Long On key Poems
Long On key Poems. Below are the most popular long On key by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long On key poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh how I wish we danced
what a sight it would have been
the dance I took from him,
you
floating on air, without a care
angelic wings adorned,
music swaying at every soft turn;
me
stepping on your toes
unsure of which step should flow,
teetering on the edge of the ballroom floor,
the sad-faced klutz moving toward the door.
What magic interlude would play a tease
as you hummed every note on key
then broke into soft melodic ease
setting the romantic night moods free.
Just a dream, that's all it was
wanting my love
to fit you like a glove,
but I was always the wallflower that sat
on the sidelines feeling gawky and fat
and in hindsight, looking back
I regret not having trying harder to act.
Wish we danced
had I only taken the chance.
As the darken night fades and the daylight hour appears
As I wonder hoping the sun will rise soon
The sunlight glistening down after the moon
Instead the melody of the raindrops against the pane
Shattered is the rhythm of that the rain
This offbeat song that sings off in key
As the sun rises and I open my eyelids
Through the Iris I have a brand new day
Potentially on key the rhythmic tone again and again
Symbolizing the chimes to play that melody
When the rain starts again on the earth triumphantly
That melody plays on and on with each cry from the clouds
Reluctantly in unison freedom from off key
And the joy of love and a new filled day
Broken roles of shattered rhythm on the pane with me.
Song of My Heart
Heart song,
Midsummer dream,
Intones sweet poetry,
Love notes resolve in harmonies -
Vespers
Music,
Weaves themes of joy,
Transposes dawn and dusk
Tableaus of half-notes bind lost chords -
In tune
Verses
Winsome lyrics
Tempos sing in duets,
My song breathes in stanzas of sighs
On key
Refrains,
Heart arias,
Beat with mercy’s cadence
Laughter chants a prelude to peace -
Pure pitch
Heartbeats
Sing like love songs
Strummed upon taut heartstrings
Breathless choruses of downbeats -
Heart songs
5-15-23
Contest: Song of My Heart
Sponsor: JCB Burl
Syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
"Run! Run along and play, Baby T!"
Mama Rex told her little one, as she pitter-patted from the cave.
"Wait! Did you brush your ... teeth?" she trailed off,
Realizing Baby T was now out of earshot.
She was a good mama, and knew the importance of oral hygiene,
Especially for a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
She thought to follow and call Baby T back, but no,
Her wee one was diligent about such things.
Today was a special play day, and she'd let nothing interfere ...
On the morrow came Dino School, and a new life!
She smiled, remembering HER school, now for Baby T -
Hunting, hiding, fossil prevention, and her own favorite, ROARING!
Oh, Baby T would love it all, especially play hunts with her dino-mates,
But, as formidable as a T-Rex can be, they had to be safe ...
There were many species much larger and stronger than hers,
And she needed to learn the ways to protect herself.
Roaring was an important defense, and Baby T had practiced, long ...
Since early hatchhood Mama Rex had taught her,
And not only could she roar like an adult, but she, little Baby T, could SING!
She had been the talk of the clan for a long time,
But 'morrow was the day when she would prove her special talent,
For when she sang - when she showed those dazzled teeth and crooned,
Even the most ferocious of beasts would turn tail,
For dear, sweet, tiny Baby T, was NEVER ... on key!
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Dinosaur(s) - For Children" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
they’re sensitive my words
exposed wires
like veins hidden
under the scars
of too many verbal attacks
like swarms of vampire bats
who puncture the night
turn the downpour red
you’ve never been able to stay on key
or open doors that needed one
like the beating one under your breast
with the rusted bars and the rusted lock
living in the city
alone is your state of mind
where once you found
the company to be friendly
where you could block those thoughts
travelled in the dark memories of your existence
and the only light was the bright white smile
you so casually hid behind
your casual stiff pose that fooled no one
not for a nickel or a dime
where glass although smoother than ice
cracked under your sharpened blades
it was there your pretty face resided
ugly and broken from that perspective
until you pulled out
your pencil and paper
until you placed people
and moved them
taught them to talk
saw something in that
for a little while you turned off the tap
suddenly attracted a crowd
one or two even saw beyond your guise
felt fine just to be you
for a length of time
before you fell
on the pavement
buried
in the concrete
oh too real
you were there
you were gone
and never regained your balance
life as easy as it comes
was too difficult
couldn’t explain
how you managed to grow old
sitting singular in your unlit corner
where nothing came of your success
or of your kind words
from your kind lips
and still kind
hopefully
to the bitter end
Looking out the window of the train
I noticed a beautiful woman waving.
Everything in me wanted me to get up and wave
at her: but in my mind I said
to myself why, the distance and the odds of her
wishing to meet me would dwindle my chance.
I then jumped up from my set and ran to the caboose
and tossed my phone number and name to her
begging her to call me.
We had arrived in Ryes Town and I went to my
hotel room. My phone rang and it was her! The beautiful
woman that I noticed waving at the train as we passed by.
I was to sing in the Ampitheather that night. I had been having
trouble stay on key: I had noticed
myself going off tune quite often. My "Circle of merry friends"
didn't want me to meet the beautiful lady. We had planned to go boating
and have lunches in the summery heat: but I found
meet this woman more exciting and prayed I
was right because not only was she beautiful she was smart.
and any chance for me to be happy. Knowing someone would
rather me sad and blue. I found myself beliving if
she would ally to me I could
be married
if she outreached to someone I call freind
I would be doomed!
Peat and Bogg!
Cherry Sweet!
Good morning, folks...John Doe here
Live- from Channel WXYZ-TV
Bringing you today and tomorrow's weather forecast...
And how the weekend's weather just might be
Saturday morning starts off very nice
Sunny and warm with the high around thirty-one
Mixed with some rain and a possible chance of snow
A good day to go out and have some fun
More sunshine in the early afternoon
With thickening clouds heading our way
A beautiful day for a picnic party, possibly
Or...a boat ride on the bay
The sun returns by mid to late evening...
With a chance of a severe thunderstorm
A wintry mix of sleet and hail- maybe, possibly
Right on key with today's norm
Tomorrow's forecast looks a little better
With a fifty percent chance of weather...
And the low around thirty-one
You just might see a floating feather
Hoping you all have a safe, warm, cool weekend
Enjoy your picnics, or boat rides on the sea
John Doe, here...
Live- from channel WXYZ-TV
'You're A Weather Forecaster' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
3/16/2022
I don't care really, Wendy,
What she exhorts of me,
As I sit and sing,
Give it my all,
And its lots,
My own concert in the car,
As Godley and Cream sing
Their truly amazing song.
And sure, didn't I Wendy,
Make it my own,
Changing the lyrics to suit,
I'm not not in love,
I corrected,
I'm so in love,
Became my lyrics,
And I recall Gary,
Mr Short,
Kindly reading them,
And he sang the new lyrics,
The ones I'd revised
It's a sweet memory too,
His act,
His brow gently bobbing,
The lyrics sung in his head.
Anyhow,
Once again, I digress.
Hearing them sing,
About to exit the car after dropping off Matthew,
Then Eve and Lara,
And I recall the tea lady,
Encouraged to speak those words,
The genius of the writers-
They couldn't get those lyrics on key,
And she opened the door,
In the studio,
Who
Wants tea, coffee,
Or some such,
She invited...
Eureka!
That's it!
You're the voice we need...,
Godley exclaimed!
Where was I?
Lost again...
Oh yes.
Big boys don't cry,
She intones,
Silly woman,
If she could see me now,
A big boy,
A big grown -up boy
Crying.
Sobbing actually.
Silly woman...
The bright lights of Paris have lost their sway.
The old ruins of Rome have crumbled away.
I’ve wandered through cities far and wide—
But, it's Venice where my heart yearns to abide.
My heart lies on in a Venice maze
floating among its waterways
where gondolas glide in salty air,
and it's romance that drifts everywhere.
I stroll over bridges that arch over canals,
laughing with friends and lovely old pals.
Where lights flicker their secrets sighs,
shedding blues wide aside in wavering eyes.
I love the bustle of St. Mark’s square.
The swirl of crowds, so free from care,
jostling along winding narrow streets,
savoring all kinds of on-key treats.
Every night is ablaze in a carnival gaze
Cafes alive with music, in a candlelit haze.
The art and the culture in myriad displays,
enchanting the heart in so, so many ways.
My heart lies on in a Venice maze
floating among its waterways
where gondolas glide in salty air,
and it's romance, that drifts everywhere.
At dawn, the locals are the first to arise,
gathering in bakeries under pale skies.
Sharing a coffee, warm croissant, and a chat
before drifting off to work, at this and that.
Ferries slip through the lightening hue,
whispering to rhythms we all once knew,
past the leaning palazzi in faded golden blue,
where time spins old tales in shadows all askew.
The living craft of blown Murano glass.
The art at a Venice Biennale's night class.
The iconic Venetian masks all on display
in the lovely culture woven into every day.
My heart lies on in a Venice maze
floating among its waterways
where gondolas glide in salty air,
and it's romance that drifts everywhere.
Colors living in my head,
paint pictures bold.
My soul receives the mystical light;
art in an etheric paint tube.
My soul, it mixes blues and greens;
a palette only God and I can see.
Wisping loaded brushes here and there;
alive they come, painted dreams.
These are the songs of my soul;
painted in my own life view.
An old master I am not;
my cosmic coloring book doesn’t care.
Soul-songs are vibrant and rarely on key.
Some art collectors,
prefer little imperfections,
like me.
4-2-2021
ALL YOURS (Apr 4) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand