Best Vocal Poems
I do have purpose
that stays near
a constant reminder
of my inner child
As my conscienceness
shines through to create
a new perspective
I break out of my cocoon
Only to discover that
I find places where
the sanctity of my being
does not flow as it should
My intuition is what
guides me though
there is no longer the
desire for the constant
upheaval of tragedy to strike
upon me
On my journey I have
discovered that there
are many hidden truths
So as my spirit ascends
I am inspired by my bravery...
If I am frightened
by the visibility that
standing proud does to me
then I shall stand even taller
No longer will I fear
the degradation that
once was my shadow
there is no home here
for the shame any longer
And I will no longer be
swayed by the fragments of defeat
When I become sorely tempted by
sheer exhaustion
And I think I can't
make it on my own
I will remember that
I am walking this
road of life for me...
I St
I stu
I stutter
My voice it f
It fal
It falters
They think I am a nutter
My v
My vo
My vocal
Chords they flutter
My mouth does t
does twi
does twitch
My sh
shoul
shoulders move
as if they i
they itc
they itch
I do a small fun dance here
while si
while sitt
while sitting
in my chair
And if you are my audience
(that's only fair)
I w
I welc
I don't welcome your
fear,
but your enthus
enthusia
enthusiastic
applause here
***
Copyright © Darren White
April 27, 2017
A singer's life is far from free
who would know more about it than me ?
Late hours and circles under the eyes
flowers and perfume and so many guys
peering and watching the moving of hips
hoping they'd listen to sounds from the lips
the pounding and hearing of drums in the ears
has made me half deaf over the years
the glittering dresses cost so much
rough to the skin and to the touch
I sing a lot and drive and roam
I guess there's just no place like home
As if a child should understand an adult’s muddle,
putrid oil slick puddle,
the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring.
Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure whatever spark remains in those tiny rosebud cheeks before their prime.
Those innocents should never have to wrap their nascent minds around the wanton desecration of intertidal lakeland wetness gradients,
the callous douse of velvet purple algerita berries,
blighted by the stark timbre cloud forms
that recklessly pour bile on every genus.
The rug rats at our feet may never know the joys of sap-addicted sugar gliding nocturnal possums, whose acrobatic tree to tree mirror ball exploits mock Isaac Newton,
or the kinkajou of tail grip fame who flaunt their tan glow wooly fur coat in broad daylight,
or the dawn to dusk fennec fox, that doughty eagle owl and jackal dodger whose kissing cousin dens pockmark terracotta forests. But not alone in wider worlds are children being deprived.
A heartless milieu also asks our clutch and clan to dwell in
alloy girder mousetraps, those pale decor rat infested tumble downs gouged out by scrimp and scrape rust bucket caterpillars.
Beyond belief we tolerate the nick and hoist elevator,
that pressure cooker transit flight abduction of the harried wage slave parent,
those cotton garment dress code senseless
dragonfly stand-ins that hover in mid air.
There’s every chance we’ll leave our nursling’s ire to future bands of mutant stem cell rockers who are duty bound to sculpture rimshots meshed in suckling chimes,
when validating rawhide rattle chainsaw fret board anthems
at crowd mosher mud fests,
where rivers of apocalyptic visions burst the bank.
If only grown ups listened to that inner vocal quiver that we
may not yet have cast into plastic resin folly for the generations weaned in toxic smoke rooms,
we’d pollinate a luscious fairground acorn dotted garden with childhood zest its one and only buzzword.
A sweet treat gift with natural flavour pending,
eternal life for baby planet daisy chains of tender petal linkage,
who‘d finally experience pure clutter free environments,
an eco world that values new born thirst for natural realms
I love you lady, singing velvet night sky,
singing azure violet wounded woolen stitch.
I love your lady quavering haunting cry,
intoning shades of purple in fevered pitch.
I love you lady, even trilling, scraping in torment,
your voice straining oppressed about strange fruit.
I love you lady dear star teaching your malcontent,
piping broken lyrics, imparting pain so acute.
I love you lady, you never knew a childhood,
you never rendered a cyan song the same way.
I love you lady, though you think my love no good,
it is you with whom I walk in the rain, preternatural every day.
Flame of Harlem, you gave so much to live. I listened, and I cried,
always my cherished one, so tragic how young you died.
The great Elvis Presley stole the show
When it came to music, fast and slow
Patsy Cline could sing so sweet and fine
Without a doubt, her voice would shine
Hank Williams had a son with his name
Like father, like son – they claimed fame
Ray Charles played despite being blind
His listeners knew he was one of a kind
Aretha Franklin had a voice of pure gold
It was certain that her records were sold
Jimi Hendrix’s music would travel the world
As his listeners swayed, twirled and swirled
Elvis said Orbison was the world’s greatest singer
With a three-octave voice, his voice would linger
With Ring of Fire, Johnny Cash became world renown
His vocals rebuilt faith in those who’d been beat down
Me and Bobby McGee made this lady legendary
Janis Joplin was a soul who was far from ordinary
Diana Ross played for those who loved to hear her
With a voice like an angel, she made the soul purr
Cher demonstrated what it means to believe in yourself
With confidence and guts, she’ll never be put on a shelf
Stevie Wonder made the heart feel like it has been blessed
Without a doubt, he stirred feelings the heart would attest
The Beatles, the Rolling Stones and so many other singers
Knew the meaning of giving the 60’s its assembly of swingers
I hear he's a wimner Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
May 16, 2023
My sister Pat says my words
are too big,
that I lose my audience
due to this.
By far, most people just don’t
give a fig;
Anything over one’s head’s
just a miss.
My vocabulary’s filled
With nonsense,
And no one bothers to find
the meaning.
No one wants their reading to
be so dense
What I think’s clever is just
demeaning.
Why can’t I just write simple stuff
About flowers and family and life?
Why isn’t that enough
without dredging up
the dark, unhappy strife?
While I swim through depressing depths,
most people splash and play in shallows.
They laugh out loud, don’t hold their breath.
Real humor doesn’t come from gallows.
Listening to songs, through the ages of rock,
Some bands owned a gold timbred vocal stamp.
Like the new noise in ‘68, Led Zep’s power frontman,
The enigmatic absolute tenor, Robert Plant.
The original baritone rocker, Jim Morrison sang love,
Sang it before anyone else dared or could.
The Doors opened the doors to millions of lovers,
Jim’s voice seeped through my whole childhood.
And then there was the jaggeresque of Mick Jagger,
Classic rock not defined by tenor or baritone.
Fans knowing him simply didn’t know music,
And folks knowing music didn’t care for the Stone.
Then, bang, Bon Scott, charisma, wit and talent,
Overshadowing Brian Johnson, when on stage.
Singing the fury of the teenagers, singing with frenzy and fame,
In a passionate, maniacal rage.
And Joan Jett was Joan Jett before we knew of Joan Jett,
The rocker who loved rock and roll.
And the same with Roger Waters and the rest of the Floyd,
When, to the sun, they’d set their control.
I loved John Lennon’s thoughts on love and peace,
And Fogerty’s bold extrovert abrasive voice.
But outshining each of these singers there’s one that shone brightest,
To me, there’s only one choice.
Freddie’s quicksilver voice descended to rumbling depths
Before soaring to impossible heights.
He owned the stage, he did rock us to trance,
The ultimate rocker, leading in shiny black tights.
Breathe
Inhale
Conjure up
Rhythm and soul
Voice loves melting into music and words.
Flooded by peace intertwined with raw life
Poetic heart
of a girl
reaching
sky.
Thirst
for calm
shivering
beloved on stage
resembling divine humanity.
Accusatory high-pitched voices
singing in the masculine reign
Humiliated pride getting drenched
by doubtful, male chauvinist disdain
Emotional double octave level of pain,
bitter ... bitter —
Sad and angry
Enough to drive a decent woman insane
Violated women groping for the right testosterone words
that might make reasonable, tone-deaf men hear
Devastated women fondling their own estrogen silence
for too long ...
mute pointed fingers falling on Helen Keller ears
Now spirited voices are making a vocal late charge,
with angst fury and transparent tears
Hoping to arouse in their misogynist tormentors,
female pierced phallic fears
The reasons they all give as to why their voices
waited so late to wail is very troubling
Why in the world did these aggrieved women take so long,
did their moral outrage for justice fall asleep at home?
Where was their public cry in the early aftermath
of those despicable forced degradations?
Charging so late into the public fray, make the women look
vindictive, cruel and shrew
It make the perps appear as though they’re the victims,
and that’s really a crying shame too
Garnering fifteen minutes of fame
is very unbecoming of their lady sung blues
Their stories of abuse still do need to be told;
but legal check the sordid details in early,
before the criminal forensic evidence gets cold
My sister Pat says my words are too big,
that I lose my audience due to this.
By far, most people just don’t give a fig;
Anything over one’s head’s just a miss.
My vocabulary’s filled with nonsense,
And no one bothers to find the meaning.
No one wants their reading to be so dense
What I think’s clever is just demeaning.
Why can’t I just write simple stuff
about flowers and family and life?
Why isn’t that enough
without dredging up the dark, unhappy strife?
While I swim through depressing depths,
most people splash and play in shallows.
They laugh out loud, don’t hold their breath.
Real humor doesn’t come from gallows.
I am lost, my eyes wide, and my heart quivering.
My legs are paralyzed, and I have no memory.
I stroll silently, my consciousness wandering.
I am alone inside an unexplored territory.
I would wish the room to be cold and inviting.
I envy our heat vitality to come from within,
trusting that it won't be an errorless meeting.
I simply wish our spirits to embrace and grin.
If anything, I crave to be on the last ship.
It will set sail from the port this evening.
I love to read and listen to the sea on a trip.
For me, ocean melodies are alike love singing.
I dream to be a bird that flies with the wind.
Away from the realms of science and business.
I hope that what I say will be defined.
And, surely, my goal won over my madness.
I starve to beat back that feeling of wholeness.
I sense gravity and an utter void in the vicinity.
Bringing me back to a firm base of neatness,
since I'm heavy with knowledge and salinity.
I desire to write for myself and believe again
and will sing from the heart and avoid flattery.
Apart from romance with myself after pain,
I yearn to look weak, not prone to my mastery.
Regardless of how narrow is my path.
It obviously loaded the coil with censure.
For punter or worse, my life is in my sheath.
My soul's captain is myself, the sensor.
If you can hold your cool under scrutiny,
They'll gripe and hold you responsible.
If you can trust yourself as others botching
Charter their views, yet they look with mutiny.
Our Soul’S Wish List Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Butterfly box
In your throat a box of sound
To your human being bound
Take a breath and spark a chord
So your beings’ needs emplored
Of a mind filled with thought
Lips are a net with which they’re caught
Resonating in space with boundless meaning
What are senses perceiving, without speaking?
In a mindless jabber, remember this thing
Like wind formed from a butterflies wing
The box can make one laugh and sing
Or hurt and death it can also bring.
When a mind, a heart and soul combined
True words to your spirit you will find
In your throat lay a butterfly box
Filled with life, and sings in flocks.
Speak
to me
aloud
those
words
your
heart
has
just
found
as
your
voice
fills
my
ears
we
cojoin
and
create
forever
sounds
in me
a
unison
of feelings
an
intercourse
of minds
birthed
as a
child
imbilically
linked
forever
this
voice
memory
to
recall
at will
as
I
refresh
your
refrain
again
and
again
Hear me read my free
verse
A LABOUR OF LOVE @
http://youtu.be/GiD8JdYi-j
w
vocal drapes draped
casualties blindfolding fate
marauder lipstick shaped
kiss kiss kiss
vocal drapes
?