Are they known for their feats?
When old songs of my teen age era played
My nostalgia brought me the taste.
Who wrote, who tuned and who sang, I don’t know.
They might think that they would live by their feats.
27.10.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My love must be alive
I have brought songs for sale,
Songs I wrote of you
And of my love for you.
Today they shall be auctioned.
Paucity hasn’t reduced them
To sheer commodities;
My death knell has done.
Yes, they must be sold
To be kept safe after I die.
15.03.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Sang the Songs...
She sang the songs... he wrote the words;
sweet words of love, in perfect time
to her style... soft words of love;
the lyrics to her Country songs
of love and heartbreak, hope and sadness;
life spread out in flawless rhyme,
but they were really hopes, and dreams
of his...
he knew this, all along.
She wrote songs as well; and, when he read them...
his heart missed a beat;
Beneath the stave, below the notes...
her lyrics, in her childlike hand;
soft words of love, he longed to hear
her say to him...
all whispered, sweet;
now, here they were, before his eyes...
but, accident...
or gently planned?
Were they whispers of her heart...
or just composed from out her head?
he had no way of knowing,
but... in either case, her words were sweet;
a silky glide across the page...
a wistful ballad... hearts that bled;
he sadly smiled, yes... his heart bled as well,
but,
to a different beat.
She sang the songs... he wrote the words,
words from his heart... soft, yet intense;
Perhaps, one day, she'd see
they were for her...
and, not her audience.
poem by Dream Weaver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My songs reflected a lot the provincial world of a girl, living in Siena, with all its inside histories. I wrote songs and music they always told about psychological problems and I sang to the people that what I discovered. The results were songs of an endless sadness.
quote by Gianna Nannini
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Our Songs
We associate songs with memories
of when we first heard it played.
The song someone sang
on the day we met
becomes one of our beloved tunes.
Whenever we hear it play
our memories come flooding back
to remind us of that special day.
Some songs hold a touch of sadness
and bring tears whenever they are played
as memories of a loss spring to mind.
These are our songs
we attach to our memories
and will remain forever with us
for whenever we hear them play.
poem by David Harris
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This Poem is Dedicated to Karen Carpenter....Nightengale of Our Times
She was an icon in her own time
She sang like a nightingale
With the sweetest of sounds
As it cascaded through the air
Her voice was more than anyone could say
She made you cry and laugh
As she sang her songs of old
The tunes and the melodies
That made me sing and dance
From one end of the house
To the other, singing, dancing
She inspired me to dance
She inspired me to sing
And her brother that wrote
The songs she sang
Inspired me to write
The rhymes and words
That I love so well
They worked as a team
They grew from strength to strength
And inspired so many to aspire
To be just like them
poem by Kaila George
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Our Fathers Gave Us Celtic
Our ancestors came from Ireland
Who brought their pride and their faith,
They gathered as one at Celtic park
To express their cultural identity.
Our father’s gave us Celtic
And the songs we sing today,
Our Irish heritage we celebrate
When watching the Bhoys in green play.
The Celtic jersey was worn by icons
Who played with heart and soul,
Diehards for the Celtic cause,
Entertainers, who brought us goals.
We stood through miserable Scottish weather
Suffering the defeat of a Rangers game,
But our spirits stayed strong as we chanted loud
In praise of Celtic’s name.
But it is football, faith and passion
To Parkhead we make our way,
As we sit were our father’s once stood
To see football played the Glasgow Celtic way.
Feb’22nd 2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I sang and wrote songs when I was 12 years old.
quote by Mose Allison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nostalgia
Impressions made in the teen age
Are not erasable till the end
And recyclable with much flair.
Nostalgia bathes one's ego.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I always sang standards because the songs I wrote for myself weren't as easy to sing.
quote by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad Of Annie Goodbody
Well I took annie out
To see a show
But the music that played
Was too slow
And I knew
If I was going to make any ground
Id have to get some place
Where the music was loud
I said okay babe what do you wanna do
We can cut on out
If you want to
She looked at me and said
just what this place needs
Is some good ol rock and roll
Right from the seeds
Stand in front
Cause she climbed on the stage
And when she opened her mouth
She could really rave
She sang like a bird
And moved like a snake
Suddenly the hall began to shake
Well her body started rocking
On the dance floor
Moving and a shaking
And wanting more
She nearly brought the roof down
With all the rock and roll
Her body started shaking
With the songs that she sang
Even big lucy and her female gang
Her music was loud
Things were getting hot
Whatever it is
Annies sure got
Oooh every body started shakin
With the songs that she sang
Even big lucy and her female gang
The music was loud
Things were getting hot
Whatever it was
Annies sure got
Yeah yeah annie goodbody
I love you
Yes I do
You know I love you
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't see myself as the boss. I sing and write the songs, and it would feel strange if somebody else wrote the lyrics I sang.
quote by Gavin Rossdale
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Number Three
Theres only two songs in me and I just wrote the third
Dont know where I got the inspiration or how I wrote the words
Spent my whole life just digging up my musics shallow grave
For the two songs in me and the third one I just made
A rich man once told me
Hey lifes a funny thing
A poor man once told me
That he cant afford to speak
Now Im in the middle like a bird without a beak cause
Theres just two songs in me and I just wrote the third
Dont know where I got the inspiration or how I wrote the words
Spent my whole life just digging up my musics shallow grave
For the two songs in me and the third one I just made
So I went to the president
And I asked old whats-his-name
Has he ever gotten writers block
Or something like the same
He just started talking
Like he was on tv
If theres just two songs in ya, boy
Whaddaya want from me?
So I bought myself some denim pants
And a silver guitar
But I politely told the ladies
Youll still have to call me sir
Because I have to keep my self-respect
Ill never be a star
Since theres just two songs in me
And this is number three
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We started out when I was 6 years old. We played ukuleles and sang Everly Brothers songs.
quote by Edgar Winter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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TEEN SPIRIT (for Kurt Cobain)
A bleeding hole
A breeding horse
A junkie shot
A guitar chord
A life of god
A life of geek
You had it all
The songs you sang
I love 'em in full
They helped a lot
When I was up the wall
Teen spirit will last
After we're dead and gone
The final blow might lead
To a new head start
poem by Aram Stefanian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I wanted to play rock and roll when I started playing. Nobody at that time ever thought about songwriting. You sang songs, that's all. You sang other people's songs. That's all there were.
quote by Bruce Cockburn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back then
I don't want to work nine to five,
Just to end up barely alive,
I would rather sharpen a sword,
So to win myself a gold-hoard,
I don't want a means to an end,
I want to live solely to live,
To live like they did way back when,
Life surely was much simpler then,
I don't want to use wit and style,
Without going the extra mile,
I want to use chivalrous feats,
To tempt Madame beneath the sheets,
I don't want chess played as eyes meet,
I want love that's won through peril,
Women as women, men as men,
An age that's not to come again.
poem by Christian Lacdael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Then?
His chosen comrades thought at school
He must grow a famous man;
He thought the same and lived by rule,
All his twenties crammed with toil;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?'
Everything he wrote was read,
After certain years he won
Sufficient money for his need,
Friends that have been friends indeed;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?'
All his happier dreams came true –
A small old house, wife, daughter, son,
Grounds where plum and cabbage grew,
Poets and Wits about him drew;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?'
'The work is done,' grown old he thought,
'According to my boyish plan;
Let the fools rage, I swerved in naught,
Something to perfection brought;'
But louder sang that ghost, 'What then?'
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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My grandmother passed at 104. She sang and wrote songs until she passed.
quote by Rita Coolidge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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