Long Song lyric Poems
Long Song lyric Poems. Below are the most popular long Song lyric by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Song lyric poems by poem length and keyword.
You hear the sound of the song.
It's coming on real strong.
It gives you a sense of strength.
it filters through the air.
It lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It takes you out in space.
Closer to second base.
It follows through so cool.
The smoothest thing for you.
A sound that sounds so clear.
A sound you'll want to hear.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It sends you through the air.
A sound that makes you high.
It makes you feel so good.
A sound that always should.
Just lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song..
Song-Lyric-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989,2014..
ALL rights reserved..
Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch
What is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash is gone,
black from his hair to his bootheels.
Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone
if his songs lift us closer to heaven?
Can the steel in his voice vibrate on
till his words are our manna and leaven?
Then sing, all you mountains of stone,
with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel.
Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home
through these weary dark ways all men travel.
For what is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash lives on—
black from his hair to his bootheels.
Originally published by Strong Verse
It Ain't TV
Ain't TV.
Ain't TV, like it used to be..
We gotta rock.
We gotta roll.
We gotta sing, for the young and old.
We gotta jump.
We gotta shout.
We gotta sing, and dance about.
'Cause it ain't TV.
Ain't TV.
It Ain't TV, like it used to be.
No Peter Pan.
No Superman.
No song and dance, for the Spiderman.
It ain't TV.
Ain't TV.
Ain't TV, like it used to be.
We gotta rock.
We gotta roll.
We gotta sing, for the young and old.
We gotta jump.
We gotta shout.
We gotta sing, and dance about.
'Cause it ain't TV.
Ain't TV.
It ain't TV, like it used to be.
It ain't TV..
Rock & Roll Song-Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1984,2014..ALL rights reserved..
Once again! I feel love in my heart.
Love's just givin' me a start.
Brings me up when I'm down.
Lifts me higher off the ground.
Sends me soaring through the air.
Runs my fingers through your hair.
Once again!
Once again!
I feel love in my heart.
Tells me you're my shining star.
Kind of brightens up my day.
Seems to be the only way.
Seems to always carry through.
Now our love is shining through.
Once again!
Once again!
Once again! I feel love in my heart.
Love's just givin' me a start.
Brings me up when I'm down.
Lifts me higher off the ground.
Sends me soaring through the air.
Runs my fingers through your hair..
Once again!
Once again!
Once again!
Love Song-Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1986,2015..ALL rights reserved..
Be the birdie
in the tree!
Dancing high
color flash!
Be the birdie
in the tree!
Calling love
nest with thee!
Be the birdie
in the tree!
Dancing high
remember me!
Be the birdie
in the tree!
Swoop from branch
high above!
Be the birdie
in the tree!
You had your chance
good
now
bye
love!
(repeat entire refrain)
Link to recorded song https://bit.ly/3eByjIV
Verse 1:
I have this idea, but no one will listen.
I'm having thoughts of a world that could be.
We could end war and focus on loving.
But nobody ever listens to me.
Verse 2:
I have this idea, let's stop living for money,
let's live for people, help them be all they are.
We could raise children to care about others.
Why did the room go suddenly dark?
Chorus:
Who built the frame for this Overton Window?
When I crack it open it falls with a thud.
I'm tryin' to see out of this Overton Window,
but it's all covered up with brown smears of mud.
Verse 3:
Nothing is certain till the moment it happens.
And if we work for it all... it just might come true.
So I want to work to make the world better,
to open the window and take in the view.
Repeat Chorus:
My love of poetry started when I was still a five- year old child
When my parents asked me to memorize verses and rhymes
With all my feelings and actions, I recited my poems in front of a crowd
Innocently receiving adulations but not a handful of dime
The first piece I memorized was entitled, “Cradle Hymn”
I was a small girl sent in a poem competition, so naïve
When I’ve grown up , I realized it’s a song lyric with Christmas theme
So, I sang it and started to develop my good voice quite a bit
When I was a teenager, I memorized speech and declamation pieces
My teacher sent me in a poem contest for a campaign against drug addiction
I tried to deliver my piece like a candidate for a star award actress
Acting like a drug addict teenage girl longing for parents’ love and attention
As years went by, I turned out to be quite a flirty lady
With puppy love and sweet crushes to some guys around me
When one of them got me, so happy until I forgot all about reciting poetry
Relationship went long but when we broke up, it created another life’s story
All my heart brokenness has turned me out to be a poem writer
I also wrote few poems for my family, dreams and for close friends’ requests
My passion of poetry blazed and turned out to be greater
When I found a writing spot, motivated and inspired by my friends-the great poets
Feb. 6, 2013
First Place
Contest: Who What Where
Judged: 4/23/2013
Sponsor: Poet Carol Sunshine Brown
Your mother Mary lay you down
in a bed of hay, and that was incredibly humble;
your foster father Joseph made it all possible...
he raised you in his birth town,
to keep you safe from the pagans
who worshiped those gods you called idols!
In a bed of hay, little King, you watched unafraid
that log-tailed star that stopped over the unused manger at the inn...
where the cow and the donkey breathed hard to keep you warm;
and how could the Wise Men have known of your coming,
to take on a long journey and claim you their King,
refusing to return to the almighty Herod the Great?
When the angels appeared above and started to sing
words of peace and good will toward men, and the shepherd boy,
who heard their voices, ran down the hill to fall on his knees...
while the drummer-boy played his drum by the drooping palm tree;
and others came to visit you and offer you their gifts!
The Magi came with gold, incense and myrrh:
the three gifts that revealed the stages of you destiny,
and you accepted them by showing no fear!
In a bed of hay, little King, you invite the blind and the sick,
the persecuted and the poor to get rid of their hopelessness:
to enter into the Kingdom where gracious love is the temple of holiness,
where no one is ever turned away if that soul has faith!
In a bed of hay, we declare you King,and you stare at us:
speaking of Paradise...proclaiming a divine message that God approves!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Life I miss you dear
For my time, it nears
I know you think
You’ve preached
And I did not hear
But I am now here
And with in my most
Towering moments
I can not help
But to be sincere
For when hours become
Too long for days
And days seem to
Outstretch our years
Out in the clear
Fate seems to come
As it appears
I reached out
For those
Who would not respond
I look here and beyond
When there was no one
To be fond of
Missing hours beneath the sun
Days have become long
And less fun
With no where to run
Soon I will be done
How can I be peaceful
When I take two steps here
And get knocked back six steps there
Nothing more to reach for
For quiet times
I questioned my blessings
Outwitted suicide
Residing to stressing
To visualize
Our opponents in the making
Days, this life
It’s here for the taking
I see through the souls of men
My near awaking
I’m home but I’m not
I’m in your arms but
I will soon be forgot
Could you hold me still
If I rested my thoughts
Should I take you there
Would you even inhale our air
Fore these seasons I donot care
A homeless man
With casual intensions
Please be ware
Form:
Noble troubadour making untrue verse,
while traveling from town to town on the dustiest roads,
reciting the lamenting lyrics to yourself,
and the echo is louder than words of folly growing within;
hold your anger inside, let it explode
in the castle's Great Hall, where all will listen, indeed!
Monarchy is an undefeatable fortress,
and below you seem not to fret;
enter it when the trumpets announce
the king's arrival in a golden coach
pulled by stallions who snort at your sight,
but you fearlessly follow them before the wooden gate closes on the bridge.
Noble troubadour decrying a denied liberty, making
your living writing undesirable, undeserved odes,
you're forced to lie and please your demanding king
who manipulates your behavior by tight strings;
should you offer no praises or allegiance to the crown...
you'll be charged with disloyalty and treason! See yourself in the torture room!
There's a limit to your patience bearing the guilt,
and be able to lift it off your chest...it will crush you under its weight,
until your reason turns into discernible madness,
and rising up from your sore knees, you'll relinquish your duty...
to regain your freedom from a kingdom built on obedience and vanity;
and what will be the the outcome of your refusal to bow down?...The peace of a free spirit!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci