Loss Music Poems

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Details | Lyric |
Another song written in middle school - edited of course. ;)
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[Verse 1] I'm trapped within these walls Never to leave at all I am the prisoner inside my own home My spirit is broken I do not believe I'm locked in this chamber which I cannot leave [Chorus] The needles that break the skin The anger that runs within I’m giving it all away Just to stay alive The needles that pierce my veins It will never be the same We’re on pins and needles now It’s how we survive [Verse 2] They say he’ll find me soon Got to get out of this room The blood will spill and he’ll take what he wants to I’ll never let him through GET OUT OF MY DREAM He whispers in darkness, “I’m not who I seem…” [Chorus] [Verse 3] The four walls around me They start to close in I know I’m too late now I know I can’t win So just tell me I’m crazy It’s all in my head You’re not the killer And I am not dead [Chorus] [Breakthrough] Don’t tell me it’s impossible To start it all over again Infection sinks through your pale skin You’ll curse the day that I’m dead [Chorus]

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011




Details | Free verse |

On a cobblestone street,
cracked and ill-repaired, 
I rifle antique shops 
  for a jeweled music box 
     to cradle my empty locket. 
I wish to drop it 
     in a velvet corner 
       one tear at a time. 
If I find an heirloom 
with a bittersweet story, 
      its own tragic history, 
my sorrow may lighten 
     within the confines     of its space. 

If I were rich, I would live 
            curled up 
on the satin lining of a music box
   coupled with my locket,
and with every tender lift of its lid,
              I would rise in graceful dance. 

My restless nights shall one day sleep 
                               in rhythmic breath. 
My flailing heart shall tether 
                                      itself to heaven.

I found a music box today,
but alas, it would not play.
Without the song, 
the story       dies. 
Perhaps, today’s fruitless search 
will guide me to my hope, my treasure. 

If I were rich, I would live
in a Viennese music box, 
 a timeless ballerina twirling 
          for you alone, my love.
 
At a local pub, I sit alone 
                        in a corner
sipping seltzer and trying to ignore
your husky voice rising 
from a half-empty glass. 
Festive bubbles burst, 
     sounding off before 
               the tap tap tap 
                     of the conductor's baton. 

 I close my eyes to find you laughing
     as you sing and dance in the corners of my mind. 

You are the part of me set free.
     I am frozen in hushed memories. 
I twirl my hair to distract me from all
     the darkness I see, fingers determined
                                    to soothe my daydreams.
My spirit has weakened 
 between
fake smiles and faded time. 
I pry thoughts from a swirling head, 
   quench my angst, 
     ignore faces of strangers. 
It’s easier to whitewash 
the world in my despair, 
than to see its     colors. 
I wear my grief like a turtleneck sweater. 
I let it keep me warm when 
        winter lingers to bullet
                     spring with sleet.

When did I fall into a dark corner?

I tripped on a crack 
in the cobblestone today,
skinned my knee, looked up to see 
you smiling down at me. 

If I were rich, I'd fly to Vienna, 
      live in a ballet slipper 
        at Konzerthaus forever. 
 
I hear your voice, 
it's smashing glass,
    a cacophony of howls, 
metal on metal, 
    a melodic chaos 
of heroics and blood. 
It fills my corners.
I wonder -
did you scream
in your last moments or 
slip beneath the drop cloth 
you carefully lay
with less than a thud? 
In a hush 
   of onlookers, do-gooders,
      did your eyes widen or fall? 
If only 
      I could live in the corner 
         of a jeweled music box,
a ballerina dancing for you,  
   the world might spin in a hush.
                      If only I were rich,
                            I would escape.    



Written 11/14/15, 
revised 3/19/17 for In the Corner Contest


Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |


I've Scribbled This Song For You...


I'm wasting my days,
my empty nights too,

I should have held on,
but I simply lost you,

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

yes, I should have kept,
you close to my skin,

soaking your warmth,
but you were laughing,

at my foolish grin...


now I'm all broken,
and torn apart,

but what the hell,
I was always late,
for the tolling of the bell,

and now...

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

so kiss me now like you once did,
I'm tired of being so carefully hid,


la laa laa la laa laa laa...


(repeat to fade)


:-)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013




Details | Free verse |
The link is in the notes section, there you will also find music to accompany the poem!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Always cold in the morning, this kitchen is warmed now
With a roaring fire and my wife working beside me making just desserts
We stand here two hours this afternoon doing one of our projects
Cooking soup and fish for this evening’s xmas party of friends. 

The ghetto, the Projects, contained me with the music of 
The school’s leather belt and cane.  And then 
Parents lost in a fire. 
              That was a tough xmas, alcohol boozy flavored in an
              Empty-bottle kitchen, crowded and smoky.
It was a tough meat just cut today red blooded, now pale in the friends’ 
Xmas gift, the tureen shiny clean. The soup’s              
Alcohol flavored in effort to disguise taste of the firm onion, now soft slop. Next, must
Empty bottle of sauce in …add spice…Oh, now chop more veg: and the 
Kitchen knife peels and reveals their secret inner fleshes,
Crowded and jostling with juicy tomatoes, now reduced to wrinkled skins; and
Smoky, tall, erect celery now chopped into mini-sets of false teeth

Innocence lost in the poisonous smog of Dublin’s
Orphanage hymns and anthems: God and the state will help
Uniformed religious staff and teachers to tell me 
I do not belong - I must reveal no secrets about being
Woken, shaken out of bed, taken (with no word spoken) from the 
               Cold dormitory, scaly hand on my knee:
               Drown in this grasp -  fish out of water
Cold.  A small shivering fish caught in net, taken now from its fridge 
Dormitory for this sacrifice: staring, unfeeling, cold-blooded creature, its
Scaly skin shining on my cutting plate.
Hand on knee, I sit down to gut it, gills first - which made him
Drown as he struggled in the tightened net; and 
In this grasp I cut the fish open - an old  
Fish which was still feeling
Out of water. It seems a silly, scaled creature now, lifeless, staring at nothing.

I lost my loneliness from that hostile world:
She gave me peace and serenity  -
Warm feelings of belonging ; and it’s
Christmas every day. 
                 She is sweet, inviting, colorful, and around her
                 Melt-in-the-mouth music plays.
She is the essence of sugar,
Sweet free-running chocolate,
Inviting me to dissolve all of her creamy meringue shells 
Colorful and delightful, which will swirl
Around her taste  and 
Melt like love on a summer’s day.
In the mouth of my hell, she has uttered  
Music, and forever now,  it
Plays sweetly.

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

Written for and entered in Debbie Guzzi’s  Contest     GET SERIOUS

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
So much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to shout.
It was like being trapped behind bars without a way
to get out.
My mind going wild with all these questions of why.
The only way to escape was to fall asleep or to cry.
What did I do so bad that made me have to pay?
My friends, my dreams, and my life was swepped away.
I know I can do it! I try and I try.
Nothing seems to get better. I sometimes wish
I would Die.
Starved for attention. I wanna talk to the world.
I just miss being loved. Miss the warmth of a girl.
Snickers and stairs is what my life has become.
I'm treated like I'm a kid, like I'm sick, or I'm dumb.
One day to the next. Life becomes work just to be alive.
I thank god for my blessings. I thank god I survived.
I finally see some improvement. More hope tickles
my brain.
It was worth all the time, all the tears, all the pain.
I awake with a smile and new hope to move on.
I did it! I did it! All those hard times are gone!

Copyright © Travis Flasnick | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
from his abc's
to that freaky billy jean

came a pop star 
for all to love and see

from the apollo's stage
wondered if you were ready for screaming rage

for you never had a childhood of bliss
only done what was on joseph's list

a studded white glove 
and white socks just because

a star on the hollywood walk of fame
for you sang and danced showing no shame

scandals of twisted truth
did not detour you from your missing youth

neverland was your own safari escape
who would figure your best friend would be a chimp of faith

michael may god cradle you in his arms
and basked in your king of pops worldly charm

will forever miss that porcelain smile
and always think of you on my radio dial

for now your at your heavens trial
may god forgive this lost and lonely child




In Loving Memory Of
Michael Joseph Jackson
Aug 29th 1958 - June 25th 2009

           RIP

Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2009

Details | Verse |
Your love song lapsed into ancient French that April day.
I only understood the words of spring and heartsore
lapsed. Only love and heartsore, I understood your ancient 
words of the spring-day song into that French April.

You fabricate my pauses into repetition, silence speaks
of ages strung to rhyme in love’s difficult service
you strung into pauses in service to ages. Fabricate of
love’s repetition, rhyme speaks my difficult silence.

We practice tedium of vows till language breaks apart.
As if art should aim at science, rigorous, quantitative,
rigorous language breaks tedium. Science vows a part of 
quantitative practice till we should aim “as if” at art.

Till we lapsed into language. As your ancient ages only
fabricate quantitative French strung to that difficult
practice, science speaks of tedium and understood rhyme. 

The spring in service of love’s rigorous vows. April 
pauses, heartsore. You and I, apart. If love should aim 
my words at day, repetition breaks into silence of song.

Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2006

Details | Ballad |
If I had over 10,000 dreams You'd be the only thing my mind could see Judgment couldn't be real Succumbing to the fear of this cold life Find a way to break through The self-destruction of wordly delusions Don't tell me I've lived so long in a lovely illusion Break me down until we find a Nirvanic state Then bring me a savior from transgressions An atoning sacrifice Send down to me a messenger for me to submit to Bring me the truth to break through The delusion Bring me the messenger to explain it all And let me leave behind Sorrow's caressing the earth The caliphate stole my heart Without a will to fight But I have the Means to be free I'll try to go with the word I believe But so many stones to be thrown Stakes to burn, limbs to break Faces to hate, scorns to taste Will I have the will to die Despite all of the tears no one will cry Sorrow's caressing the earth The caliphate stole my heart Broke my will Safetefied my soul Martyr for the Unorthodox word Sorrow's caressing the earth The caliphate stole my heart Without a will to fight But I have the Means to be free I'll try to go with the word I believe But so many stones to be thrown Stakes to burn, limbs to break Faces to hate, scorns to taste Will I have the will to die Despite all of the tears no one will cry Sorrow's caressing the earth The caliphate stole my heart Broke my will Safetefied my soul Martyr for the Unorthodox word

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? |
She's Gone
and she's never coming back
my heart was filled with love
now my heart is being attacked.

She's Gone
and now i have no heart
Why can't we be together even after
death due us part?

When she left  my heart shut down
my soul and my body just fell to the ground.
One by one they ran seperate ways
it was like two people
running in a maze
for a love 
that was no more.

She's Gone
to a place 
much better than here
but I still remember
the way she whispered in my ear
and the way my hands felt in her hair.
So much love.
so much care.
So many people crying everywhere
and i still managed to keep in all inside.

I know she's dead
and I know she's gone
but i miss the way she felt in my arms
my love for her
did no harm
but now she's gone
I said she's gone
and I still go to her grave
to play her favorite song
she's been gone  for to long.

Copyright © Nas Payton | Year Posted 2011

Details | Quatrain |
I left my cello on a bus
It's practically brand new.
I called in at Lost Property
'Cause that's the thing to do.

I told the clerk my story:
"I've left it on a bus!"
He said "Describe it for me".
Ok, well if I must:

"It's rather large and noisy
It's red and has six wheels
It uses lots of diesel
Inside it has no frills.

It has the number 49
Displayed both front and back".
The clerk walked down his warehouse
And checked on every rack.

"Nothing's come in so far".
He is such a helpful fellow.
I'll try again tomorrow,
Will they ever find my cello?

Copyright © Ray Gridley | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |
Hip-Hop is dead
I can’t feel the throb, the devotion, the dedication
I wear all black
Black stilettos, black cut dress, aimed real low
Seductive but simple, I know my place
Beside the King, my sweet deceased Revolutionist 
Rap’s number one supporter, holding the casket with a broken
           S I G H
Someone plays, a radio, across the way
Slick beats drip past the ears to slime the brain
Wet and easy manipulated clay
Media displays wealth and misogyny
50 million dollar chains  
Females addicted to being slapped around
Like China Dolls in half-made    Cl    o   thes
Pose, Shawty and let this crunk beat fill your hips
Purse your lips, Mami, and I’ll let you
Be my accessory
Remember when the revolution was a evolution of the mind
Freestyles match drums in intensity
When freestyles were uncontrolled like the wild brown skin he was in
I felt, loved, Hip-hop in my veins
Let him be the catalyst  for the beating of my heart
I was so in love with his swagger, his love of himself and his people
Hat tipped real       low      to hide the pain

Beat real tight to stop the taint
Of failure and to rise like the dust after a stampede
I’d take Hip-Hop to bed every night
Let him rise and fall like the heaving of my chest
It was so hot I could barely breathe for the intensity overcoming me
The pounding of intellect in my throat
Stroked me from head to toe
And Rocked my ghetto loving soul
And he said things I’ve waited my whole life to hear
play sweetly in my ear
Dreaming of dreams too big
To let fade away
He grew shallow, loving women with hollow heads and thick thighs
Low rides and forgetting what he left at home
Long nights and overtime left me alone
Released hundreds of  artists
Torn between money and the spoken word
His best friends tried to revive what was inside, too late the damage took over
50 Cent arrived with Lil’s, and Young’s and a mess of southern heat
I was there when the light left his eyes
After Dr.Dre’s Chronic
Hip-Hop was Dead 

Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007

Details | Lyric |
Welcome to the old you Hello, Hello, Despair so Crude, Dreams are gone Yet we still follow the old Path Where empathy kills And the Sympathy we find is another Lie You were born to deceive A puppet-master of emotion Back off this fixation while you have a chance Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Sorrow-- My Emotional High Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Better to be Frozen than Numb Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Exchange pleasure for pain It's all coming t you The facade of Joy falls again Violet Hearts crush easy Your Pain you don't Want this Your Sorrow, You Want This Back off this fixation while you have a chance Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Sorrow-- My Emotional High Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Better to be Frozen than Numb Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Back off this fixation while you have a chance Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Sorrow-- My Emotional High Who Would Want To Be This Cold? Better to be Frozen than Numb Who Would Want To Be This Cold?

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric |
A great day ending in tragedy
now you wait until you get the news
I was scattered in different forms
The car door was slammed into my side
The doctor walks in to give you the news
You fall to the floor
Tears falling from your face
Your makeup running down unto your clothes
Making a stain where your heart used to be
I took you back into the darkest place of my soul
Something was different more darker than before
Now you wait until the funeral of your lost love
Your standing in the corner
Your face is covered in darkness
The blood runs from your eyes
How it hurts in the worst way now that im gone
Your realizing how much i meant to you
Something you havent seen before
Your blindness fades away as you start to see
You fall to the floor fainting
No one picks you up
They drop my casket into my little hole
Where i will stay all life long
How your tears fall unto the ground
Getting soaked up by the soil
Drowning me in your tears
Admire the past no more ways to see the future
Now that your starting to love me more
You wait until you see me in a dream
Dying like the past
As your moving on i fade away
I am no longer alive
You left me behind

Copyright © Shayla Dendinger | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |
We must leave the ninety-nine
To go search and find
The one lost sheep
Wand'ring far behind
We must leave the ninety-nine
To go search and find
The one lost sheep-
Left behind  (Chorus)

Just suppose one of you has a hundred sheep
Then loses one of them and begins to weep
Would you not leave the ninety and nine
And go after the one on your heart and mind
And when it's found you would hold it closer
And carry it home upon your shoulders
Then call all your neighbors and gather all your friends
Celebrating your sheep that's back in the fold again

[Bridge]
Likewise there's more rejoicing
In Heaven up above
Over one lost soul who will repent
Than for the ninety-nine
Who are already found
To be righteous and so obedient  (So..)

(Chorus)

Now suppose one of you has ten silver coins
But then loses one of them from your collection
Would you not light the house and sweep the floors
Searching very carefully for what is yours 
Would you not put away the other precious nine 
And look in every corner until the lost one you'd find
Then call all your neighbors and gather all your friends
Celebrating you have your coin in your hand again

[Bridge]

(Chorus)

[Bridge2]
But don't forsake the congregation
And now's the time for visitation
To lead the lost ones to salvation
With God's angels in celebration

(Chorus)

Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2006

Details | Bio |
Nero was a cruel, unfair emperor playing 
the lyre as his disguise to conceal his consuming guilt;
and he caused destruction without feeling
an ounce of pity for those he governed with distrust.


Why did he want to destroy a city so mighty and glorious,
and replace it with a Golden Palace and magnificent gardens?
It seems inconceivable, but it was confirmed by many as the Great Fire
which ravaged Rome for six horrible days...who dared to call Nero a liar? 


On the rooftop, with the widest view of Rome burning underneath,
Nero played the lyre as his disguise...singing,"The destruction of Troy" with derision.  
And while looking so innocent and sad, he did nothing to control it;
wasn't his madness an evident sign of that contemplated act brought to completion?  


Finding the scapegoats was too easy for him, to cover up his evil deed...
he blamed the Christians and had them thrown to the beasts of the Colosseum,
but many more were crucified along the Via Appia and was Nero appeased?
No, he still continued to play the lyre as his disguise with increased delirium.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |
     Today, I had a chance to ask his widow, Laurie, about this story.  She 
confirmed that it did happen, and he came home from work that day excited, and 
told her and their 3 daughters about the event.
     And sure enough, shortly thereafter, the song became a hit on the radio, and 
M.T.V., in those ancient days when they actually played music.
     This news brightened my day considerably, and I'm happy to share it with you; 
so when you next hear that song, remember my good buddy, Mark Trotiner, the 
uncredited genius behind it.
                                          tom bell

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Lyric |
“And STARDUST we will be again”

Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)

--- Note:  "The singing machine" is a not so tongue-in-cheek reference to Gene and his penchant for singing whenever and wherever he wished, as well as to his karaoke
equipment and his nickname at bars that featured karaoke nights. ---


You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks 
for us to hear when, and if, we will)
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.  

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric |
Your face, 
Made a fake smile, (you said)
I love you,
I need you,
I want you just for a while,
You told me,
That I made you smile,
All the things you said to me,
Are just words now,
How can we love,
When you love me for yourself,
(This Aint Love)

Chorus: 2x
What are we doin,
If this love ain't real,
What is this feeling,
That I feel,

I'm broken in emotion,
I'm broken in love, (you said)
I need you,
I want you
You're the only one,
I'm thinkin of, (so tell me)
How can we love, 
When there's always someone else,
(This Aint Love)

Chorus 2x
Bridge:
How can we love,
When there's always someone else,
How can we make up,
When you only love me for yourself,

verse #3:
You got me imprisoned, 
Inside your heart,
When kissed
I felt, Like we,
Would never be apart,
chorus 2x

 

Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
“Heal The World” like in Heaven A “Thriller” many believed he was too “Bad” The King of Pops “Black or White” Seven times he cried—“The Way You Make Me Feel” Then he “Eased on Down the Road” Singing: “Earth Songs” like “Beat It,” “Leave Me Alone” Now “Ben,”—he is “Gone Too Soon!” ~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~ © Joseph Spence, Sr., 6/28/09 © All Rights Reserved ~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~ The form is 7/11/7/11/7/11/7. The total syllable count is 61. The first line has seven syllables, second eleven, third seven, fourth eleven, fifth seven, sixth eleven, and seventh seven. Rhyming is optional; however, it’s a plus. Any variation of the words “seven” or “heaven” must appear in the poem. Invented by Joseph Spence, Sr., 2007. ~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~ Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine; Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.

Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2009

Details | Terzanelle |
When you’re longing for someone to watch over you
think about building a stairway to paradise
even if it means you must dance alone with you.

It may feel hard for your heart to sing, soul to rise
It may seem like you got plenty of nutting,
no matter, let your heart climb a stairway to paradise.

Alone may seem lonely and off putting
Life filled with love means it ain’t necessarily so
Love fills you with song, if you embrace plenty of nutting.

For when life cuts you down, tells you it’s time to go,
or too early in life you think your man’s gone now,
trust me on this honey, it just ain’t necessarily so.

All alone with a keyboard, is one way to answer how
with things, even when you want  ‘em, you can’t get ‘em
 but music never leaves you, even after your love’s gone now.

With stuff, when you got ‘em, you may not want ‘em.
Be real and long for someone to watch over you.
With love of men, when you want ‘em, you can’t get ‘em.
Dance with heart upstairs, so you’ll never dance alone.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013

Details | Monorhyme |
She slept limply beneath a lantern glow
a stitch of frown upon her brow
through her dreams wove a song she did not know
a distant lullaby from long, long ago.
Outside the cold was muffled with snow
that sailed through the night and against the window.
Her sleep gave a sigh that deepened the woe
It rustled the worn blankets that crouched below
The winding song dove and sprinkled the morrow
and behind closed eyelids she smelled the sorrow.

Copyright © Grace EunSong Lee | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
Please, turn the music down And keep your voices low; There’s a new song I’m hearing now In a voice that’s soft and clear: It’s the One who’s always been with me . . . He’s walking closer now. I’ve lost all things I’ve ever owned: I cannot bring Him gifts Or sing His praises now. I have no strength to do great deeds: I stand before Him . . . empty. What does a Savior, such as mine, Need of earthly things? The whole wide universe is His. Or what great deeds Or songs from me Compare to those the angels sing? So, like a child, I lift my emptiness And bring Him only praise. I lift my soul, and wait For Him to cradle me In His eternal, loving arms. Shhhh . . . hush your voices; Keep the music down. The One who’s always been with me Is walking closer now.
(For Jan, with the beautiful singing voice, who died of ALS at an early age.)

Copyright © William Crocker | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
He calls- seldom I answer
They feel stiff.
He cries- seldom I console
They feel weak.

He knocks for entrance 
Though inside he lives
He enters- He observes me smiling
I shut him off completely- He’s out

I call- he’s always there
They smile.
I cry- he never turns his back
They tear. 

I enter his world-I never knock
He welcomes. 
I can hear some gossip in delight
Others just groan, vexed. 
The more I see is delight
Yet the others, are always in sight
I call- I cry- I enter-
When I smile, I leave.

He calls- waiting for my answer
They shiver.
He cries-cries for help
They perish. 

He knocks and enters
I give no care   
He stands still staring
“I called for you, you never replied
Burden lifted, they’re gone.
My gloomy 'flats' and 'sharps', 
Never felt your love, they left.
My innocent, smiling 'majors' and 'minors'
Never shared your laughter, they left.

Good bye my friend, Helen is waiting
Please pray for the Keller’s to welcome me home.”

Copyright © Yara Rouhana | Year Posted 2009

Details | Elegy |
She’s rolled up with patience
dedication and faith in the Lord;
her strictness punctuated a shared vision
that focused on learning acquisition.

  Her punctuality, precision, and determination
  to teach her pupils with discipline and right focusing;
  as a rule of thumb she always obeyed
  made the essence of what music means to all.

Rain or shine she’s there in her cubicle
waiting for her pupils scheduled to take their lessons;
those Hanon exercises, arpeggios, and other finger articulations
would lead off in concentration or warm-up in every lesson.

  Perhaps she’s a scarecrow to some who hadn’t known her;
  but she’d a listening heart described as a story line;
  with depth and assurance that no one is denied,
  along with other slow learners who coped with perseverance.

Truly, her endless word to slow down in every measure,
her technique that entailed so much discipline and correction
through memory lane I still remember a constant repetition;
her affinity for perfection that requires discipline and proportion.

  She’s a teacher keenly aware of her pupils’ emotions,
  her generosity explained either in time or learning a score;
  as a sign and meaning to pedagogical association
  with thriving efforts to play the music with technique and precision.

She’s held in the affectionate memory of her pupils,
their collective thoughts about her fittingly honored her
a woman like her with a horizon of meaning to everyone
a true Filipino educator with a glowing torch in her soul
and her music sustained my vocation to go on.

  Its magical link to depth and soul of human expression,
  its beauty and inspiration that kept me to deepen my own calling;
  to make piano sing in the balance of emotion, technique and celebration
  a way to experience Him with wonders and beauty – limitless world.

Maraming salamat , Maestra Marina M Diokno!
I really missed you; I really treasured whatever you taught me;
your strong affinity for virtuousity, allegato and sostenuto,
indeed, a memory lane suffused with gratitude and threads of appreciation.

Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car, 
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.

This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.

Copyright © Deeana Valencia | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
Packing bags and leaving home 

Running into the darkness of 
night like a criminal

No destination

Just an escape into freedom 
from the nightmare

Just feeling the sunlight’s breath 
on my cheek freely

A winds whisper touching my 
ears

Running away from dreams and 
wishes

Setting an adventure of a 
lifetime

Running away from the past 
where horror lies

Running away from lullabies and 
thunder

Forgetting everything for awhile 

And sit down and breathe in and 
out for awhile

Smelling the freshness of life 
that will no longer exist

Copyright © Alexis Brautovich | Year Posted 2011

Details | Senryu |
Child of the Sixties,
I wish I'd seen the Beatles.
How could I have known?!

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Visits long ago 
to the Blaskets Islands,
to untouched areas 
on the Dingle peninsula
came to mind 
on this sleet winter’s eve.

The peninsula,
nestled in heather mountains.
The coastline,
tongues of lonely white sand.
waved rocks,
drenched in blue mussels
tide pools, 
alive with shrimps and periwinkles
A sea-salted life
unspoiled and free.

Only marine life remains,
but I still hear the music
our native language,
the voices of Seanchaí
the ballads, sean?s, 
Peig Sayers
who shaped our school years,
her renditions of island life
her mad pise?gs,
handed down 
from generation to generation.

Stories of
Islanders huddled together
under thatch,
open turf fires
cooking pot on a hook,
the sweet air wafting
of clay pipe tobacco
a pinch of snuff
sniffed from a silver box,
nursing a glass 
of neat Poitín, uisce beatha,
the strong smell of tweeds
and geansaí báinín.

I think of times lost,
changed forever.
Cottage ruins,
where goats roam free,
An Blascaod Mór
my history, my heritage.

Gaelic words in this poem


* Seanchaí – storytellers
Sean?s – singing without music
Peig Sayers and her mad pise?gs – A Gaelic writer who we studied in school and her mad superstitions.
Poitín, uisce beatha – very strong alcohol made from potatoes, called the water of life.
geansaí báinín – strong sheep wool sweaters usually in a cream colour with complex patterns.




Copyright © Eiken Laan | Year Posted 2011