Lost -
Through an Eagle's eye
Over Fields of plenty
Where rivers and creeks
Never run dry
But I can't feel it
Mountains rising up
Touching the pink, blue,
And rustic orange skies.
I just don't know why
… I just can't feel it
I am a lost page within the novel
No one knows my inner battles
Entering another day
Of constant trials and prattles
Lost –
Through the ears
Of a Great Horned Owl
Where life's creation falls silent
Scurrying about
But I can't feel it
Forests of trees where an
Acappella choir resounds
Magically starting the day
Reverberating all around.
I just can't feel it
And the sea sprites dance
To a rhythm of time
Reaching out to my soul
Touching my heart
Seeking to free and unbind…
I cry, for I can't feel it
No, I just can't feel it
For morning becomes noon
Noon becomes day
For everything has its place
With a time to work
And a time to play
I give up, for I can't feel it
I will never feel it
I look to the four corners
Seeking answers,
But the wind is motionless
And the world, unfeeling
For such are the plans
I never made
So I turn the page….
Categories:
acappella, depression, lost, mental health,
Form: Free verse
I stopped myself from writing a cheesy poem,
I stopped myself and held still like a stone.
Thoughts of lost love and distant memories
I stopped myself before I wasted my mind's calories
It sickens me that I've sunk so low in my conquest
To live a life different and put old me to rest.
For I've risen and I've fallen to get up once again
And still haven't given up, not now not then.
On this one I dispose of the cheddar and matzarella
For I've lost the melody of my life - welcome acappella.
I stopped myself from writing about her,
The same one who caused turmoil - a stir.
I stopped myself from writing a cheesy self-degrading narrative
One that would impose something rather declaritive
About how we could've worked but external forces,
Forced this commemoration to end its courses.
And so I stopped myself without shedding a tear
One that if dropped the whole universe would hear.
Torn from reality I live and breathe the abstract,
In all that is, I look for useful knowledge to extract.
So life give me guidance and give me peace
Give me all I request, give me a new release.
Categories:
acappella, emotions, heartbreak, universe,
Form: Rhyme
Houston, We've Got A Thang....
Bang Bang, Rush It Through The House
Where's My Butt Hole Mouse ? How Mow Brown Cow
Black Cinderella, With Her Tic Track Fella Singing Acappella
Do We Have An Accord Take It To The Board I'll Be Your Lord Horde
Miss Piggy And His Ziggy, Stardust She's A Must With This Bust Bed Time
Red Line Where's My *uckin Mouse Chorus Boris Blue Light Tender Thighs United Lies.
Categories:
acappella, art, love,
Form: I do not know?
Thinking of Whitney Houston for some reason ?
Her beautiful voice like flowers in your hair rising....
Acappella and such a strange vibration; people in motion
Spirits, love's potion ? Nay these altars nor volcanos; sacrificial
Blades their children ghostly gods they chant; pin stripped podiums
Cauldrons a watchful brew poison ivy garments beating drums nighttide
Jungles sand dune dreams his Amazon sleeps, tonight ? Don't walk away she sings..
Gossamer wings the golden gate, and I don't want to cry anymore ? A kiss for love We, smile.
Categories:
acappella, angel, baby,
Form: I do not know?
The song of Life
One begins life, sing it’s compositions in acappella.
During youth, throughout growth, hopes, to be a good fella,
singing in harmony with family, loved one’s, friends and Lovers,
as the orchestras, the bands, beat, hides nothing under the covers.
One’s tunes reverberate throughout this universe,
every lyric, ever line, every note, every verse.
Age then creeps up on us, we again are caught, singing acappella
at our journeys end, taking us into the heavens, to join a Stella.
Flying like the doves,
to join all our Loves
in the either above.
Sent aloft by hands that shove.
B. J. “A” 2
April 11th 2013
Categories:
acappella, journey, universe,
Form: Rhyme
Tuning out everything
Except the sounds
Of burning candles
And the flow of black ink
Above a notebook page
Distinct sizzles
As the flames consume wicks
And letters converge upon the blue lines
Is life anything like
Writing in the dark?
The sun has set
The bright beam of the blue pen light
Allows poetic listener to record
All forms of fire music, allegro or acappella
The harsh scratch of the wrong word
The soft sneaky spring of a closing sentence
The almost inaudible sighs of orange hot wax
The up tempo sputters of flickering light against glass
Categories:
acappella, artblue,
Form: Free verse