By The Fireside : The Singers
God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.
The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.
The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.
A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.
And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be;
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart,
But the great Master said, 'I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.
'These are the three great chords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony.'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Musical Sound Is Forever!
Music everybody loves in the world;
Birds are loved mainly for their music;
Animals and plants too love music!
I have seen plants growing by music;
I have seen snake dancing by music!
Nature, music and book occupy all;
Without them life will be a real bore;
Life interest depends on their influence!
I have seen people with ear phones
Enjoying music when walking or travelling!
Music is beautiful order of sound we hear,
Which is produced by musical instruments.
Sweet voice of singers with music is divine!
I have seen many listening to TV Music often;
I have seen all dancing by pop singers’ music!
Gentleman Jim Reeves moves many hearts;
Pop King Elvis Presley still entertains fans;
The Beatles move the hearts still to divinity;
Michael Jackson has created music history;
Ricky Martin has made president dance too!
Who is there not moved by music in the world?
Essence of Dharma is Lord’s Song, Bhagavad-Gita!
Spirituality is developed by Lord’s music in Nature;
Musical preaching of Lords have become holy books
That rules the heart, mind and soul of all in the world!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Music Extraordinaire, Mozart
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Who from his tender days, played with desire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
Sweet notes from his music he did impart
That captivated audience to admire
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Whose tones can set an emotion to start
With a charm to have their hearts raised on fire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
With pleasant pace from his great style of art
Is such that shows he was such a live wire,
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Whose harmony when heard is nice and smart
Can cheerfully raise hearts to go much higher
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
Joy occurs from such wonders that does chart
In tremendous ways that truly inspire.
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Grandma Sang A Special
Grandma sang a special in Montgomery
In the church where her youngest preached the word
He turned the tape recorder on and caught it
And still today, my Grandma can be heard
Grandma sang “I know who holds tomorrow”
And she sang it loud for everyone to hear
Today my Grandma’s singing it for Jesus
‘Cause he held a place for her in heaven’s choir
Grandma sang a special in Montgomery
And every time I hear that tape today
If I shut my eyes and listen to it closely
It seems like she is right here in this place
Grandma sang “I know who holds tomorrow”
And she sang it loud for everyone to hear
Today my Grandma’s singing it for Jesus
‘Cause he held a place for her in heaven’s choir
Grandma sings her specials now in heaven
And I’m sure that all who hear her say Amen!
I look forward to the day I’ll be in heaven
And, in person, I’ll hear Grandma sing again
Grandma sang “I know who holds tomorrow”
And I know he holds tomorrow for me too
One day he’ll come back and take me with him
‘Cause he held a place for me in heaven too
Grandma sang “I know who holds tomorrow”
And she sang it loud for everyone to hear
Today my Grandma’s singing it for Jesus
‘Cause he held a place for her in heaven’s choir
Copyright: C R Clark -9/13/08
poem by C.R. Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
25 (Thyagaraja) Musicians Admired the Saint
Musicians around the country
Heard the growing popularity
Of the great Saint Thyagaraja,
O’er his devotion to Lord Rama.
They all came one by one,
To the Tiruvaiyar Town
Heard his music, in turn,
Gave him their appreciation.
Gopinatha Bhattacharya from Kasi,
A musician famous in Hindustani,
He came all the way to meet
And hear the songs of the Saint.
Pleased with his request,
A song came out
From the Saint then
A pleasant melodious one.
(He sang in Raga Thodi
Dasaradhi Nee Runamu Theerpa Naa
Tharama Parama Pavana Nama)
“Oh the great Dasaradha’s son,
How can I repay your loan?
Oh Master of my listeners,
For whom my music shines.”
“To me, you only taught,
Both day and night,
All the songs, more divine,
For the pleasure of my fans.”
Thus, it was his humbleness,
That brought him greatness.
Besides the melody part
Of each song that came out.
A Saint who loved music,
Who lived always for music,
Whose very breath was music
Gave an eternal life to his music.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Music
Music, the sound of loud music just rocks my heart and soul. The feeling is so amazing because the life seems so fulfilled when good music is around. Bright and complete I become. Everything is so perfect when I hear a cool song. Music, it is music. Ultimate feeling can be recieved through loud and lovely music. Listen and feel the rhythm with your heart so that it can touch the soul. Music, loud music.
poem by Rohit Sapra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Music And Song
To song and to music people dance along
And life all the better for music and song
When the musicians play and the singers do sing
Great joy to so many they always do bring
Music and song belongs to all people not to any one race
And amongst every culture commands a high place
From the North to the South Pole from Brazil to France
To song and to music people inspired to dance
The gifts of the gods to humanity
Without song and music far worse off we would be
To every tune ever born there's a song to be sung
And music and song are for the old and the young
They were born as soul mates and as soul mates they remain
And for music and song let us hear it again.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Music Is Our Special Reserve
Think of a song without any tune,
It's like a forest without any birds,
Think of our Earth without the Moon,
Or a poem without any words.
We all know a song we love to hate,
Yet when heard it can still make us sing,
That's the power of music we just cannot wait,
To feel the joy those lyrics can bring.
We all have classics which forever remain,
As a memory which we'll never forget,
Is it lyrics or melody, the happiness or pain,
It can be joy or perhaps even regret.
The written word can and will cause you grief,
You will find some can also unnerve,
On the other hand song can bring such relief,
‘' Music Is Our Special Reserve ''
The sign of a song that will forever endure,
Is the way some can bring you to tears,
It can also bring joy with it's special allure,
Within it's music you feel you belong.
Those lyrics remain in our memories store,
The tunes we will never forget,
They'll remain in our hearts forever more,
When they're played our appetites are whet.
There are songs that make the whole world jive,
They're the ones that are special to us all,
They can wake you up make you feel more alive,
That's the magic of the musical stall.
Listen to the messages contained in a song,
They are wonderful things to preserve,
By enjoying your music good times you'll prolong,
‘' Music Is Our Special Reserve ‘'
Music can and will have a positive effect
It allows feelings to come shining through,
Those lyrics will give you the time to reflect.
Make you aware of what music can do,
We all want to leave a legacy of hope,
So words written that come from the soul,
Can allow us to heal and help us to cope,
They can once again make someone whole.
To the writers and singers whose music we love,
For each message that your song imparts,
Shows us your talents are a gift from above,
We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
So lets all salute them and give them our praise,
It's a tribute which they truly deserve,
We thank you for your music as our glasses we raise,
‘' Music Is Our Special Reserve ‘'
The Poet And The Children
LONGFELLOW.
WITH a glory of winter sunshine
Over his locks of gray,
In the old historic mansion
He sat on his last birthday;
With his books and his pleasant pictures,
And his household and his kin,
While a sound as of myriads singing
From far and near stole in.
It came from his own fair city,
From the prairie's boundless plain,
From the Golden Gate of sunset,
And the cedarn woods of Maine.
And his heart grew warm within him,
And his moistening eyes grew dim,
For he knew that his country's children
Were singing the songs of him,
The lays of his life's glad morning,
The psalms of his evening time,
Whose echoes shall float forever
On the winds of every clime.
All their beautiful consolations,
Sent forth like birds of cheer,
Came flocking back to his windows,
And sang in the Poet's ear.
Grateful, but solemn and tender,
The music rose and fell
With a joy akin to sadness
And a greeting like farewell.
With a sense of awe he listened
To the voices sweet and young;
The last of earth and the first of heaven
Seemed in the songs they sung.
And waiting a little longer
For the wonderful change to come,
He heard the Summoning Angel,
Who calls God's children home!
And to him in a holier welcome
Was the mystical meaning given
Of the words of the blessed Master
'Of such is the kingdom of heaven!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Organist
In his dim chapel day by day
The organist was wont to play,
And please himself with fluted reveries;
And all the spirit's joy and strife,
The longing of a tender life,
Took sound and form upon the ivory keys;
And though he seldom spoke a word,
The simple hearts that loved him heard
His glowing soul in these.
One day as he wrapped, a sound
Of feet stole near; he turned and found
A little maid that stood beside him there.
She started, and in shrinking-wise
Besought him with her liquid eyes
And little features, very sweet and spare.
'You love the music, child,' he said,
And laid his hand upon her head,
And smoothed her matted hair.
She answered, 'At the door one day
I sat and heard the organ play;
I did not dare to come inside for fear;
But yesterday, a little while,
I crept half up the empty aisle
And heard the music sounding sweet and clear;
To-day I thought you would not mind,
For, master dear, your face was kind,
And so I came up here.'
'You love the music then,' he said,
And still he stroked her golden head,
And followed out some winding reverie;
'And you are poor?' said he at last;
The maiden nodded, and he passed
His hand across his forehead dreamingly;
'And will you be my friend?' he spake,
'And on the organ learn to make
Grand music here with me?'
And all the little maiden's face
Was kindled with a grateful grace;
'Oh, master, teach me; I will slave for thee!'
She cried; and so the child grew dear
To him, and slowly year by year
He taught her all the organ's majesty;
And gave her from his slender store
Bread and warm clothing, that no more
Her cheeks were pinched to see.
And year by year the maiden grew
Taller and lovelier, and the hue
Deepened upon her tender cheeks untried.
Rounder, and queenlier, and more fair
Her form grew, and her golden hair
Fell yearly richer at the master's side.
In speech and bearing, form and face,
Sweeter and graver, grace by grace,
Her beauties multiplied.
And sometimes at his work a glow
Would touch him, and he murmured low
'How beautiful she is?' and bent his head;
And sometimes when the day went by
And brought no maiden he would sigh,
And lean and listen to her velvet tread;
And he would drop his hands and say,
'My music cometh not to-day;
Pray God she be not dead!'
So the sweet maiden filled his heart,
And with her growing grew his art,
For day by day more wondrously he played.
Such heavenly things the master wrought,
That in his happy dreams he thought,
The organ's self did love the gold-haired maid:
But she, the maiden, never guessed-
What prayers for her in hours of rest
The sombre organ prayed.
At last, one summer morning fair,
The maiden came with braided hair,
And took his hands, and held them eagerly.
'To-morrow is my wedding day;
Dear master, bless me that the way
Of life be smooth, not bitter unto me.'
He stirred not; but the light did go
Out of his shrunken cheeks, and oh!
His head hung heavily.
'You love him, then?' 'I love him well,'
She answered, and a numbness fell
Upon his eyes and all his heart that bled.
A glory, half a smile, abode
Within the maiden's eyes and glowed
Upon her parted lips. The master said,
'God bless and bless thee, little maid,
With peace and long delight,' and laid
His hands upon her head.
And she was gone; and all that day
The hours crept up and slipped away,
And he sat still, as moveless as a stone.
The night came down, with quiet stars,
And darkened him: in coloured bars
Along the shadowy aisle the moonlight shone.
And then the master woke and passed
His hands across the keys at last,
And made the organ moan.
The organ shook, the music wept;
For sometimes like a wail it crept
In broken moanings down the shadows drear;
And otherwhiles the sound did swell,
And like a sudden tempest fell
Through all the windows wonderful and clear.
The people gathered from the street,
And filled the chapel seat by seat-
They could not choose but hear.
And there they sat till dawning light,
Nor ever stirred to awe. 'To-night,
The master hath a noble mood,' they said.
But on a sudden ceased the sound:
Like ghosts the people gathered round,
And on the keys they found his fallen head.
The silent organ had received
The master's broken heart relieved,
And he was white and dead.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Fitz-Greene Halleck
I see the sons of genius rise
The nobles of our land,
And foremost in the gathering ranks
I see the poet-band.
That priesthood of the Beautiful
To whom alone 't is given
To lift our spirits from the dust,
Back to their native heaven.
But there is one among the throng
Not passed his manhood's prime,
The laurel-wreath upon his brow
Has greener grown with time;
And in his eye yet glows the light
Of the celestial fire,
But cast beside him on the earth
Is his neglected lyre.
The lyre whose high heroic notes
A thousand hearts have stirred
Lies mute---the skilful hand no more
Awakes one slumbering chord.
O poet, rouse thee from thy dreams!
Wake from the voiceless slumbers,
And once again give to the breeze
The music of thy numbers.
Sing! for our country claims her bards,
She listens for thy strains;
Sing! for upon our jarring earth
Too much of discord reigns.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
To a silent poet
I see the sons of Genius rise
The nobles of our land;
And foremost in the gathering ranks
I see the poet band.
That Priesthood of the beautiful,
To whom alone 'tis given
To lift our spirits from the dust,
Back to their native heaven.
But there is one amid the throng,
Not past his manhood's prime;
The laurel wreath upon his brow,
Has greener grown with time.
And in his eye yet glows the light
Of the celestial fire;
But cast beside him, on the earth,
Is his neglected lyre.
The lyre, whose high, heroic notes
A thousand hearts have stirred,
Lies mute, -- the skillful hand no more
Awakes one slumbering chord.
Oh poet! rouse thee from thy dreams!
Wake from thy voiceless slumbers!
And once again give to the breeze
The music of thy numbers.
Sing, for our country claims her bard,
She listens for thy strains;
Sing, for upon our jarring earth,
Too much of discord reigns.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Music In Our Hearts
Music in our bones music in our hearts
Music in the air singing from a lark,
Sailing ‘cross the river moon
Beethoven sends dreams of the sonatas swoon,
Chopin lulls the senses, for applause,
Snowdrops ring the dainty bells cause
Daffodils start their famous dance,
With a Strauss waltz wafting a lilting breeze of trance
Music in our bones music in our hearts
Music in the air singing from a lark.
Memories of a T S Elliot poem find
Greatness to flow from Andrew Lloyd’s mind.
To drowned us in dreams of falling leaves,
Then Mozart lifts our souls up to the eaves,
His magic his mighty requiem of love
His music to God of all rises far above.
Music in our bones music in our hearts,
Music in the air singing from a lark.
poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
O Black And Unknown Bards
O black and unknown bards of long ago,
How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
How, in your darkness, did you come to know
The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre?
Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?
Who first from out the still watch, lone and long,
Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise
Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?
Heart of what slave poured out such melody
As 'Steal away to Jesus'? On its strains
His spirit must have nightly floated free,
Though still about his hands he felt his chains.
Who heard great 'Jordan roll'? Whose starward eye
Saw chariot 'swing low'? And who was he
That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,
'Nobody knows de trouble I see'?
What merely living clod, what captive thing,
Could up toward God through all its darkness grope,
And find within its deadened heart to sing
These songs of sorrow, love and faith, and hope?
How did it catch that subtle undertone,
That note in music heard not with the ears?
How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown,
Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears.
Not that great German master in his dream
Of harmonies that thundered amongst the stars
At the creation, ever heard a theme
Nobler than 'Go down, Moses.' Mark its bars
How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir
The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung
Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were
That helped make history when Time was young.
There is a wide, wide wonder in it all,
That from degraded rest and servile toil
The fiery spirit of the seer should call
These simple children of the sun and soil.
O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed,
You - you alone, of all the long, long line
Of those who've sung untaught, unknown, unnamed,
Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.
You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings;
No chant of bloody war, no exulting pean
Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings
You touched in chord with music empyrean.
You sting far better than you knew; the songs
That for your listeners' hungry hearts sufficed
Still live, - but more than this to you belongs:
You sang a race from wood and stone to Christ.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Come Listen To The Music
I hear the music of the heavenly angels
Coming softly through the blue sky from above
Blending with the music from on the mountain tops
Bringing to all earth's people messages of love.
The song birds are singing to the angels' music
Telling us to hear the words of truth very clear,
"All of earth's people are more alike than different
And to help each other will leave no room for fear".
Come listen to the music of quiet gentle breezes
And music from wild flowers growing on the hill
Whispering softly to awaken our spirits
Saying, "Only listen and let your hearts be still,
So to hear the music from the living waters
That can bring abundance wherever there is need,
Can heal all broken hearts burdened with sorrow,
And can free the people caught by their fears and greed".
Listen to music from the world's throbbing heartbeat
Commanding its people to live in true harmony
By hearing the voices of heavenly angels
Singing love, joy, and peace can be our destiny.
Listen to the music in kind smiling faces
And the music of a child laughing gleefully
Both creating music with notes of "Just Caring".
Won't you please come listen to this music with me?
poem by Alice Lorraine Hill
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Accordance
He who with bold and skilful hand sweeps o'er
The organ-keys of some cathedral pile,
Flooding with music, vault, and nave, and aisle,
Though on his ear falls but a thunderous roar.
In the composer's lofty motive free,
Knows well that all that temple, vast and dim,
Thrills to its base with anthem, psalm, and hymn,
True to the changeless laws of harmony.
So he who on these clanging chords of life,
With firm, sweet touch plays the Great Master's score,
Of truth, and love, and duty, evermore,
Knows, too, that far beyond this roar and strife,
Though he may never hear, in the true time,
These notes must all accord in symphonies sublime.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Eroica, Eroica, Eroica
Beethoven Third Symphony
A Beethoven master piece
The First Movement
The music starts softly and sweet
Picks soon with full force
In charm awakening
With the orchestra in full display
Loud with majestic power
We are overwhelmed
No place to go
We are exhausted
He relieves us now
With soft melody that follows
He has master command
The music comes quick in flurry
with persistent repetition
We are whipped with emotions
The music comes back again and again
In fresh successive succession
Like a boy coming hurriedly in the field
The tunes comes back
Haunting us in familiar rhythm
It is over and over again
Filling and nourishing our soul
Some sound comes again
From far away
Like someone we knew
Calling us softly,
Gently and beautifully
Racing and touching our heart
The old familiar tune
Comes back and back again
Teasing us
With power
Hurriedly closing on us
The music casts some sadness
The familiar tune comes back
Full of charm
Second Movement
A faint sad sound
So sad
Like funeral procession
The same tune comes back
dressed in sadness
So sad
Revival the music comes strong
Third Movement
The old tune revives back
In full force with energy
With tunes of warning and destiny
Some sadness tunes
Goes deep in our hearts
Crushing us
Dwelling in us again
Mercy
Is there hope?
Fourth Movement
The movement with so elegance
In a while
So Happy tune finally appears
A relieve
The tune comes back again
In happy setting
It is getting louder
And majestic
A new tune
Taking us by surprise
The tune dominating all
We are taken to the wilderness in
Now where we go
We need guidance
The familiar tune comes back
Nibbling music
The music has died out
The faint tune in the back ground
Oh revived
a hurried tune
it comes back
all in force, strong
oh the main theme
bringing joy
the music instruments
bring announcement
talking to us
in language
we do not understand
then it is all beginning
same thing
all again
all again
to a loved tune
strange change of music
curious steps
like a sleuth
and echoing drum beats
as the end nears
very joyful music comes along
to wipe the stress
of past harsh suspense tunes
the music crashing
the trumpets are loud
the old tune comes teasing us
like flute in prairie
Mysterious tune
Like the awakening of the morning
So melodious and deep
Going fast like streaming river
And there is
The calmness of early morning
What we expect
Leaving us in expectation
The orchestra in full force
The repercussion instruments
In control
The French horn
Angry music comes in warning
A new tune born tune
Sad melody
Music comes like small wavelets in the ocean
The old tempo
Comes back in hurry and energetic
Like celebration
Like walking in the woods
Beautiful soft tune
It is all over
The symphony in all power
And fury in closing
Eorica, Eorica, Eorica
poem by Sherif Monem
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Epitaph for MJ
The world has lost a king.
Music is in chaos; it bewails his loss,
The one whose life was music.
All danced to his tune;
Now he lies low,
6 feet down,
Waiting for His Grace.
We pray for him,
The one whose music was prayer,
'Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me
And the entire human race'.
Let us pray in unison for this great soul
Whose food was music
And music alone...
'If music be the food of love, play on....'
No music reigned above him,
But it sprang from his soul,
Whose spirit was music.
The charm of music lies within,
And from therein comes his voice.
He reigned like a fresh bloom
In the garden of music.
But now...
He’s gone from earth,
But not from our hearts...
He stays behind,
For coming generations...
There’s no end for MJ...
poem by Hajara Abdul Khader
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!