Short Organ Poems
Short Organ Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Organ by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Organ by length and keyword.
Like puppeteers
organ grinders will always exist;
there can never be a last;
there’s an endless supply of monkeys,
and sheep.
The last organ grinder (I’ve been told)
hailed from Boston and died very old.
When his barrel organ
got played by his son,
in his grave the dead Fred must have rolled.
God 's angels
come in singing some
wonderful chorus for him.
Adorable instrumental musics
strengthen in the journey to become
one of the commander - in - chief powers.
The heart
Holds more than just blood
But holds an eternity
Of passion
Feelings for the many to share
As they come together in
Love’s hold
Cameo syllable count is 2,5,7,3,8,7,2, unrhymed
There is a little young girl
Or if you prefer a helpless young boy
Lying in a hospital bed
To sick to raise there weary head
For whom without an organ
They are destined to die
Begging the question
Why are we all not donors
my body is too aged to be of much use now
but when I was young I signed to be an organ donor
I was healthy then, no arthritis, great eyesight
one organ donor can save up to eight lives
and restore sight to two people
I think this is amazing
They started with a puddle,
And ended with a maple.
View of river when sunset.
And them being the modest.
Beautiful not to look beyond it.
But hard to read through it.
Wondering what can be their bridle,
Where, melancholy is the only disciple.
You're pushing on my pressure point,
It's just behind my ribcage.
I can hear its loud, obnoxious ticking,
I can feel it stomping through my veins.
I can't control this deadly timebomb,
You can't make this feeling go away.
What will you do when my life ends?
Don't tell me everything will be okay.
It's way beyond the time for the human race to reflect
and rectify the organ in the head, situated between the right and left ear lobe
Existing there are tumours cause destruction of the human cell,
we do ourselves behave as the largest cancer growth, running rampant,
cause destruction of this planetary globe
"The heart is deceitful above all things"
But nursing the strongest connection amongst human beings
Evil resides, individually suppressed but begins from the heart
From the heavens he says "I the Lord search the heart"
As I keep it bottled in, a heart attack is inevitable amongst all things.
Jeremiah 17: 9-10
“You need a disposable organ
Said his glum doctor Guten Morgan
"I need meditative piss"
"I hate oil and amber-grease"
"You can use cheese into the bargain"
A second chance is always there
As God is offering us a second chance
Like vaccination,organ transplant
And test-tube baby
A hope and life is always there
Let's thank the scientists and so God
For the salvation and contribution
For the greatness,devotion and love
Ever found on earth
To fight the devils and the evils
The last organ grinder played a blinder
Intending to leave folk a reminder
To music upbeat
All those in the street
Did a conga to “Eye of the Tiger.”
It was the close of a splendid career
The organ grinder shed many a tear
As the music died
He swelled up with pride
For the crowd gave him uproarious cheer.
Donning a vintage coat, boots, hat and all,
the last organ grinder readies his smile,
outside the old age home, heeding love’s call,
to rekindle heart’s joy, for a short while,
triggering memory elders recall,
recounted to young ones, in life’s last mile.
His next stop is for the autistic child,
where he’ll sing songs by God’s angels compiled.
Eyes cannot see air—
yet, it is a breathing reality;
known by effect, long before
the science.
A molecule...an atom…
“Thought!”--a precipice for science;
a cliff when stepped off--
their methods excluding
electrons with feelings,
motion(before apparent
particles and waves)...
unwilling to contemplate
existence of a soul
as man’s Spirit-organ.
Just a plant
A covering
Picked streamed and sewn
Changed into clothes
I am naked
Yet!
I'm covered by the flower with the white ball cotton
Pure and Holy
Sometimes synthetically woven
Made unpurely
It touches my organ skin
a covering
Cotton I am naked
Then I need it not
When I'm alive in heaven
I'll no longer need earthly clothing
When death takes me
My body is left for those in need
Give my eyes
To someone who needs
To see there is beauty in everything
Give my lungs
To someone who needs
To inhale every breath given
Give my kidneys
To someone who needs
Purity within their body
Give my bone marrow
To someone who needs
A solid foundation
Give my heart
To someone who needs
To love unconditionally
In poverty's desperation
She finds the old organ
Where it's stored under the stair.
It belongs to the man who is gone
Leaving her and his children alone,
This cold winter turned into despair.
Frozen air surrounds her,
As she grinds out the tunes
Almost alone on the street.
The warmth of windows watch her,
Their families safely ensconced
As she trudges home.
She knows
Her children will eat only turnips
again.
Tripe, sweetbreads, entrails, offal,
some people spell them awful.
Scottish chefs can do them right
Haggis, a meal, out of sight.
Making a proper meatball sandwich
is virtual what-not-who and which
needing perhaps some extra spice
supply it with a bit of Scotch hype.
The last, best organ 'grinder' that I got
was on Panera Bread’s French baguette, hot.
Barrel-shaped bread held tight as treasure
the tin cup for the drink of my pleasure.
Johannus organ for the Church choir
Has enough power to accompany;
Congregational singing strengthens soul
Through the spirit-filled hymnal psalmody.
An electronic keyboard instrument
Does approximate the pipe organ's sound;
Coming from the air so squeezed and compressed
Where the beautiful voice of wind is found.
This musical tool produces various
Timbres recognized by ears of brethren;
The worship service inside the temple
Is completed by Johannus organ.
If it's just the organ grinder
with his little pet monkey
give him a penny
and send him on.
If it's just the organ grinder
coming around to tell me
what time it is,
tell him I bought a clock.
I had a tolerance for the old man
and his little dressed up monkey,
but day after day the same old tune,
I grow bored. He was quaint once
but now I'm seated comfortably.
If it's just the organ grinder,
give him a penny, or two cents,
send him on to the next house.
I'm the last organ grinder
And how my arm aches
My back is broken
My legs have the shakes
I'm the last organ grinder
Desparately needing to eat
Playing for pennies
Out here in the streets
I'm the last organ grinder
Weary and old
In threadbare clothing
Wet and cold
I'm the last organ grinder
I used to beguile
Now I'm ignored
Gone out of style
I'm the very last organ grinder
So with one final surge
I'll play for you....
A funeral dirge
We listen to classical music
At times while on the road.
This morning there was organ music -
Bach's - the mother lode.
But this recording had been made
In Notre Dame, in France,
Which makes it very special
Due to recent circumstance.
The organ wasn't damaged
In that awful fire, although
It will be silenced for a while,
How long they just don't know.
With restoration promised,
Maybe someday we will hear
More of Bach played from this organ,
Piping deep and loud and clear.
THE SILENT PUMP ORGAN
This wooden brown spinet…
it waits in a back room
in this Clovis museum
till someone can fix it.
Played at a home or church?
Its last song?
How long must it stay voiceless,
its last song
played in a home or church,
till someone can fix it?
In this Clovis museum,
it waits in a back room,
this wooden brown spinet.
This is a palindrome poem (Last line is the same as the first line, penultimate same as the second, etc.), first published in Medusa's Kitchen.