Leatitia perfecta
I met you at a restaurant,
you that create magic with words
Leatitia the poet,
still I knew you from the internet
where you paintings dazzle
Leatitia the painter,
maybe also almost
won your heart
with the few words that I write daily.
I heard your voice then
for the first time
and knew that you are able
to sing beautiful songs
while my heart was thrilled
and wondered what the gift was
that you were brining me.
The piano played in the background
and your slender fingers
on the table played along.
Still it was already defined
as things go
that you were beautiful and gorgeous to me,
Leatitia perfecta.
[Reference: Leatitia by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Music
Before I knew that I was blessed
When I was just like the rest of the people
Who never let dreams in their minds
Music would play and say
Maybe you're wastin' your time
Before I knew what good could be
When I couldn't see the need or the reason
For trusting in me or my star
Music would play and say
Hey, what a dummy you are!
And when I heard all the words about passion
Singin' to me about love of a fashion
That I never heard anywhere else
That's when I said,
"Gotta get some of that for myself"
And when I heard about hurtin' and healin'
Beautiful words about beautiful feelings
What lots of believin' could do
Beautiful music, I knew it just had to be true
You're beautiful
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Before I saw my life in lights
When I couldn't taste the nights I was missin'
I'd listen alone in my bed
And music would sing to me
Things no one else even said
And when I heard all the words about passion
Singin' to me about love of a fashion
That I never heard anywhere else
That's when I said,
"Gotta get some of that for myself"
And when I heard about hurtin' and healin'
Beautiful words about beautiful feelings
What lots of believin' could do
Beautiful music, I knew it just had to be true
You're beautiful
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
-acapo
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of The Voiceless
Born in the midst of pain
Raised in the depth of strain
I'm a dumb little man
my voice is not more that a blowing fan
I sing songs of anarchy and neglect
But my songs are the simplest to forget
I played a string for my vain
I performed in street insane
Every single day
I played a song my way
I have a sharp sweet little voice
But everyone sees it as disturbing noise
I'm a musician no i'm a poet
I've wrote and sing beautiful words I get
I often performed in a theater in my home
with masse of dirty cheering me alone
I tied my mega-phone to the leg of my audience
I held my gitter With a smile of glaring radiance
I performed for my fans with all my skill
They in turn glance with applaud for they do not feel
my songs is often seems pointless
For I sing with words that are voiceless
poem by Kemurl Fofanah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember When The Music
Remember when the music
Came from wooden boxes
Strung with silver wires
And as we sang
The words would set our hearts on fire
To believe in things
So wed sing
Remember when the music
Brought us all together
To stand inside the rain
And as wed join hands
Wed meet in the refrain
With dreams to live
And hope to give
Remember when the music
Was the best that wed dream of
For ours childrens time
And as wed worked wed sing
Cause we knew time
Was just a lie
A gift to say
A gift that future gave
Remember when the music
Was a rock we could cling to
So we would not despair
And as we sang wed knew
Wed hear an echo in the air
And if we werent smiling then
Wed smile again
And all the times I listened
And all the times I heard
And all the melodies Im missing
And all the magic words
All the beautiful words
All the beautiful voices
And all the choices we had theni hope you find you got
Those kind of choices once again
Remember when the music
Brought the night
Across the valley
And as we hum the melody
Wed be safe within the sound
So wed sleep
To awake with dreams
And promises to keep
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Upright Piano
For as long as I remember, when friday night came round
The family would gather out at grandpas house.
With supper over and the dishes done
It was then the best time came
At an old upright piano that only grandma played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
Grandpa was a stubborn man, they said it was his style.
Grandma called him ornery, but she said it with a smile.
Even he could not disguise the love he felt so strong;
We all could see it in his eyes when she played his favorite song.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
I was almost 17 when my grandma died;
I stayed all night with grandpa; the old man never cried.
He sat at her piano, there was nothing we could say
It was the first time in my life I ever heard my grandpa play.
It wasnt beautiful dreamer or my wild irish rose
It was a song he played from memory & he never missed a note
I sat right there beside him until the morning came
What a friend we have in jesus was the only song he played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And You Too Will Eat What We Are Eating
come now
i have praises for you
about what you have written
come join me
on this table
i am eating my words
that i have just vomitted
it is not fattening
it is indeed enriching
this vomit
this acceptance of
i have committed an error
i have not predicted the way things ought to happen
i have not looked at you well enough
come
join us and you too shall eat what we are eating
words and nothing but words
but you can make the difference
with your beautiful eyes
your beautiful soul
we will listen now
you must sing your most beautiful songs
as we eat our own words
as we swallow our own prides
as we accept what we are
in our uselessness
in our misery
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Bohemian Night Life
Sitting quietly at a table in a corner bar
With his pride tarnished and a heart broken,
His mind seems to be gone away very far
But he is ready to release his words unspoken...
Covered by cigarette smokes in the air,
While a piano is being played in the background,
He lifts up his face full of tears...
Starting to write words without sounds...
He asks for a soft drink to the barmaid,
And concentrated writing a new poem
He realizes that for his wound, there's no band-aid
Since his life has taken a new form...
Suddenly, a flower girl stops by
Asking him to buy some flower
He felt like a bird that can no longer fly
One with broken wings and no power...
That bird was really me, indeed!
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Gift Was Given To Me
THE TGIFT WAS GIVEN TO ME
The Gift was given to me
and new worlds within
could be found and made
again and again-
If I wanted the Stars in my words
They would play their Light for me-
If I wanted Darkness
Heavens and Hells have their loss in long songs-
I knew I could write and write
many imaginary and many real things-
But what did it all mean?
I was only one more soul
in a universe where God
has given many many words
amd many many gifts
many clearly greater than mine-
What are all my searchings and singings
for Beauty and Love and Goodness
If God does not need them?
I was given a gift
and it may be I am mocked for my gift-
So I write these words too in fear, in gratitude, in irony.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Farewell To The Poets And Poetesses Of Nature
Farewell to the poets and poetesses of Nature
Their beautiful rhymes are a gift of the heart
In literature they will always be remembered
For their promotion of Nature in which they played a huge part.
In their verses they captured some of the beauty of the Natural World
And their legacy in words is still with us today
In their poems one can visualize the wild birds singing
And in the warm Summer breeze get the sweet scent of hay.
Not all of them World famed or publicly acclaimed
Though a literary gem or two they created with us does remain
They played their own part in the promotion of Nature
And their likes perhaps we may not see again.
I love those old wordsmiths and their musical verses
They sung of the beauty around them they see
They had music in them their words so well written
With Nature they lived in complete harmony.
Farewell to the poets and poetesses of Nature
Their beautiful words do not have in them a use by date
To them we feel grateful for promoting Nature
And we thank them for the beauty that they did create.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Sing Your Heart
I would like to sing your heart
I would like to see you beautiful
You could watch me fly away
Into the rain which washes down
Cleanse the air we breathe
Feed the ground on which we walk
I would like to sing your heart
I would like to see you beautiful
Tell me if there’s anything I need
Guide me to the words I need to speak
The world is a frightening place
Together we need not be afraid
The is no need to label what we are
Or what we may someday be
I would like to sing your heart
I would like to see you beautiful
And come what tomorrow may bring
In the first rays of a new sun
I shall fly away from you
Into the day and the unknown
I shall return to you
To sing you heart so beautiful
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Music I Heard
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
—They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Restaurant fragments
That day we were in Burgundy’s
and somebody played the notes
of “Ballade pour Adeline”
on the piano
and it was peaceful in that restaurant
while a waiter brought the menu
and I ordered a bottle of white wine for you
and drank a glass of golden Hunters.
You were busy with your notebook
and were searching for a shopping list
as if suddenly it had disappeared
but everything was inter-textual
and our life played out in small happenings.
Much too quickly the time between us
was running out
so as if you already
had other greener pastures
and you were busy with the list
of things that we have to buy
and the quietness of the restaurant
came to lie in my heart.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song... To Baby Indiana, From Magic Tree
Magic tree make a wish for me,
make it make believe give him back to me magic tree.
You were the light inside of me,
then something made you leave,
before I could hold your hand,
and say hey please stay.
Magic tree make a wish for me,
make it make believe give him back to me magic tree.
No one can tell me,
that you were not meant to be.
just taken away by chance,
till in heaven we will dance;
like it was meant to be.
not by chance;
our souls will meet.
Magic tree make a wish for me,
make it make believe give him back to me magic tree.
*** This is as true as the love in this song: [please read]...
Indiana passed on September 17th.
When my mother came to attend her grandson's funeral, she brought a music box; a gift for Indy. We sat the beautiful carousel music box on the piano. No one had wound it; tears were shed, & in love it was placed by Indiana's photos.
The Christmas after, my mother came to stay & have x-mas dinner.
After we ate I sat at the piano to play this song, for my sweet child at Christmas. As I played, the music box started; it played until THE moment I had finished.
As awestruck as I was, I savored every moment. I cried, & played, & sung my heart out; knowing Indy was with us.
Love you darling*
poem by Meriki Raelene ParkinsonFraser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Madonna (new version)
I thanked the gods for you
and you were Madonna beautiful to me
as if something holy
radiated from your heart.
Your golden eyes
could look deep into my soul
and you could understand me
for who and what
I really am.
You could put your fingers
to strings and brushes
and the most beautiful words
could go out of your hands
and your sparkling voice
stays forever with me,
but Madonna,
you are gone.
Now I know that John Keats
and AG Visser
would have understood how it feels
when a princess
whom you tried to build a life with,
decides that she does not
like you, neverless love you
and I wonder
if there’s still a heart beating
Madonna, in your breast?
[References: La belle dame sans merci by John Keats, La belle dame sans merci by AG Visser, La belle dame sans merci by Gert Strydom and No red rose by Gert Strydom.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hope Always To Write
'hope always to write more
not to be a good poet'
the words of my friend
Hosny Soliman defined
my thoughts perfectly
to write just a little more
to gift just a little more
to give just a little more
with no thought wasted
upon desire to write
a good poem a great poem
Splitting image from the poem ‘We Sing Our Love In Life Worships’ by Terence George Craddock.
Dedicated to the painter poet Hosney Soliman.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Day the Piano Came
His fingers caressed the new, shiny keys, pulling out the strings
of Chopin melodies and chords that tugged at the heart.
We had never heard anything so beautiful as the gentle notes
that rolled into my ears, soft and warm. I shivered
in this warmth. It was too beautiful. This man
was a genius, bringing us this new and beautiful happiness.
That night, while everyone slept, I crept downstairs
and sat at the new piano. The smooth white glistened
under my curious fingertips. They itched to play.
This was a real piano.
I had never seen such an elegantly monstrous instrument,
and it was right here, in my house, under my fingers.
I was wrapped in bliss that night, and in the years
that followed, that silent piano brought me peace.
poem by Zoe Guillory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Without you
I write words in vain,
words of which the meaning
you do not comprehend
and how to press love
into a few words
I do not really know
and you are away
and we stay a hundred miles from each other
and it feels as if
it is in different worlds,
as if every thing with time looses meaning
and I play the songs that you sing over and over
as if I can hear something in your voice,
read your poems time and time again,
as if it can bring something of you back to me
while destiny flattens me
and you run
like water through my fingers
and without you
my life is without meaning
and it continues aimlessly
and I do not know
why things at times do not work out,
why I am fighting life’s struggle in vain
and I cannot get you
out of my heart,
and cannot fight against you being part of me
and my blood is pouring, as my heart is broken
and my life falls to pieces without you
and I hope that your plans are only prosperous.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fairytail Memory
Fire flies light up the night sky
beautiful figures dance all so gracefully
that song, that enchanting voice
those words kept me safe
the hugs kept me warm
someone wiped away tears
held me near, dear to their heart
those songs i hear, the songs they sing
can't describe it but the joy it brings
these are the things which live in my memories
these are the things that were once given to me
poem by Kelvin Owusu
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Objectified
All beautiful things meet their demise
Flowers in bloom surely will die
Frozen are the wings of the dead butterfly
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Clouds of gray spoil the light of the skies
The ocean must fall in order to rise
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
I knew I was doomed when you first said, “Hi.”
Two ships in the night, we were bound to collide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Four months can pass in the blink of an eye
We lose ourselves without having to try
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
The simplest words become hard to define
You can’t see the truth when you cover your eyes
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Your pay the price to take this ride
Slowly, you find that you’re living a lie
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Pictures of us will fade over time
We become strangers in a world so wide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
You’ll keep on searching for what you won’t find
You’ll lose your faith while I lose my mind
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Sometimes your morals get left behind
It will be too late when you realize
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
poem by Vaida Marea
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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