Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.
quote by Adelaide Anne Procter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Lost Chord
SEATED one day at the Organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.
I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then ;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife ;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.
It linked all perplexéd meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the Organ,
And entered into mine.
It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not at a Loss Chord - after Adelaide Anne Procter – A Lost Chord
Not at a Loss Chord
Playing one day with my organ,
I was blissful – not ill at ease -
while five fingers wandered wildly
web-cams recording each wheeze.
I know the spot vibrating,
less what I was dreaming then,
but I strummed with both will and spirit
and an “Oh My God! Amen! ”
Adrenaline flowed not vainly
from heart to crimson palm,
as it coursed both veins and spirit
with little akin to calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
like love overcoming strife;
it seem[en]ed orgasmic echo
to tune discordant life.
It linked all perplexèd meanings
into one perfect peace,
and trembled away into silence
although I was loth to cease.
I have sought, and I seek not vainly,
that one G spot divine,
which linked my soul to the organ
so manifestly mine.
La petite morte delightful
strikes shivering molten core,
as this little verse insightful
calls for en corps encore!
It may be that Death's bright angel
will speak in that chord again,
for it’s surely in seventh Heaven
one sings “Oh My God! Amen! ”
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
8 April 2007
ROBIN Jonathan 1947_2006 robi3_1338_proc1_0001 PXY_MXX Not at a Loss Chord_Playing one day with my organ
A Lost Chord
Seated one day at the Organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.
I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.
It linked all perplexéd meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the Organ,
And entered into mine.
It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.
Adelaide Anne PROCTER
PROCTER Adelaide Anne 1825_1864 proc1_0001_proc1_0000 PXX_MXX A Lost Chord_Seated on day at the organ
The Lost Chord
Seated one morn at my organ
I was restless and ill-at-ease,
For I had supped too freely
On Kummel and toasted cheese.
I know not what I was playing,
And I wasn’t playing well,
But I struck one chord of music
That lifted the lid off hell.
It howled like a mad gorilla,
It yelped like a blue baboon
As it munches the wild Manilla
In the Mountains of the Moon.
It tied up the simplest meansings
In horrible knots and twists;
It shrouded the dazzling sunlight
In the murk of miasmic mists.
It was barbarous, botulistic,
It linked the Chimaera’s boom
With a dismal, Bedlamistic
And super-decanal gloom.
It shattered my topmost skylight,
It splintered my study door,
And it died away in the twilight
With a galliambic snore.
Oh, I strive with passionate longing
That wondrous chord to recall,
And compose a rhapsody on it
For the Queen’s or the Albert Hall.
I have sought – but I seek it vainly –
That chord so cruel and keen
Which entered the soul of the organ
From the soul of Scriabin.
It may be that Death’s euphonium
That chord some day will sound;
But only in Pandemonium
Will its full effects be found.
Charles Larcom GRAVES Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
GRAVES Charles Larcom 1856_1944 grav1_0004_grav1_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one morn at my organ
GRAVES Charles Larcom 1856_1944 grav1_0004_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one morn at my organ
The Lost Word
Seated one day at the typewriter,
I was weary of a's and e's,
And my fingers wandered wildly,
Over the consonant keys.
I know not what I was writing,
With that thing so like a pen;
But I struck one word astounding -
Unknown to the speech of men.
It flooded the sense of my verses,
Like the break of a tinker's dam,
And I felt as one feels when the printer
Of your 'infinite calm' makes clam.
It mixed up s's and x's
Like an alphabet coming to strife.
It seemed the discordant echo
Of a row between husband and wife.
It brought a perplexed meaning
Into my perfect piece,
And set the machinery creaking
As though it were scant of grease.
I have tried, but I try it vainly,
The one last word to divine
Which came from the keys of my typewriter
And so would pass as mine.
It may be some other typewriter
Will produce that word again,
It may be, but only for others -
‘I ‘ shall write henceforth with a pen.
John PAUL Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
PAUL John paul3_0001_paul3_0001 PWX_IXX The Lost Word_Seated one day at the typewriter
PAUL John paul3_0001_proc1_0001 PWX_IXX The Lost Word_Seated one day at the typewriter
A Lost Sister
Whisper your Mother’s Name
I was seated one day in a gilded café
In a window that looked on the street
A face caught my eye in a crowd passing by
And I hastedly sprang to my feet
It was my sister's sad face, I had left home to trace
Through her pride she had left us one day
And it brought back to me, as plain as could be
My mother as I heard her say
CHORUS 'If you should see your sister
do not reproach or blame
Tell her how we've missed her
I love her just the same
Say my darling the words that you've brought her
whether in pride or shame
Say that she's still my daughter
Whisper your mother's name'
(Yodel) EEE-yew-dee-oh-lee-oh-lady-ee-hee
yodeledee-yo deledee-hee
There were tears on her face as she passed by the place
and I hastedly sprang to her side
As we walked along I said, 'Nell, we were wrong
We are sorry we wounded your pride.
Your sweetheart is true and still waiting for you
We are willing now you should wed
If you'll only come back, you can marry your Jack
and please your dear mother who says'
CHORUS
Jimmie RODGERS Parody PROCTER Adelaide Anne 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
RODGERS Jimmie rodg1_0001_rodg1_0000 PXX_JXX A Lost Sister_Seated one day in a gilded café
RODGERS Jimmie rodg1_0001_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX A Lost Sister_Seated one day in a gilded café
The Lost Chord
Seated one day at the organ
I jumped as if I’d been shot,
For the Dean was upon me, snarling
‘Stainer – and make it hot.’
All week I swung Stainer and Barnby,
Bach, Gounod, and Bunnett in A;
I said, ‘Gosh, the old bus is a wonder! ”
The Dean, with a nod, said “Okay”.
D.B. Wyndham LEWIS
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
LEWIS D.B. Wyndham 1894_1969 lewi1_0002_lewi1_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one day at the organ
LEWIS D.B. Wyndham 1894_1969 lewi1_0002_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one day at the organ
The Lost Discord
Standing one day at his organ,
The grinder seemed quite at ease,
With his monkey idly chasing
The far too-industrious fleas.
I know not what he was playing
(for I was composing then) ,
But I heard someone curse that organ,
And I murmured a great ‘Amen! ’
That discord, it filled the silence
With a sound as of tom-cats lorn;
It racked my brain like a nightmare,
It was worse than an oil-cloth torn.
It was like inharmonious yelling;
It made all the street-dogs whine,
It seems that the soul of that organ
Had spitefully gone for mine.
So I made for that organ-grinder
And swore that I’d break each limb;
And his monkey his fleased ceased chasing,
When he saw I meant chasing him.
It may be in some other quarter
He’s playing that air – and then,
If someone is smashing his organ,
I’ll fervently say, “Amen! ”
Author Unknown ‘Judy’ 26 May 1886
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
pseud Judy PSju1_0004_PUNau_0000 PWX_JXX The Last Discord_Standing one day at his organ
pseud Judy PSju1_0004_proc1_0001 PWX_JXX The Last Discord_Standing one day at his organ
The Lost Drink
Seated one day at a café,
I was thirsty and hot as the sphinx,
And my tongue went babbling idly
Over the names of drinks.
I knew not what I was saying,
Nor what I had uttered then:
But the garçon brought me a mixture
Like a gift of the gods to men.
Its colour a blushing scarlet
Like the tip of a toper’s nose,
And it tickled my fever’d palate
With its flow and after-glows.
It trickled down my gullet
Like oil down a red-hot pipe;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From some supernal swipe.
It linked vin rouge and choice ligueur
Into one perfect drop,
And guggled away down my gullet
As if it were loth to stop.
I have sought – but I seek it vainly –
That one lost drink divine,
Which was mixed by that garçon du café
With curaçoa and red wine.
It may be that some chance garçon
May bring me that drink again;
It may be that some day in Paris
I may utter its name. But then
I never could find that café,
And lost to mortal ken
Is that supernal boisson
Like a gift of the gods to men!
Author Unknown ‘Judy’ 27 October 1886
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
pseud Judy PSju1_0003_PUNau_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Drink_Seated one day at a café
The Lost Organ
Seated one day at the organ
With an audience ill-at-ease,
I pulled the stop marked “Bird-song, ”
And the one marked “Autumn Breeze.”
I switched on the rosy lighting,
And when all was ready to start,
I added a touch of thunder –
And the organ fell apart.
John Bingham MORTON 1893_1979 - Dr Strabismus 1949
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
MORTON J B 1893_1979 mort1_0005_mort1_0000 PWX_MXX The Lost Organ_Seated one day at the organ
The Lost Voice
Seated at Church in the winter
I was frozen in every limb,
And the village choir shrieked wildly
Over a noisy hymn.
I do not know what they were singing,
But while I was watching them
Our Curate began his sermon
With the sound of a slight “Ahem! ”
It frightened the female portion
Like the storm which succeeds a calm,
Both maidens and matrons heard it
With a touch of inane alarm.
It told them of pain and sorrow,
Cold, cough, and neuralgic strife,
Bronchitis and influenza
All aimed at our Curate’s life.
It linked all perplex’d diseases
Into one precious frame;
They trembled with rage if a sceptic
Attempted to ask its name.
They have wrapped him in mustard plasters,
Stuffed him with food and wine,
They have fondled, caressed, and nursed him
With sympathy divine.
It may be that other Curates
Will preach in that church to them,
Will there be every time, Good Heavens!
Such fuss for a slight – Ahem! ?
Author Unknown pseud A.H.S.
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
pseud A.H.S. PSah1_0001_proc1_0001 PWX_JXX The Last Voice_Seated at Church in the winter
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music
Keys of black and white,
Through which the soul cheers,
Melodic tunes permits no wrong
Traveling through the Either,
Awaking the sleeper,
Harmonious sounds shimmering the hearts,
Kindling the spirit like
The image of the stars,
Composers of
Master-keys -
Unlocking the golden melody
Of the deep self,
While life never goes on
In the absence of the sun.
poem by Ibrahim Ibn Salma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Everywhere I go
There's something I really need
Everyone I know
Is someone I want to be
Even though
I don't really know me
I better pick it up
Before I let it slip away
I better stick it out
Before I take another day
Into mouth
Everything I say fades out
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Can I open up your eyes?
Only when the clouds break?
Can I feel the light?
Even though the world shakes
Every night,
You're my quiet satellite
Can I hold you close?
Do her out of focus
And everything I know
I don't even know this
It all falls through
I'm here and I hear you
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Do you hear me?
Do you hear me?
Cause I need to, just to reach you
Do you hear me?
Coming clearly?
Am I hollow?
Just an echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bells Of St. Marys
Writers: leo sayer & david courtney
He used to play mouth organ
In a folk club they called the lady jane
All the sounds as his friends and he would holler
Songs of love and songs of pain
There wasn't much that he could use his time for
So he used to practice everyday
And play the mouth organ the blues and hard luck
Someday soon i'm gonna break away
He used to listen to the bells of st marys
As they would echo through those early days
And sometimes even now he thinks that he still hears them
Although they're but a thousand miles away
And so he came into this crazy business
And do you know the stars all fell his way
And he became another rock and roll troubador
And threw the mouth organ far away
And so he listens to the bells of st marys
And so their echo haunts him every day
So clear that he could reach out and touch them
Although they're but a thousand miles away
Although they're but a thousand miles away
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man who Lost His Keys!
The man who lost his keys
Begged God while on his knees
For sometimes God agrees
And doesn't play the tease
But first there came no ease
That poor man to release
Who hoped the search would cease
So he could make coffees
Then life would seem a breeze
If he could find his keys!
The man who lost his keys
Had lost all certainties
Saw all his doubts increase
His mind like melted cheese
He prayed God pretty please
And offered reward fees
Yet money God won't seize
Who owns the woods and trees
God chose to grant him peace
And helped him find his keys!
(August 2011)
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Adieu
Waving whispering trees,
What do you say to the breeze
And what says the breeze to you?
'Mid passing souls ill at ease,
Moving murmuring trees,
Would ye ever wave an Adieu?
Tossing turbulent seas,
Winds that wrestle with these,
Echo heard in the shell,—
'Mid fleeting life ill at ease,
Restless ravening seas,—
Would the echo sigh Farewell?
Surging sumptuous skies,
For ever a new surprise,
Clouds eternally new,—
Is every flake that flies,
Widening wandering skies,
For a sign—Farewell, Adieu?
Sinking suffering heart
That know'st how weary thou art,—
Soul so fain for a flight,—
Aye, spread your wings to depart,
Sad soul and sorrowing heart,—
Adieu, Farewell, Good-night.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1876)
Submitted by anonym
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When The Sleepy Man Comes
When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes,
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He smiles through his fingers, and shuts up the sun;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
The stars that he loves he lets out one by one.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He comes with a murmur of dream in his wings;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
Then the top is a burden, the bugle a bane;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
When one would be faring down Dream-a-way Lane.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
When one would be wending in Lullaby Wherry,
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
To Sleepy Man's Castle, by Comforting Ferry.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Sweet Echo Dell
"Three there were that left my cot;
Two are here, and one is not;
Why does Willie linger? Say, can you tell?"
"He was weary by the way;
When we came he could but stay
In the shady grove at Sweet Echo Dell."
Echo Dell! (Echo Dell!) Echo Dell! (Echo Dell!)
It was there we softly said "Farewell!" ("Farewell!")
And the towering granite crest
Nobly guards his place rest,
Near the lovely lake of Sweet Echo Dell.
"Is he laden well with gold?
Does he bring me wealth untold?
Why then does he linger? Say can you tell?"
"All his treasures are above;
All he sent you was his love,
With a whispered prayer from Sweet Echo Dell."
Coming homeward, does he sing
Like a lark upon the wing?
Why then does he linger? Say, can you tell?"
Naught is heard but rippling waves,
Warbling birds, and shouting braves;
Silent is his voice in Sweet Echo Dell."
"Is he coming by-and-by?
May I bless him ere I die?
Why then does he linger? Say, can you tell?"
"Mirrored in that mountain lake,
Heaven is near, and he will wake
Never elsewhere than in Sweet Echo Dell."
"Would you crush my only joy?
Surely I shall meet my boy;
When then does he linger? Say, can you tell?"
"Never will his weary feet
Travel more, yet may soon meet
When your soul floats over Sweet Echo Dell."
poem by Henry Clay Work
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A silly poem about keys
Keys can open doors
they can lock you in
keys on a piano
but not on a Violin.
Keys to a safe
inside a vault
keys lost again
well that's your fault.
Keys on an old typewriter
and on a modern laptop
keys stolen by a thief
to break into a shop.
Keys hang on a keyring
or on a fancy chain
but how on earth can you
dropp them down a drain?
Keys for this and that
a key lying under the mat
having to rush to the Vet
it's been swallowed by the cat.
So I'll end this poem now
and try and get my key
I dropped it down a drain
oh stupid and silly me!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The piano chords
You play the piano chords
In this sonata as well as
In the music of Prokofiev,
Emphatically catching the music's mood.
Fingers seem to stick the keys
And the keys seem to direct the fingers,
When the thumbs move under them.
You both look like a single being,
In together.
The piano seemingly breaks the sounds.
They penetrate my soul,
Searching for the necessary words.
I understand the story of your feelings.
Dedicated to Richard Clayderman
poem by Marieta Maglas
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I Am The Only One With THESE Keys
The first question I would ask,
Of anyone expressing a wish to drive...
Through life without dues to pay.
With only desire in their eyes.
And a request from me to give them my keys,
Is this...
What makes anyone think I will turn over keys,
To something I have earned...
Because the doing of it I have made to look easy?
I've got to witness some sweat with labor done first.
With initiative that has been prioritized.
Life is not a cakewalk...
To choose what frosting to taste to then decide.
'You are not the only one with keys.'
That's true.
But guess what?
I am the only one with THESE keys.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Living Life
i let things
come as they are
like the rain
that falls
and the river
that brings the
water out to sea
i take life
like how love flows
negotiates
its way over
every of the
piano keys
to make it to
your heart
i take life
like how
your deft
fingers go
never question
how each dribbles
over the keys
to bring out the
sweet notes of our life
i let troubles
come and go
like the rain fall
and the river that brings
the water out to sea
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maybe Baby
I heard stories about you
Id like to think that they were true
I did not know youd be like that
With those surprises under hat
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
When you dance between the stars
In the night late sweet and dark
Turn them over one by one
You dont need to jump the gun
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
When the night is feeling flush
And when the night is all a hush
Electric look eclectic blue
Keep one dream that wont come true
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my ma-aybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my ma-aybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Be my, be my, be my, be my maybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Youre the one (? )
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Be my, be my, be my, be my maybe baby
(unintelligible) maybe baby
I heard stories about you
Id like to think that they were true
Be my maybe (? )
Be my, be my, be my, be my
(fade)
song performed by by Cars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The organizing principle, which according to an eternal law creates the different essential organs of the body, and animates them, is not itself seated in one particular organ.
quote by Johannes P. Muller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A lot of places we go, when they see the organ coming in, they're expecting rock and roll, but after they hear us play they like it. To me, guitar cuts through-it carries more than organ. But organ has got more guts.
quote by Wes Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I played the organ when I went to military school, when I was 10. They had a huge organ, the second-largest pipe organ in New York State. I loved all the buttons and the gadgets. I've always been a gadget man.
quote by Stephen Sondheim
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just an Organ
It has been stated that the heart is just in organ.
But if it was just in organ why when a person falls in love they can feel that emotion in their heart.
If it was just an organ why when love is lost does the sadness that one feels seem to shatter the heart?
If the heart is just an organ why when a child wins a prize does a parent feel pride in their heart?
The heart is much more than just in organ it is the house of our emotions.
From the emotion of love, and sadness to the pride that swells in each of us.
The heart is not just an organ.
Lovers In Love With Life
The petals that fall from a rose in bloom
do so with grace and ease.
One by one they leave the flower
and flutter in the breeze.
The lovers that fall in love with life
do so with eyes that see
that what they have before them
is a set of keys.
These keys can open up life's doors
that lead to roads unknown.
Together they travel the path of life
and never feel they're alone.
They face a future not carved in stone
but will do it fearlessly
for they know that their love will protect them
wherever they may be.
And like the petals that left the rose
because its life was done,
So too the lovers in love with life
will leave this life as one.
For lovers that shed the tears that drop
just like the petals that fall
understand that what they had in life
was that they had it all.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Music is the harmonious voice of creation; an echo of the invisible world.
quote by Giuseppe Mazzini
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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