I'm saying: to be continued, until we meet again. Meanwhile, keep on listening and tapping your feet.
quote by Count Basie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Musical Feet
My shuffling feet, shuffle forward,
Tapping out a rhythm of a beat.
Taking time to get it right.
Hand tapping thigh,
The pace not a race.
Body vibrates, booming Bass,
Hairs prickle the neck,
Touches roots of the soul.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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Me the instrument
Music is in my mind
Iam full of glee
My fingers tapping the table
While my palms beat as a drum
My lips pucker and being to whistle
Iam really feeling this souful strum
My feet tapping the floor
It is really fun
Allowing my body to be an instrument
As I gaze at sun
For there is music on the inside
A harmonic hum
If I gave this instrument a name
Iam not quiet sure what it would be
Therefore to keep things simple and
From becoming complicate
I shall simply term this authentic instrument as Me
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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In A Deafening Stubbornness
A resting temporarily,
From a digging of a hole
Dug deep,
Is no cause for celebration.
For those blindfolded,
In a deafening stubbornness they keep.
Especially if the digging done,
Is away from and not towards the light.
And those who enthusiastically dig,
See themselves as making progress.
A progress only they believe,
Can be achieved
Without listening to others,
Standing above them in silhouette
Against the rays of the Sun.
A digging like this continued
Out of listening distance,
Has long ago begun!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Early Morning Prayer
as the heron
meets the new day
it stands still
looking at the new rising sun
on a clear pool
of water
that its own feet
protects
it casts a shadow
on the clear water
listening, listening, listening....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Come dance to the drum.
Follow the steady heart beat,
By tapping the feet.
quote by by Ernestine Northover
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When That Body And The Soul Meets
If it's felt with-in-side,
And you've got it
That good rhythm!
That rhythm would be in your feet.
If you've got it!
You'd feel it with each patting,
Tapping out a movement
That begins your feet,
Patting beats.
Rhythmically.
If it's felt with-in-side,
And you've got it.
That good rhythm!
That rhythm would be in your feet.
If you've got it!
You'd feel it with each,
Patting of.
Both your feet.
If it's there you've got to rock it.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's a feeling you must reveal.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's that feeling done on dance floors,
When that body and the soul meets.
And benefits the one who's real.
When that body and the soul meets.
If it's there you've got to rock it.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's a feeling you must reveal.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's that feeling done on dance floors,
When that body and the soul meets.
And benefits the one who's real.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's a feeling you must reveal.
When that body and the soul meets.
If it's there you've got to rock it.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's a feeling you must reveal.
When that body and the soul meets.
If it's there you've got to rock it.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's a feeling you must reveal.
When that body and the soul meets.
If it's there you've got to rock it.
When that body and the soul meets.
When that body and the soul meets.
It's a feeling you must reveal.
When the body and soul meet,
It's revealing.
When the soul and body meet.
It's revealing.
And healing.
Few people believe.
When the body and soul meet,
It's revealing.
When the soul and body meet.
It's revealing.
And healing.
Few people believe.
When the body and soul meet,
It's revealing.
When the soul and body meet.
It's revealing.
And healing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.
quote by John Steinbeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Continued Journey
This is only the start of
my continued journey,
despite the heart breaks, the test and the trails
the departing of acquaintances
she shedding of many tears,
and wondering if I could have made you LOVE me as your wife?
After it's all over I realize no one will do what is not in their
heart to do in the first place,
When they never intended to do right by you. Continued Journey
I learned to and did tolerated things I should have went ballistic about due to your drama.
This continued journey lets me know that I will be LOVED and give
Love again God has a plan for me and I've come to that part of
my Continued Journey.
poem by Sylvia Loven Carter
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Kind Paris
Kind Paris
under my feet.
The clack of heels
on a cobblestone walk
along the river
encompassed with concepts
from centuries of artists.
The streets,
they sing,
with the accordian
and accoustic.
Kind Paris
under my feet
and my theatrical
and melodic tapping
of heels on wet cobblestones.
poem by Erica Francis
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The Day I Met Nothing
The day that I met nothing
Is a day straight out of time
For each mind was kindly thinking
The other writes sublime
Reminded of the tone the way the tongue it sounds
I’m glad the day that I met nothing
The gladness knows no bounds.
The ballad of a thin man
Came chanting down the lines
A memory of the past
Comes tapping in these rhymes
The day that I met nothing
Just blew the mind away
And the tones of Mr. Jones
Came haunting back today.
Something may be happening
I could guess what it may be
But the day that I meet nothing
Is still a mystery
For the day that I meet nothing
I’m not sure when that will be
For the day that I know nothing
Is the day that I'll be free
poem by Wojja Fink
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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My Pesky Pecker
Each morning I'm awakened
by my annoying little friend.
As long as he has wood
he will be at it once again.
'Woody' has been with me now
for days beyond recall.
A Persistent little Pecker,
the little bugger gives his all.
For a month now he's been tapping
on the tree outside my den.
On weekends its annoying
cause I like to sleep till Ten.
I so wish someone would eat him,
perhaps the neighbor's cat,
and end his constant tapping
by putting paid to that.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Strangers When We Meet
Yooou, yooou, yooou
Yooou, yooou, yooou
All our friends
Now seem so thin and frail
Slinky secrets
Hotter than the sun
No peachy prayers
No trendy rechauffe
Im with you
So I cant go wrong
All my violence
Raining tears upon the sheet
Im bewildered/resentful
For were strangers when we meet
Blank screen tv
Preening ourselves in the snow
Forget my name
But Im over you
Blended sunrise
And its a dying world
Humming rheingold
We scavenge up our clothes
All my violence
Raining tears upon the sheet
Im bewildered/resentful
For were strangers when we meet
Cold tired fingers
Tapping out your memories
Halfway sadness
Dazzled by the new
Your embrace
Was all that I feared
That whirling room
We trade by vendu
Steely resolve
Is falling from me
My poor soul
All bruised passivity
All your regrets
Ride rough-shod over me
Im so glad
That were strangers when we meet
Im so thankful
That were strangers when we meet
Im so clover
For were strangers when we meet
Heel head over
But were strangers when we meet
Strangers when we meet (repeat ad. inf.
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We have, unlike many of our competitors, continued to meet our various financial obligations.
quote by Gerard Arpey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Allegro Comodo
a word from you, then you stop
something choppy
i like to listen more from you
another word, cut into half
i am having a hard time
figuring out what is there
with you that wants to hold
me, i stop to listen again,
some scratches from your
tongue, some gnashing from
your teeth, i am listening still,
some more words, more of
pauses, like some commas
are constructed by you on
purpose, i am tired in this,
i am impatient, you stretch
your arms to reach me again,
as i go nearer tapping my ears,
for you, yet there is this
suppression of meaning,
i am listening still, you
close your eyes and then
open them, this time some
tears fall, like ripe drops
of rain from dark clouds,
i see, your heart is broken
and your mind cannot
understand perfectly,
your mouth haggles
with words that your
tongue cannot form
simply because love is always misunderstood.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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383
a word from you, then you stop
something choppy
i like to listen more from you
another word, cut into half
i am having a hard time
figuring out what is there
with you that wants to hold
me, i stop to listen again,
some scratches from your
tongue, some gnashing from
your teeth, i am listening still,
some more words, more of
pauses, like some commas
are constructed by you on
purpose, i am tired in this,
i am impatient, you stretch
your arms to reach me again,
as i go nearer tapping my ears,
for you, yet there is this
suppression of meaning,
i am listening still, you
close your eyes and then
open them, this time some
tears fall, like ripe drops
of rain from dark clouds,
i see, your heart is broken
and your mind cannot
understand perfectly,
your mouth haggles
with words that your
tongue cannot form
simply because love is always misunderstood.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Will Meet You Again
Sometime,
Somewhere,
Somehow,
Someday;
I will meet you again.
Meet, feet, fleet, beet;
Anywhere,
Anytime,
Anyhow,
And at any day!
I will meet you again.
Greet, sleet, sheet, street!
Somewhere anytime,
Sometime anywhere,
Somehow someday;
I will meet you again.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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