The firs
There is a lonely minor chord that sings
Faintly and far along the forest ways,
When the firs finger faintly on the strings
Of that rare violin the night wind plays,
Just as it whispered once to you and me
Beneath the English pines beyond the sea.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Bouncin Around The Room
The woman was a dream I had
Though rather hard to keep
For when my eyes were watching hers
They closed,
And I was still asleep.
For when my hand was holding hers
She whispered words and I awoke
And faintly bouncing around the room
The echo of whomever spoke
I awoke and faintly bouncing round the room
The echo of whomever spoke.
The place I saw was far beneath
The surface of the sea
My sight was poor
But I was sure
The sirens sang their songs for me
They dance above me as I sink
I see them through a crystal haze
And hear them bouncing round the room
The never ending coral maze
That time and once again Im bouncing around the room.
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bouncing Around The Room
The woman was a dream I had
Though rather hard to keep
for when my eyes were watching hers
They closed,
And I was still asleep.
For when my hand was holding hers
She whispered words and I awoke
And faintly bouncing around the room
The echo of whomever spoke
I awoke and faintly bouncing round the room
the echo of whomever spoke.
The place I saw was far beneath
The surface of the sea
My sight was poor
But I was sure
The sirens sang their songs for me
They dance above me as I sink
I see them through a crystal haze
And hear them bouncing round the room
the never ending coral maze
That time and once again I'm bouncing around the room.
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Violin
Four strings across the bridge,
Ready to carry me over,
Over the quavers, drunk in the bars,
Out of the realm of the orchestra,
Out of the realm of the orchestra.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Filling me up with the shivers and quivers.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Paganini up on the chimney,
Lord of the dance,
With nero and old nicky.
Whack that devil
Into my fiddlestick!
Give me the banshees for b.v.s,*
Give me the banshees for b.v.s.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-dee.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-diddle-dee-dee!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain-Songs
THE rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky;
The wind, that world-old harpist, sitteth by;
And ever as he sings his low refrain,
He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Song...
This sweet melody on air
It still reminds me of your hair
So soft and gentle to the touch
Just like this song we love so much
This sad old tune the radio plays
It holds all our memories stay
It brings me back to happier days
When we had our love have its way
For as every note that it sings
Hits a special chord in my strings
I remember the joy that it brings
This love song that we used to sing
This sweet old song that plays on air
This sad love song the radio plays
Reminds me of how we used to be
Fills me with memories of you and me…
matthewedanolivernpalma->>>>>
poem by Matthew Edan Oliver Palma
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Songs Set To Music: 17. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Nanny blushes when I woo her,
And with kindly chiding eyes
Faintly says I shall undo her;
Faintly, O, forbear! she cries.
But her breasts while I am pressing,
While to hers my lips I join,
Warm'd, she seems to taste the blessing,
And her kisses answer mine.
Undebauch'd by rules of honour,
Innocence with Nature charms;
One bids gently push me from her,
The other take me in her arms.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Final Celebration
The music plays on,
He lies motionless,
Sedated forlorn,
End looming on his face.
There isn't a trace
That he did ever embrace
Life and love that fulfils it,
But forever lying on the crumpled sheet!
The music plays in his head,
His fingers faintly move on the bed,
Now from death no more immune,
They celebrate the symphony of one last tune!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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A Somber Third
A minor chord can make me sad
and yet I crave its sound.
Why that is I can't explain
for it makes me come unwound.
So what is it about that sound
that changes how I feel?
Inside my musical memories
that somber 3rd does peal.
With it come the memories
of times that made me blue,
loneliness and emptiness
and absences from you.
I know I need to free myself
and make a major leap
away from that minor chord
and away from tears that weep.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Forest Lord for S.J.Gardner
As I walked out beneath the moon
I heard that old compelling tune
The Pipes of Pan that faintly play
have power to steal my will away.
The old God rules the forest yet
I know he does I can’t forget.
I was forced to follow the sound.
Although I know he can’t be found.
Unless he chooses to reveal
he is alive and well and real.
To tell the truth I found it odd
For Pan is a forgotten God.
He has the power to overrule
with music as his only tool.
My hardened shell of disbelief
and in some way grant me relief.
From all the woes which trouble me.
So for a little while I’m free,
to leave reality behind.
For long enough to still my mind.
I might be only fantasy.
I’m well ware that it could be
Although I try I can’t explain
the forest is till Pans domain.
Then suddenly the music ceased.
I knew that I had been released.
I still cherish the memory
Of the night Pan played pipes for me..
28-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Where Did You Sleep Last Night
Where did you sleep last night
My girl, my girl, dont lie to me
Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through
My girl, my girl, where will you go?
Im going where the cold wind blows
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through
Her husband, was a hard working man
Just about a mile from here
His head was found in a driving wheel
But his body never was found
My girl, my girl, dont lie to me
Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I will shiver the whole night through
(sing it for me)
My girl, my girl, where will you go?
Im going where the cold wind blows
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through
My girl, my girl, dont lie to me
Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I will shiver the whole night through
My girl, my girl, where will ya go?
Im going where the cold wind blows
In the pines, the pines
The sun, the shine
Ill shiver the whole night through
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Did You Sleep Last Night
Where did you sleep last night
My girl, my girl, dont lie to me
Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through
My girl, my girl, where will you go?
Im going where the cold wind blows
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through
Her husband, was a hard working man
Just about a mile from here
His head was found in a driving wheel
But his body never was found
My girl, my girl, dont lie to me
Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I will shiver the whole night through
(sing it for me)
My girl, my girl, where will you go?
Im going where the cold wind blows
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through
My girl, my girl, dont lie to me
Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun dont ever shine
I will shiver the whole night through
My girl, my girl, where will ya go?
Im going where the cold wind blows
In the pines, the pines
The sun, the shine
Ill shiver the whole night through
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Colors of Silence
Yellow roses swing in the wind
Lonely dogs bark but the wolves prevail
The violin strings snap, protesting
The aloofly silent mind of the nail.
Blue tulips pray with the bells
On the lake white triangles sail
The postman walks slowly, pondering
The silent somber red box of the mail.
Evening descends on the green hills
The trees are wincing along the grey tail
In the dense dark rests the black forest
The silence dreams it screams under a veil.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can you hear my soul sing?
The sounds of my soul are a symphony,
always a lilting melody.
There's never a minor chord to interfere
with all the sweet tones that I hear.
The quiet reflections are the rests
that pause in its ongoing quest
to proceed with violin strings so sweet
to heal the pierces that I meet.
The harps and orchestral sounds
allow my soul its leaps and bounds.
And the basso profundo is your touch
which reaches my soul in a tender clutch.
The treble sounds reach out to you
as only I can give to you.
For my soul has always sung a song
and consoled my body as I moved along.
I can hear it wherever I go.
Can you hear my soul sing?
I will wish it so.
Listen my love so you can hear
the song that I am for you, my dear
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Bow and Strings
What heavy, dark delirium!
What dim and moonlit heights!
To touch the violin for years
And not to know the strings by light!
Who needs us now? And who lit up
Two hollow, melancholy faces...
And suddenly the bow felt
Someone take them up, unite them.
"How long it's been! Amidst this gloom
Just tell me this: are you still the same?"
The strings caressed the bow,
Rang out, caressed it slightly trembling.
"Is it not true, that we will never more
Be parted. It's enough..."
Yes, replied the violin,
But pain was throbbing in her heart.
The bow discerned it and grew mute,
The echo still continued in the violin...
What was a torture to them both
The people heard as music.
But the violinist didn't snuff
The candles out 'til dawn...The strings sang on...
The sun found them worn out
On the black velvet of their bed.
poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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The wintry alarm echoed
It's a winter morning in Portugal.
The Sun was faintly visible like moon in hibernation.
In the capital Lisbon I was standing in a queue for hours.
A girl with a Red Jacket who came to the halt hurriedly?
We smiled each other like old familiar friends.
I wanted to tell her that I appreciate her visiting.
I was sure that she insisted on my accompanying her.
The Tram came and she got in.
It's not my destination and I remained.
Before she leaves whispered something in Portuguese.
She must have told that I love you.
Later on I inquired the meaning from my cobbler friend who speaks little English?
Her dialect meant I am already married.
I wanted to tell her the other day when I meet her that I am also married.
Matrimony is a strong bond.
Isn't it?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Bow and the Strings
How dark and heavy’s the delirium’s embrace!
How they’re turbid under moon – the heights!
To have touched Violin for so many years
And not distinguish those Strings in light!
Who craves for us? Who, insolent, has set
In flames two faces, yellow and vexed,
And suddenly the saddened Bow felt
That someone took them and forever merged.
‘How long ago it was – as in a dream –
Tell me trough dark: are you the same one, else?’…
And Strings pressed close, caressing, to him,
Ringing and tossing in their fond caress.
‘Is that all true, that it’s enough, God blessed,
That we shall never ever part again?
And poor Violin replied him always ‘yes’,
Though its heart was sinking in sharp pain.
Bow fell silent, understanding, then,
But poor Violin still echoed its complaint,
And what seemed music to the most men,
To both of them was everlasting pain.
The man didn’t blow, till the night was gone,
The candles … And the Strings were singing, yet…
And they were found, drained of strength, by sun
On the black velvet of the sleepless bed.
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, January, 2001
poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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Love Sonnet 31 Red rose for my love, the best heaven owns,
Red rose for my love, the best heaven owns,
The fairest Earth could bloom beneath the skies,
As tucked upon her hair instead of crowns,
Bestows well what the lack of crowns denies;
That wisp of cloudiness above her head,
Heralds the sudden souring of the day,
Yet, does not damp the warmth her smiles have spread,
Though crickets chirp thinking that night would lay;
Her sighs could drown this soft cacophony,
As ear discerns better the whispered word,
Within my heart she plays a symphony,
And those who love must have known every chord;
….My love, timely toast of the morning dew,
….Quite enough reason why red roses grew.
.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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In The Pines
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
My love, my love, what have I done
To make you treat me so
You've caused me to weep, you've caused me to mourn
You've caused me to leave my home
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
The longest train I ever saw
Went down that Georgia Line
The engine passed at six o'clock
The caboose went by at nine
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
I asked my captain for the time of day
He said he throwed his watch away
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Father, With His Arthritic Hands
My father, with his arthritic hands
Closes his door, picks up the bow
Tucks the bit under his chin
Tunes it real low
My father can compete with the world's best bands
My father plays the violin.
His eyes are dim but the notes are clear
His hearing is faulty but we can hear
The songs that pour out from within
People outside stop to listen
When my father plays the violin.
He opens up another world
Far from stress and pain
I become a child again
As without a word
He picks up the bow, tunes it real low
My father plays the violin.
My father with his arthritic hands
Holds a magnifying glass to his eyes to read
He sits out there under the clear blue skies
Now that he can hardly walk
(Luckily my sisters are there when he needs to talk) .
And when its dusk and he enters within
Then with his arthritic hands
Father picks up his violin.
poem by Rani Turton
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The Guitar Player
He is just a child, a guitar player
and he hits the strings of his brown guitar quickly
in a lonely kind of song,
as if he is going into the world with it.
He plays for whoever is passing, for the night
where the birds and crickets are suddenly silent
when he picks at strings with a deep sweet kind of hurt
and his hurting music cuts through all things.
Sometimes he feels the cold, the winter wind
that wants to bring him back to reality
and he is being devoured by life
where the stars shine high above him
and he searches through pockets for a marijuana cigarette,
as the last pleasure that is left to him.
[Reference: Die speelman (The playing-man) by N.P. van Wyk Louw.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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