Song Write Poems

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

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Details | Ballad |
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….


Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011




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 |
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 | Couplet |
So much of my life I spent doing wrong
If I could write music I would write a song

I have done things a man shouldn't do
These words are written for they are true

If you open your heart and look to the sky
Ask of the Lord then hear the reply

It won't come in words not words you can hear
It may come with a smile or fall as a tear

I found an angel said bye to my ghost
After I lost everything I gained the most

I found the Lord through the poems I pray
Sometimes it’s best to just give it away

I write out my words for they help me see
Simple is best for simple is free

Think of yourself just never think down
Your mind holds the music just listen to the sound

Everyone you meet has something to say
Be sure to include them in the prayers that you pray

All that you do and all that you see
Shares in your story and your destiny

When dealing with others do what you do
Just be kind and gentle to those you do it to

Everything is nothing that it shouldn't be
As a seconds a second and a tree is a tree

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008

Details | Cinquain |
Blind, I walk tap tap
to find my way, rap echo.
Sing song carry me
home to you, bring it home tap
straight to my heart so I hear.

When I see the beat 
boomerang back rap to me
I know your sound space
I know the song of your sense
I hear the cry of your dream

The echoes build loud
Add fluid to the white space
Thoughts of listeners
Adding additional beat
Making new heart, soul, song, sound 

One by one you come
One by one you come online
Choir adding rhythm rip
choir adding some  filigree
add understanding to world

What the rap you make
What the taps you spell out loud
Becomes an image
Shared by all who listen, sing
Wonderful sound, our heartbeat.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013

Details | Acrostic |
Music calms the angry heart, its glorious rhythm penetrates the dark, the way I feel when the sound waves seep through my hair, consumes my soul with a suttle stare, my feet so happy, my body enriched with vibrations, my soul so at ease, I'm here for the taking.
 

I play from my experience, I put on a show, my hidden words entangled with the things that I know, smiles surround me, they glance by my feet, their inner beings amazed by my beat.
 

I beat my drums, I play my strings, they show me their affection, this is where I get my wings, they say I can fly, it seems I can soar, my music so perfect, they keep asking for more.
 

I do what I love, and they love what I do, music is my life, I am so happy that I can share it with you.

Copyright © stephanie hanvey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
We met in 8th grade...We became great friends and
Years later,

She Dared Me To Write my First Poem January 21, 1948...we were both 16...I on January 9th and she on January 20th same year.


"I bet you can't write the second verse to this poem!" she said to me in sassy manner...

She shoves a note book page to me with a scribble in her handwriting.

The title was "I Love To Dance!"

How absurd I thought, after all, I was a "singer!"


Without hesitation I took the paper and began to write..."I'd love to be held close in your arms where only I could share all your charms..." 

I followed with a few more line of "poetic bliss", to my thinking, and her respone was..."How did you do that?"

I replied, hands on hips, "Well you wrote the first so I wrote the second!"

Eloise replied in evident astonishment, "Girl, mine was from a song sheet!"
We fell out laughing as any 16 year olds would do.

Of course, I've written thousands of poems since then and I often say, "It's like breathing to me!".

My friend Eloise will be laid to rest tomorrow, March 16, 2013...Such a sad song for me. We stayed in touch over the years and often still laughed about that dare for me to write a second verse...Who knew?!

Cynthia
My heart is filled with the sorrow of Eloise's demise
Yet I sing still

Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
In the dream world where reality becomes a fantasy 
And fantasy becomes reality.

The impossible is made possible and death becomes no threat. Mountains turn to a plain ground and are surmountable.

In the dream world I can do the impossible and see the invincible. I can spread my wings, soar and fly through the clouds reaching the altitude of my fortune and destiny.

In the dream world I am unstoppable and unquestionable, conquering all my adversaries. The treasures of this world are at my disposal, kings and kingdoms are my subjects.

In the dream world wishes don’t count but choices are made. That is why I have made the choice to have you as mine forever. In my dream world where there is no pain but gain, no distress but fortress, no cross but crown.

Copyright © Raphael Adegoke | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme royal |
I slip my headphones on, and I begin dreaming,
my desk is my alter, and the Heavens is what I'm seeing.
My pen is the bridge, and this paper is the gate,
writer's block is the pad lock, the only thing in the way.

I click open my pen, and begin to release from within,
my blood runs as deep the ink, and washes away my sins.
My thoughts are the cross, and my burdens act like a wreath.
Razor sharp thorns cut me, as I'm trying to catch my breath.

My enemies are the whips, hitting me in the back,
tying me down with chains, just to get a little laugh.
My lyrics are my message, what got me here in the first place.
My mind is my shovel, digging the hole to bury my scarred face.

Then the beat stops, and I wake up from my trance,
I hit replay and try again, I only got one chance.
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
I'm Irreplaceable.


The track starts again, and I slip back into my sleep.
My pen is my gun and the paper is my enemies.
Writers block is my holding cell, and the key is my mind,
my mind is the problem, because it locks itself up all the time.

The beat is my pulse, slowing down before it drops,
then picking up the pace, while adrenaline does it's job.
My words are the bullets, penetrating your skin,
your body is still intact, but you're shattered within.

The lead is the streets, giving me countless ways to go,
the eraser gives me the ability, to never leave my home.
Every word is a stray bullet, it'll connect it won't.
My enemies are my targets, I either hit 'em or I don't.

But I'll keep shooting, until this lead goes dull,
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
I'm Irreplaceable.

Copyright © Aaron Guttery | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ghazal |
Not by request
Not even my best,
Hoping you'll just select a poem
With no sense in the title...
No clue in the first line
That it is divine.
Pick one at random,
Perhaps previously ignored
By those who do not tarry...
Without songs or rainbows
No butterflies and no lies.
Only words needing to express
The current stress of my life
At this particular moment,
Sent out in poetic line
To be classified as good, bad or
Indifferent...
Browse here, through my pages
Of verse
Not rehearsed...
Tell me what you think or not
But Ive got to move on now
To the next twist and turn
Of thoughts
Wrought 
By  circumstances beyond my control
My bold mind running free.

Cynthia

Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric |
At one point in my life i was an artist
I used to paint and draw
Covering a piece of paper
In beautiful colors
And my art told a story
The sort of story you couldn't talk about
I used to go to school every day
Showing up late 
Wasn't something I'd do
But i dropped out
Leaving my education behind
I played the bass guitar
In a band called 
The Nocturnal
My fingers ran against that bass
Pure magic
The sound of the gods
Setting out to destroy the world
Pure Punk straight from Seattle
At one point i was clean
Sober and pure like a new born baby
Falling further into 
What you now call 
"disapointment"
Screwing up my veins
with every shot of herion
Killing my brain cells
With every joint i smoked
Clogging up my nose 
With every pill you could have known
I used to write lyrics
About my life
My childhood
I used to write journals
The ones you read in the book 
that was published of me
I got up on that stage every night
As i was
Nothing fake
Nothing glamourous
Only a few scars
One shot of heroin
Come as you are
The words only speak for 
Themselves

Copyright © Orlin Collier | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haiku |
Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.


(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
Diamonds and Pearls Intro

He’s a black diamond standin’ on his throne
Platinum pyramids full of rubys and golds
He rolls royces in silks and riches
First class flights fly first…pacific
Atlantic oasis vacations chasin’ him…
From the states to the islands…they paradisin’ him
Crusin’ round the world in his yacht…no glitches
Shinin’ like baguettes on his wrist…past richness
Sun bathin’ over seas…meditatin’ steadily
In mentality of Garnet…pure clarity
Red emeralds green emeralds…purple tanzanite
It’s Taj Majal relica lookin’ in his eyes
Care for a glass of “The jewel of Pangaea”
Toast to the diamond in the rough of ideas
Higher than the pope…king of all kings
I introduce to you…your majesty… King Sesame


Written by: Aleasha Martin

Copyright © Aleasha Martin | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Oh well here I go again, 
wishin for a dream that I could be wrapped in, 
entrapped in, 
torn away from addiction, 
destroy the tele… 
vision they strive to force upon you, 
its all false but you know I’m true. 
They will not protect you when you scream your broken cries, 
they are merely evil faces of masked men behind illuminati eyes 
with which they hypnotize, 
brainwash you with their lies. 
I've got those deep thoughts pouring in, 
all the roads I've traveled down
conditions I have traveled in 
here in my pretty town, 
the 910 deserves a crown. 
East Coast I'm representing, 
I promise you I am not venting. 
High on that purple haze, 
And still haven't slept for days, 
excuse these bloodshot eyes
with a krispy kreme glaze, 
some will try to say its just a silly phase...
My mind is so graphic, 
use words like special tactics, 
unmistakable like D'Jango, 
or a peace signs' angle, 
destroy the crave for war and struggle, 
no need to explain all the trouble, 
with places burstin’ into rubble, 
Rebel! Rebel! We’ll show ‘em hell! 
I’ll be fightin’ when I'm dead, 
kick and scream till my blood is shed, 
let authorities know the message will be spread! 
Put on a show with a little bit of passion 
or the bad things will continue to happen.
Get the love through your head, 
all this hatred should be dead, 
what I'm saying must be said, 
before the gauge goes into red. 
With vocabulary this brilliant makes a female more vigilant, 
like brothers boston what I speak 
my words alone will make you weak, make you faint, 
Like blood spilled by hands of a vigilante saint, 
trust me lifes too short,
you dont have the time my young cohort, 
wait until your words make an enemy
cause their threatened by the uncertainty 
that you will make it this far 
make a point unlike this war
next thing you know you see ‘em sweat
words fresh like paint drippin with purpose, 
makin ‘em wet.  
I finger paint a master piece with a just simple rhyme, 
just don't pull your piece on me just let me speak, my mind, 
while I unwind, rewind all this blasphemy, 
continential catastrophe, 
I may have to beg and plead so that my boys can rest in peace 
sorry for the interruption, 
don’t blame me for the corruption, 
for now I'll put my words at ease, 
hope you told someone you loved them today and that it wasn't a white lie, 
just a tease.

04.27.2013

Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
 18 Stoic Faces
- by Bob Atkinson

eighteen stoic faces
faced four who had come
to read the erudite refrains
of poets both dead and gone

readings were in earnest spoken
for respect for some who had
garnered from the establishment
accolades, awards, well sanctioned

yes, eighteen stoic faces
faced four who read so good
those meaningless diatribes
of useless linguistic words

significance became not evident
for similes provided here
metaphors vaguely crafted caused
me not them to revere

this didn't change my attitude
my demeanor didn't rise
waiting for an end to it
was my only real desire

so I couldn't clap and whistle
and be smiling in my face
that would not have been sincere
became just a little bit ashamed

whistle I didn't do at all
felt not much real emotion
gave a polite nod to those speaking
headed quickly out the door

save me from disjointed thoughts
can't those people see the truth
senseless disorganization
does not good poetry produce
 
of those thoughts not poetry 
I firmly do believe
the fireplace requires cellulose
for bright flames to feed

listless words written poorly
carried my imagination not
was frozen in my dreamy state
rusted any worthwhile thoughts 

next week went to Vegas
to see the eagle band
and watch as pure emotion
rocked that audience grand

ten thousand had paid apiece
a couple hundred bucks
to see those wordly masters
like Henley, Frey and such

they told of the situation
which emotion played upon
a woman's real life choices
why she'd become despondent

ten thousand cheered upon
recognition of great words
displayed while coddled with sounds
soft guitars and drums beat purrs
 
I thought "now here lies real poetry"
not those prissy kind of words
that speak only of the unimportant
with wispy mindless verbs

some lock credentials grand
for that which moves us not
and laugh at the suggestion
that song is our greatest art

me, I have a vision
that we shall all enjoy
songs we've grown up with
as emotional literal tomes

Copyright © Bob Atkinson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |


Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.

Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.


Suyash Saxena 
St. Stephen’s College.

Copyright © Suyash Saxena | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
I do not write in April, because that’s the month that comes before May.
I do not write in April, because then June would arrive in total disarray!

I do not write in April, now, although I have before this day.
I do not write in April, actually, although with words I’m known to play.

I do not write in April, when there’s ANZAC’s, Easter and Palm Sunday.
I do not write in April, and from that delicate decree I’ll not go astray.

I do not write in April, but exactly why, I can’t quite say.
I do not write in April, and it’s for the best, that here, I don’t betray.

I do not write in April, although I do read papers from my in-tray.
I do not write in April, so you won’t find any papers in my out-tray.
	
I do not write in April, when I’m outside whiling my time away.
I do not write in April, for that fills my insides with strange dismay!

I do not write in April, for I’ll not wear a wreath like a gloomy lay!
I do not write in April, but I’ll cheerfully whistle down your way.

I do not write in April come whatever, come what may.
I do not write in April. I do not write in April I say!

I do not write in April, but I’d gladly sing a song for Spring to stay.

Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
If I had luck with a guitar
I would pluck you a gentle tune 
If I had been blessed with a soothing voice
I would play you the sweetest melody

I would carve you an effigy of love
If my hands were humbled with the Skillman ship of a sculptor
I would your statue place at the centre of my town
With the sweetest caption known to the statue race on it

I would with the brightest colours, to reflect your charming smile,
Paint a portrait of your beautiful face
If the gods had favoured me with a painter’s talent
I would hang your Mona-Lisa like portrait in all the museums in the world

I would dare the fires of Mordor
Just to mold you the most glistening pieces of jewelry
The purest of a golden ring with the biggest diamond
A Hollywood girl would forever dream of I would make you

Or I would bring you the freshest roses
The smelliest of their kind
If only I had enough to have my own orchard
I would grow you pink and red roses in my back yard

I would stuck you a pile of riches in your pillow case
Then I would surprise you to open it when you wake
That would be if I had a good fortune
To spoil my honey dew with abundant life

But I am a frog with a guitar
My hands are too weak for a sculptor
A blind man would outshine me at a game of paint and brush
The fires of Mordor, ho! I wish the Hollywood supermodels would envy your golden ring
But I would never muster enough bravely to dare the ever blazing flames
I would indeed collect the sweetest pink and red roses
But I lack even my own daily bread to own an orchard
That goes even for the fortune I wish I would surprise and spoil you with

I however have muse’s abundant gifts in my quill
Thus with it I scribble you this poem
To soothe you my honey
To pluck you that tune from my virtual guitar
To carve you the effigy of love
And paint you the Mona Lisa of your own
To endow me with the courage to dare the furnaces of Mordor
And bask in the fountains full of rose’s red and pink
For in my virtual world I have all the riches to spoil you with
And with muse’s gift I with this quill
Scroll you this piece my morning dew

Copyright © Dash Black | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
I think I self-sabotage unknowingly 
because of fear
So my message goes unheard because I’m afraid to let the people hear
And end up drowning in the poetic blues
doubting my ability to write about the truth;

I dug deeper and deeper into myself trying to write a poem good enough to be free of judgment
Then I stepped out on faith and suddenly I was triumphant 
and my writing grew 
and I was loving it
I had finally passed the fear of speaking and caring about who the fu*c! was judging it

As I wait to be inspired for the next poem, 
I sit and think alone and drown in my sorrows
Listening to jazz, blues and a.m. radio
trying to find an excuse not to perform at the SLAM 
because again I can’t think of a damn thing to write…..
Drowning in poetic blues
Will this be the one that will be thrown away and never be used 

Or will this be the one that transcends the others  
and finally prove that poetry is blues and blues is poetry and hip hop and jazz and r&b, 
Poetry is music and the words dance around in my soul 
and I am free once they become spoken 
In the meantime the paper is where the words will rest 
until the silence is broken

Drowning in the sea of proper delivery 
My voice, my stance, my intensity
How will others interpret the words that I’ve chosen so diligently?
I wrap my soul around the possibility that none of the words I choose – 
will keep me from becoming deluged and trapped by the poetic blues

Somehow my heart refuses to accept that I don’t deserve to have my words heard 
and it takes over this whole process
No more time for shrinking and feeling less
I was born to  make my words manifest light
I am a gorgeous medium to the truth yeah that's right
I was sent here to give you a piece of good news
Remember that God is with you when you get
The poetic blues

Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme royal |
It's hard not to look back at the things that happened in my past,
but it's the past, they passed on, kept runnin' now they're gone and I seem to forget that.
I try too hard to keep my head low, my skin out of this blazing sun,
but no matter how hard I try, not a day goes by I don't wanna get up and run.

So I sit still as the time stops and the world around me begins to fade in,
a black darkness where I don't want anything but for this world around me to end,
but it keeps on going, and keeps on slowing, 'till I'm to slow to defend.
All these kicks, from left and right, 'till I'm on the ground cause of my opponent

And I'm dazing, my mind erasing, any counter attack and I give up,
I understand that he's got me beat, but I can't seem to get out of this slump.

In my mind, I feel untied, I feel crossed, and I feel denied.
And from somewhere inside, I feel the ignition spark, and I ignite.

I have the immense weight of the world, that you dropped on my cold shoulders,
I rather be six feet deep under the ground, I don't want a tombstone, give me a boulder,
It's like every day in this ice cold world, I feel like it's only getting colder,
carrying this weight on my back, as the fiery depths of Hell smoulder.

But everyday I, feel like I'm a little bit closer to breaking out of this shell,
I write a little bit more, 'till I develop carpel tunnel syndrome then I exhale.

My colors are fading, but black and white are all I need to sit still.
So I'll keep writing, and keep on fighting, as long as I can keep this skill.

Copyright © Aaron Guttery | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
I was your never ending composer
We spent many a nights, and many an hour together
But now you’re lost inside
And I can’t find my way, again.

( chorus )
Cause I can’t say it without you		
It hurts to be without the feeling		
Never knowing when it will return		
But I know that you would stay with me	
If you came back, again some day		
But till then I’ll wait till you appear.	

I really miss the way you make me feel
People said we were meant to be together
Why’d you leave me so unexpectedly
I hope you come back soon.

( Chorus )

It’s been two months since I’ve written you
All I’ve got to show is crumpled bits of paper
The passion and creativity is now gone
So come back home so I can work it out.	

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
I think I'll write a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'
We'd have been married thirty years today
if he hadn't had a penchant to stray.

I got the pickup truck, so we'll leave that part out
but there's lots of other things I can whine about.
I can hit a few notes on this guitar of mine,
now I need to come up with some catchy line.

Country songs need to have a refrain,
something so catchy it'll stick in your brain.
They're all about liars and cheaters and such
and cheapskate dates who want to go dutch.

I'll make a fortune when my song's a hit.
My inspiration was my ex the ....jerk?
Yes, I think I'll write me a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'.

I'll put in a verse about socks on the floor,
then casually mention his red-headed .... friend?
Maybe I'll say that he broke my heart
I'm still not quite sure where to start.

Most of what I write may even be true.
I could mention his cologne smells like... aqua velva?
Yes, I'm sure I can write one if I try.
It'll hit the charts and from there just fly.

I know I can write a country song.
Anyone can when they've lived this long.
We all have something twangy and sad,
something good in our past that turned out bad.


* any resemblence to actual events is purely coincidental

** and thanks Nancy for the blog that inspired this

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2011

Details | Lyric |
I hope you remember all of the bad things you have done so far
I hope you still have the chance to fix them 
Im sorry it took me forever to write this letter to you
Ive been meaning to save you from what your about to become
For some reason i cant get a grip on it
I dont know what i want to say
I dont know how to help you
Im about to tell you about some of the things you are about to do
Right now your 16
Right now you are sitting on your bed listening to music
Reading a book on your favorite band
Smoking that cigarette
That will soon get you into all the other things that causes more problems for you
Try to avoid the guy you are about to let into your life
Remember that your not allowed to talk to strangers
Remember your mom told you that when you were 7
Its about time you listen to her
You will meet a girl
And you will end up hurting her
Dont take her to that club 
Where your band is about to play
Your not good at singing
And your bass playing still needs some work
Dont embarass yourself
It lowers your self esteem
And you will try to committ suicide
Multiple times
But dont worry 
It doesnt work
So stop trying to 
Kill yourself
Remember the night when you ran away
And went to go live with your aunt
Yea...
Shes about to kick you out
Look under your bed
You will find 500 dollars
You put it there when you were young
You forgot 
Thats why im writing you
Remember it
Take it and use it wisely
Dont use it on the drugs 
Dont use it on the beer
Use it towards a better future
So then i dont have to write this letter again.

12-13-12

Copyright © Orlin Collier | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
"So, You Want to Be a Writer?" is a children's song, sung to the tune of "Oh, My 
Darling Clementine".

So, you want to be a writer
But you're not sure where to start?
Grab a pencil and some paper
And write down what's in your heart!

Bonus activity: Explain to children what that "inner voice" is...that voice that says 
things like "Mom's gonna' be so mad when she sees this report card!" or "I'll be so 
disappointed if I don't win the spelling bee." The inner voice is pure and 
unedited...all you need to do is capture it and write it down. Give children a pencil 
and some paper and have them go someplace quiet (their room, the backyard, the 
library). Instruct them to listen to that inner voice and simply write down what it 
says. When they are finished, tell children they've made a journal entry and that 
journal entries can be highly prized. Many authors publish their journal entries. 
Journal entries should be saved, as they can later be turned into poems or stories, 
like "D-Day: The Day I Brought Home My Fourth Grade Report Card".

Copyright © Cherie Durbin | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
For kicks is why I do it now.
You tell me to love but I never knew how.
Our feet hitting pavement,
We spent the day in sunny California with sun kissed skin.
I’m learning to forget and how to fade scars,
And you let me let myself down so hard.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
And now I just do it for smiles,
We’ll never see flower girls stumbling down aisles.
I’d lose my head just before that chance,
But if you want we can still have a first dance.
Cause I think I say things that I don’t mean,
Once upon a time you meant the world to me.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
But I’m trying to refrain,
To make this not all end up in vain.
Maybe I can learn to love like some people do,
And you can learn to love yourself a little too.
Or it is in all fairness to let this go?
I guess we can try but then we’ll never know. 

Copyright © Ag Ki | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
 HOW TO WRITE A LOVE SONG
I know the hurt belongs, 
or it would not be here.
when life is always going wrong,
then nothing's quite so dear
as hope, there is in loving you,
if only to survive,
the only thing in life  I have
that's keeping me alive.
I know the pain belongs
or I'd not feel a thing,
each time I write another song,
that only I can sing
to let you know your song is here,
this love I've known so strong,
this hope, this pain, this feeling I
have loved you for this long.
I know the hurt belongs,
or I'd not feel it's touch,
and never write another song,
revealing just how much
I've loved you and for all this time,
you'll hear it in each song,
and listening to the words, you'll know
how much, and for how long.

© rom wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
In this I tale to all my tale
of the life that I’ve been through 
And if I write this tale of life
Then the tale I write be true
And if found false beyond reasonable dought
may all my name be cursed
For I tell this tale with all my word
and what left my word be worth
In truth I write in sincerest hopes 
that of it you may read
Though I pray you hold no sorrow dew
for no sorrow is due to me
The time has past that alas
my heart be lost at sea
For the tide at last has freed me of my past
my selfishness and greed
And all it left is a broken glass
that reflects my sorrow and grief 
As the fall does turn the trees to bare
upon the fall of the final leaf 
A vacant field of smoldering ash
from the casualties former flame
Is all that’s left to gaze upon
upon the battle plane
And as I lift my eyes to gaze 
and reflect on the lands fall
The coldest grievance echoes through my head
saying I could’ve stopped it all
The distant words of an old negro spiritual
begin to recite inside of me
Oh what peace we often forfeit
oh what needless things we meet
And should be should scapegoat
on what alter may our faults bare
For all this do for we do not take
everything to god in prayer
Though always I hold these words in my heart
and of them I do believe
My faith bareith not enough to trust
for my faith be incomplete
Though complete enough to sustain in you that I do believe
that you know the level of my faith therefore you won’t deliver me
And in this I bare my deepest woe
for in you my last hope lies
For the angels that were all once hear to stay
have to all my grievance died
And name the murderer who sins
name the committer of these deeds
And in that name my heart doth break
for the murderer is me
So now as I stare at the dead war grounds
of what use to be my home 
I hum the tune of the beast Jawloon 
for it be my SADDEST SONG

Copyright © James Williamson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |
Limited in choices of writing creative topics of poetry,
I only want to write about some sort of painful misery,
Lost love or I am not a thought in a mans new mind,
For I do not know how to write any other type or kind.

I pump out a limerick and rhyme here and there,
Only to write poems that reflect my lack of flair,
For I do not have many hobbies or interests too,
But I will keep posting my limitedness for you.

Copyright © Dawn Gordon | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
I am sarcastic
A smart-ass
I do what I want
Yet I'm quiet
Self-spoken
But not at all blunt
I am determined
But lazy
Stubborn & mean
I am smart
And creative
With music,I'm a fiend
I'm a goofball
Observant
Yes I am weird
But still normal
But you know me
Let's get one thing clear
I'm no push-over
I don't quit 
Without a try
Yes words can hurt me
So you will see me cry
I am not what you think
Yes I do drink
Caring for none
I am honest and modest
I'm cool and so chill
I am all thee above
I am so very real

Copyright © Anna J Carroll | Year Posted 2012

Details | Classicism |
   Gazzing out betwix the river and upwards on and on towards the
   Heavens-ss.  I saw a light the exploited in an maze of colors, some
  a beautiful greenist color mixed-with a amber glow of a Diamond...(WWhee-ww).
  "I write the song, that I know not of, {but} this night..."  "It is impossible for me to
  remain silent." (the) Song I write I write...[It is] "It Is Good to All that Praises Him
  in the Liberty of His...{HOLY}..name...O--OHH little star way out beyounst the
 blu-lit sky shinning..(always)...shinning....{Thank-You} for making me see that
 we are never...!!!!...{Alone}.                                                                                       
 {We do Indeed} are in need of Him(Spiritualy) in-and-out of our live'sss.
    "So-so stay in the test, its reward is an  Ever-lasting too EverLasting life with
  the...Lord!!!!.." "You will recieved Blessing/where you shall have not enought
  rooom to bare.   {STAY-STRONG}_________"I Write The Song...(?).."

Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2012