Quatrain Music Poems | Quatrain Poems About Music

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

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Details | Quatrain |

Across the Universe

   Across the universe

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Beatlemania Contest
Poem Written 7 March 13


Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013

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Circle of Gold

A sweet deep voice resonates across the empty air landing affection
Caresses the chin forming shapes off ladybugs melodies glide and swirl 
Guiding soul heart ablaze inside each melody note I hide love supreme
Released in cosmic fireworks in the air we share mystical pearl juice honey

Under the cascading gems of bright colors we lay gasping excited
Through the smoky mist fingers touch I feel a burning heart flowing wild
One with your electric current smoldering glazed with a little nibble
Enameled glowing gems embraced in the deepest slumber awakens you

Entering a world stone buildings either sides magically birds chirping
Whistling joyous tunes walking a cobbled path to one beautiful maiden 
Who turns a handle on the music box enchanting sweetest songbirds air
As she opens her mouth out comes the voice of an angel calling enchants

Dancing in the heavens of ones mind these eyes are lead astray catching fuel
First glance a shooting star joining hands together electrifying crown
On parallel world we turn the handle as this sparkle begins floating 
Inside space fuming embers of magic dust blew open crystal portal

Star spangling dewdrops deeply spinning blindly knocked off ones feet in one glance 
Sharing our vision a bell strikes raindrops in midnight dreams glass slipper falls
Falling all over you lost in regal aura kissed in amazing grace 
Spectrum apex walking up steps temple of sacrifice circling moon dog

This is an unrhymed quatrain of 18 syllables. The poem style is called 'Circle of Gold' which denotes the total of 360 syllables count from all 20 lines.

A collaborated poem with Liam McDaid.
Poem style invented by Liam McDaid. 
I was inspired by this music video "Flamme à lunettes" and Liam kindly accepted to collaborate on this.

Copyright © Angeline Haikutwinkle | Year Posted 2016

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My Fave 70's Rock

Collecting 45's, I could not wait for albums of groups' greatest hits to be released; one band I thought was pretty great put out the album most well-liked by me. Its psychedelic cover art was cool. And Golden Bisquits was the album’s name. I listened very often after school to those songs that enjoyed radio fame. “One,” (the Loneliest Number), fed into my teenage angst; there was another song called “Easy to be Hard.” When I was blue those were the songs with which I’d sing along. A song of novelty I loved to hear entitled “Mama Told Me Not to Come.” The singer, in a silly voice, feigned fear of a party that he should escape from! Twelve songs in all, romantic mostly, and the album had that seventies rock beat. It was the best deal I would ever get of all my high school records. It was grand! My 45’s and albums to this day are in a closet. I don’t feel it’s right to trash my youth. How could I throw away good memories in songs by Three Dog Night? Written 9/4/16 for Phillip Garcia's Rock 'n Roll Rhyme Fest poetry contest (See above for links to songs off the album

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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The Piano Speaks

Like shining jewels tossed into the air
Each note rings out with brilliant  voice
Gifted fingers flying on ivory wings
This magic that makes my heart rejoice

Music that rocks me on gentle waves
Or ride where raging fires have been
Coloring the prisms that are my tears
The piano- evoking emotions from within

For Kristin's contest - "Soul Tunes"

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2011

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The Violin

She was a lonely violin,
in a case all by herself,
looking forward to the evenings,
when he’d take her off the shelf-

After reaching his destination,
he would gently set her down,
and ever oh so tenderly,
remove her velvet gown-

With chin held high, he’d hold her close,
she made him feel so proud,
and then a song she would sing ,
which always drew a crowd-

Together they were magical,
making music quite refined,
he knew that she was special,
of an extraordinary kind-

Late one night the maestro sighed,
a tear rolled down his eye,
this cannot forever last, he said,
for soon I’m going to die-

The violin now knew,
that soon would be their end,
he had filled her life with loving care,
and been so true a friend-

Now on any given night,
walking down this unpaved street ,
some hear a violin’s lonely cry,
so sad , but yet so sweet-

Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Year Posted 2015

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There are those who improvise within a structure, 
with four beats to the bar like down home blues, 
melodies and harmonies which stay within the fold, 
embellishing the tune how e'er they choose. 

Then there are cats who improvise to their own drummer, 
inventing sheets of sound no ear has heard, 
who bounce off one another, and break off from the norm, 
Sun Ra's Arkestra, Sonny Stitt and Bird. 

They wrote a new agenda, redistributing the forms, 
inventing broader schemes of interplay, 
as Jazz became a melting pot of signatures and styles, 
through Ragtime, Big Band, Bop, until today. 

America's indigenous art form, 
born here, appreciated everywhere, 
we are proud of all these marvelous musicians 
who bring joy and recognition for us all to share.


...to Miles Davis in particular,  R.I.P.

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016

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High Hopes

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

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

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


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

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I Left My Cello On a Bus

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

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The love of music fills my soul
     when violins take sweet control 
          to make my deep emotions dance
and whirl within a mystic trance.

My passions rise with notes sublime;
     the magic bows help my soul climb
          above the din of mundane things
while harmony of heaven sings.

Sandra M. Haight

~9th Place~
Premiere Contest: Music To My Soul
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 02/10/2107

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2017

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Mythical Performance

Playing music of magical mythological sound
As if meditating to mesmerize those around,
Lion and tiger bow down being spellbound,
Legendary painting depicts myths profound.

Hands hold the lyre, strings echo the singer,
Mythical lyrics reverberate and aurally linger.
Shoulder muscles restrain his leaning stance,
Animals hypnotized, intently stare in trance.

Silent posture manifests solitude in his eyes,
Naked features divulge feelings they surmise.
Mystical potent image seeks union with God,
Intellectual persona leaves everyone awed.

He could tame the beasts and calm the rivers,
He could charm a snake without any shivers,
Guide and write of artistic human endeavors,
Create and sing musical themes lasting forever.

His bold naked appearance may reveal a strife,
A delicate mannerism makes it abundantly rife.
Engrossed in quest of music he perfected lyre,
Rhythm and lyrics conspired to artfully inspire.

Look beyond curiously to unveil the mortal,
Greek myths venerate him like an immortal.
A poet, musician, and a wizard of distinction,
Small group of doubters caused his extinction.

First Place
October 9, 2017
Painting: Orpheus by Franz Stuck
Poems that paint a picture 4
Sponsor: Silent One

Copyright © Vijay Pandit | Year Posted 2017

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Painting My Husband

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013

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Old Days Were Good Times

Oh to have tools to hold back Time!
To make the hours just stay,
And let the years stop in their prime,
Age held back in delay!

To have the chance to dance again,
Laugh more and worry less,
Relish the music we had then-
All that sixty's goodness!

The jukebox songs and ice cream days
Bobby socks and barn dance,
Tears at high school graduation day,
Slum books and teen romance.

Although we cannot hold back Time
He simply runs too fast!
I hold him in my words and rhyme-
And write the things of the past!

Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.19.16 

Copyright © Cynthia Buhain-Baello | Year Posted 2016

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Rick Roll

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

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

© 2011, R. Erin Lenth

Copyright © R. Erin Lenth | Year Posted 2011

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From a city's hilltop , I gaze down there below with lights in rhythmic hop; notes bouncing to and fro... on alleys where life croons women dance as skirts fly; and blues whip juggled tunes sax cooling a flamed sigh! ........... “Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life”--- Berthold Auerbach ~ poet and author ~ .................... Repost 9/29/2016 Contest 213 of Brian Strand

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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An Hour Alone

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

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

For the Indulgence contest...

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015

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The Gift Of A Violin

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

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

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

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

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

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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This Grand Old Piano

This old grand piano stood weathered and worn,
Remembering her finer days,
When classical music resounded aloud,
As fingers on ivory keys played-

This old grand piano stood weathered and worn,
Wishing for her maestro’s return,
But heartache and sadness grew greater each day,
And at times she felt bitterly spurned-

This old grand piano stood weathered and worn,
Alone and dismayed with despair,
Then hope was instilled one morning in May,
When a tuner came in and repaired-

This old grand piano stood weathered and worn,
As a craftsman walked through the door,
With loving skill he began renovation-
'Til splendor was fully restored-

This grand old piano no longer weathered and worn,
Reminisced about days of old,
The auctioneer’s voice rang out loud and clear,
“This grand old piano now SOLD”

Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Year Posted 2016

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Music Festival

Music Festival

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Rory Hannan | Year Posted 2013

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A Poem Wrapped in Music - by Bob Atkinson

A Poem Wrapped in
by  Bob Atkinson

write that emotional

your life, your
loves, your leisure

tell all your best

describing love,
life and glory

setting for us

describe all with

impact my heart with

by describing
heart's desire

tell stories not yet

of your actions weak
and bold

tales of the heroes

to the past or
current born

give me much to

while I live that
sedate life

worrying about

with those darlings
or a wife

wrap this wondrous

in a blanket of
sweet sounds

music for a
lifetime's thought

bringing my spirit
to the ground

call this something
I will know

a word with which to

my weary attention

spread out over my

call the content and
the notes

an entire ball of

something I will
know and treasure

from my future to my

call it song

Copyright © Bob Atkinson | Year Posted 2014

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An Afternoon Of Music

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

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

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

For the Scrolls contest...

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014

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Music of Times Gone By

She wanders the halls in a world of her own
Lost in an era of bygone times
With faltering steps, to the day room she goes
Softly humming the tune of a lullaby.

Time rewinds, she sways 'neath his youthful gaze
His deep voice whispers into her ear
Her lined face shines, frail arms raise to embrace
Dancing to music only she can hear. 

Written on 9/30/2015

Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2015

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Baby Elephant Walk

The flute plays low
Dum, dum, de, de
Organ joints the tune
Dum, dum, de, de

Clarinet delights the ear
Dum, dum, de, de
Baby elephant wobbles
Not graceful now

High piccolo shrill gay
Dum, dum, de, de
Trombone show the way
Woddle of baby elephant

Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

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Her Violin

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

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014

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A Woman's Voice

            A Woman’s Voice

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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Music and Meditation

Written by John Moses Freeman

Music and Meditation

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

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

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

Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2011

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These Dreams

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

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

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The Magic Guitarist

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

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013