Best Song Old Poems
I once was your Armageddon, your mystic legend
Times we argued, realized it was foolish and grinned
Times we laughed, time is a luxury we do not have
Let us old hands old man
The lady beside you, she sang a beautiful tune
The things we don’t want to lose
The loved ones we hate, similar to the above sons mate
The people we want to please
Those we set a perfect yet fragile image
Only to be later ceased
Precious moments we so desperately want to keep
Shh! You speak as though you’re never coming back
But I will not return, best wishes, Ur angel of sadness
I’m a survivor
I work miracles, I was yours
I was everything and nothing anyone would care for
I am still your Armageddon, your mystic legend
My objectives to make you laugh, smile, and mourn
Your rapture, warriors of eternity, a child lost and torn
Mission suffered massive failure
Let us hold hands this final hour
For your misery is ours
You can say you loved him
You can say you placed no other above him
Despite how it sounds
The individual will everyone around him
Is the loneliest person around
In memory of those whom titled him “Angel of Sadness”
In old East Putnam
A very long time ago
Mother sang this song to me
Oh so soft and low
It's just a simple ditty
She sang rocking in her chair
my mind still wanders,
Back to that old farm again
I feel her a hugging me
As she did back then
Her voice would be a hummin
As she'd rock me in her chair
For Ancient Song contest
5/7/7/5/7/7 5/7/7/5/7/7 2 Stanza's ONLY
VERSE-1:
Under the Pennsylvania skies,
In a town where I was Born,
Stands an old red covered bridge,
Where sweethearts Love and cry,
The water ripples down below,
The moon shines bright above,
Sweethearts kiss and share their love,
As their eyes give off a glow.
CHORUS:
The old red covered bridge,
Stands Raggedy and worn,
Withered from the storm,
Up across the ridge,
That old red covered bridge,
Still stands there on the ridge
That's where I gave my heart,
And promised to never part,
VERSE-2:
In the sky above the bridge,
Shining in their eyes,
Glistening stars across the ridge,
Twinkle as the night goes by,
So when I come I bring my love,
To the place that holds the truth,
And every kiss will be enough,
Underneath the roof.
CHORUS:
The old red covered bridge,
Stands Raggedy and worn,
Withered from the storm,
Up across the ridge,
That old red covered bridge,
Still stands there on the ridge
That's where I gave my heart,
And promised to never part,
I had been in town about a month or so
And I was thinking ‘bout settling down
After fifty years of always on the go
This was as good as any place that I had found
I’ve had a lifetime full of one night stands
And dates I bought working on the street
The longest relationship I have ever been in
Would be with the next girl that I meet
I met this widowed lady
She seemed to be real nice
After years of grieving her long lost husband
She was ready to end her lonely nights
Then her twenty-five year old daughter
Came to my room that day
She said, “I’d really appreciate it Mister
If you’d listen to what I have to say”
She said, “I think my Momma loves you
And I think I can see why
But I think you’re nothing but trouble
And I don’t want to see my Momma cry
“So, I’d like to make you an offer
To keep you out of my Momma’s bed
If you promise to be on your way again
I’ll offer you me instead”
I’d like to say that I grew a conscience
I’d like to say I found my mortal soul
But to a fifty year old withered man
Her body was like a big pot of gold
We made love in the early evening
We made love again at midnight
We made love when the morning sunshine
Provided the first rays of light
We made love again in the afternoon
We stayed in bed all day
But at the end of twenty-four hours
Again I was on my way
So, I might be headed to your home town
I might be looking to settle down
I might be hoping that the next place I find
Is as good as any place that I have found
One Day I was listening to an old Cowboy song
My boots began to tapping & I began to sing along
A Cowgirl stepped to the mic & as she began to sing
It sounded like a falsetto auctioneer pulling vowels out on a string
I perked my ears & listened, it didnt seem that hard
If I could learn to yodel, I'd be a Cowgirl Superstar
So I warmed up & just let loose
Was that the call of a lovesick moose?
So I adjusted my pitch, had my stance down pat
Just as I began to yodel, I swear someone stepped on a cat
I struggled on through most of the day trying to warble & trill
And If I'd not sprained my tonsils & tongue, I'd be at it still
Let's hear it for the Cowboy Yodeler, Head & shoulders above the rest
For in mastering the yodel, you surely passed the test
I only have one question, I'd really like to know
Why they sing about her & where did the little old lady go?
In the name of love
she makes the same old mistakes
every time he lies
but it's all the same
as she runs away with hopes
it'll work this time
Just to realize
love is whack in the heart of a woman
truly believing the lie of a man
he strips her of love
as she refuses to lie down and die
accepting a burning bleeding red rose
she stares at the stars
no longer evident in his dull eyes
wondering who is he saving them for
just to realize
In the name of love
she makes the same old mistakes
every time he lies
but it's all the same
as she runs away with hopes
it'll work this time
There was derelict old Steam engine,
I played on when I was ten,
I'd hear that lonesome whistle blow,
and the old west would live again,
I rode with Billy Miner's gang,
To rob The CPR,
Climbed onboard that rusty engine,
hollering "Shorty, check the baggage car!"
I wonder if the ghost of ol' Bill Miner,
ever watched us at our play,
Small boys re-enacting ,
a near forgotten day.
Forty years and more have passed...
I still hear that lonesome whistle blow
My pony snorts impatiently ,
She knows it's time to go.
"Pull up your masks and draw your pistols!"
We come around the engine at a run,
Three riders on fast horses,
flashing hooves and blazing gun.
That very same old engine,
I played on as a child,
Now hauls tourists back in time,
to when the West was wild.
Old railroad men and cowboys ,
re-enact a bygone day,
While the grinning ghost of Billy Miner,
watches us at play.
Years had passed since we had
our last glimpse of each other
and memories are not enough
to bring back the good old days.
Remember how we used to shout
and howl when we hit the jackpot,
playing cards, wasting our time
all through the long lonely nights.
Well, after all those years,
it’s nice to see you again,
good to see you, old friend,
you haven’t changed at all;
the boy in you is still there
after all this time, hey, yes,
it’s nice to see you, old friend.
Remember how mom would holler
to call you home for supper;
we cried a lot each time we saw
our kites escape to the highest sky
and we’re left with just the strings.
We used to dig rhythm & blues,
John, Paul, George and Ringo;
why, they were our fans,
they’d clap their hands,
so awed by our guitars.
Well, after all those years,
it’s nice to see you again,
good to see you, old friend,
you haven’t changed at all;
the boy in you is still there
after all this time, hey, yes,
it’s nice to see you, old friend.
Hey, I'm so glad to see you again.
Maybe it just got the best
Of everything I can't confess.
Little Things never put my mind to rest,
They just make it too tired to address.
All my confusions I must confess,
That I'm just too tired to address.
And these poems just pass the time
'Till these lines just get old and die.
So save me one more wasted breath
About how He's your ugliness.
Maybe then I'll set you free,
But who will share that sympathy.
One day it'll all just be memory.
Another chapter in this life,
Set in stone I'll write it right.
And these poems just pass the time
'Till the lines just get old and die.
Now save me one more wasted breath
And savor all that we have left.
The jazz men of Grand Central Terminal
Gathered on the dirty edge of Park Avenue
Wearing the green-white guayaberas and some honeymoon sombreros.
Suddenly we have been interrupted at the last minutes our jokes
Because an old scholar of ours has asked to do so;
He wishes to sing a song he has written 90 years ago!
For a while we stood there watching his face.
The small eyes not even the shadow of a failure.
As far as I could see it he was right.
We're no longer young anymore!
But they shake their heads. "This our last chance
And you aren't sure what it was. The line of Living
And the line of being dead." As they're gazing over the bush land
With my old blue guitar who's gazing the Speaker
With whom they came to raise a question from a past with the tune
Of "Green Bridge where I go to die
Either I'll cry or flame myself by rage!"
Even as now I talk, in shake hands too, they do not listen.
And now and then, I see the reason, the handsome gull is growing
Old too but not the fight their own
And his voice was still sharp. Oh what a song!
Moment by moment, I look at him. Look strong,
Following each word well under the cloudless heart of ours.
"Who is singing the Guantanamera's song in English?"
Rise, manhood, for full grace, with fire in his eyes
Once were waved with age-tears. "I am, with the birds!"
He gazes at us, fascinated. Making a sound, when,
just as we are ready to explain this is not for him,
he turns back. Since we try to understand what happen,
I can see him walking away to 42nd Street, untouchable
by the wind. While us, like a group of kids
We are still playing on the mug.
On comes a traveler from lands that I have not wandered only visited
Bringing with him memories of the pains I have borne through my life
Like the desert whose dunes I dared only once to climb when youth held me fast
A fleeting grasp, a tentative hold that was as it must be for us all I have come to see
In those valleys of sand where the sun drank from my body ravenously to crack my skin
I saw only once the whispering vision of life in the distance
Shimmering in the heat of the burning sands stood an oasis many miles deeper
So I set out with that vision hardly in my mind across the desert
Over mountainous dunes and into abyssal valleys with the sun raking my back
I walked and then I crawled when my feet became blistered stumps rubbed raw
I crawled until my hands and knees bled
I crawled until I held my head high no longer
Still I wandered, still I moved despite the sand choking my eyes closed
I crawled my body burned and my eyes blinded by sun and sand
Only to find my way back to this shack on the Desert’s edge
My journey had betrayed me I believed
My journey had twisted me all around I thought
Until today when came a wanderer through the desert forge
To sit down and rest with heavy sigh and cloud of slowly settling sands
On his shoulder sat a grey old owl watching me silently with eyes of tired wisdom
In his arms the man carried his second friend a satyr with ivory pipes to match his horns
I nodded in quiet solitude rocking back and forth in my old wooden chair
So it was that we listened to the gentle creaking of the wood
Listened to thunder rolling in off the great Blue Divide
Listened to wind shushing through the leaves of Heaven’s Gate
Felt the heat wafting over us from the Desert’s edge
Neither of we two speaking, only listening until at long last with the sun beginning to set
The satyr stirred just enough to lift the pipes to his lips and then to play
A hauntingly sweet song of blissful sorrow like age-old memories of lost youth
And we listened to him play his song long into the night
Until the stars failed to shine and the curtain of day touched the veil of dreams
“Time to leave, time to go, time to say farewell
For there are roads still to travel and I have yet much to see
And so long a way to go,” he said with a quiet voice of strength
While cleaning up my dark attic
which hasn't seen sunlight for ages,
I expected to get an unusual headache
from dragging out dusty items like picture frames
hidden in boxes or stacked up as old books...
and my awesome discover was: Bing Crosby's Decca Album;
yes, something told me to open up that neglected room!
Wasn't I thrilled by his youthful looks?
On an old Motorola record player never used,
I play all of his songs, but imitate him
with , " My Isle Of Golden Dreams " and be immensely amused...
could it be more real than a dream?
If he could come back to life, we would do a duet...
a well-performed song we could never forget!
Sing, Bing Crosby and entertain me for an hour or so...
until your last song fades away, not leaving me yearning for more!
Before dust covered this precious album, hiding his smooth face never getting old;
now, it is clear as day brightening up my dull living room
as it once refused to let sunlight in, only shaded by doom!
Oh, this unique musical treasure I've found is as genuine as gold,
on my book shelf it will lay and as its keeper, nobody will get close to it;
I will allow others to stare at it from distance...forbidding them to ever touch it!
Verse one:
This old world gets awful lonesome and cold.
And some days it leaves me feeling broken down and old.
And since I’ve spent the better part of my life alone,
I guess I’ll just live out the rest of it on my own.
So I just hum out an old familiar tune.
I sing to my self, myself and the man in the moon.
Chorus:
It’s the sound of a whiperwill, singin from a willow tree.
It’s the wind a blowin, across the plain wild and free.
That’s my song and it’s playin just for me.
I never wrote down the words, but I’ve been singin it all my life long.
It’s carried me down the road, and onto my way home.
So I sing to my self, when this old world leaves me feeling all alone.
Verse Two:
It’s the song I’ve been writing all my life,
And it carries with it, all my pain and strife.
It’s the one thing I have when there’s nothing left to hold.
And the music comes together as the story is told.
Even though it’s a sad lonesome sound.
It keeps my feet standing when there’s no one around.
Verse Three:
I’ve known for a while the only thing I’ll ever have is m.
I guess that’s the way the Maker, intended it to be.
No one to hold onto but no one to hold me down.
This is the life that I have found.
So I just keep on singin my song
And it keeps me going, so I can stay strong.
Sarah Comstock
3/16/2010
Form:
Thinking is meaningless,
When you think about it.
What is it used for?
People think things
But never do them.
So, thinking is obsolete
Like an old game or an old car.
So, why think?
When you always do something different.
Singer
Haiku
Beautiful old woman
Singing at the shower room
Dogs are howling