Poetry Song Poems

These Poetry Song poems are examples of Poetry poems about Song. These are the best examples of Poetry Song poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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The poem(s) are below...



Details | Light Poetry |
I am but a dreamer
and in my dreams I play
where I live so happily
writing them my way
inside my illusions
where I know I belong
whistling a joyful tune
as I go along

Like a little spirit
I venture on the breeze
skipping in the gentle wind
doing what I please
with the rising sun I dance
wrapped inside his charms
across the golden morning sky
twirling in his arms

I can climb a mountain
or live among the trees
sail in a silver sailboat
on the seven seas
I can draw a moonlit night
ride on a bright moonbeam
and swim among the diamonds
in a velvet stream

I am but a dreamer
there's nothing in my way
living in the place I love
loving everyday
maybe it's a fairytale
but that's all right by me
I'm the master of my dreams
where I wander free

No one there can tell me
what is wrong or right
following what's in my heart
I live in the light
happy in my dream world
that's where I choose to stay
in the world where I belong
writing dreams my way

Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009




Details | Light Poetry |
If finding good times is your wish
And poetry your favorite dish,
Then visit us. The soup is on!
It’s piping hot and never gone.

And with so much to see and do,
This place is hopping!  Rabbit stew
Has got to be our specialty
Because we move so rapidly.

I recommend a cup of Joe.
To keep up here, you can’t move slow,
for this is such a lively group,
you won’t be seeing turtle soup! 

Chorus:
So come on! Step outside your shell.
Learn all the rules and learn them well.
Of poems, we must have every kind.
So come inside and feed your mind!

No turtle soup, but plenty of
All kinds of soup you’re sure to love -
Like vegetable hot in the pot;
Of healthy soup we have a lot!

If psychedelic is your thing,
Try special mushroom with a zing!
There’s spicy enchilada too
If Latin passion flows through you.

Some soup is salty; some is sweet,
And many soups are filled with meat.
There’s chicken noodle for the soul.
I guarantee that you’ll get full.

Chorus:
So come on! Step outside your shell.
Learn all the rules and learn them well.
Of  poems, we must have every kind.
So come inside and feed your mind!


Learn how to post, and don’t be shy.
Most poets love when you reply,
Especially if you read their work.
New friendships are an added perk!

New poems appear on lists. Beware!
They vanish soon into thin air.
So many contests to get in.
You’ll feel your head begin to spin.

To learn the ropes, just ask around.
Quick! Like a bunny, leave the ground.
Hop to it! Ready, set, now GO.
Remember turtles are too slow……

Chorus:
So come on! Step outside your shell.
Learn all the rules and learn them well.
Of  poems, we must have every kind.
So come inside and feed your mind!

'for Cindi Rockwell's "My Poetry Soup Recipe Contest"

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

Details | ABC |



The weeping willow is outside you see
Even though it is beautiful it wasn't meant to be,

Our willow is huge and hangs to the ground
When the wind blows you hear it all around,

It's beauty is timeless and very much alive
But, on a sad note it is not wanting to survive,

It will be sad to see an empty space
Till the new tree we plant that will take its place,

The weeping willow will definitely be gone
I am sure late at night you will hear its song,

Weeping and crying for all of us to hear
Because after all the roots are left that will shed its tears.



Written By: Unique Poetry 2010

Copyright © Michelle Born | Year Posted 2015




Details | Limerick |
 
I write of sad things in my life for you, And win sometimes first place and this is true; Some hate my weeping words, That I write like a song bird; So I give me, a compliment or two. _________________________ June 20, 2015 Limerick Inspiration Quote: "When you cannot get a compliment in any other way, pay yourself one." Mark Twain For the contest, Write with the Wit of Twain Sponsor, Andrea Dietrich Seventh Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Here's To The Poets

With so many people confounded by words,
unable to say what they need to be heard,
our music is first in the last of our means
we use to convey how to say what we mean.

With genres and styles unique as us all,
our flavor and taste feeds the soul, should it call,
soothing the beast that's found trapped in it's cage
by expressing the feelings left lost in its rage.

In our happiest times or a moment of cross,
in sadness or joy, finding love, or it's loss,
the poetic words speak to serve our desire
to share in a moment consumed in its fire.

For those of us challenged, in whole to impart,
needing more than our own word to speak from the heart,
here's to the poets and writers of song,
whom find ways with their words to say all that we long.

                           

Copyright © Jeannie Minor | Year Posted 2015

Details | Didactic |
 An inquiry into form






There-                            Not here?


Start over-                     A planet and good for YOU!   maybe-


 'Bigger than a breadbox?

So-     vegetable!    GREEN     like €x spec tations


HERE-                    n OT  THERE?


Not again?!             therefore  "w€ s€€"?


NO      Justa                 s  p  a  c  e        (maybe)

with a shape!          Like mathematicians?
                                                                                       l
    (they gather in blue confusion)    so?                             l
                                                                                     i
So a word with a Sumar    add dress                               h
                                                                     A summer address?
    ·  The cats break-open the weeping kitchen  ·            e
                                                                                h
BROWN then         like perfect patterns        just over  t  
                                                        
                                                         and

                                              € = Q = U = A = L

Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
Each morning as my eyes awaken
A lovely song in my heart is heard
Its melody is more than enchanting
It inspires me with amazing words

How could I ever live without you
Lord, why would I ever turn away
From your spirits song of deep love
Which within my heart simply stays

I deeply breathe your perfect harmony 
Accepting your kiss of a love divine
Happiness paints my world beautifully
Since your wonderful gift became mine

Lord, I will always let the world know
How truly blessed my life really is
From that very first perfect moment
As you spoke to me the words I forgive

All that I thought would not be possible
Suddenly in an instant became very true
As my heart humbly responded joyfully 
How much in life I really needed you

I will seek new ways each morning
To happily lift up your name in praise
Thanking you for making love a reality
As a treasured blessing which now stays.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Blank verse |
Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.

Copyright © Nick Hertzog | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
Como’ Si’ Yama’, Senor’
Como’ Si Yama’, Por Favor’…
… for Below That Embroidered Sombrero’
Shone Eyes Like El Dorado

He Was A Tall and Handsome Hombre’
Like The Range of Sierra Madre’
…Now, He Sat Center The Cantina
Surrounded by Bonita – Senhoritas

He Smiled, “Buenos-Dias Senora’”
Por Favor, Por Que’ El-Hora’ ?...
If So, Have A Seat, Mi- Amiga’
And Mercedes, Bring Over More Cerveza

He Was… Rodrigo Reyes-Pacheco’
Best - of The West, of Vaqueros’
He Came to Compete in The Rodeos
And Win Fame and Fortune in Pesos’

He Came Thru El Paso De’ Tejas
Thru Dusty Rancheros and Mesas
To Ride on El Toro Rojo
Who Has Never Been Ridden Befo’…

La Viva’… Arriva’  … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’ !... Rodrigo

Now, El Toro Rojo, Was Dangerous
For Killing Men, El Rojo, Was Infamous
His Horns Had Pierced Many A Corazon
Ripped Flesh, Like It Was Piñata’ Hung

I Informed All of This To Rodrigo
The Hombre, Was Bent on Being Macho’…
… He Would Ride Toro Rojo, Manyana’
Said “Gracias”… But My Cares Were Por Nada’ !

La Viva’… Arriva’… Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’!... Rodrigo

… Now, He Wasn’t Loco in La Cabeza’
I Just Didn’t Comprehende’ … “Que’ Pasa”
But I Saw Rodrigo Atop… El Rojo 
… ! He Rode Like A Latino – Tornado ! …

He Rode El Rojo, To The End…
Then, Turned ‘Round and Rode Him Again…
Rodrigo had Won… Just Like He Planned…
Because El Toro – Rojo …   …  Was Mexican !

La’ Viva’ … Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero
Champion Bull Rider from Old Mexico
Vaya’ … Con Dios ! … Rodrigo….
Vaya’ … Con Dios !... Rodrigo o o o o o


for Ruben Ortellao... 
I Don't Really Know 
What Your Branch of Humanity is... 
(Spanish, French or Other)
But I thought You Might Like 
This Whimsical Poem...  
Oh... And Thank You For Your 
Most Generous Comments... 
(Cause I Know You Are A Fantastic Poet... 
I've Read Several of Yours 
and I Love Them Too...)

 (P.S.  Excuse the Spelling... 
I'm Spanish Illiterate (Smile)
MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |
I knew that you were waiting                                                                                                        Somewhere between the last war                                                                                               And the next kiss                                                                                                                               And that you where dreaming of sweet angels and vampires                                                         Because they have always known                                                                                                     In spite of John Cameron Swayze and timex                                                                                        Or the mechanical of Mickey Mouse                                                                                                           That the nights are always longer                                                                                                    I knew that you were waiting                                                                                                                  For the summer to turn to silk again                                                                                              And carry you away before the next big flood arrived                                                                        Before the thunder and after the lightning                                                                                             Before the smoke and after the fire                                                                                                Before the dance and after the song                                                                                                Before the hope and after the the prayer                                                                                       I knew that you where waiting                                                                                                          Like an eagle's wing and a child's song                                                                                               I was waiting too

Copyright © Michael Ainsley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Pieces of sunlight
Indiscriminaely scattered
Amid dappled green
Change places with
Latticed shadows
of emerging silence
Cheerful birds song
Chirp, chirp, chirp
Mingle with
Gently rustling leaves
Morning's musical companions

The flaming muscle car rears
Screaming lurching to a stop
Nose diving, braking hard
Deep throated mechanical bark
Shatters stillness
Belching tail pipes thunder
The assault splits the air
Chopping stillness to pieces

After awhile birds sing
And the trees are still green

Copyright © James Gibbons | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
How many have ever heard the song "Somewhere in Time?"
       It's a song with only music and with no words or rhyme.
 "Fantasie Impromtu" is another one written by Chopin?  
       Also a song of rare beauty without words thrown in.
These two songs along with "Moonlight Sonata" were played by my son.
       He's an acomplished pianist who can play most any run.
He played these songs at my funeral last week.
       Don't be shocked all you people keep on sitting in your seat.
You Poetry Soup poets who are sitting there reading this write.
       Yes you!  Don't turn around and look behind you or look to the right!
Do you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now?
       Well! It's because of me! I'm hovering over you somehow!
No don't look!  You won't see me. 
       My spirit is floating above your right shoulder freely.
I'm watching you read your poems.  Did you get some good comments today?
       Yes I saw where you wrote that beautiful verse, and that nice display!
You deserve that nice comment.  How about your soupmail?  Are there very many?
       Did someone tell you a secret?  Remember!  I won't tell and I know a plenty!
I've been watching you on Poetry Soup for hours writing your poems that rhyme.
       You're writing about love and mysteries, about cat tails, building spaceships and rhyme 
        time!
You're writing of happy new year, time warps, romantic longings and betrayals and how do 
        you do it,
       One of you says your poems are like children to you, one writes of beautiful women 
        with wit
And one of you even wrote of hanging berries!  And all of these wonderful poems I've read.
        I have hovered over many of you and you never even knew I was dead,  
Such wonderful talented writers we have on Poetry Soup. 
       Everyone writes his own style that belongs to this group.
So take heed when you sit down to write a new rhyme.
       And know that someone's watching you write all this time.
And when you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now.
       Well!  It's because of me!  I'm hovering over you somehow!

Copyright © Marty Owens | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |
I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful 
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention

There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden  
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart?  Should I?
And to what profit?  Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs.  However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant 
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me 
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family 
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody 
and "Mama's Song"!

Note:  For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children.  RIP w/Papa!!

Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
THE OLD FART SONG
(sing to the tune of "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys")

Verse one:

Old men ain't easy to love and they're harder to mold,
so train 'em when young, girls, don't wait till their bones have turned cold.
They're slow as molasses, wear cheap reading glasses, they're hearing aids give them away,
they grumble and mumble, they bumble and stumble, what hair they have left turns to gray.

Chorus:
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
Their best parts get limber, their brains turn to timber,
they spend too much time letting farts.
Ladies don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
because when they're home, you will wish you're alone
and they think they have all of the smarts.

Verse two:
Old men like old stuff, ain't that some strange stuff, how antiques will make 'em feel young?
They whistle like thistles, sling advice like missiles and sing like their a**es got stung.
They're always ploying and tinker toying, they usually, always repeat:
What did you say dear?  SPEAK UP NOW, DAMMIT! and, When in the hell do we eat?

Repeat Chorus

Verse three: 

Old men like talkin' way more than go-walkin', but listening, well, not so much.
Don't try to change him or even "re-range" him, or mess with his habits and such.
Changes upset him, so you better let him, still think he has plenty pizazz,
or he will snuffle, kerfuffle and shuffle, doin' stuff that's a pain in the azz.

repeat chorus

Verse four  

They say that old soldiers don't die, that they just fade away,
it's the same with your old man... remember each dog has his day.
Don't nickel and dime him, remember to prime him, be kind as he turns into dust.
Through thick and through thin and through silly and sin, you're together for better or bust.

FInal Chorus  

Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
let 'em be babies and let 'em be children 
and let 'em be heroes again.
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men, 
When they hit bottom, be thankful you got 'em,
'Cause soon enough it will all end.


Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
                                                 she and who                                           
                                             amazing lady you .
                                      as you have never been 
                                      like him has never seen 
                                         and no one will know .

                                         at the night at the sea 
                                       when there you will be ..
                                      in the wind you and who ,

                                        you dance in the wind 
                                     when the start never end ,
                                      with  the waves both flow 

                                      water me and the buds ,
                                   teach the buds how to grow..

                                     drop me back to the rain ..
                                   keep with you the love chain
                                      then back me to the bow...

                                      the amazing one are you

                                      your words like the touch ,
                                       your touch like the  dew,

                                     keep on singing every day .
                                      toward you open the way ,
                                      let the feeling ..let it glow...

                                   keep on raising rate of beats ..
                                    and  the snow let me heat  
                                     then the raising keep slow 
                                         broken hearts i treat....

                                    in the breathing let me live ,
                                        let me come ,let me go
                                  and your sadness let you blow..

                               how the chance became dance ,
                                     how the arts of the parts ,
                                     let me see and you show,
                                      god creation ,god draw,

                       no one has ever seen like you and who,
                                         words from the heart ...
                                     from the feeling i will sew

                                     the wondrous one are you.



Copyright © hana dru | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme |



                        I am a poetry song, before dawn and after dawn 
                         see and hear everywhere what lyrics is going on 
                              hear in silence in noise in dark in sunlight 
                            my songs carry beauty even in art of plight 
                        my love word’s beauty has always nice exceptions 
                          presents meaning of meaningful clear sensations 
                      I hold art in me of wonderful and amazing expressions
                      my music continues unending in nature of all sessions
                           lunar night's waltz of twinkling stars and moon
                       I hide them in me so they have sweet rhythmic tune
                              in jungle deep forest secretly i play Rhyme  
                          chirping birds talk my artistic words all the time 
                          well pond river sea ocean's water calm or dance
                         I stay there too when puppy rabbit horses prance
                          colors of sky butterfly my mixed songs they sing 
                        with all I am there no one can deny me even a king
                        I am a poetry song question is that where i am not 
                          feel and see I am everywhere from infinity to dot
                          all the poets and poetesses adore very much me
                          when they draw my picture words I show my glee


       Note: poetry is like song. Only major difference is that the song has music what the poetry does not have, i think. Poetry rings everywhere from dot to Universe, so the poets write poetry from birds, animals, plants, sea of the nature and the sky too. Poets imagine even beyond the sky too. So, poetry is song without music and a song is with music that i feel. So poetry rings everywhere as song just without music, so the poetry is being personified said I am a poetry song.   



Written on: 01/05/2016
For contest in ………Poetry_________(fill in the blank) 

Sponsored by PD

Copyright © BL DEVNATH | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |
How beautiful the music that he made;
his lilting song was carried by the breeze
and waves of water, and the lyre he played
sent all the birds to singing in the trees.

All creatures of the forest he entranced.
The magic of his song made them alert,
and even rocks nearby the rivers danced,
and thus, a river’s course he could divert!

Upon his death, how mournful was the song
which even then had power to amaze
all those who heard its tune floating along
the river to the shore. His music stays
inside the hearts of those whose words endear
us to the magic which they still can hear.

Oct. 10, 2017 
For John Hamilton's 'Your best sonnet October1-December31,2017' Contest
(sorry, my best romance was already a winner in another of your contests!!)

 

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lyric |
Carolyn Devonshire    U.S.A.   Poetess and Contest Sponsor. I Think She Does Both Well.
And here is one of the Great Voices in The History of American Popular Music to Amplify
that Thought...

Ladies and Gentlemen,
Mr. Nat King Cole.

LOVE   ( Sung to the tune LOVE by Nat King Cole.)

L is for the LIFE you lead each day.
O is OFTEN for the words you say.
V is VERVE that you bring to the or-din-ary
E is EFFERVESCENCE- summing up your special story. and...

LOVE is something that is truly you.
LOVE is something that is warm and new.
LOVE will test-i-fy
that what you have, I can't deny
that LOVE resides right there in YOU.

L is for the LIGHT that burns in you.
O says OR-DIN-ARY words won't do.
V is for the VOICE that speaks in poetry
E is ELEGANCE in how you craft each word to be.  and..

LOVE is something that resides in you.
LOVE is constantly so warm and new.
LOVE will cert-i-fy
that what you have, no one can buy
for LOVE is simply, truly YOU.    ( All right, boys, hit it, yeah...)

L is LESSONS that you teach to me.
O is OFTEN what you let me see.
V are VIRTUES that I can't begin listing here.
E is ELAN that I can't resist, so let's be clear. that...

LOVE is just the word to say to you.
LOVE describes the way we think of you.
LOVE will ver-i-fy
that what you have, I can't deny, yes,
LOVE resides right there in YOU.
LOVE resides right there in YOU. ( one more time.)
LOVE resides right there in YOU!

Copyright © Gerard Keogh Jr. | Year Posted 2010

Details | Verse |
For night long 
No sleep came 
But song and song and song 
Melting in the candles' flame 
Of thought, fore I wrote them all 
That with silvern flashes broke 
The net and swam, and swam, and swam 
In a pool gulping words, then choke 
Upon the imagery of the lamb 
Bleating where no shepherd hears it call. 
I reeled them out and in again 
Each rhyme a little hook 
While the boat throbs with the strain 
Of waves opening like a book. 
Can you see my freckled sea 
In the night all night long 
My sleep tortured by a song

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
Every poem I write,
  my heart dreams of a song

A composer to finish,
  so these lyrics belong

If I can’t breathe in and sing,
  as it calls out my name

The lines stay on the paper
 —feelings never the same

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018) 

Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2018

Details | Light Poetry |
A WONDERFUL WORLD
One of my favorite songs whenever it's sung, 
"What a Wonderful World" is right on my tongue.
The melody's fine and the lyrics are great
but other thoughts sometime get to me 
and make my heart ache.

Louie Armstrong sings it best.
He's way ahead of all the rest.
But is the world really such a wonder?
It makes you stop and then 
ponder.

They quickly say the world is warming 
but we can't say it was without warning.
Climate change affects the weather
And that doesn't make things better.

For the trees of green and red roses too
may not bloom as Louie sings it to you.
We'll have droughts and floods
and skies not so blue.

The clouds of white are not so bright 
as storms brew over the lands. 
And the shaking of hands
seem to be more of fright
as the winds stir up the desert sands.

We have "Arab Springs" and children are shot
and babies will cry, "please forget me not."
As the world seems to ache
from these things we forsake 
for the love that we seem to have forgot. 

The world is quite full of 6.5 billion
and the people starving are 
more than 6 million.  
Can that make it a wonderful world?

The friends who shake hands and say,
"How do you do?"  
are they really saying, "I love you?"
The song says so but we really don't know
if they truly mean it or it's just for show.

But when we consider all things 
about how the world really sings
and always ends up with a smile,
we know somehow the world will get by  
as  long  as we give it a real try.

The world has been here for such a long time
and somehow has survived no matter what sign 
through storms, earthquakes and more.
People live on regardless of any war
or disease that is other than benign.

Because no matter what dread 
it can really be said
it is still a wonderful world.
And Louie is right as he sings with delight 
of rainbows and bright stars in the night.

The message of the song is very profound 
and with a little patience the world will rebound.
So even if it seems so imperiled,
indeed, it is still a wonderful world. 

 
 


Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
“Hello, hello Good Morning!” The salesman says, (though it’s actually late 
afternoon.)

(We can’t have them rushing off,) he thinks, (when I have cars to move!)

“See this little beauty…” (The side I’m leaning on anyway!)

“I’ve so many interested buyers, I’m sure, this car will sell today!”

The salesman sizes up the couple who clearly like the car.

“Zero to sixty in nothing flat!” (Though you may not get that far!)

“Previous owner? Took fine care.” (To wreck the interior in the rear!)

“Runs so smooth, purrs like a cat.” (But sticks when changing gears.)

The well learned smile, the soothing voice, the salesman sees his chance.

“Let’s step inside, we’ll work it out, my dears you can always finance!”

(The hidden costs, no don’t mind those, just the way it’s done.)

“Sure come on in, have a seat, this is when it becomes fun!”

As usual the costs are more than they think they can afford.

(Of course if we didn’t start out doubled, we salesmen would get bored!)

“Now look here it’s just a bit more, I know just how you feel.

With a car like this, I’m the one who loses. Believe me this is a great deal!”

(Yes indeed I lose this bucket of bolts I’ve had to push.

Never mind the oil leak, or the tires have turned to moosh.)

 “Well… because you seem so nice I’ll take this much off too.”

(There they are the happy smiles, too bad the jokes on you!)

The salesman he waves goodbye as the car drives off the lot.

Another couple, a little wide eyed, sees the new car in its spot.

“Hello, hello! Good afternoon!”(Sunset reflecting off of the wheel.)

“I’ve another buyer for this one but… you look nice, let’s make a deal!”

Copyright © A. Sanders | Year Posted 2007

Details | Italian Sonnet |
When last they kissed, and passion's lease
bloomed brief and sweet, Sir Shakespeare's quill 
would set in motion a deathly chill.
For Juliet, he could not appease
to win her smile and would not release 
a tranquil tale...but did reveal
this tragic poem, where lovers fell
and would break our hearts with spellbound grief.

Behold, your eyes will weep for her,
and empty arms will flail, for him
Young lovers swept away, in love
Misguided youth that we hold dear
and through the years we pray for them,
as songs are sung by mourning doves

...
 
Their love, was a fever, sorely sought
Of passion's quest, she would requite
to bridge the wage of family strife
But, delusion,  rides deceitful plots
To think him dead, she had no doubt
Despaired, beyond her wildest thought
Disquiet of the heart cried out
And death, would dim the stars that night

Their song still lives, as stories will
Upon two graves, we linger here 
Such love divine, is ours to keep
A sonnet binds them, ever still...
A love that cannot be compared
While swollen hearts, with anguish, weep


___________________________
2/11/14

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |
For Fiona Meyrick, poet and musician; a Petrarchan sonnet

Fiona, in the silence of the night
Sings songs of sorrow soft in minor key
That sigh above all formal melody
In cadences that dance like birds in flight
She rests within the dark, composing light
In subtle shades of sweet philosophy
Transposing on the stave a mystery
In spills of sound like ink on paper bright
Fiona; at the stroke of midnight blessed
Plays pianissimo the ocean’s rage
Transforming all the sins of man confessed
In gentle rhythms traced upon the page
A modern muse, an ancient truth expressed
In lullabies to sooth our restless age

© Gail Foster 2016

Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

A TIME TO REMEMBER THOSE WHO FOUGHT HARD SO THAT WE COULD LIVE
A TIME TO REMEMBER THESE SOLDIERS THERE LIVES THEY DID GIVE
A TIME TO REMEMBER THE BRAVE, THE STRONG, THE FEW
A TIME TO REMEMBER WHO FOUGHT FOR ME, FOR YOU
A TIME TO REMEMBER THE ONES WHO ARE STILL AROUND
A TIME TO REMEMBER THE STORIES THAT THEY STILL DO TELL
A TIME TO REMEMBER WHAT THEY FOUGHT SO VERY HARD FOR
A TIME TO REMEMBER THE ONES WHOM WE ADORE
A TIME TO REMEMBER THE REASON WHY THEY FOUGHT
A TIME TO REMEMBER THE PRICE THEY PAID, THE COST
A TIME TO REMEMBER  A TIME, A MOMENT FOR PEACE
A TIME TO REMEMBER  A TIME FOR THE WORLD TO SEE
A TIME TO REMEMBER A TIME TO SEE WE ARE ALL THE SAME
A TIME TO REMEMBER A TIME TO SEE WE ARE ALL JUST A DIFFERENT SHADE
A TIME TO REMEMBER A TIME TO END THIS WAR
A TIME TO REMEMBER WHY WERE ON THIS EARTH FOR
A TIME TO REMEMBER WE ARE NOT HERE FOR LONG
A TIME TO REMEMBER SO LET'S ALL JUST GET ALONG
A TIME TO REMEMBER PLEASE CELEBRATE WHAT THE SOLDIERS DID FOR US THIS REMEMBRANCE DAY
A TIME TO REMEMBER PEACE IS WHAT NEEDS TO STAY

Copyright © Josh Van Ham | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
The Mermaid  Songs



Once upon a time, as school was coming to it’s yearly close.
We’d read about mermaids and their songs of Golden prose.
Now, the witch was over visiting and heard everybody’s sighs.
They so, wanted to sing with mermaids, and thru the waters glide.

Dragon was the worst, as he grabbed my mop top to become his hair.
Then he flew out to the lake dock, and began calling those ladies fair.
I began thinking how sad, if my Dragon never did meet this ladylove.
The witch, tears upon her face, then brought that, which he dreamt of.

It seems, while on her yearly travels, our witch once met a lovely mere.
Who was fascinated with the tales of Dragon, and the antics he did stir.
Suddenly, they were there together, a wish granted on a witch’s whim.
Dragon became so very quiet, as a first blush of shyness, ran over him.

The mermaid laughed and giggled as she took the mop from off, his head.
Then she sang a soulful song as she began to touch his wings and said...
Where I come from you’re a legend, a story of days, from, long, gone bye.
To this he just smiled. Yes, our Dragon had turned smitten, and so very shy.

It lasted only a moment; until she asked him, to please, take her to the sky. 
Two dreams became one as they traveled the skies, and then the water nigh.
She also, met Dragons penguins, the first she had ever been able to meet.
Them from cold, and she from hot…now in the middle all were complete.

Suddenly the mermaid had the idea, to bring in more of her mere folk.
What? You thought they only sat, singing and giving their hair a stroke?
We invited the neighboring swim teams, accapella groups, and families.
And don’t forget the Glee Clubs, plus the Barber Shop Quartets, you see.

Actually, everybody came to do, even barbecues for Dragon and his guests.
Once a week all summer, the fun continued, but never the same, not once.
It was a summer to be made into legends, for all our days and those beyond.
And each time, we honored the witch, who’d let us learn the Mermaids songs.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
A Pirate Drinking Song

Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum
Pirates sing to the pipe and drum
North wind blows with a Gale's horn
Snapping the canvas with a deafening mourn

Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought

We ride the waves seeking adventure and plunder
It is Neptune’s wrath we curse, by thunder
The sea, she bares a woman’s desire
To set each sailors heart a fire

Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought

Canon and cutlass, powder and gun
We cut down are foes, one by one
To Davy Jones locker our souls will sleep
A funeral of apathy in the briny deep

Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought

With a hardy crew and an open sea
It’s a pirating life I want for me
Till then we will sing of the scallywag scum
Yo-Ho-Ho, Another bottle of Rum

Copyright © Brian Cecil | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
They sing promises regardless of their squeaky voices/
Quickly rushing the meaning for the lyrics are smoke hoisted/
Words sung backwards 
Mirrored by anticipated standouts   
Verses packed in present secrets
The universe sings in monotone 
Implications implied explosions 
Idioms selling idiots 
A choir singing paper blade 
Cocaine amplifying paper chase
Cutting hope’s edges for ages
Continents turning into bungalow cages
Forensics singing adolescent stages
Blame on brain’s pages
Keep singing your stupid song

Earning sending pending loving grabbing leverage thinking 
spending branding labelling loving leverage blaming caging 
thinking blending loving separate thoughtful thinking blinding 
hating hurting perpetrates planning banking planning flying floating 
aeroplane finding hiding crushing finding blackdawgs criminals searching 
blinking linking dark bones limping planting sinking copying robbing vigilant 
actions fighting jobless starving running errands aging shrinking faking wearing 
damn things camouflaged dropping pounding  pumping rumbling dumping angry-face 
heart beats timing heart beats Mic beats pacing trending sinking rhyme tastes plotting 
pending timing thinking earnings functions pumping graphics functions pumping images/
 

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
THE YOGI BERRA SONG
    IT AIN'T OVER 'TIL IT'S OVER
One run behind and I'm at bat, 2 are out,
I'll be damned if I don't get a hit.
I tell the catcher I'll be home in a while,
But he grins at me just for a bit.
Holding on first, I can still feel the ball,
But it's wild and I'm safe at first base.
That's where I stay, cause I can still hear it all,
What that chatcher told me right in my face.

It ain't over til it's over.

I tell the umpire to watch out for the man
who's at bat, cause he'll make his own way.
I'm stealing second, though it's not a good plan
cause that catcher hardly misses a play.
I feel the ball and it's faster than me,
But the second baseman's foot is too late.
There comes the call, and I'm as safe as can be,
But on second base, I know I must wait.

It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over.

I hear the hit and it's a good one I know,
it's the winning run, if I go on
Passing by third I'll tie the game if I go
on to home, or the whole game is gone.
I feel the magic, it's the reason I play
and I love coming out from behind!
Home plate is hardly just a leg length away,
But his words keep on nagging my mind!

It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
You're out! 
Kill the umpire!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
You're out!
It ain't over. It ain't over til it's over!
You're out!
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
No, if you know your baseball, you will know why
this runner can not score. See notes below if you
don't figure it out.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |
Don't you worry bout my soul
Til you've been down all my lonely roads
And gauged the weight of my full load 
Don't you worry bout my soul
.
I see you on the tv conning, talking squawking walking like you really care about me and my kind
You cry your tears like a  crocodile  empty eyes phony smile,
To me I plainly see you're clearly blind 
So don't you worry bout my kind . . .
I see everything just fine
You're busy yelling and a tellin me all the things you think you can see, going on in this ol world you think ain't right
Get the beam on out of your own eye, til you've listened to the children cry, hungry and tormented in the night 
Don't you worry bout my eyes . . .
I'm seeing everything just fine
.
Don't you worry bout my ears
Cause you've been deaf for many years
I don't need some deaf man tellin me what I should hear or how to be, when he is only playing on my fears
So don't you worry bout my ears . . .
I hear your deafness loud and clear
.
Don't you worry bout my mind
Though it gets misplaced from time to time
But I think I know what courage means, how heartache feels, when freedom rings
And I know that I am running out of time
So don't you worry bout my mind . . .
I think I'll get along just fine
.
Don't you worry bout my soul
Cause I met the Master long ago
And the one you portray Him to be
Is not the same One known to me
The One Who made me free so long ago
So don't you worry bout my soul.
.
Mathew 15:14

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2015