Long A cappella Poems
Long A cappella Poems. Below are the most popular long A cappella by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long A cappella poems by poem length and keyword.
A father loved to take his children and sit under what he called their imagination tree.
There he would ask: if you could imagine yourself as something else what would that something else be?
Once their dreaming was ignited and their imaginations were set free…
their father loved to listen to what his children were imagining…underneath their imagination tree.
I imagine I’m a cricket in the night…with no music to accompany me...I’d sing a-cappella
and anytime it starts to rain….I’ll use a mushroom as my umbrella.
I would love to climb a rainbow,…as you can see I am quite small.
I’d love to know what it feels like…to go down the biggest slide of all.
I want to ride upon a cloud…across the world I’d sweep…
and anytime when I got tired…I’d have a comfortable place to sleep.
I want to be a leaf on a tree…if I could be anything at all
I want to sway with my leaf friends on a windy day…and change my colors in the Fall.
I’d love to ride on the back of a pelican…I can imagine how much fun that would be…
I’d drag my hands along the water as we glide across the sea.
The father always smiled as he listened…as his children’s imaginations flew
for wherever their imaginings took them…they would take him too.
One day the children asked the father…as they sat underneath the tree…
“Father, if you could imagine yourself as something else what would that something else be?”
The father looked at his children…and smiled
as they sat together under their tree…
“You may find this hard to believe," he said,
“but I imagine I am happiest being who I am.
in a place I never imagined I would be”.
A Forest A Capella
By: Tom Wright
11/15/98
Along the forest floor I creep,
not Wishing to disturb inhabitants living there.
Treading on pine needles ankle deep,
as if nature had placed a carpet,
so I wouldn't disturb It's sleep.
The forest, having long been asleep,
appearing drowsy, begins now to wake
and from somewhere into the deep.
A chorus of Coyotes, yapping in song,
before denning up to sleep.
Have I given them cause for fear?
Are they telling me perhaps I don't belong,
having sensed that I am near?
Or another of natures marvelous ways,
of making music for my ear.
My occasional snapping of a twig
has alerted a Fox Squirrel somewhere near.
Perhaps in a nearby Oak so big.
It's chattering, as if at odds, over acorns
being devoured by Blue Jays or a grunting pig.
With snow flakes now floating from the sky
my eyes are directed overhead
and though not seen by eye,
I hear sounds of passing Geese,
as further south they fly.
An occasional hissing and as I turn to see,
somewhat apprehensive, but with no fears.
There, walking the trunk of a fallen tree,
one large Bobcat singing his part,
like others, A Capella, just for me.
Sunny days of amber
Start daylight summer.
Skyline clear, veils of clouds' scatter.
Sunshine silhouettes placid and plenty
Sustain vivid space for dreaming beauty.
Sparrow sisters spirit chirp,
Scene engaging melody urp.
Semi-aquatic bullfrogs sing a cappella
Sight of festy aerial dragonfly’s gala.
Serendipity cast most timely,
Spontaneous lavish rain sublimely.
Smell of rain swaddles Nature finely.
Scintillating wet spatter collaborative.
Sun shines through raindrops weave,
Seamless hues, stretch of favorite colors mark,
Symbolic eternal life rainbow arc.
6/19/2024
kisses.
feel them
the tension and aliveness
they’re loaded with psychology and social context
its an intense observation
mouths connect our inner and outer worlds
they cross the exterior-interior divide
they’re simple forms of passion and expression
but they’re drastic and emphatic
I wrestle with wildness
I desire less breathing room, less layering
I riot with instinctive response
I long to obliterate feminine’ restraint
and share inner experience
.
.
A song for this:
Drive Me Crazy by The SoCal VoCals
Fly Into Your Arms (a cappella) by X-Cetra
Nothing Can Stop Us by Saint Etienne
"Life is tragic so listen with thirst for the music of happiness."
Quote _by Constance
Life is a journey full of moments - of struggle,
for a poet the gathering of emotions;
the penning of poems that one day will crumble,
of words that crash together like waves in oceans.
And my journey has been the road of a writer,
I have written of the scars on my soul and heart;
I have penned of nature and the birds that flutter,
and I suppose I will till the day I depart.
And when the day comes that is to be my last one,
I would pen- even if just in my fading mind;
a tale, the story of how it had all begun,
I would leave all my delight and sorrow entwined.
My last poem- the last would be heartbreak and bliss,
hold a song full of birds singing a cappella;
I would walk a Zen garden into an abyss,
and stroll in the falling rain with no umbrella.
Life is a journey full of moments - of struggle,
and my journey has been the road of a writer;
and when the day comes that is to be my last one,
my last poem- the last would be heartbreak and bliss.
_____________________
November 28, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/Life is a Struggle
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1322-465-28
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, All Yours
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 01/21/2021
Another a cappella song my friend Ashly and I made a long time ago...
Here's a link if you want to hear how it's supposed to sound. (This is for you particularly, Silent One, always wanting me to make Youtube vids...) ;)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gS7v9nt1zYg
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wish I can save you
But I can't even save myself
You beg me for mercy but mercy's empty inside
I'm Stronger Again
And you're giving in
To all of this pain that I am inflicting upon you
I am...
The whispers in the night
The heart that's pounding in your head
The darkness over light
The monster underneath your bed
The death that waits for you
Lingering behind every door
I'm that voice deep inside
I'm all that's keeping you alive
I wish I can spare you
Your voice faded slowly, now you can't breathe
You beg me for mercy
But darling I am empty
The life's dying out
And you're crying out
To stop all this pain that I am inflicting upon you
I am...
The whispers in the night
The heart that's pounding in your head
The darkness over light
The monster underneath your bed
The death that waits for you
Lingering behind every door
I'm that voice deep inside
I'm all that's keeping you alive
I wish I can save you but I can't even
Hold you
Please remember:
I Still Love You
This isn't me but
Someone else...
The whispers in the night
The heart that's pounding in your head
The darkness over light
The monster underneath your bed
The one who's there for you
The one who catches all your tears
I'm that voice deep inside
I'm all that's keeping you alive
Poetry is my insanity
Poetry is my insanity,
sparks collected on flat mirrored walls,
frantic phrases floating
in a spectrum’s pulsating palette,
picturing Dali-esque icicle melted webs
and chromatic landscapes
blurring in the distance
Dancing to the demented sounds
of brain cells singing, Zappa inspired
A cappella rhythmic compositions,
ringing monotone echoes
in between Jupiter and the ghosts
counting off beat pendulum swings
on fingers and toes
Words with eyes, they see, they stare
they blink, they close,
wandering attic crawl spaces
casting neon shadows,
illuminating ideas
passed on to the next pair
lashing out as another retreats
Pulling on my heart,
squeezing every last thought of love,
oozing in blacklight ink, day-glo sunrises
of roach clip offerings on psychedelic posters,
depicting ceramic moons
fluttering midst crayon heavens
eating stardust candy…
Poetry is my insanity
and it is driving me crazy…
in the best possible way
Two poetic hydrangea mobiles ~ happy or sad, take your pick
~
Weeping hydrangeas spill
sapphire tears falling,
drenching grey scale gardens
suspended, free flowing
a mobile of distractions
on tiny threads scattered
above clouded daydreams
Worded floating silent streams,
spinning slowly, creating phrases
on whirlwind petals,
browned edges frame
whispered wonderings
sans answers
upon somber breezes
of yesterday’s questions
or
A cappella Hydrangeas
send harmonic petals floating
upon melodic wind chime breezes,
suspended soft concerto clouds
on love sonnet strings
tuned to a spring day,
as flowering symphonies,
acoustic mobiles of emotion
bloom within a garden
of daffodils dreams
in unison with lyrical
compositions of nature’s
enchanting song
~
"Life is tragic so listen with thirst for the music of happiness."
Quote _by Poet
Life is a journey full of moments - of struggle,
for a poet the gathering of emotions;
the penning of poems that one day will crumble,
of words that crash together like waves in oceans.
And my journey has been the road of a writer,
I have written of the scars on my soul and heart;
I have penned of nature and the birds that flutter,
and I suppose I will till the day I depart.
And when the day comes that is to be my last one,
I would pen- even if just in my fading mind;
a tale, the story of how it had all begun,
I would leave all my delight and sorrow entwined.
My last poem- the last would be heartbreak and bliss,
hold a song full of birds singing a cappella;
I would walk a Zen garden into an abyss,
and stroll in the falling rain with no umbrella.
Life is a journey full of moments - of struggle,
and my journey has been the road of a writer;
and when the day comes that is to be my last one,
my last poem- the last would be heartbreak and bliss.
_____________________
November 28, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/Life is Tragic
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1308-195-28
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, The Last 1
sponsor, Anthony Biaanco, Judged 02/03/2021
Fifth Place
The lake has its own orchestrated acoustics.
The quaking of oboes and the bassoon-ing honks
of a skein of geese
conduct a loosely scored morning air.
Rustling reeds chime in fluted stems,
a wind section throats through its hollow notes,
and then there is you.
you who hesitantly strum
within each lip-breathing earshot
nevertheless
your strings are tuned high
to the vibrating moment.
All this ‘a cappella’ is inside you now
like a chick cracking though its own eggshell.
You look around your shoulders
searching for the composer
see nothing, only a naught that imagines
paused fingertips above a keyboard.
Will you sing now or depart unfinished?
The ensemble of the assembled
has left.
You can try again
when your inner metronome
is less bolted to its mechanical tongue,
but for a time
harmony nest elsewhere.