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Long poem by Joe Flach | Details |

Straight to Hell - A Short Story

I was a seventeen year old senior in a coed, catholic high school.  Our gym classes however were still all boys and all girls.  My senior year we had gym every other day and music every other day in the same time slot.  The music classes, therefore, were also all boys or all girls.

She was a twenty-eight year old nun in her first teaching assignment.  She was in way over her head.  She was about five-foot-four and weighed practically nothing.  The nuns in our school no longer wore habits and I remember thinking it was a good thing because she would probably fly away like Sally Fields.  If you don’t know what I mean by that then you are too young to be reading my story.

The music class was a mad house.  She could not control a room of twenty some boys bound and determined to make her life hell.  I mean, music class?  Really?

We never did the homework assigned; never answered her questions seriously; never believed her threats at discipline; wouldn’t accept the demerits she tried to hand out; and basically goofed off for the hour that was supposed to be dedicated to learning about music.

For some reason, she seemed too proud or too green or too determined to go to the principal or another teacher for help; and, sensing that, we knew we could get away with our childish behavior and so we did.

One day, a handful of us “got in trouble” and she said she wanted to talk to us after class.  I was the only one that actually stayed.  She tried to lecture me on my bad behavior but I guess my smirk was evidence it was not sinking in.  Then, she started to cry, and for the first time I saw her as a person.

“What am I doing,” she cried.  "I can’t do this.  I am trying; I am really trying, but I am not cut out for this.  Why are you boys so mean and hateful?”

I stood up in front of her not knowing what to do or what to say.  I felt like a real jerk.  I was a real jerk.

Tears poured down her face, which I finally recognized as being a pretty face.  She bowed her head and just sobbed.  In my awkward seventeen year old manner, I slowly opened my arms and allowed her to lean into me.  And I hugged her while she wept.
   
At seventeen, I was no ladies’ man, and this crying nun was the first woman I had ever held so close to me.  I could feel her breasts pressed against me; the heat emitting from her body; and, the delicate nature of her womanly form in my arms.  I knew then that I was destined to go straight to hell for the thoughts that were going through my head and the feelings I felt between my legs.

She pulled away and whispered, “I am so sorry, I should not have done that.  You may go.”

I simply said, “You know, you are doing fine, you just have a class of a bunch of butt holes”, and walked out of the room.  It was that night that she started coming to see me in my dreams.  To hell I go, for sure.

I wish I could tell you I had the moxie and the influence to whip that class into shape, but I did not.  The mad house continued with one less student joining in the fun.  I tried my best to behave, answer her questions, pay attention and feign interest in the topic of the day – but I was just one in a sea of monsters.  I stayed after class and after school a few times to talk with her, ask her how she was doing, and see if I could help in any way.  She was actually starting to get the hang of things and was able to focus on the few classes that were willing to learn.

At the end of the school year, I was one of the few students who had not enrolled in a college for the coming year.  Because I was one of the better students, it caused a little bit of a fuss and a number of teachers talked to me about the huge mistake I was making taking some time off before going to college.  It seems they were all convinced that if I did not start into college in the fall, I was doomed to never go to college.  I challenged them by saying what they were really worried about was their statistics of percentage of students who went on to further their education.

During the last day of classes, the music teacher asked me to stay after class.  It appears, it was her turn to try to talk some sense into me.

“So, I hear you are not going to college,” she said.

“No, I’m going to college … some day, just not this fall.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.  Take some time off.  Work.  Nothing.  I don’t know.  Why is it so important to everyone?  When the time is right, I’ll go to college.”

“They just care about you.”

“Bull loney,” I said, only it was another word.

She smiled at me.  I had been dreaming about her now for six months.  I changed the topic.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?”

She laughed, “You know, I grew up the same as every girl in this high school.  I did have boyfriends.”

“Yeah, but have you ever kissed a boy,” I challenged.

“No.  Not the way you mean.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?”

“No.  Never,” she lied.

“If I told you I will register for college if you kiss me, will you?”

“No.  I believe you when you say you just need some time off.  I think that is a good idea.”

Then she walked up close to me and stopped a heartbeat away.  Suddenly, she reached down between my legs, grabbed the crouch of my pants and said, “Just don’t let this thing get you in trouble.”

She abruptly turned and walked out of the classroom while I tried to catch my breath.

During the graduation ceremony I saw her sitting with the other teachers and shared a private smile with her while walking back to my seat after being handed my diploma.  I would never see her again … outside of my dreams.

I often think about my high school music teacher and my ticket straight to hell.  Unfortunately, I never heeded her advice.  That body part of mine she grabbed ahold of for a fleeting second those many years ago, has gotten me in trouble time and time again.


Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/light_on_the_devils_chord___the_challenge_622720' st_title='Light On the Devil's Chord - The Challenge'>

Light On the Devil's Chord - The Challenge

My hair bristled in the crisp breeze
Excitement spreading throughout my body
Even the sudden cold amused my fingertips,
Tingles spreading through my hands and up my arms
Soon I would be there too. . .
In the murky shadows of mysterious malice
To see the claws and talons of humanity’s greatest foe
The Prince of Darkness—the Saint of Woe

The great seal remained closed as I stood before it
Not a peep was heard from inside

“Knock, and it will be opened to you . . . “

Lightly, my fist clunked three times upon the great seal,
And a horrendous echo resounded like muffled shrieks of suffering
Black ooze leaked out of the seal as I lifted my fist
A great closed pot of tender meat and chow boiling over,
The spicy hot substance steaming the long grass surrounding the well-like prison

Then a voice, like Queen Bee birth resounded,
Stinging me fiercely, body and soul, having me sway…
To a familiar song
I had listened to long ago:

“Iiiii… ain’t got no-booooooody…. 
And no-body cares…foooor meeee…”

The song continued as the seal opened fully,
As I began descending into the restless night of his voice
Both lulled and perturbed
The sumptuous layers of shrieks, his background band
Gurgles of thundering bass,
And strums of laughter from throats long wailing… 

“Aaaaaaaand.. I’m sad and loooooooonely… 
Won’t some-body…come takah chance with meeee..
Owhhh…?” 

In what seemed like an eternal moment,
I had landed in the very bottom of the boiling ooze
The music ceased, and the great seal slipped over,
Blocking the view of the stars. . .
Yes, above. . .now only darkness
As if heaven, to Satan, was hell. . .

He turned to me slowly, knowingly
A smile creeping on his filthy face, from ear to ear
A charming set of teeth, freshly sung mouth
Arrogant brow rising in mock surprise. . .
A gruff laugh escaped his lips as my heart beat faster
And I thought to myself,

“What have I gotten myself into?”
. . .
The words popped out of my mouth before my mind could object,
And he exploded in a fit of charming guffaws
I heard a sea of laughter follow his own
Even Death, in the far corner of prison, winked. . .amused

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years, 
Dearest Daughter of Eve. . .  I’m impressed . . . really, I am. . .”

“You are?”

His smile faded and his expression grew grim and cold
“Well . . . are you?”

I remained silent, and took a deep breath
What shall I say to the Devil himself?
Am I clever enough? Brave enough?

“Impressed, I mean. . .well?
Are you? 
I know you will not lie to me,
You wouldn’t dream of it. . .
You wouldn’t dream nasty dreams like times in your past days. . .
Or. . .would you. . .Daughter of Eve.
Would you dare. . .dream of me. . .”

I felt a claw hit me on the back of my neck
I remained still, my breathing cradled by the silence. . .
I moved closer to him, never blinking,
As his coal eyes burned deeply into mine

Suddenly, he was furious
“You dare give me silence, woman!?
After my years of devastating . . . tormenting my own, 
Just to see and hear them screech and tremble. . .
Of no aim but to crush this criminal quiet,
You…a woman of no power…or little to show, 
Come down to me, ME. . .whom you know hates you all. . .
You come down to me, The Almighty Devil of Hatred,
With your dull . . . infuriating . . . pathetic, disgusting. . .
Silence……?”

I sighed. . .
“I. . .I don’t know why I am here. . .with you. . .perhaps it is a test. . .a lesson. . .
But I do know what I want. . .”

His claw dug deeper into my skin. . .
“Oh, that’s a new one. . .
But you. . .hm, hard to play with. . .? I doubt it. 
Easy to trick. . .surely. . .
If there was a point. . .”

Deeper the claw dug into my skin, but my flesh refused to break

I smiled at him softly, and this seemed to disturb him completely
He looked at me numbly, an impassive stare
 Devoid of feeling and emotion

And I said to him,
“I want you to sing and play us a song you have never sung before,
Prince of Darkness. . .”

His grimy skin rippled at the opportune challenge. . .
His eyes drew out all confidence and pride swirling in the shadows
His smile, big again, fresh, and repugnant
He smelled of all things dead, and all things putrid

“Plug in the bass, Death.
I am going to dissolve this fluttery woman right where she stands.”

I stopped him, possessed with an idea
I bit my lip and removed his claw from my neck
Taking his hand for a moment, and pushing it to him

“One more thing, Devil.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course. . .what is it?”

“. . .I’m singing with you.”

The demons roared in hilarity, as Death, 
Silent as always kept his composure

Satan tilted his head at me as the laughter died
He no longer contained his surprise
“You. . .want to. . .make music. . .with me?”

“I’ve got 40 days and 40 nights. . .don’t you be a killjoy.”

He smiled at me, fury and lust in his eyes
“Angel charms will not work down here, babe. . .
I rarely play fair. . . .but I never turn down a challenge.”

My strange purpose had surfaced at last
“Quit your stalling then, and turn up the music.”

--------------------------

Song reference: “I Have Nobody” specifically sung by Leon Redbone
**Please tell me what you thing guys! If you haven’t read the other parts, it might explain things a bit. This is going to be a major work, and I’d loved all the advice I can get. I am aware that collaborating with The Devil is a tricky feat, and I’d really love some input. Thanks for reading. Lots of love! –Oh, and also, I am thinking of changing the title of the work as well. Not sure what yet!


Long poem by ROGER SATNARINE | Details |

THE BEST POETRY ARE BORN OF LOVE SONGS

    ~*THE*  *BEST*  *POETRY*  *ARE*  *BORN*  *OF*  *LOVE*  *SONGS*~
 

                                                   ~T~houghts*
                                                                                   
                                                   ~H~ave* 
                                                                                    
                                                   ~E~ndeared*
                                                                                    
                                                   ~B~eautifully* 
                                                                                    
                                                   ~E~mpowering* 
                                                                                    
                                                   ~S~ongs* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~T~hat* 
                                                                                    
                                                   ~P~oetry* 
                                                                                     
                                                   ~O~ften* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~E~ntices* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~T~he* 
                                                                                    
                                                   ~R~eaders* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~Y~earning* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~A~nd* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~R~ighteous* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~E~mpathetic* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~B~elieving* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~O~f* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~R~ecordings* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~N~ourishes*
                                                                                   
                                                   ~O~ur* 
                                                                                     
                                                   ~F~eelings* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~L~ove* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~O~ften* 
                                                                                  
                                                   ~V~isits* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~E~veryone’s* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~S~oul* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~O~ffering* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~N~eeded* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~G~ratifying* 
                                                                                   
                                                   ~S~ensuality*

 
                                 *~*ROGER CHAD SATNARINE 2015*~*


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

Different Dream

After a hard day at work I come home
Hear my boy rapping the words to his headphones
Every bleep comes another bleep
As he keeps dancing to the beat
Come upstairs and barge through the door
Say to him, "Boy whatcha listenin' to that for?"
As I rip it out of his ears
Turn around and look in the mirror
Get ya head outta the gutter son
You talk to ya mother with that tongue?
Ought'a lean you down and wash your mouth soap
Teach you a lesson and just barely make you choke

Dad, you don't understand
This is me, this is who I am!

Boy, you freeze it right there
Just so I know we're good and square
I'm your father, sit down when I say so
This is home, this is where the green grass grows
Can't be the one to follow you where you go
Can't take you as is and just tie a little bow
Around it and be happy
You ain't what I expected you'd be
After all this hard work to bring home the bacon
Just to come home to see the fuss you making!?

Imma be big and travel the world,
Be famous and get hooked with any girl
I'm tired of this rice 'n' beans, I wanna taste some of that green!

Stop it child, you making a scene, a mockery of ya ma and me
Do yourself a favor and dream a different dream

 The strings are for those with charm
And fame are for those holding cards
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream
Billionaires are cowards in disguise
Their careers built upon money and lies
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream

I remember when you was little
Your mind was like some twisted riddle
Rapping the lyrics
To your idols, Snoop Dog and Jay-Z
Acting like you knew what they meant
But boy, you could barely read
Spittin' rhymes don't put a roof over ya head
Or clean the dirty sheets in your bed
All those fancy clothes don't give ya fame
just brings your family to shame
Look at you playing life like it's a game
Joining all those gangs just to bleed
Gettin' high and smokin' weed

Dad, it ain't like that
I'm not some filthy rat
Planting my seed wherever
Imma stay true forever
Build myself upon lyrical tether
Striving to be as authentic as leather
Come on dad, can't we get it together?

Your grandpa was born and raised in the meadows
No Internet, no microwave, just planting corn rows
But right now the grass is as green as it's gonna get
And if you ain't got that through ya head yet
As your pops I'm really quite upset

 Take these words right from my mouth
And give 'em wings to fly south
Or I will run from this house like the ratatouille mouse
Tired of this cheese I want something more
The birds and the bees aren't what I'm looking for
I don't wanna die like everybody else
Just put in a hole and call it a grave
I don't wanna die with nothing to my name
If I'm not looking up I'm going south
You can scream and cuss at me with ya sailor's mouth
I'm still leaving and I'm taking the dangerous route

The strings are for those with charm
And fame are for those holding cards
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream
Billionaires are cowards in disguise
Their careers built upon money and lies
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream

Here I am, standing in this trailer
In your eyes I'm a failure
For wanting to travel the world like a sailor
From Beverly Hills to New York City
At this point I don't even care if you're with me
I may have augmented my hopes a bit too high
But I was tired of looking through telescopes, that habit can die
But dad look at me now
No longer in a small town
Can't be modest I have to boast
I'm traveling the world from coast to coast
In everybody's head is my riffs
And I wish you were here to see this
Swallow your pride long enough to shed a tear
Remember what you used to say, "Turn around, look in the mirror"...?
I wasn't no golden child and you weren't the perfect dad
But come on now, that's a thing of the past
You can ditch your bacon, eggs and Jimmy Dean
Live in luxury in your fields of green
Come on dad, won't you dream this different dream
with me?



NOTE: Words in italics are from the son's perspective, words in normal font are from the father's perspective, and words in bold is the chorus line.

I'm not sure where the idea came from. I was on a camping trip, heading back home, and all the sudden this whole elaborate story came to me and I started writing it all down on a notepad (back then I didn't have my Kindle Fire).


Long poem by Robbie Butler | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/meaningful_screw_yous_459127' st_title='Meaningful Screw You's'>

Meaningful Screw You's

I'm done with this I've had enough of this/
Slushy trip since Hell Paso son just quit
This empty pursuit
Of letting the past keep livin' through you/
Go ahead and equip the damn truth
It is that simple to choose
What state of the neighbor of the temple you use
But you're just so adamant to worship/
Every preliminary negative
Which is why you have sentiment for those sedatives
Want evidence man your head has been/
Set on making your *****Titanic as
You steer into a gigantic crash/
Without any ****ing idea what effect thy absence has/
On the kids and on me too/
My heart feels ripped the honest truth/
To see you empty as your holes in the wall
You're like a ghost to us all/
Pale as the Seroquil pills you down/
I want to help but under the meds what you feel gets drowned/
I have the inauspicious fear you'll end up just like Tommy
That's why I pray every night/ I can't lose you Robbie


You have no idea 
What it's like
To watch you die
Every day
Every night
All the time
You can't even see that I am
Here with you
By your side
But as much
As I try
You deny
That I fight
For your life then I scream that
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance) 
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance)
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)


Why can't you just forget the past
Take some time to look at the bigger picture and not be back in a flash
We're Kruger (pronounced close to sounding like Kroger)/ the fear you helped restore gives me bags
And I'm beyond tired of takin' attacks from your last-
Ing grudge for my darker days/
I love you but I wish to part our ways/
There's only so much my heart can take
In terms of holes and you immerse me in 'em the Spartan way/
It's not our choice we're physically far away/
And yes half the reason is me that our spark gave way/
But this time it's your fault that our world is shaking
You shut me out because the ears of another girl were waiting/
It seems that even for Britney your concern's decaying
It's ****ed up/ 'cause you never acknowledged how much I changed/
'Cause of our rapport me and my fam are pretty much estranged
**** these games you love to play/ 'tween now and then nothin's changed
Good luck not lovin' me as much as pain


You have no idea 
What it's like
To watch you die
Every day
Every night
All the time
You can't even see that I am
Here with you
By your side
But as much
As I try
You deny
That I fight
For your life then I scream that
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance) 
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance)
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)


For a year it's been suicide with clues to find solutions I/
Don't think you're usin' my heartful l advice/ damn dude have I
Not been full of time so you could find/ reasons for you to not be blue and live/
But everytime I cope a sit and let you vent/ you walk off and do the opposite/
Talk about exhausted *****try listenin' to all your promises
And problems it's/ a shame how it's all turned out
I'm so burnt out/
I'll be the last to say this won't work out/
If you take your anger out on me again like I'm a dating spot/
Speakin' of those feelings that you refrain from not (knot)-
Icing was it honesty/ or rants of despar (as in spar) ity exasperated by deprav (as in im"prov") ity/
Or is there a real fervor (as in carni"vore") for me
If so then why you ignor (same as above) ing me/
For a Vai's you say you are not strong enough to close
Go **** yourself with a rubber hose
I don't care where the **** it goes/
I was there when no one was and this' the thanks I get
Never was I a dick to you so why'd you wank me *****/
My tears have turned into repressed anger/
For you a brother to me now a depressed stranger
That I have to put up longer than my dress' hanger


You have no idea 
What it's like
To watch you die
Every day
Every night
All the time
You can't even see that I am
Here with you
By your side
But as much
As I try
You deny
That I fight
For your life then I scream that
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance) 
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance)
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)


Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details |

The Story of the Grand Piano

She was a grand piano: grand in structure, grand in beauty, grand in quality 
of sound. She had captured the heart of every pianist who had come to play in 
the great hall. Once they touched her keys…they fell in love with the 
celestial sounds that resonated from her core.

He was a grand musician, adept at playing several instruments. Music was 
what made him come to life…his passion seen in the swaying of his body as he 
became enraptured in the sounds. He came looking for her, having heard of 
her perfection, and once he touched her, he was captivated. 

Night after night the hall was packed with music lovers who came to hear him 
play, but they also came to feast their eyes for when he sat there at the 
piano…it was almost as if he were in the throes of passion. She made him 
pour and release his inner soul in notes that vibrated and pulsated within 
every listener’s heart. Passion redefined.

His fame spread.  He spent hours every day…sitting there on the stage, 
caressing her keys, making her do his bidding…moving her to a forte 
crescendo…and then another, soothing her with pianissimo after the 
storm of passion was spent. 

When did it happen? When had the restlessness taken hold? He couldn’t 
remember a specific moment, but at night…after the concerts were over, and 
he was there in his room, he would dream of traveling again, and he’d think of 
the Stradivarius he had seen for sale in the most renowned music store in 
Europe, a store right beside the grand hall. She was a beauty…sleek, 
streamlined, shapely, and after he had touched and fondled her, heard the 
noise he could bring to life with his flexible fingers, he knew…the time had 
come to say goodbye.

All his savings and more went into purchasing that Stradivarius that fit 
snuggly under his chin. He could travel with her. She was…lightweight, easy to 
carry. She was not stationary.....heavy. 

It was the last concert, and he gave that piano his all. The audience sensed a 
difference in the man. The room was electrified with the notes of a passion in 
bursting from the fusion of man and instrument. The piano had never sounded 
so angelic, sweet, replete with every nuance of a lover’s dream. Something 
seemed to be tugging at the pianist's heart for before he took his bow, they 
saw his eyes wet with tears. 

Years passed, his fame grew. He was now known as the master violinist....the 
shining star among his contemporaries...one of a kind. He was happy and 
famous. He was traveling….light. His Stradivarius was his to finger and play 
with every night, a perfect mistress, a perfect muse, yet why…why did he find 
himself back in the hall after all this time? He stood there aghast, for all he 
could see on the stage was the old janitor, sweeping the floor. “Where is she?” 
he demanded. 

The janitor squinted at him, trying to remember, and then he gave a sad 
smile. “Why…didn’t you hear? It was in all the papers. After you left, 
something went terribly wrong with that grand piano.  All the notes kept 
coming out wrong. It didn’t matter who sat down to play, and to tell you the 
truth, some of those pianists were even better than you, or so I heard said. 
Nothing sounded right. They brought professional tuners. Everything seemed 
alright, but…the music, the music lacked….life. She couldn’t get fixed and so, 
in the end….she was sold for scrap pieces to a carpenter who hacked her into
pieces to use for firewood.”

The musician stood there, tears streaming down his face. She had been 
heavy, her maintenance difficult, her stationary heart, unmovable. He had 
longed to travel light…to relish minimum maintenance demands, to travel far 
and wide, like a feather on the breeze…airy and light…oh, so light, but could 
someone be found who could explain to him the extreme leaded heaviness in 
his heart that rooted him, immovable, to the spot where once a beautiful 
grand piano had stood.

Eileen Manassian


Long poem by Cona Adams | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/handels_messiah_623702' st_title='Handel's Messiah'>

Handel's Messiah

A combination of Prose and Free Verse:

The most thrilling and inspirational piece of music ever to reach my 
ears is, without doubt, Handel's Messiah. I've never known anyone 
who could experience a performance and remain unmoved by this 
stirring composition. There is not a doubt in my mind that Handel 
was inspired by God's Holy Spirit while writing the brilliant oratorio. 
Since its first performance in 1742, Messiah has remained one of the 
most popular works in music. From all accounts, Handel was surely 
driven to push himself to the limit in its completion.

George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) was a German-born organist and 
composer. He was born in Halle and began taking music lessons at the 
age of seven. By the time he was 12, he was assistant organist at the 
Halle cathedral. As a youth, he had a typical Lutheran education, and 
began his work as a composer at the age of 18. Three years later, he 
moved to Italy and worked there for several years, becoming one of 
the most popular composers of Italian opera. He composed 46 Italian 
operas, over 100 Italian solo cantatas, 32 oratorios, and many other 
works. His anthem for the coronation of George II has been used for 
all subsequent coronations.  As an organist, he was considered without 
peers.

At the age of 27, he moved to England, lived in London until his death,
and is buried in Westminster Abbey. He was 56 when he abandoned 
opera and dedicated himself to composing oratorios. Messiah was the 
first, and was presented in a theater in Dublin in 1742.  Less than ten 
years later, blindness forced him to give up composing but he remained 
active. He conducted a Holy Week performance of Messiah the day before 
he died. It was told of Handel, that he was so engrossed in his work during 
the composition of Messiah, that he shut himself away in his study and 
would not come out until it was completed.  His housekeeper would bring 
his food on a plate, knock on the door, and set the tray on the floor. When 
she would return to retrieve the dishes, the food was invariably untouched.  
He felt the excitement of true inspiration, and the urgency of recording it. 
As he emerged, gaunt and unkempt, his eyes shone with an inner radiance, 
and he declared that he had “. . .seen the great God himself.” 
         
The power of this work has inspired millions since its first performance. The 
text is a collection of quotations gathered from the Bible by Handel’s friend
Charles Jennens. It illustrates the foundations of Christianity in a series of 
musical numbers that parallel the prophecy of Christ’s coming, his birth, life, 
death, and resurrection. The main reason for the popularity of Messiah lies 
in its glorious choruses, which display a variety of mood and technique.
 “And the Glory of the Lord” is a happy dance-like chorus in triple time. In 
“Surely He hath Borne our Grief's,” Handel portrayed grief with solemn 
rhythms and thick harmony. The thrilling “Hallelujah Chorus” shows Handel 
as a master of choral effects. 

This poem was inspired by reading about George Frideric Handel's passionate 
experience during the writing of Messiah.  

What's That I Hear?

The bells are ringing,
     listen, listen.
The angels are singing,
     do you hear?
They are telling the story
          once again.

The Son is exalted, exalted.

Handel's Messiah is heard
     in heaven, as always.
What a gift God gave us
     through one man,
          willing to listen.

Listen closely,
     listen with your heart,
          what do you hear?

Reference:  The Columbia Encyclopedia - Second Edition, 1950




Long poem by jalani jenkins | Details |

im back

Stand back 
Here comes the hurricane
The storm is worst then a earthquake 
Ima gas planet like Jupiter & saturn
Sufficication no life just toxic gas 
Blow u to pieces 
It's so interesting 
Reachin for me is like reachin the stars in the solor system
U'll never get to me son
Think twice before u wanna try me
The size of Tyson
Gorilla in the mountin
I dominate this with out fear
I'm better then most u hear
Hate the truth 
I don't give a ****
I'm not the type to smile about *****
I'm smart I osverb the poetry,biology,philosophy,history & literature 
I mind **** so many people
It's like a video game I'm playing with my brain
I go off like I'm on speed
I'm so crazy in the brain 
I can't stay normal
I puff good green 
To keep my head good 
Most of ya wack 
Ya fake take the make up off
I'll spray u with the hose proudly 
Ima problem child 
No one can touch me
U couldn't be me if u took Notes & did research
Ya talk too much like ya was the broadcasters on the news
I'm far from the sun
But I have a heated temper
The flame I leave on the mic it can't be out out 
Call the fire department
It ain't gonna do any good
The savage poet on the loose
Taking mc's out 
Eating em out like oral sex
As long it don't stink ima eat u out the frame 
Ya like on the breakfast menu
Put u in the cementary 
U forgot I'm the grave digger
I dig graves for fun
Most of ya dig ya own graves
Talking about money cars & hoes
It's annoying 
Its having a Knat in ya ear while u sleep
Ya niggas stupid most of ya belong in special ed
The graves I dug
I show no remorse
I'll continue I'm iller then a bad cold
Cough it up u like swallowed hair
Inhale the good *****
Never the doo doo type
U style is lame u sad go to the circus 
Marry the beard lady
U envy me like the rest
I'm slick 
I can scoop a lesbian turn that ***** inside out 
Niggas hate on me I know they don't like me
Ya niggas are ugly it's like u got scraped with a fork 
Sit down 
Watch the king at his best 
I can take many sittin on the throne that's how ill I am
Take em out no competition 
Booyaka it's gettin real 
It's scary the nightmare on elm street
Coming for u in ur dreams 
**** Freddy Krueger 
I'm the true grim reaper when it come to takin souls
Take u out Ur misery 
U a kid in a growns mans world
Ur breath smells like ass & fish 
Take the mic from ya ur skills is dry 
Buy a toothbrush mouthwash and a pack of gum
I'll put u in the graveyard
Dig ur grave 
Dress u up with ur hands crossed with ur eyes open
Ain't it terrifying 
Sign my name on ur casket
Put u in the dirt put u 6ft under
Ur gone ur forgotten
Goodnight sleep in piss *****
Wack niggas wanna be down with the j
But my circle is small 
Sometimes I don't roll with em
Ya Niggas closet fags
Stay on my dick keeping my name in ya mouth why
What ya in love 
**** off i ain't into that 
Going off like I was in Vietnam fighting Vietcong 
Beating my chest like King Kong before he fought the t-Rex
I'll kill ya lawyers
U soft u wouldn't hurt a fly
U talk a good game 
U a motor mouth
****ing with me
Ima cobra ima spit venom right at u
Watch u shake screamin louder then a chick
Goons always got em on dial 
Bloods 
Crips 
Latin kings don't get it ****ed up
I'm nasty as a mold growing in a corner in a bathroom(eww)
**** that 
Worse then a bushy pussy with a fowl smell(gasp)
What's gets worst then that
I can think of many 
My mind is like a computer 
The power is on
I'm full of energy 
I said enough I feel I'm done
Adios I'm ghost I killed it enough


Long poem by Julian Miles | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/assassins_regime_443458' st_title='Assassin's Regime'>

Assassin's Regime

Clouded vision as I wake up early morning. Just before dawn, so the neighbor's still snoring. Got 2 messages from my boss sounding ticked. So, I got up, took a shower, made my self some breakfast. Gave my sweetiepie a kiss and I walked around the corner. hopped into the whip and headed straight to headquarters. Walked into my office, see a folder on my desk. I sit down with a sigh thinking "what the heck is this?" Open it up and I see a name list. Entry one, to my surprise, was a that I'd missed. Now I'm thinking to myself "how heck did he live?" I slipped him with some poison, no devoe or bell biv. My Boss storms in, face pinker than a benadryl. I understood why, Because I'm never known to miss a kill. Says he doesn't want to see my face until he's dead. And swears to God that if I mess that he's gonna have my head. Now I'm wondering as i walk away. The person that I must kill today. The last we met, it was a heck of a fight and without that poison dart, he would've taken my life. Hopped onto a jet and headed for Tokyo. At the hotel, I rolled up some Mary Joe. Choosing my artillary to get the job done. 50+ weapons. Gotta choose the right one. No longer buisness but a personal ordeal. Loading up my guns. It's about to get real. Throw my jacket on and I walked out the door. Made a bee-line to his house. I'm bout to settle the score. Check my watch, it says half past 10. Cut the powerline and it's time to begin. I rush through the house looking for him, guns blazin'. Killed the maid in the kitchen that was wrikled like a raisin. Killed the butler in his penguin suit. Zero witnesses. That's why I had to shoot. 15 bodies not a single one him. Plus I'm on the last room, so things are looking grim. Open up the study and I see him in a chair. Skimming through a book while smoking on a square. Too calm like he knew I was coming.  Tells me "Howdy do. And  this book is so stunning. It's a novel you should take a look at." I tell him "stand up sucka and cut all the crap. Remember Moscow and my little poison dart? You should've never lived. Time to die you old fart!" But instead of  fear, I see a smile on his face. This is where he's gonna perish, so it's rather out of place. He lets out a laugh and he tells me "tsk tsk. Coming at me with a gun is a very high risk." I holster my gun and charge toward the man. He pulls out a strap and I slap it out his hand. Hit him with a right knee, stuck him with a left bow. Gave a roundhouse then he fell to the floor. Kicked him in the side to insure he stays down. Somehow I missed and ended up on the ground. He got on top of me and hit me with a left and right. I had to hurry up because I'm seeing sunlight. So I head-butted him and stumbled to my feet. Hit him with a two-piece, knocked him back into his seat. I pull my nine out then I aim it at his temple. I'm thinking that i finally got him. Bout to pop him like a pimple. I asked "any last words before death, bro?" He says "nothing at the moment, but say hi to Mom though." I tell him surely will and enjoy the afterlife. I start to squeeze the trigger and I tell him "good night." Pop... And my brother's no more. 6 in the morning and i'm finally  out the door. Called the boss up, told him that the job's done. he tells me "head home and you did good, son. Take some days off and take a couple shots of sauce. And one last thing; I am sorry for your loss. And so ends the regime of this young assassin. back to it again after some days of relaxing.


Long poem by Ray Dillard | Details |

Classic Vinyl Love Poem

The radio plays their song
And two hearts beat as one
To the rhythm of a tune they call their own.
The gold and platinum vinyl spins
Creating the sound where love begins.
If only for the moment, they have won.

“Something” that George found
In the way she moves and smiles
Made him ‘believe and how’.

Millions search forever and still 
“Want To Know What Love Is”.
It took Chicago 17 tries to find “Inspiration”.

Some go to great lengths to proclaim love.
Joe showed he could “Stand A Little Rain”
For the chance to say, ”You Are So Beautiful”.

The Eagles knew that love was strong
And, if and when “Love Froze Over”,
They knew “Love Will Keep Us Alive”!

Eric used his ‘Slow Hand’ to tell Patti
She was “Wonderful Tonight”, and
Plugged back in to cry his heart to “Layla”
While Mick searched for “Satisfaction”
Knowing “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”.

Classics hold a “Whole Lotta Love”
For listeners with open hearts,
And those unafraid to take a chance
To help a “Foxy Lady” find romance,
“With Or Without Love”.

But, I must admit “You Really Got Me”
With “Every Breath You Take”!
You knew that someone “Was Waiting For You”,
And if you become “As Cold As Ice”—
“I Don’t Care Any More”—
‘I just don’t care any more’.

“Angie” and “Maggie” both had lovers
Who had to say good bye. But it
Wasn’t because their lovers didn’t try.

Rhythm and lyrics speak to the spirit
Of “Suzie Q” as freely as the rider of the song,
With an open invitation to ride along.

‘Lace and Whiskey’ gave Alice “You and Me”
And left the rocker moving Muppets hearts.
I hear a whisper from the Beatles, “Let it Be”.


Duane stayed long enough to “Eat a Peach”
But couldn’t stay without “Melissa”.
So, Skynyrd helped his spirit float away.
“Freebird” made the guitars cry
And the crossroads let him go, they say.

The Stones turned down the volume
When we heard Mick Jagger say,
“Wild Horses” ‘couldn’t drag me away’.
How sweet does that Keith Richards play?

Ann Wilson loved her “Magic Man”
And told her mother of his ‘magic hands’.
And through it all she cried for Ann.

Sometimes it’s love at first sight
And couples dance away the night
As the Beatles, when “I Saw Her Standing There”.
And they never needed any “Help”, now let’s be fair.

Some found what they looked for using “Radar Love”
While the Guess Who ran from their “American Woman”.
Could Lady Liberty understand the hatred?
Still, she welcomes all who come.

Some lovers open “Lying Eyes” 
And can’t find love the way they try.

But Mercury was electric and stadiums loved his voice
With operatic vocals he pranced across the stage 
In his Superman wife beater and stovepipe whites.
He begged for “Somebody to Love”,
While Mary waited at home.
Still the singer danced the stage. 
And, like us all, was afraid to be alone.
For him, she was, the “Love of My Life’.

So, when you’re feeling lonely
And think your love is final,
Dig through your collection
And spin some classic vinyl.

(Queen)
And “bring it back, bring it back.
Bring back the love of my life”.

(Stones)
“And if you try sometimes
You just might find
You get what you need”.


Long Poems