Best Soundtracks Poems
If it was not for words
there'd be no poetry.
Can a veiled muse survive,
unable to release
poems that make us thrive?
If it was not for words.
Can we cope being mute
when hearts have to suppress
reasons behind sorrows,
teardrops cannot express.
If it was not for words.
There would be no lyrics,
only background soundtracks.
No songs to soothe our souls
or help tired minds relax.
If it was not for words.
How will eyes view nature
when art fails to describe
moon, blooms, angst or romance?
Nothings left to inscribe.
By duskfall, I cruise with the sky,
throwing life’s pebbles unto ripples
of yearning… and she lifts her veil against
the moist air fondling the blue of night
unto my pale meadow…she whispers
before an interlude, refreshing my senses;
a warm potion to my languid thoughts
and pierced refrains, delicately whisking
shadows and cluttered notes: her luster
bequeathing new facets of hue
and a gleam for sweet beginnings
reaching for my wet skin with a melody
like a passage from tear's soundtracks,
then to grasp my wish on her halo.
Laying on columns of grass, I rise
to feel the sky cruising with me in the meadow.
Craig Cornish's Debussy Contest
6/10/2014
.
soundtracks of my youth
lyrical triggers hypnotic
deeply etched in my heart
drift the melodies of memories
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on July 26, 2020 for contest FOUR LINES sponsored by CONSTANCE LA FRANCE - RANKED 1ST
The hit single, "Don't Let It Go To Your Head," is the best song all music fans have ever heard. It was performed by Fefe Dobson and Jordin Sparks. this song is so amazing, so rad, it's like being in this "end-of-a-serious-relationship" situation and this whole "beginning-of-a-real-serious-relationship" type of deal. And on top of that, it's like being in a romantic comedy-drama film set in New York City. Listening to " Don't Let It Go To Your Head" is like going to a rock music festival in New York City, Phoenix, Arizona, and Toronto, Ontario, Canada. That song is so cool, I wish it was heard on an episode of "Degrassi: The Next Generation" on Teen-Nick (formerly The-N). "Don't Let It go To Your Head" by Fefe Dobson and Jordin Sparks is considered the end-of-a-longtime-relationship song, especially when a guy or a girl decides to break up with his girlfriend or her boyfriend. I've seen the music video made by Fefe Dobson, but not the music video of the same song by Jordin Sparks as of yet. It seems that Ms. Sparks and Ms. Dobson have outdone themselves. What's so great about the song, "Don't Let It go to your Head," is that of its different instrumentals, but with the same lyrics. How interesting is that? Well, the hit single "Don't Let It go to your Head" really should've been heard on an episode of "Radio Free Roscoe." Boy, if Fefe Dobson's then-second album, Sunday Love, had been released, I would've bought the CD, and since Jordin Sparks' second album, Battlefield is out, I'll go get it and buy it. I wonder if the "Don't Let It Go To Your Head " song will have been featured on the soundtracks to my would-be short stories-turned-possible-interracial romance films? Very good question. And if "Don't Let It Go To Your Head" by Fefe Dobspon and Jordin Sparks was to be featured on the "Rock Band" video game and it was inducted into the rock and roll hall of fame, that would be very awesome.
I.
What a darkness it is,
that as the planets rotate miracles
with cosmic power bestowed,
The Fall of Lightbringer
deadens the bleeding branches in Spring
as a requiem masked by your skin
paints onto the sun in a cloudless sky
The Stranger.
II.
What a darkness it is
when laughter lark detonates atom bombs in your heart
and you join me in my scarlet fever,
gazing thoughtlessly at a rainbow stream
of cars holding minds that also fear tomorrow
and are synced with Soundtracks for the Blind
underneath the sun in a cloudless sky
in April.
III.
What a darkness it is,
melting chocolate promises on concrete;
the promises of Locke Cole I cannot keep
streaming from a destitute human Roc
crippled beyond silencing waves in starless space,
smashing the guitar, he cannot fake it anymore
from a bleached sun in a cloudless sky
on Cape May.
IV.
What a darkness it is
to manually delete from your cyberspace
the immortal morning dew of a once eternal friendship,
for we all know that those imprinted souls linger
in our own, impossibly carved into reaches metaphysical,
especially when your favorites coalesce, reminders constantly
following like the sun in a cloudless sky
to nowhere
Freedom foremost, and the will to fight
to keep and protect our natural rights.
Nightclubs, jello shots, disco balls
mechanical bulls, beers cold and tall!
Baseball, football, and basketball games,
crazy rodeo riders on horses untamed.
Books by the millions, more than can be read,
and knowing anything can be by anyone said.
Burgers on buns, potato and tortilla chips,
yeah, those are American, born in Texas!
Satirical cartoons, radio and TV,
the magic that was Hollywood, as it used to be.
Ragtime, Bee-bop, Rockabilly, and Jazz
Swing, R & B, movie soundtracks, and Bluegrass.
The warm blanket of country when feeling cold,
the power and fury of rock and roll.
The grind of hip-hop and of rap…
on second thought, we apologize for that.
But funk gets things all out of control,
and who can say no to harmonious soul?
Stream locomotives, tracks narrow and wide,
flying machines that soar through the sky.
The glorious art that is the western,
and old Las Vegas, the moral tester.
The miracle of southern barbeque,
the burn of moonshine, or Mountain Dew.
Soft ice crew and greasy-fast French fries,
the expectation that politicians lie.
Liberty in law deeply enshrined,
muscle cars driving of the right side.
Suburbs, cabins, farms and guns,
and every legally available type of fun.
Forests, combines, and big chain-saws,
as well as full equality before the law.
A vast landscape, awesome to see,
an undying faith in our families.
Art from great down to lackluster,
recalls, vetos, and filibusters!
Checks and balances on the powerful,
we invented the internet, so things are never dull!
Mountain bikes and rollers blades,
fried chicken and biscuits, porterhouse steak.
Diners, dairy bars and fast food,
we walked on the friggin’ moon,
and built the only probes that escaped
into the void of interstellar space.
I could go on, I am tempted to,
but I think I’ve made my point to you,
And when young fool have yelled there fill,
reject their nonsense talk of “guilt.”
All nations have screwed up, it’s so
but perfection is something man never knows.
This nation still tires to confront is sins,
and brings forth profusions of great things.
The scales upon which we are weighed,
are ever clear in what they say:
When it all is said and done,
America is made of awesome.
Old soundtracks,
fairy memories
With some trill ...
laughter rang
Twilight rose's evening kiss
... through the childhoods eyes
A swinging sixties chick was I dressed head to toe in Biba
Miniskirts my mother loathed and free love too, so I was told
Music of choice was Motown and Soul that played upon my radio
At weekends tuned to Saturday Club a programme never missed
Radio Luxembourg each night, though signal crackled and hissed
Reception was weak as twilight approached, with my radio under my sheet
At the foot of the stairs Mum’s voice could be heard
“Turn that radio off, and go to sleep”
In ‘62 a pirate ship launched off the Essex coast
Radio Caroline was her name, with young DJ’s as programme hosts
Innovators of their time, played songs we loved the most
Enjoying the challenge, but taking a risk each time they went ashore
Deemed illegal ~ no license had they, so were technically breaking the law
Trailblazing times enhancing our lives, playing songs never heard of before
these songs were the soundtracks of my youth
these songs I love and adore...
Tony Blackburn their first DJ; a handsome young fella back in the day
The first DJ to spin his discs whilst bobbing around on the pirate ships
At 77 still playing his songs and boring the nation with corny quips
on ‘Sounds of the Sixties’ every Saturday morn
he plays the tunes
I singalong...
I sent a request for his 'Magic Moments' spot
feeling sure it would end up in his 'magic melting pot'
Our 'Magic Moment' in '63, as we danced the night away
at the Regent Ballroom, Brighton, on a floor made of wooden parquet
was it love at first sight on a midsummer’s night
by the light of the silvery moon...
As we danced to the Chiffons 'He’s so Fine' it became our special tune
When Tony played our 'Magic Moment' on his radio show
I could hardly believe my ears
then my eyes filled up with tears
for my darling he has gone ~ for he died ten years ago
Written on 1st December 2018
after hearing my request played upon the Radio...
Contest :NOSTALGIA any form,any number of lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
HONOURABLE MENTION
When you are not present I am
A fragile glass rose,
Deformed by cracks
From the wind’s careless handling,
Precarious
And about to fall.
Suddenly you appear out of nowhere,
An innocent child saving his dear mother’s
Cheap chinaware.
And with your hands-
That inexpensive object
Is now worth more than money can afford.
A slight Midas’ touch.
That rose,
Once cold and lifeless,
Dull and quiet,
Is now resurrected,
More lively than Lazarus had ever been.
With roots that attach,
Thorns that bleed,
And petals that flourish
Into something harmonious.
When I am by your side,
(A heavenly bliss, I swear to you,)
The faces surrounding us
fade away.
Their inaudible words are blurred
Into records of violins that play,
As soundtracks for this story
Of me and you-
Forever was a place God made only for us two.
Helios, Selene, and Eos,
Are probably laughing at my failed attempts
Of this love poem.
When I tell you that
The sun shines, sets, and rises for you,
The moon guides for you,
And the dawn would ebb without you there.
Let them laugh!
All the peevish fools do,
When they do not know that
This universe was made only for us two.
Sleep, once a kindly rest,
Is now something I detest.
Why would I want to elude a world
Where awakes a being that breathes like you?
Talks like you,
Heals like you.
Even in the chambers of Death,
We shall trek hand in hand,
Smiling at one another.
Eternity was made only for us two.
Only for us two.
Energized happy
Changes snappy
Speeding trains
Traveling the same
On a journey
For favorite scenes
Random choices
New soundtracks
Spark emotions switch gears
Swallow fears
Exchange glances
Taking chances
Spending the day
In a usual way
Time spent
Going the distance
To journeys end
Schindler's list,Star Wars
Saving Private Ryan
Gadfly,Lord of the Rings-
Composers on a mission
To make their soundtracks sing.
Tibute to Williams,Shore ,Morricone et al...
How I wished, free flow of wheels
No words to tell , "how it feels".
When vehicles swish
Well, well, well!
This is what I relish.
How I missed, the rumble and rush
Noisy Wide tyres! are my first crush
Fizzing of tyre
Well, well, well!
My Heart's on Fire.
How I mixed the soundtracks
Made by different crackerjacks
Brakes and clonks
Well, well, well!
Those frequent tonks.
How I loved those droning hums
Whinin' poppin' or screechin' ones
The drumming and hissing
Well, well, well!
Those wet roads n' tyres slipping.
How I longed to be awake
For me, there was no escape
Now back with all my might
Well, well, well!
Tales of travels we'll write.
#?? #?? #?? #?? #?? #??
Note: National Highway in India remained blocked for more than a year due to farmer's protest against some laws??
#FarmersProtest
#nationalhighway
#poorcommutors
#poetrylove
#AABCB
#onomatopoeia
#personifyingNH9
Form:
Mike drop!
Just because the thought you have ran into overtime
You don't have to play as if rhymes do not rhyme
Thrill without skills
Techniques with out beats
Beds pulled down access with out sheets
Beat hold up repeats
Devastated as Skip chased knight rider black streets with out leaps
Peep game recognize game like monopoly without a same
Turn with sand burns
Park avenue with out turns
Dill lard cooks turn
Burn backs of chill burn
Bluto olive ships stern
Pop eyes Gargamel Smurf son
Shirt stocky like Rocky bull run
Chosen chapels like priest son
Choir shirts with out pleats son
Example related question interrogate that son
Open Sesame street son
Big bird in trees without flowing tweets son
Literally drac cue the curtains ready for action applaud Oscar award son
Tony hip hop the skip scotch top charts with who son
Dedicated related to you
Pushed back with hit tracks soundtracks eight black
Two streets with Maybach's
Sandy skilled take that
Blowing winds made that
Frosty Pebbled laced that
Lyrical that made that
There's so much I want to tell you,
yet I can't seem to spit out the words,
you come and go like I walk away
and then you bury me in the dirt.
Reminiscing on those nights,
our sleepless talks-
those days you'd spontaneously visit just to see my smile,
those days where'd I'd go that extra mile-
I trusted
your word.
Now those days seem so far away
they're lost in a mirror image
of soundtracks, still images that remain locked in my memory.
That's all you ever were,
solely a memory.
And there's times where I miss your arms around me,
then there's times I despise your embrace,
because you gave up,
couldn't do it
and left me to move on.
Then once I did, you came running back
instead of sweeping me off my feet,
you knew I was already swept,
always will be,
always have
cause I'm never really over you
yet I never can reveal my secret.
at 16 he was in a hardcore
band, the vocalist who
screamed a lot & often
shouted---
a neighboring community
college was offering singing
lessons for early credit &
even someone at the age of
16 could apply,
so he thought he’d take a
chance after school a couple
times a week &
signed up.
when he first arrived,
her eyes lit up, for the singing
teacher was not accustomed to
male students &
in fact told him so---
he thought she simply saw him
as a challenge, an experiment
of sorts,
after he told her that the only
reason he was taking lessons
was so that he could scream
more without losing his voice
halfway through the show.
having studied opera herself &
holding a resume with several
appearances on soundtracks,
she secretly attempted to steer
all of her students in the same
direction, but this new challenge
had horrible Italian pronunciation &
his “creamy” voice seemed to
be more akin to jazz & blues
stylings, so in a short bit of time
she changed up her act &
had him belting out different
tunes.
“you need to sing from your
solar plexus…do you know where
that is?” she said, and he shook his
head with indifference,
for at this point he was sick of the
lessons already---
“here, stand behind me…”
&
the teenager did what she said,
then she took his hands in hers
and wrapped them round her stomach,
thrusting them up under her breasts,
moving them around on her belly
remarking “your solar plexus is
right around here…and this is where
you must sing from in order to
keep from losing your voice...”
and she breathed in deeply, exhaling,
while his hands were still pushed up
under with her fingers tracing along
his hands…
“you mustn’t sing from your throat,
but from this place…a place deep inside
you.” she whispered out,
and in that office with one door &
soundproofing all over,
he did sing.