Best Chorus Poems
I walked in darkness along the shore
seeking only solitude and nothing more
Thunder drummed from somewhere far away
like foreboding timpani as clouds began to play
They competed with the roar of bally waves
crashing to the beach in rhythmic laves
Everything was out of reach for me
the moon, the stars, the depth of the sea
Echoes of a nocturne were swirling in my head
Lyrics left unsung, but spoken instead
My soprano continued; the falsetto stopped
Too weak to stand, on my knees I dropped
My footprints had been erased by an ebbing tide
No longer able to run. I chose not to hide
Blind in the darkness, my loneliness daunting
a flash of lightning, then another more taunting
I lifted my eyes to the sky, to the falling rain
its sting delivered in a medley, staccatos of pain
On the edge of the sea, I waited for the end of me
My tears an ensemble, an elegy in requiem plea
I ignored the orchestra when I heard the ocean call
louder than kettle drums or the storm's howling squall
No encore would this night be able to reprise
When the flowing tide encroached, I closed weary eyes
A chorus of waves crashed like cymbals in concerto
stealing the baton from the hand of the Maestro
The moon and stars were out of reach for me
I wept as I was swept into the depth of the sea
August 28, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 13 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
the ivory sun
is
the
harbinger of rain and tears,
awakening the sleeping
streaks of gold and sage,
to rise and rage
in sakura s i l e n c e,
as the sound of
d r i z z l i n g diamonds
reminds me to reminisce,
how you and I
danced to the
blissful beats
of electro-pop,
oblivious to the
fluorescent fogs
blinding the morning
stars,
singing in
contrasting cadence,
the chorus
of youth,
where innocence
plays hide and seek
with the demons
hiding in the corners
of fragile conscience.
sometimes
I fear the seconds,
crawling in slow motion,
too afraid to let go
of the grief
nestling
in my heart
as a poetic memento
of how I’ve
known the synonyms
of trust
and tranquility,
amidst the childhood tremors
that tangled
my inner peace
into knots of
dreariness.
tonight I rejoice~
raising a
rose-tinted glass
of
moonbeams
to celebrate
another sunflower dawn,
adorned with
mellifluous memoirs
of us,
a friendship
woven into
the spine of
galactic supernovae,
where your
laughter reverberates
across the sizzling skyline,
like music
to the wind and waves
of angels,
residing
with hyacinth halcyons,
engrossed
in the picturesque
presence of
your
pristine utopia,
where love still flows
like a river untouched
by the seasonal storms.
so, in this
w o r l d of woes and throes,
let me be
an echo
of your ink and blood,
for I still
breathe the petrichor,
petals of p e a c e
thriving
in the
meadows of mourning,
as your tender name
is the
crystalline cue
urging my muse
to
praise the
mystical musk
of graceful magnolia
that lingers
in
starry stillness...
One little flower
Nods in the delicate breeze
As the crickets hum
The voice inside me writes,
Every dawn with no reason nor cause,
Just wandering those hands down the page painted white,
Singing the chorus of words, with no pause.
Every morning with no reason nor cause,
When inspiration weaves like a thread into my brain,
Singing the chorus of words, with no pause,
I feel the rhythm of those bouncing words through my vein.
When inspiration weaves like a thread to my brain,
My feelings are painted on an uneven page,
I feel the rhythm of those bouncing words through my vein
I connect my heart and brain to my feelings with no pain nor rage.
My feelings are painted on an uneven page,
With an unsteady hand on uneven line,
I connect my heart and brain to my feelings with no pain nor rage,
Writing scrolls of would be wonders of my own design.
With an unsteady hand on uneven line,
Just wandering those hands down the page painted white,
Writing scrolls of would be wonders of my own design.
The voice inside me writes.
World hushed in silence
Birds unable to keep still…
The chorus of dawn
Melody of praise
Chases the shroud of the night…
Blessed hues of morn
Dawn gives way to day
The celebration of life…
Is well under way
Eileen Manassian Ghali
just before sunrise
spring sounds of the dawn chorus ~
calling out to mate
Written: November 12, 2024, for — Glenn Hughes Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori, inspired by the song “Let America Be America Again”
______________________
Through veils of twilight, we walk
Starlit stars sparkling bright
And beneath, spirits dwindle —
And dreams slip from sight.
Farmers firmly toil the summer soil
Hopes cradled in their hands—
But where’s the pledge in the toil—
When golden glimmers through sands?
In quiet lands, the echoes call
Of history's heavyweight
Poor whites, scrape by on scraps —
While people endure fate.
Natives gaze upon their land
Once rulers of rolling meadows
Now naked of tales, raw and bare —
Their zest for life is still in their ghetto.
Immigrants, with drained hearts
Bring burdens brimming with pain
Their promises packed in perilous chains—
Ceaseless struggles, calamities, and gain.
The workers wake as one word in a song
Brick by brick, they construct a dream—
But in unsung nooks, nebulous shades lurk—
And faith falters, starts to wane its gleam.
Look—hope weaves through patches torn
Each flag a tattered breeze
Men gather close around despair—
While stories cling to trees.
A dark veil cloaks this fractured land
Where families fight and grow
People searching for their kin—
Through seas of strife, they row.
The dog-eared dreams, the scuffed-up souls
Marked by scars and strife
Yet with each breath, a deep resolve—
This is our shared life.
Singing the songs of pioneers
Voices strong and clear
We reclaim the ideals professed—
Longing for what feels near.
In every heart, a spark ignites
Hope rises, raw and bright
For in the struggle, we find our way—
Through shadows into the light.
slow to crescendo
eruption from dark to light
symphonic rapture
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A Magicicada Poetry Contest
Hosted by Maureen McGreavy
© 10th June 2018
Shore lights buttress the sky's
vaulted dark and shed
a solemn hush along
the river's reach.
Set upon a calm,
fishing boats drift
the night towing lines
of vicious hooks.
Below them, the sediments
of lifetimes lay in secreted
scores cast in a language
lost to the ear. In the quiet
of evenings you can almost
hear the river breathe.
Something rises to speak,
falling silent as if an affliction
has made what
dwells there, mute.
In the distance, small fish
splash the surface pursued
by predators lunging up
from deep below. Then everything
chokes to a quiet.
The river flows on
and on, sealing in mud
the sad chorus
of unspoken sounds.
I opened up the window,
the street noise came crashing in.
Pushing sadness in the hole
where my heart once should have been.
I see the crumpled bed sheets,
where the two of us would lie.
It’s hard to see what happened,
through these tears filling my eyes.
It feels like a hundred years,
though it’s just been a few days.
You walked out that slamming door,
and left me here in this haze.
I can’t eat and I can’t sleep,
it’s too hard to even think.
But I’ve become an expert,
on how much a man can drink.
I’ve had gin, I’ve had whiskey,
had champagne and rot-gut wine.
Vodka, scotch, rum, and bourbon,
brandy and beer in a stein.
Jim Beam and Seagram’s Seven,
two Buck Chuck and Boone’s Farm wine.
Had me thinking of the end,
came close to crossing that line.
They say time will heal all wounds,
and that I would soon forget.
If I was a gambling man,
I still would not take that bet.
This city’s lonesome rhythm,
has me tied up in a noose.
You coming back here to me,
is the knife to cut me loose.
Neon signs choke out the moon,
all those bright lights blind the stars.
The streets are filled with the songs,
of lost souls and unhealed scars.
Since you walked away from me
and tore my whole world apart.
Add one more sound to that tune,
the beat of my broken heart.
Snuggling and cuddling,
Caressing and fondling,
And all those other tender things
That happen in the night.
Teasing and tickling,
Sighing and giggling,
And so much profound feeling
When we hold each other tight.
the song begins
I listen for a while
sweet melody tweets
The sweet sweat chorus of forgotten voices
Bared and marred by torrents of ugly vices
The agonies of today seemed to know an alien song
Memories of yesterday was singing but out of beat
Soon the pains of tomorrow will certainly dance
To the agonizing rhythms composed in an orthodox club
‘cos our battered mnemonic ear of age long pauperism
Has being spent listening to that tuneless song
Sung as a song to the scribe of our soulless soul
Hopes capsized again in the waters of the once true church
The canopy gatherings of the great bi-colored religion
Where we know we would find our salvation
In the musty bibles where there were ghosts
On every page and death on both cold covers
This black Jesuit, our bullying gold rimed priest
Whose communion we daily upon starving feast
In a healing ceremony whose cure could be death
And our efforts useless as a spare prick at a wedding
But this golden chorus of forgotten voices unforgotten
We will sing even if the lyrics were written in purgatory
And composed inside the furnace of the nine hells
This will not quite have Angels for stanzas
To celebrate your lose lips that sink our ships
With Aryan salutes to secrets once moaned
In a Nazi torments on the desert winds.
..... cus i aint got no mother plucking rap skills mucker,
I'm a poet shall I show it
rhyme the line combine and row it,
I'm a sick ink flicker
tips fidget like a widget
I'm a little bit prolific
that's a rap
so get with it
such a good chorus,
now feel the force of the fall as we move forward
cus I rap awful,
admittedly I havent got an ounce of pure ability
I'm the pit you see,
lips slip over lyrics like I'm tipsy
I link in, sync up like society and gypsy,
and I know what I sound like, yes I'm listening
while you sit there in your pants you just pissed in,
I miss the beat repeatedly
like a fall winter springs back to summer scorch
see it's fabulously written
I'm just crap with the rhythm,
raps a cat and I'm a gibbon
in a strap on with a ribbon,
I rap it for the hell of it,
accolade irrelevant
I'm heaven sent malevolent...….
Paper Doll Chorus Lines
by Odin Roark
Sun and wind
Imagination’s puppeteer
Turn and twist cutout paper dolls
Strung across blown out window casements
Creating daily enchantment amidst the smoke
How precious
These afternoons
As scissors assist small fingers prepare
The matinée performance
Cutting daily “stay in your homes” flyers
Into dancing friends
Soon
Say the mothers
The war stage
Will be replaced by
Velvet curtained openings
Where make-believe hope
Will find flesh and blood still intact
Renewed hearts respecting
Freedom
Happiness
Soon