I'm face down in the river
And drowning from my old sins
I've shaken my last shiver
As the silent night begins
Chorus:
I'll sing my sea song
Pounded by the weather
Heading into nether
Come along
I'll sing my sea song
Angels in the heather
Frightened by the weather
Bang a gong
I'm drifting in the river
That washes me out to sea
I'm tug boat delivered
To the only place I should be
Chorus:
I'll sing my sea song
I couldn't catch the weather
I'm drowning in the nether
Broke the gong
I'll sing my sea song
I'm never saying never
I'm living here forever
Right or wrong
I frequently make up silly songs
as I go about my day
- does that sound wrong?
Peter’s quite used to it.
Sometimes he sings along
when he sees fit.
It should be mentioned
that I have an awful voice
there have been singing interventions
I’m sorting my closet
one of the tasks on my
get ready for school docket
(*singing*)
“Look at me
I’m as helpless as a lobster up a tree
and if you
ignore the smell
i’m doing swell
feeling frisky
and so much in lovvvvve
Look my way
and as long as your not driving
it’s ok
in fact
it’s just as well
cause I bet you can tell
that I’m frisky
and so much in lovvvve”
.
.
A song for this:
Silly Love Songs by Paul McCartney
silliness, songs, boyfriend, voice, humor
The earth has songs
of times before you can imagine,
the reminiscing and longing,
the memories of the ages.
The waters sing
their melancholy moan,
the ocean reverberates
of the things long gone.
The winds sing,
whistling their tune
of joy, fury, and sorrow
being shared in the now.
The skies sing,
the thunder crackles,
beginning the tale
of that which is to come.
The earth has songs
of times before you can imagine.
The reminiscing and longing,
the memories of the ages.
Can you hear it?
Just listen.
In Lopo, we chase the dawn
sincerely praying
to the fragrance of corn and the prayers of mother earth
just as every dewdrop glistening on the shoulders of the weeds
is the praise of the farmers' children
slowly descending into the palms of our ancestors
and surrendering to God.
We run freely in the fields
herding the wind and the birdsong
with a joyful dance
while whispering to the soil
our sweat that falls tirelessly is a prayer that takes root.
And when dusk calls us home,
mother has lit a fire in the stove
and father is holding a hoe
because we know that in every yellowing ear of corn
is light born from the soil
and we give thanks with tears
oh God: the great giver.
Atambua – NTT, August 2, 2026
Description: Lopo refers to a traditional house and barn typical of the ethnic groups in East Nusa Tenggara, particularly the Timorese (Dawan/Atoin Meto) and the Abui people in Alor. This building is shaped like a giant mushroom with an open thatched roof without walls and stands on wooden pillars.
Say it again, or say nothing
But maybe just little something
Something that must be said
To be replied or fall dead
Birdies repeat their songs
They warble and sing all day long
Other creatures do the same
No matter of their name
Every life tells its tale
It may sound bright, or pale
Same as the light of dawn
Shone before we were born.
The heartbreak of the last season,
Is broken now, in this season of concern.
When Jesus says “Yes,” none can say “No.”
Like eggshell cracking, chains must go,
The yoke the devil tried to bind,
God is breaking - freedom we find.
And joy is springing forth anew,
Loose the sound of testimony true.
Let it rise and reach heavenly skies,
Songs of joy which His Spirit inspires.
In a moment, His presence is near,
We dine, we sup, we celebrate together.
God’s power, His honour displayed,
New movements of praise are being made.
Across the world His worship flows,
Discern the season, His glory shows.
Holly beak bird had a soprano voice that carried sixty miles
She had a beak that seemed to be full of laughing smiles
Party givers paid her big bucks to come by and sing
Many households reaped the benefit of her ting-a-lings
Remember Me
Remember me when the stars have dimmed
and silence is our favorite place
Remember those peaks where we once climbed
those so high, they could almost touch grace
with elegance that made our hearts race
Remember me when the night wind cries
and moans, for it too, ages and wanes
It speaks of how quickly the time flies
It once danced with iridescent rains
and gently caressed the sleeping plains
Remember me when the days were young
and summer blew kisses in our hair
Remember the songs that once were sung
and sun and sand were everywhere
and love still danced upon the sweet air.
Edited to fit form, July 4, 2026
The sombre song,
A troubled heart,
A worried soul—
Yesterday’s road stretches into the present.
Nightfall on the porch,
Alone looking at the sky,
Songs for the gloomy days,
An elixir for cracks and crevices.
The pain inspires the songs;
Redemption is a pathless path.
It’s a quest for an awakening light,
An end to the darkness that encroaches.
The sacred book guides to a door,
As the sages seek to unravel the mysteries.
Songs at twilight,
Dew for the shrivelled garden.
May 22, 2026.
four wrens on a branch singing out into the snow
notes so loud, we did not know where they might go
the rhythm was melodic, the sound was pure bird speak
their songs called to my heart, even though I do not speak beak.
I’ve always loved alternative songs,
the kind that felt like secret wrongs,
with messy chords and lyrics deep
that somehow never let me sleep.
Those bands could make me feel alive,
like every word could somehow thrive
inside my chest and pull apart
the hidden corners of my heart.
There was one band I loved the most,
their songs felt more like poems almost.
With quiet music in the back,
while beautiful words filled what I lacked.
They spoke of love in strange new ways,
with fragile words and aching praise.
They made devotion sound divine,
like loving someone was a shrine.
And every song would make me shake,
nervous in ways I couldn’t fake.
Each lyric wrapped around my mind
and left the rest of me behind.
But now whenever those songs play,
my thoughts drift back to you always.
Even if you don’t know those bands,
or never held their songs in your hands.
Because every love song that I hear
somehow just pulls your image near.
Every lyric, every tune,
becomes about you far too soon.
I walked by the light pink tulip
thinking about life and friendship
When I heard all the songs around,
The chorus of bird's pleasant sound
There's something with the start of Spring
Beginnings and prayers, church bells ring
A chance to do things in new ways,
from lessons learned, unfolding days
Life is like a book of its own
with memories of places flown
Broken trust like a winter branch
Now healing from each avalanche
Refreshing, warm, and beautiful
Songs that lift the heart and fulfill
I learned to look at the moment
Pay attention to the time I spent
Spring time songs, a gift to behold
Gratitude blooms, never gets old
Heidi Sands
5/9/26
*8 Syllables
(C)opyright
Puss cat had the zoomies
By the moon she sang.
The stars blazed like footlights
for a meow band set.
Mic held aloft in paws
she pranced atop a tree
and supped a bowl of whiskey
Her voice was tiddly woo.
Snowy owls played gentle games
with backing choirs of mice
who twanged the golden whiskers
of that punk, feline lead.
They must be in tune with the crackling
Hisses of slow-burning wood —
Fires of the season —
Each miniscule cake of ash reminiscent
Of a burnt-out year.
Sparks ascend to heaven, reminding us
Of the cliché —rising stars.
Songs and melodies fill the air,
With old voices heard once in a year —
At this time of year, with whistling snow,
When the world grows old — and happily.
A Nursery Rhyme
Write, write, write the words
of the song to sing
Verbs and nouns and adjectives
Songs are fun to sing.
The poet had a little pen,
Little pen, little pen.
The poet had a little pen
it was filled with ink.
And every time she wrote a poem
wrote a poem, wrote a poem
and every time she wrote a poem
her words were for her king.
The teeny tiny pronoun
held the nouns in place,
then came the verbs and
blew them all about.
Out came the adverbs
and gave the nouns their color.
And the teeny tiny pronoun
held the nouns once more.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.