the music wouldn’t let me

Sleep half the day; take it slow; there’s no strife
You’re ready for the picking to begin
I get hooked, this night, on bluegrass for life
And given a choice, I’d do it again

A hot bluegrass band had a circle tight
Al had set it up for me to enter
I didn’t know Al had made it alright
But there I was, in circle’s dead center

Inside that circle, music all around
An experience that no one can buy
Before long I was consumed by the sound
I experienced a “musical high”

That’s how I got hooked; became such a fan
And so to me, Bluegrass music is king
In fact, I now have my own Bluegrass band
Just loving the music; doing my thing!

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“Shall we dance,” the lady asked ever so politely
And oh how the lady danced ever so lightly
It was as if she hovered an inch above the floor
And I never enjoyed dancing with a lady more

I begged the band to belabor the point
For it was the music the woman would anoint
She baptized the band like sanctified oil
And to the lady all of us became forever loyal

She took to the tile, a temptress, my muse
And when she asked for more no man could refuse
The brass played with class while the flute wasn’t mute
And her elegance was a fact God Himself couldn’t refute

My eyes beheld the majestic majesty of grace
And simply holding the lovely lady made my heart race
She danced me into a dream of loveliness and lace
While the band grew jealous of what was in my embrace

Her gracefulness begot beauty and grandeur so bright 
While the vocalist sang something about undying delight
But then I heard four words that dimmed every light
When the M.C. announced 'this is the final dance of the night”
                            © 2012….copyright...PHREEPOETREE....~free cee!~

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Pure Tones Resonate

Tiny bar percussion instrument, I am in awed.
I rhythmically stroke my thumbs across your tines,
My soul floats upon your notes; my heart applauds.
Tensions and sorrow float away; your music unbinds.

It seems natural to hold you in my hands.
Your inharmonic overtones, to some, may seem odd.
Sweet dissonances lull me like no marching bands.
Simple reverberations discover my inner-self's facade.

I love to hear your pure tones resonate, floating.
Upon the breeze, contrasting sounds drift away.
Trickling timbre, like a bubbling brook…naturally calming.
Together, we become one with nature, joys stay.

Dreams drift to forever where fantasies thrive.
When you are in my hand, my soul soars.
I become ecstatically thrilled to be alive!
Awakened by the freedom your music implores.

INSTRUMENT:  Thumb Piano A.K.A. Kalimba

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
October 29, 2011

Poetry Soup Member Contest: >>> SOUND MADNESS <<< 
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud

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The Neapolitan tarantella
is a folk dance very graceful and lively,
it was inspired by someone having been 
bitten by a poisonous Taruntula.

It's fast up-beat tempo
induces a frenzied dance in a solo,
or a couple...and as they dance they sweat out
the poison of the spider's bite.

Grandma used to sing this folklorist song,
and I danced with her while loud mandolins 
and tambourines accompanied her cheerful singing...
there wasn't an awkward note in her voice. 

The Neapolitan tarantella, with its frantic rhythms
and shrill harmonies infused passion in great composers,
and Mendelssohn wrote his symphony...
a song dance was composed by Rossini.

The Neapolitan tarantella grandiosely plays   
and everyone stops and listens to its low and high-pitched melody,
and with little hesitation they start to dance...
beneath my veranda, these folks put on a look of festivity.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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...dedicated to Henryk Szernyk

Beauty grows with every bow stroke, 
bravura beyond compare; 
golden notes like dew drops falling 
shimmer brightly in the air. 

Like larks aloft they hover lightly, 
soar like angels from on high; 
bring honour to the Lord Almighty, 
swell His praise through earth and sky. 

'Glory, glory, in excelsis,' 
with compelling artistry 
he raises us to heaven for 
a glimpse of immortality.

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Guitar Playing Singer

One day at a bluegrass jam of mine
A guy was playing guitar just fine
I told him you’re be up before long
Are you ready to sing us a song?

He nodded yes and gave me a grin
So next song I gave the mic to him
I found out he could really bellow
Or back way off and just sing mellow

His song was a hit with the locals
And I was impressed with his vocals
At that first meeting, little did I know
How close Bill D. and I would grow

He can do more than play and croon
Like, write lyrics and compose a tune
One song he wrote’s, a favorite of mine  
Titled “Slow Dancing”; Man, it is fine!

We’re both members of a bluegrass band
And his rhythm guitar is truly grand
As for his vocals, I’m his biggest fan
Guitar play and sing, Bill D.’s “Da Man”

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My Main Ax

Got a soprano size at age fifteen At sixteen, my baritone made the scene Immediately it became my main ax Kept it clean and nice with polish and wax Amazed at the depth of its mellow sound And even highs could totally astound My love for this instrument never ceased It made my musical prowess increase Played at parties and on all my travels Let its musical beauty unravel At a “sing along” it couldn’t be beat Having it play backup was such a treat Throughout High School, College and Bachelorhood I loved that piece of mahogany wood For over sixty long years it was mine It’s time now to pass it on down the line Gave it to my daughter and to her girls Knowing they would also cherish my pearl It now brings pleasure into its new home And still possess that fantastic tone Charles Sides “Sound Madness” Ukulele

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Rhythmical gestures and steps
make for a happy dancing in present days...
either to worship God if the purpose is sacred,
or to worship Satan, if the purpose is wicked..

A genuine, artful and heartfelt dance
is devotion to our true God, who blesses
all dancers performing before His shining throne;
even a danseur or danseuse can never feel alone.

When the absence of light invites darkness to rove,
don't be and be dazzled from above;
God's chosen people became impatient and rough,
and started dancing before the golden, glimmering calf. 

Invite all believers to your dance,
young and old, poor and rich: forget no one in your search;
everyone must share in the glory which enlightens each,
count me in...I'll lift my praying hands!  

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King Of The Licks

...for jazz people everywhere

He's King of the Home
in his high chair and gown,
takin' his feedin's with 
dreams of bein' downtown;

his jazz band was playin'
he'd blow and he'd sway,
he remembers those times
like it's just yesterday.

Sneakin' drinks from old Joe,
playin' cards in the back,
goin' upstairs with Lil
so he don't lose the knack!

He's behavin' hisself,
but he ain't forgot tricks
he learned in the mean streets
as King of the Licks.

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free cee DEATH IN D FLAT

                           DEATH IN D FLAT

The song begins with a high note and ends on a low
And denotes the notes urged and surged in between
In the center of the song the brass begins to blow
But then a piccolo portends the end of pert and pristine

At first the fiddles finery finesses a flute
While a violin steals a viola's heart
Suddenly a dulcimer and a drum declare a dispute
When, of course, a pinewood piano pulls them apart

The maestro keeps time measured quite well
With a baton beckoning beauty from a band renown
The crescendo cradles a symphony to swell
But the vexing vocalist's voice dons a deceptive gown

Then choreographed is the chorus, the chorals and bells
With a timpani to teach a trombone what it never before tried 
Oh, from the choir comes the groans of ten thousand hells
And the misery music made when our romance and the rhythm died 
                              © 2012 © copyright PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~

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Music is love
calming like unseen rain
pull me back and forth again
force from above

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Me and the Mandolin

Al would invite me to his house to jam Couldn’t play Bluegrass; didn’t give a damn When Al brought in a banjo and fiddle He played the bass; I could only twiddle When he said, “a guitar player’s coming” Some things in my heard started to humming “Al, don’t seek another player, my friend” I’ll going to learn to play the mandolin” At that time, I couldn’t help but reflect An opportunity, I did reject Bought a new mandolin while in High School But gave up learning it just like a fool That old mandolin was taken back out Went to work learning it; I went all-out Almost drove my family out of the house For a while there, I thought I’d lose my spouse Little by little, I learned all the chords I played a decent chop, but no awards I could play a break, but it was too slow For the speed that bluegrass music must go Al’s band was named “Union Hill Bluegrass Boys” We made some music, it wasn’t all noise A new “F” style Mandolin I soon found A Gibson knockoff, but with a good sound Now, today I have a band of my own Even built an “F” style mandolin clone I just love the sound of a mandolin So I’m still practicing; I won’t give in The guys in my band are good musicians I can just blend in at my position And sometimes I play the tenor guitar But as the band’s MC, that’s where I star

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Joy Division

Into the silent darkness bring,
Come bring the beauty of your light,
A lightning bolt on angel’s wing,
Radiant wings lucent tonight.

When in the night I call for love,
Will love answer me in my dreams,
While I dream upon stars above,
Above all, I need her it seems.

And so, it seems love made her claim,
Her passioned claim upon my heart,
For my heart held on to her name,
Her name that tears my soul apart.

Form: Wreathed Quatrains

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Bluegrass Music

Must have a banjo
To get that Bluegrass sound
The bass is needed
To nail the rhythm down

Fiddle plays a lead
Tingles go up your spine
Guitar keeps the beat
Or picks melody line

The Mandolin chop
Makes the Bluegrass whole
Greater than its parts
Music of solid gold

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Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep
on this grass softer than hay;
all the aches make my brittle bones weak,
they need rest, not asking my body to wander away... 

And if I fall asleep, I would like every star, spotting me.
to keep watch;  and should the owls, hiding amid the shadows
of the hickories, emit very scary and strange sounds
and fix their vicious eyes on me, angels will guard me...

No harm will come to me from those treacherous evil spirits,
and by just invoking His Holy Name, it will prevent any attack on me;
and my light can be seen from far, this light which strengthens me:
and while praying alone, I will hear the fluttering of cherubs' wings...

Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep,
and without the lovebirds' song, something must
replace that harmony when a sudden rush of fear:
slowly and uninvitingly seeps into my throbbing chest...

And would I let any noise spoil this peace,
to allow distrust lessen my courage and let hope cease?
I am endowed with  the faith of the martyrs that evil men are afraid of hearing;
come Satan, try to deceive me:  the Holy Spirit will abide with me 'till my awakening...

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Old Jukebox

Uncle Max’s lake house was a big one On a private secluded lake Dad could go fishing there anytime The time we spent there was great Right in the middle of the great room Sat a Wurlitzer jukebox It played without putting in money Turned up, it knocked off your socks Sometimes we spent the whole weekend there My Bro, Mother, and Farther I’d put my ear next to the jukebox Turned it low, not to bother Hank Williams sang the songs I liked best I really did like his stuff “Jambalaya” and “You’re Cheating Heart” I just couldn’t get enough The jukebox had those colored bubbles That would rise up from each side I liked to turn off all of the lights Then sit and watch bubbles rise When the grownups held a party there Move all the furniture back Then start dancing to the old jukebox Sip from a jug in a sack Don’t know what happened to the jukebox After the lake house was sold I do know the time I spent with it Left memories of solid gold

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Cha-La Cha-La

“Chickery Chick Cha-la Cha-la”
Was a happy little ditty
From days gone by, my how time flies
Those words were warm and witty

“Lamsey dotes and dosey doats”
Brings back those days of yore
When life was fun in the morning sun
And you couldn't ask for more

“Skimmery rinky dinky dink”
Is another masterpiece
Jimmy Durante sang the words
To this clever little treat

“Abba dabba dabba dabba”
A chimp was heard to say
I still remember Debbie singing
In a most delightful way

So when you're down and things ain't right
Just whistle these happy tunes
You'll soon perk up you'll smile and say
“Life is a big cartoon”

©Jack Ellison 2012

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Miles of broken, sunbaked seashells,
resembling pieces of porcelain of lesser value,
lying across a populous beach subdued by misty blue,
as hungry sea-gulls pounce the fiddler crabs..

The beach entertainer draws huge crowds;
singing funny songs and making comic skits
by spicing up his unique modus operandi,
and modestly mocking his modus vivendi...

He has never made lots of money,
but settles for dollar bills to earn their sympathy;
dressed in tight and colorful ministrel's attire,
he amuses the public with his monkey-shine...

And he pulls out his fiddler and the crowds go wild,
awakening, by its high-pitched sound, a dope fiend,
who has built a shack in this unsafe place always threatened by the blowing sand;
He puts on his dirty sunglasses and disappears in the groovy sunshine...

The beach entertainer follows him, leaving everyone behind, 
saying," Sorry, brother...I didn't mean to wake you up, the bum turns around with sad eyes
and exclaims, " Music doesn't fill an empty and aching belly...and cheer up a feeble mind! "
" Here's all I got...take it and get something to eat!" The beach entertainer whispers.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Getting off the bus along Hillside Avenue,
I heard a loud commotion coming from a speaker;
and getting closer, I saw the face of a sweaty preacher... 
calling all souls to Jesus and make them new.

I looked and paused and saw this preacher with sweat on his face...
as he was telling the crowd a true story of The Godfather's son, who was
in the dark about his father's activities, and when he was finally told,
he didn't care if he died;  and to the authorities he went to report his dad.    

What a righteous young man he must have been, and how noble
it was to reveal that well-kept secret which would have cost his precious life,
giving up a chance at being powerful and not dedicating himself to a lifetime of crime; 
I can visualize him bowing his head down, and pray to stop the vicious cycle.

I sat next to an elderly lady whose who's veiled head shone through a gentle light,
" Sing along with me, and your lost soul will be reedemed by the blood of Jesus!" 
I shared her song book and began singing an evening prayer of repentance,
as the preacher cried out, " Raise your hand, and I will pray for you tonight!"

How many folks, like me, wanted to see that preacher proclaim the Lord's message;
and how lucky I was to have encountered a stranger who sounded like Jesus,
to add another sheep to his herd as he prayed for the sins of the repentant ones!
How glorious it was to hear him glorify Christ and His father with his voice of grace!  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Break the Chains - song lyrics

(First Verse)
I never should have said, “I Do”
My love was never meant for you
Now is the time to stop these pains
It’s over now, let’s break the chains

I’m not what you want me to be
Break the chains so I can be me
I can’t love you, it’s plain to see
Break the chains so I can be free

(Second Verse)
You treat me like an old door mat
But I’ll no longer stand for that
I’m through with being treated wrong 
When I close the door, I’ll be gone


(Third Verse)
Don’t tell me how sorry you are
Too late now, things have gone too far 
There’s no reason for us to stay
It time we go a separate way


(Fourth Verse)
A love will someday come my way
A love from which I’ll never stray
Set me free to find someone new
Break the chains, I don’t love you 

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Wine, Women, and Song

Wine, women and song-
delirious impressions
both over- and understated.
Nonsense to the uninitiated.

This is how my daydream began:
gyrating  on stage with long hair
like and adolescent shaman-
visions of a young Jim Morrison.

Wine, women and song-
punk, funk, southern boogie drunk
battle ax guitars, pounding drums
blacken and brutal beer soaked bars.

This is the dream come true:
an insidious reality
that suddenly struck rude.
Nonsense to the uninitiated. 

Now, it is still the wine
women and song that I long for. 
Indelible impressions
both over-and understated. 

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Love Waltz

Gently brush your hair aside Reveal your lovely face Come to me my darling And we’ll share a sweet embrace Love is all I have to give I offer mine to you Keep it in your heart I’ll keep yours in my heart too We will be together No, we’ll never drift apart We’ll be one together Only death can make us part We’ll grow old together, Darling Love is here to stay I can’t live without you It was meant to be that way When I’m laid to rest my darling When my race is through When you think of me Please remember I love you NOTE: Lyrics to a Melody I wrote years ago

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Sweet Wine

Sweet wine in my veins
Wielding all the pains;
And music flowing soft,
For soul, not to wane!

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Ode to Music

Ode To Music

Can you hear
     the silent sound
Of quarter-notes
     upon the ground
Felled in music's 
     last retreat
                   Of rythmic genres lost?

Sequenced up
     and down the scale
They went unnoticed 
     when they fell
With one last 
     crescendo sweet!
                   A whole note claimed the cost.

~Deborah Burch~

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A Bluegrass Jam revised

I think there are just two types of Jams The performance type is for the hams The traditional type’s not the same Just for each other, not for the fame The performance Jam is my winner Playing music to all the grinners Probably why I started a band Is for the thrill of getting a hand I’ve been the host of two Jams for years Had a few rules, but nothing to fear Open to all, beginner or pro Took turns doing the songs we know Just acoustic instruments allowed Strictly Bluegrass we played to a crowd The jams that I host are all outside If the weather’s bad, no place to hide Banjos, guitars, fiddles, mandolins Having several of these was no sin The stand-up bass, you hurt without any Got to have one, but two is too many At jams you meet such interesting folks Come for the music or for the jokes Laughing and playing, have a good time Hope to see you at a jam of mine

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stonewashed song

dragging in denim notes 
through a tide-pool creek
laughing lyrics bubbling on
wearing wet my mystique

dragging those blue chords
rinsed in aqua and stone
awash, panting, melodic remember
eight bars rockin' overblown

smokin' blues, roachin' rhythm
trilling trumpet tonin' notes
words sung growling aphorism
textiled chords from our throats

riffs cascade rock and fall
pants and moans fit real tight
cottonin' tactile harmonies enthral
glissando down jus' feels alright

singing chorus warbled lines
don't matter to know the words
stonewashed song feelin' fine
bright sun-dried waterworks

© Goode Guy 2011-11-27

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For the Love of Applause

What is it, you may ask, that turns me on Not including anything sexual Didn’t take very long for it did dawn My love for applause is perpetual There are two different types of Bluegrass jams And as the Jam Host, I had to pick one A “Performance Jam’s” for me, and the hams Audience Applause just makes it more fun Now I’m leader of my own Bluegrass Band Play the music I love and seek the thrill Received when the audience giving a hand I love it so much, I can’t get my fill When I get on stage, I’m a different guy My stage personality comes out Since I’m a Gemini, maybe that’s why Suddenly I’m a showman, there’s no doubt I glow in my role as the band’s MC Joke with the audience, to get a laugh Doing “ad libs” seem to come easy for me Building charisma on the band’s behalf What really turned me on, when I’m on stage Is the audience appreciation They can make you feel like you’re all the rage For me, applause is such a sensation

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Birth of a Band

The story of how the band got its start At least, as best I remember my part A hot new banjo picker came to town Joined my jams and I dug his sound Bill planned to become a resident here Listened to him play, I like what I hear At a Bluegrass Jam, gave Bill Paul my pitch To start a Bluegrass Band, that was my itch Bill said, “Count me in, a band would be great” “But you’ll need to get players to fill the slate” I’m on it Bill, I’ll ask Sam Brown to fiddle And get Bill Devinny on guitar in the middle I planned to play tenor guitar and sing And to be the MC, that was my thing The mandolin player didn’t work out We changed our plans and took another route Bill Paul said to me at practice one day, “Sam and I can handle all the lead play” “If Charlie will play the mandolin chop” Our search for a mando player can stop That was agreeable, but we’re still thin A bass was needed before we begin The day before our first practice was held Reid Griffin showed up and our fears were quelled That’s the birth of the DESERT SUN String Band There’s been turn over but we’re still manned This year starts of our third performance season I’m proud of these guys and with good reason

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Hidden in a meadow with shimmering grass and waving daises,
I lay back and enjoy the Mediterranean's gentle breeze;
fair lover, with eyes bluer and wider than the soft Italian sky,
come and lay on my warm chest and delightfully sigh!

No place in all the Earth makes lovers whisper and dream...
while the peach and cypress trees, lower than the Tower of Pisa,
diffuse their aroma by fluttering their branches to delight my Lisa;
trust these lips, silent lover, and discover how passion becomes real!  

The rolling hills gracefully spread their scented, emerald blankets... 
as far as the distant horizon that greets every sunset and dawn,
inviting us to watch the making of another superb season;
and we accept their invitation by offering them an elegant dance!  

Frantic robins and canaries, warble at these sun-tanned feet,
April's sadness has no unkind reason to impose its somber mood;
your harmonious notes can create that perfect, danceable rhythm,
not to let that hopeful heart, awaiting its joy, feel the emptiness of gloom!   

Kissing scarlet lips that demand a lover's touch and affinity,
have the softness of the reddest roses in all Tuscany;
many would sell their souls to have such a moment of ecstasy...
as the Mediterranean's gentle breeze can make them taste eternity! 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Holy Cross Church with its neo-Gothic facade was too beauteous and too rare,
so clustered among the aristocratic neat palaces,
choked by the shadows of less ancient buildings;
I often looked up to glance at its tall bell-tower with a chill in my curly hair!

When I was the altar boy, I had to climb a thousand steep steps 
to pull the rough cord and make that brass bell merrily ring,
and it relentlessly tolled far into the fertile valley kissed by spring,
and its resonant strokes summoned all to Vespers at six!!

By all means I should have wisely chosen the priesthood... 
wine and bread I placed on a silver plate to be offered
before the altar, where the invisible eye of God watched me;
I worshiped Him and He blessed me for my sincerity!   

The Holy Cross Church still stands there and its steps invoke my footsteps,
the gentle footsteps of a fine boy who turned his faith into a fervent creed;
and even if sunshine never hit my cold face slanting upward like a shield...
through the glass-stained windows it dazzled to restore the presence of grace! 

How I would like to hear that huge organ play the lovely," Ave Maria"  by Mozart,
making the gathered faithful cry and moved by its inspiring sound I contemplated an art ,
which revered and honored God in His exuberantly expressed by Man's spirit!
No other place, more beautiful than this, can make me forget the awe and joy that I felt!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Fiddling Sam

There a guy with a fiddle in Tucson town
Known by everyone for miles around
He been around the corner, and back
Eighty eight years old, and that’s a fact

 He’s stays active by riding his bike
Seven plus miles is the ride he likes
At fiddle events where Sam abides
His wife, Georgia, is there at his side
Long a member of Old Time Fiddlers
And that’s the fiddle style he prefers
Sam has a notebook in his pocket
With the fiddling dates on his docket

It was at the first Dove Mountain Jam
That I first saw this Old Fiddling Sam
Knew right away Sam’s a real showman
Watching Sam perform was an omen

We’ve played lots of music together
At many jams in all kinds of weather
We’re even members of the same band
And that experience has been grand

Now Sam and I are very good friends
A close friendship that will see no end
You’ll never heard a musical yarn
Like Sam singing, “Out Behind The Barn”

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Banjo Bill

It was spring when he arrived in town Came to Tucson, just to look around He was seeking weather that was right Wanted to pick Bluegrass every night Heard about a new picker in town “Hot banjo” was the word going round When we met, he said, “I’m Banjo Bill” Down from Iowa with time to kill He and wife Cindy came to my jam Heard his Banjo and became a fan I hope he sticks around, this guy’s good He may be moving here; knock on wood Soon he said what I wanted to hear In the autumn, we’ll be moving here So easy going and fun was he His banjo playing sure impressed me Bill moved to Tucson five months later His banjo play couldn’t be greater Today he plays in four different bands As a banjo picker, “He Is Da-Man!”

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Surrounded by silence and draped with a linen sheet,
to keep dust from your natural sheen,
and protect you from direct sunlight;
not from the loneliness and gloominess of your night...

How thrilling and gratifying was to hear
the gleeful or moody notes,
when these careful fingers 
played an octave:  either lower or higher!  

Never abandoned for a long period,
always tuned-up, free of dust and ready for play;
a companion that loved being spoiled,
by letting me improvise the melody of the day... 

Let me see myself in virtual reality, stately and taut, 
sitting in my stylish pose, and hit the keyboard,
transcribing a musical comedy by sharp memory
as the chords make up my distinct harmony...    

Be dormant no more, come alive and rejuvenate your tones: 
as the spirit that inspires the mood of your melodies;  bring back
all the tenors and sopranos to this forgotten stage so dark, 
and let them sing the arias they choose within the range of their keys....  

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The Orpheum in Winter

Eating the paint on the Orpheum walls
are the voices of every performer
Some dressed in black with pearls in their hair
Some straight from England (Paul Weller)
Truthfully, I've been left freezing myself
eating the cup of the deep yellow moon
lifting the music out past the old walls
of this beat up Victorian room
Frescos are heavenward scrolling and spun
faded out velvet on chairs
A spit of a girl now behind the tall mike
not a one of the men in her life still is there
She is a replica of each of these seats
and what they contain there with in
The crying and torture of bruised and bled souls
left over from yesterday's sin
She is the voice of collective remorse
They're sorry for spilling the moment
The room heaving breath from her following's sigh
releasing their beaten up torment
All of the paint absorbs the dark air
and peels on like acid to rain
Orpheum walls, once a grand concert hall
Now home to, and bursting with pain.

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My muse is a mansion of music
Each room a rhythm
Every corner a chord
Every crevice a chorus
The master suite is a symphony
The living room is a lyric of love

Midst this mansion of music there is a maestro
Who orchestrates the ornate with orchids
And whose baton bows to a beautiful beat
As gently the maestro guides a group through hallways of harmony
And notes that negate negativity

My muse is a mansion of music
Built on a foundation of a fundamental infrastructure
Bearing the signature of syncopation
Oh, were I but a ghost who haunts those hallways
Fervently and in all ways
And I could dance to the rhythm of roses and romance
Alas, there are no ghosts who haunt this mansion
Only devotees to the décor that delights their eyes 
And scribes a theme to a score etched by lyrical love

Mansions as mystically magnificent as this one are few
Because, maestro, my muse in that mansion of music is you
     © 2012…copyright PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~ 


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Finding Itzhak Perlman

Top hat
Shoe shine
Tywhitt tie
Silk design
Snap heels
Harvest moon
Lowest lights
Fig perfume
Star leash
Driving hence
Toward the view
of recompense
Lights blur
Neon stiff
Leaving us
a sugar kiss
Brow bent
Toward the night
Linking arms
Russian, white.
Ice flesh
Music blood
Well me up
and loose the flood
Night breath
Gracing such
Lit electric
by your touch.
One voice
Stringing eyes
This is where
perfection lies...

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Live Again

Sympathetic symphony surpasses maudlin expectations
While feelings of the heart enter through the mind
Pictures of the soul are formed through musical memory
As recollections of days become much easier to find

Allow not tears to alter your perception, so smile
Relive the many days that conjured up the tears
It may be hard, but truly welcome the flood of memories
For it may be all you have to help throughout the years

Recall, relive, reenact and often times replenish
Your mind can truly use the conversation with your heart
Allow yourself the pleasure of enjoying all those memories
Rolling back your time and reliving them from the start

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Nocturne in C minor

Saturated with decision
words in grain and grass
broken into tiny pieces
shards of biting glass
Born of music, lost reflection
calling from the pool
Fill me up with stars creative
sugar dipped and new
Hollow out the heart in motion
stain it iridescent
Carve the moon a silver locket
shavings from the crescent
She will hang like butter beige
stone and marble breath
on the living and the dying
'luminate their death
Breathing words of whispered sage
Tiny slivered glass
You're my music in the moonlight
lost in evening's past.

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Terse Verse

You give us just the same old beat –
no lilt or swirl or surge or sweep.
If you wish to dance a line,
why can’t you make it ring with rhyme?

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Songs in my Heart

Since I was a child with dreams, oh so many,
my heart, it wished to be a player of song.
I listened and learned all the words that I heard
So, when the music started, I could sing along.

As I got older, I knew I had a talent for words, 
I was able to write many a poem and song.
So, my next big attempt at the music game
was getting an axe and learning to play along.

I took it to bed and I prayed to God
that He would bless me with all of the skill.
I’d practice morning, noon and night, without flaw.
I thought I’d do it. I had the will.

As I got older, I realized the importance
of the music that flowed in my head.
However, I’m no rock star, nor ever will be,
I play my music for sheer enjoyment, instead.

The thrill of my songs flowing through to my hands
made me search for more instruments to play.
I taught myself the drums and the piano, too.
“You’re a one man band”, my friends used to say.

Ah, but, even today all types of music inspire
those dreams that had laid dormant inside.
But, my love for music has never been hidden
and my enjoyment when playing still thrives.

So, when I hear about all of these new talents,
some young, some old, but at the top of the charts.
I have to smile because I still think I could have
made it to the top with the songs in my heart.

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Leather was absolutely everywhere
The smell of liquor lingered throughout
Long hair, spiked hair, blue hair, green hair
The music was what it was about

We, as teens, came forth in droves
To get polluted and to listen real good
Totally awesome, standing right by the amp
Listening, as one really should

This club in Staten Island was my stomping ground
Snuck in with a bottle of JD in my jacket
Musicians came and played all their songs,
Though my parents thought it was all a racket.

The music was great, each group I heard
Like Generation X, Catholic Girls and Joan Jett
Here I saw the Ramones like five times, too
A better time, no one could ever get.

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Fred and Ginger

Paper waltz in candy light
flickering and swollen
We belong to yesteryear
in this moment stolen
Dancing 'round the silvered cane
sugared lips a salty kiss
Black and white on tv screens
longing stripped as pure as this
Flowing skirts in see through silk
tapping heels on marble floors
Slipping air into our pockets
makes me want you all the more
Might as well be strung on chords
candy floss from rafters wood
as we dance with swollen looks
spoken not, but understood.

Details | Quatrain | |

Our Music

You felt so good the other day
So sorry that it’s been so long
Upon your body I did play
That is where my hands belong

The sounds you made, they were so sweet
No other time, have I heard such sound
When it was over, I felt so complete
I promise now to keep you around

Ill want to play with you again this night
But, only if you let me have my way
Oh, Fender Strat, you’re sheer delight
You are the guitar that I choose to play