The Fury Of Guitars and Sopranos
This singing
is a kind of dying,
a kind of birth,
a votive candle.
I have a dream-mother
who sings with her guitar,
nursing the bedroom
with a moonlight and beautiful olives.
A flute came too,
joining the five strings,
a God finger over the holes.
I knew a beautiful woman once
who sang with her fingertips
and her eyes were brown
like small birds.
At the cup of her breasts
I drew wine.
At the mound of her legs
I drew figs.
She sang for my thirst,
mysterious songs of God
that would have laid an army down.
It was as if a morning-glory
had bloomed in her throat
and all that blue
and small pollen
ate into my heart
violent and religious.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Related quotes
I woke up to a lullaby
I woke up to a lullaby
The birds sang a song for me
They sang their hearts out all the while
Dancing on the maple tree
Each bird sang a different song
That melted into one
A song full of promises
For the day that’s just begun
They sang of sorrow
Of happiness and mirth
The sang of marriage
And of birth
They sang of people laughing
And of them crying
They sang of sickness
They sang of dying
This little song
They sang for me
Made me think
Made me free
I Once Knew A Woman
Well now I once knew a woman listen while I tell you all about her yeah
And the first time I seen her I knew I couldn't live without her
Well now she swore she'd love me all her life and I knew I'd do the same
God damn but I don't even remember her name I don't remember her name
Well now I once knew a woman and oh listen while I'm tellin' it to ya yeah
She had big brown eyes the kind that could look right through ya
Now that she looked in my soul with those big brown eyes
Got a feelin' like I never knew hey come to think of it those eyes were blue
I think those eyes were blue
Well now you end one love then onto another never thinkin' back at the past one
Never stop to think oh brother that the next one gonna be just like the last one
I once knew a woman listen while I tell you my story
She had a heart like the world her lips like a morning glory yeah
Well I knew at last I met my fate and I'm bound to settle down
Hey I wonder if she's still in town
Yeah I once knew a woman and listen while I tell you some more boys
Hey come to think of it I think I told bout her before boys
Well she is the one who gets my heart she sets my heart aflame
Yeah I still don't remember her name
Hmm come to think of it those eyes were blue or were they green
Hmm I wonder if she's still around hmm you know I'm really not to blame
Oh I still don't remember her name
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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My Cousin In Milwaukee
Once I visited my cousin, in milwaukee, usa
She got boyfriends by the dozen, when she sang in a lowdown way
She was a positive sensation
The songs that she sang would never miss
My cousin was my inspiration
Thats how I got like this
I got a cousin in milwaukee
Shes got a voice so squawky
And though shes tall and kind of gawky
Oh, how she gets the men
Her singing isnt operatic
Its got a lot of static
What makes your heart get acrobatic
Nine times out of ten
When she sings hot, you cant be solemn
It sends the shivers up and down your spinal column
When she sings blue, the men shout, what stuff!
That baby is hot stuff
So if you like the way I sing songs,
If you think that Im a wow
You can thank my squawky cousin from milwaukee
Because she taught me how
(instrumental bridge)
When she sings hot, you cant be solemn
It sends the shivers up and down your spinal column
When she sings blue, the men shout, what stuff!
That baby is hot stuff
So if you like the way I sing songs,
If you think that Im a wow
You can thank my squawky cousin from milwaukee
Because she taught me how
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful Blue Eyes
Blue eyes so full of life
A wonder all of their own
So beautiful and precious
Oh to see those eyes smile
Such a beautiful sight
How I love to look into those eyes
When I look into them
A kind of peace comes over me
Beautiful blue eyes
Always haunting me
...teasing me
Reminding me of what I want...can't have
Why do they haunt me so
When will I be free of them
Constantly held captive by those blue eyes
Beautiful blue eyes
Always there
A reminder of what I want...can't have
Such beautiful blue eyes
Beautiful blue eyes...
poem by Grace Hays
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The Waking (1948)
I strolled across
An open field;
The sun was out;
Heat was happy.
This way!This way!
The wren's throat shimmered,
Either to other,
The blossoms sang.
The stones sang,
The little ones did,
And flowers jumped
Like small goats.
A ragged fringe
Of daisies waved;
I wasn't alone
In a grove of apples.
Far in the wood
A nestling sighed;
The dew loosened
Its morning smells.
I came where the river
Ran over stones:
My ears knew
An early joy.
And all the waters
Of all the streams
Sang in my veins
That summer day.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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Some guitarists I know
Casey hides behind an Elvis swagger
And a marlboro red
He's small and charming
He has a smile that is velvet
He wants to live in a comic book
When he sings
Emotion hangs on his guitar strings
And He plays beautiful guitar
Green likes the blues
Johnny Lang, Stevie Ray
He has the style of Bruce Willis
Charms the pants off of most women
Sometimes he wants to be in love
But wonders why he cant love them
Like Jade and his mom
And He plays beautiful guitar
Dirty Kurt
Tall and lanky
Can write an enviable lyric in a second
Manipulates strings that makes girls weep
He has hearts in his eyes
Because He's in love with love
He has a radiant smile but his teeth are fake
And He plays beautiful guitar
John is solid as cement
Tall and expansive with big shoulders
With a big voice to match
Writes simple lyrics with complexity
He loves Iggy and the Stooges
And Mike Watt, Captain Sensible
John Lennon, Frank Black
Sometimes Eno
And He plays beautiful guitar
poem by Wanda Swim Strunk
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The Sewing-Girl
The humble garret where I dwell
Is in that Quarter called the Latin;
It isn't spacious -- truth to tell,
There's hardly room to swing a cat in.
But what of that! It's there I fight
For food and fame, my Muse inviting,
And all the day and half the night
You'll find me writing, writing, writing.
Now, it was in the month of May
As, wrestling with a rhyme rheumatic,
I chanced to look across the way,
And lo! within a neighbor attic,
A hand drew back the window shade,
And there, a picture glad and glowing,
I saw a sweet and slender maid,
And she was sewing, sewing, sewing.
So poor the room, so small, so scant,
Yet somehow oh, so bright and airy.
There was a pink geranium plant,
Likewise a very pert canary.
And in the maiden's heart it seemed
Some fount of gladness must be springing,
For as alone I sadly dreamed
I heard her singing, singing, singing.
God love her! how it cheered me then
To see her there so brave and pretty;
So she with needle, I with pen,
We slaved and sang above the city.
And as across my streams of ink
I watched her from a poet's distance,
She stitched and sang . . . I scarcely think
She was aware of my existence.
And then one day she sang no more.
That put me out, there's no denying.
I looked -- she labored as before,
But, bless me! she was crying, crying.
Her poor canary chirped in vain;
Her pink geranium drooped in sorrow;
"Of course," said I, "she'll sing again.
Maybe," I sighed, "she will to-morrow."
Poor child; 'twas finished with her song:
Day after day her tears were flowing;
And as I wondered what was wrong
She pined and peaked above her sewing.
And then one day the blind she drew,
Ah! though I sought with vain endeavor
To pierce the darkness, well I knew
My sewing-girl had gone for ever.
And as I sit alone to-night
My eyes unto her room are turning . . .
I'd give the sum of all I write
Once more to see her candle burning,
Once more to glimpse her happy face,
And while my rhymes of cheer I'm ringing,
Across the sunny sweep of space
To hear her singing, singing, singing.
poem by Robert William Service
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You dream and I dream
You dream and I dream
In my dream I am with a woman.
In your dream you are with a man.
In my dream she is beautiful and small.
In your dream he is strong and tall.
In my dream she has beautiful thighs.
In your dream he has beautiful eyes.
In my dream she has a beautiful face.
In your dream he has a beautiful waist.
In my dream that woman is you.
In your dream that man is whom?
Copyright© Nadim Lost Soul
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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One Time At Band Camp
I’ll always remember the day
I was writing in my notebook
Alone in the woods by our bunks
I was already thinking of you
Contemplating ways to be near you
Searching for an excuse to talk to you
I heard I twig snap behind me and looked
You laughed and said you were trying not to be conspicuous
I was still so nervous around you but I laughed and smiled at you
Just because I was nervous didn’t mean I couldn’t flirt
You had your guitar case in your hand and sat on the bench across from me
I laid on my stomach, facing you and I watched as you tuned
After a day of marching the slight breeze was welcomed
And the rustling of the leaves around us added to the moment
With your guitar tuned and my full attention you began to play
I was captivated by your voice and amazed by your playing ability
You sang of heart break
You sang of hope
You sang of lost love
You sang of days long since passed
You sang songs that meant a lot to you
You sang songs that you wrote
You captured my heart; even before that day
From that day forth we continued our odd status
So much more than friends
But never quite lovers
Now you are with someone who can make you happy
As am I
But I will always cherish those moments we shared
One time at band camp
poem by Brittney Wilhoit
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Songs For Scarlett
THE SUNLIGHT CAUGHT IN HER VOICE
The darkness
of her hair
& the blue
in her eye
sang of her
& transformed
the world
into a beauty
a child could see
notes like
drops of rain dripping
from a branch
the sunlight caught
in her voice
memory forever
holding still
the song of the blue
in her eye
the song of the darkness
in her hair.
* * * * * * *
AND THE SONG SUNG
And the song
sung to please
had its own
song
that hid
within the song
or ran in &
out among the words
like delighted child
hovering above
or lingering below
the melody line
the song of my mother
singing singing
as if her heart
would break
or break
the heart of others
the song
that sang her
hiding now
at its finish
in the toss of her hair
the tear in her eye.
* * * * * * *
EVEN TIME STOPPED TO LISTEN
In my mind
you will be
always singing
forever held
in the spell
of your voice
even Time
stops to listen
& I
always your child
lost in the magic
of your song
eternally.
* * * * * * *
I awoke at 2.30 in the morning with the image of your mother and the song of her blue eyes and black hair singing in my mind and wrote these 3 poems down as if in a dream and went to sleep again. I awoke to the morning and they were still there. I hope they do her justice. See now how you who have set her singing in your poems…set her singing in my heart now.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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My Heart Sings
My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.
poem by Jennifer Burns
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In The Evening By The Moonlight
Traditional
In the evening by the moonlight
When my mother had finished working
We used to sit around the fire place
Till the cornbread it was done
And then we all would eat our supper
After that wed clean the kitchen
Its the only time they ever gave us to spare
To have a little fun
Then my daddy used to take his fiddle down
That hung upon the wall
While the silvery moon was shining clear and bright
How the folks would enjoy it
They would sit all night and listen
As we used to sing in the evening by the moonlight
In the evening by the moonlight
You could hear banjos ringing
You could hear them by the moonlight
You could hear my folks all singing
How my mother she would enjoy it
She would sit all night and listen
As we sang in the evening by the moolight oh yeah
In the evening by the moonlight
You could hear folks all singing
In the evening by the moonlight
You could hear my folks all singing
How my mother she would enjoy it
She would sit all night and listen
As we sang in the evening by the moolight oh yeah
In the evening by the moonlight
You could hear banjos ringing
In the evening by the moonlight
You could hear my folks all singing
How my mother she would enjoy it
She would sit all night and listen
As we sang in the evening by the moolight oh yeah
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing I write/ Dreams me as I dream myself
NOTHING I WRITE / DREAMS ME AS I DREAM MYSELF
Nothing I write
Dreams me as I dream myself
Smaller than small small
Is man’s place in the universe
Smaller than small small small
Is my no place in the nowhere
Of forever nothingness
Kindness is all
But who can be kind for long
When all is dying dying dying
Small small small is all
And I have already gone home to nothingness
Forever silent as small which never was.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Your Beautiful Brown Eyes
I'm looking at the sky, so peaceful, so sublime,
This peace invading my being when,
Are shinning serene to my heart,
Your beautiful brown eyes.
The way you hold me in your arms,
The way the stars are shinning,
I'm feeling the mystery of life,
Through your beautiful brown eyes.
When you say that you love me,
Being there, showing you care,
Nothing in this world doesn't matter,
Only your beautiful brown eyes.
Even the day is coming with sun shinning bright on sky,
Even night is falling with a glowing moonlight,
My sun, my moon will always be,
Your beautiful brown eyes.
Essence of life, magic of moment,
Make me feel so alive,
Amazing how much happiness shines,
In your beautiful brown eyes.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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What The Chimney Sang
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she forced,
'I hate the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Children said, as they closer drew,
'`Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night through,
`Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew,
And we fear the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below,
Said to himself, 'It will surely snow,
And fuel is dear and wages low,
And I`ll stop the leak in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
But the Poet listened and smiled, for he
Was Man and Woman and Child, all three,
And said, 'It is God`s own harmony,
This wind we hear in the chimney.'
poem by Francis Bret Harte
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Gone Are Those Sad Songs Sung
Gone are those sad songs,
Sung begun some sang.
With the singing of those sad songs,
Gone
Once sung 'then' now no one sings,
With a wish to begin them again.
Too many on the streets.
Now too accustomed to fresh beats,
Declare they will not be defeated.
By a repeating of old tunes.
Too many collectively.
Have decided to leave.
Gone are those sad songs,
Sung begun some sang.
With the singing of those sad songs,
Gone.
Once sung now no one chooses to sing,
With a wish to begin them again.
Solos and duets seem for many more accepted.
With a clouding once done to dim overcasting skies.
Clearing now as a harmony begins,
To find eyes brightening.
With a listening to voices heard.
And giving each one specific attention.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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At Love's Beginning.
I might not have it then — I might not, yet
She was so near to me, could I forget
She might be nearer? There was in her eyes —
What shall I say? — a hint of the sunrise
Of her heart's day: would it then break on me
In my life's glory, or should I but see
The malediction of that morning pour
Disaster on my heart for evermore?
I did not know, and all I was became
A hush, a wonder. I scarce breathed her name,
Scarce dared to read her eyes too deeply, lest
Wrath in their tenderness should be exprest;
When suddenly love's lightning ran a streak
Up the white throat into the pallid cheek;
Her eyes took wonder too — and even thus
What we to either were, revealed to us,
Rose like God's heaven, at once, in such a way
For aye; and her eyes fell as mine took sway
Upon the moment when she knew it all,
And knew in knowing it beyond recall
Was the confession which her heart had made
With eyes, not lips, ere lips to mine were laid —
That mystic moment, when all she was drew
Out of herself, as all that I was too,
Emptied of self, then found itself in her.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The pendant
You admired one that somebody
had made
and bought a small pair of pliers,
some silver wire,
clasps, hooks, bits,
different kinds of crystals,
semi-precious stones,
even blue tanzanite stones,
sirkovsky crystals, some pearls
and I saw you bore small holes
and bit-by-bit strung it together.
I watched you with your eyes focused
while you worked
with the pleasure of making something
really beautiful
to hang on your slender neck
between magnificent breasts.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Pair Of Brown Eyes
One summer evening drunk to hell
I stood there nearly lifeless
An old man in the corner sang
Where the water lilies grow
And on the jukebox johnny sang
About a thing called love
And its how are you kid and whats your name
And how would you bloody know?
In blood and death neath a screaming sky
I lay down on the ground
And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
And the only thing that I could see
Was a pair of brown eyes that was looking at me
But when we got back, labeled parts one to three
There was no pair of brown eyes waiting for me
And a rovin a rovin a rovin Ill go
For a pair of brown eyes
I looked at him he looked at me
All I could do was hate him
While ray and philomena sang
Of my elusive dream
I saw the streams, the rolling hills
Where his brown eyes were waiting
And I thought about a pair of brown eyes
That waited once for me
So drunk to hell I left the place
Sometimes crawling sometimes walking
A hungry sound came across the breeze
So I gave the walls a talking
And I heard the sounds of long ago
From the old canal
And the birds were whistling in the trees
Where the wind was gently laughing
And a rovin a rovin a rovin Ill go
For a pair of brown eyes
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neanthe Bella
Neanthe Bella, beautiful dwarf,
Beautiful from birth.
Glorious woman in green.
Fan dancer,
Seductress,
Wild,
Exotic,
Mysterious,
And unique.
Neanthe bella, beautiful dwarf,
Unlike,
All others.
Delicate,
Fragile,
So feminine.
Never aging,
Always,
Shy,
Reserved,
A queen,
Among the rest.
Though,
Small,
And meek,
Thine beauty is,
Beyond compare.
Neanthe Bella, beautiful dwarf.
poem by Juan Olivarez
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