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annh Jun 9
You were singing in the shower,
Very loudly,
Off-pitch,
Soap in your eyes,
Face scrunched up,
Blowing water like a bull whale,
Curtains flung to one side,
And I thought - *******, I love opera!

It’s the little things, right? :)
I met a girl in Winter
She said her name was Spring,
Eyes as green as meadows,
As sleek as any sapling.
She danced beneath the snowy trees,
She sang of warmth to come,
She wrapped me in her soft embrace
And played me like a drum.

In later months I lived a dream
My poems of Summer skies,
Sowing seeds and visions
Through pastures warm and fertile
To the song of Nature's blessing,
Hand in hand with Spring,
I quickened to the Jig of Life
In tune with every living thing.

Autumn brought me Riches & Death,
A virtual harvest for the Soul,
A duet of sky and forest soaring
To a breathless tremolo.
The Chorus, then, of the Year of Life
but doomed to die in cold and stone -
A ballet of the Heart on ice,
A Commedia dell'arte, a Mundane of Thrones ...
Inspired initially by a Poem of Don Bouchard 'I Met A Girl', a poet I admire very much. This poem however has other intentions ...

https://hellopoetry.com/don-bouchard/

Opera Cornique - Is a type of French opera wherein instead of singing, the lines are spoken. In its early form, it was satirical but would, later on, have serious storylines such as Carmen by Georges Bizet.
Anne J Feb 24
Her Imperious Canticle rewarded
From the butterflies of monarchy
Mermaid scales are her bouquet
A ombre is the debut
Crystal corals are the stars on her face
Below pink rings that scale a tune
Which the winged beauties will charm in too
An amazing debut for the see through
Of a dynasty that glows in the prism moon.
My first poem of 2019, based on this amazing artwork: https://www.instagram.com/p/BsvsTLbFt2o/
Please follow this artist, she is astounding. Also, I tried to make an unrhyming poem that instead focused on description...Free verse is the name of the genre, thx Flo for reminding me lol
Midge Jan 20
Deep down the theater is a mystery
Of the phantom who lives in misery
A loathsome creature, masked in shame
He lives in the shadows amidst glory and fame

He runs the opera, they must follow his order
Or else, a catastrophe will occur
Opera Ghost, forever shall haunt
Abide in you, I shall never flaunt

The world created an Angel of Hell
Taught him to **** and become cruel
But deep inside is a frightened child
Who yearns for beauty and all things mild

A troubled entity beneath all fright
The Phantom of the Opera, the Music of the Night.
ollie Jan 9
“You’re going to do great things”
She says to me
“I get that a lot”
“But I never really know how to respond”
And I don’t know why
You’d think after so many times I’d be able to formulate a response
I’m not used to it after so many times
So many adults with that same look
“You’re going to do great things”
And it’s not something everyone hears
There’s not a manual on how to react
Sometimes it hurts
Because I often feel like I can’t live up to those expectations
I am made of those expectations
And I wanna make it one day
I want to show them
That I am made of more than the same type of joke and the same ferocity towards grades
I’m willing to fight back
But maybe that’s not a great thing
Because that’s an incredible thing
The fight I’ve placed inside myself to keep going could be incredible
But they told me I’ll be great
Leading marches and showing kids just how fun being alive can be
I am so desperate for the next high that I would do anything for it
This world is full of highs to reach
And maybe great things are relevant
I try to be someone people admire
And pausing at railroad crossing signs isn’t how most people accomplish it
But I’m so adrenaline filled that sometimes the people in the trains wave back
Throw your energy into someone else
I wanna go home
To a sketchy town
Where no one ever looked at me like that
“I know you’re going to do great things”
My brain is on fire
Picking apart the way they try to look me in the eyes when they say it
I used to look back
And now I look above the head and beyond what is capable of being displayed physically
People stopped judging my performances when I was twelve
Because it got too much
“Sometimes I forget it’s you” she confessed
“You stare into my soul, I can’t explain it”
There is hurt here
That cannot be mended by fourteen year olds
Who are told all too often
That their expectations are going to climb so high that they’ll never come down
That was the high they’d been trying to reach
Mustapha Olokun Aug 2018
only voices,
and honoring cases
curing the sitting air.

violin in violets color.
shade's golden figure,
under the floral patterns.

and calm winds
that are flutes pipes
and thunders rumble.

earths quake.
damaging and denting
the dark places.

glory and glory,
glory.. and glory,
God is Almighty.

choir flourishes
on humble stand
and sings to a mystery

an ancient anthology
born before the earth,
consuming elements.

wooden craft bending
the airflow, of
pure swamps tune.
Mary-Eliz May 2018
Opera's something I can take or leave
some I don't really much like
perhaps were I multi-lingual
they'd be more apt my fancy to strike

some I don't really much like
if I knew just what they were saying
they'd be more apt my fancy to strike
I wouldn't mind going and paying

if I knew just what they were saying
opera would speak more to my soul
I wouldn't mind going and paying
its beauty I then would extol

opera would speak more to my soul
if the story I could unweave
its beauty I then would extol
And opera I could take, not leave
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