Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
kiara Feb 22
The echoes of the beat
And the warmth of the rhythm.
I miss the way the melodic sounds touched my being with every gut wrenching word.
I wish I could go back
to when my heart craved the lyrics of the poet
and
my eyes bled with their misery;
when my lips would choke in sync
to every chord and every painstakingly high note.
I miss the time when my mind would go to sleep and allow my body to rest as the power of the artist lulled me into slumber.  
But like every natural thing on earth,
my brain no longer desired the music as much as my heart did.
And I,
could no longer enjoy
the solace I had found
in a song.
Ballads R-U the
nourishment
Like the Bella baby
greens
Tossing your salad like
The artwork deviant
Like the myriad

The musical chairs
Messages unique piece
Playing the brain organs
The new road of legions
Cerebellum moving
Perky pinks the possum
We move into a certain era

Intense Opera breathing, pacing, dreaming

More feeding the balance of love needing
Musical digestion
Heart rate inside
your movement shows
affection
All themes like soap operas
The nervous system musical brain
Gets damaged like the Asylum

So emotional heartbeat got more
rhythm
Your hums needing tums
The Lifes crises
But not feeling
accountable the brains works
Every function ballads of love
Inside your heart diction
Like the ballad-making
Your best transformation
Orchestrated hands to lead

The musical brain
Love letters arrive on the train
So tranquil love
physical  momentarily
Has a certain quality
like the ballad of love
mutiny

We find in life its a long sip
The brain wave long neck
          Giraffe hot cafe

We feel everyone's tragedy
Living so high
in the (Castle) the step up
Not giving up the highness the
majesty the brain depressed
But such a parody foods for
the soul no control eating binge

You want to dodge out
But you're the musical genius
Magical brain fast and furious
Is tricky to remember you have
         The talent
         To be Lucky*
Fill it with love and gravity
He's the laughing stock
of the comics

Like the simple life
He's the built-in love
a ballad with such structure
The popular form of poetry
Musical notes a blend
of symmetry
Chariots of fire the key to love

Whats truly above all we need is love
He takes your breath away
Reading into the
       "Britannica"
Archie comics and Veronica
Historical moments Cleopatra
The ballads of culture
Songs we remember
I love September the day I was born
Ballads and songs

"My Girl"
"Stop Look Listen to your heart"
"Love is all around"
You came to the right place
Peace and love, please
stick around we love you
Ballads of important dates and places to remember like the day you are born the musical brain I would love to go back one time to memory lane
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

**** sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
you stick your head out of the window to look at the stars.
star gazing.
star tripping.
come down from space !
get your head out of the cosmic cloud you claim is "love" (!!!)
do you not understand ?
you’ve become a black hole devouring me like i am easily replaced.
you crave the attention of other planets,
never satisfied with my atmosphere.
but i would give you the entire solar system if i could.
you wouldn’t take it from me.
you would take it from HIM.
you stick your head out of the window to look at the stars.
i never knew the stars had their own agenda in mind.
i never knew the stars could be so selfish.
Q Jan 2017
Candy-sweet ballads
****** heartache arias
Undying
soulmate
anthems

Everywhere I go
The soundtrack never changes
But no one else
seems
to notice

Red-rose shades of white noise
Heart-shaped confetti stuck in my ears
Jangling
omnipresent
sound waves

The song everyone is singing
Grates against my inner drum
It's not
the kind
I'm looking for
Alicia Aug 2017
trembling, she buttoned up each catch to hide the melody burned into her skin

my ramona

set free too long ago
a song sent to be heard only in twilight

your face has new lines — none of which sing
these are straighter, without rhythm
you have been reconstructed into a sketch
a new art claims your body
a new artist claims your body

why do you let your canvas have such a possessive audience?

beauty leaks from your ballads
you are not a pen stroke

my ramona

a.m.
come be the song I hum at my most genuine moment of contentment
Rachel Rode Jun 2018
Nefarious shivers devouring aurora

Passion repeated itself faster than history

Now is not the time to be demure

Now is not the time to be modest

She sways like waves swimming under her lover's hands

Again and again she pulls me under

Again and again I drown

Love has nice hearts and breaks them all just to prove a point

She refuses to see herself for the murderer that she is

She is anarchy of the power for those in need

I prefer admiration

Pray at the altar of my body as I come undone

Make me forget what I once was

Make me forget whatever we could have been

All of my ballads are doused in agony

The edges of tempests meet and even the chorus melts

The way she looks at me is almost angelic
Jordan Rowan Jan 2017
Six strings fell from his fingers behind the Café Miel
He sang French ballads and smoked by the church bell
The gospel choir left and gave him a penny each
Each one a blessing towards redemption out of reach
The coffee-drinking couple kissed and passed him by
Both gave a look but neither looked him in the eye

He slept on rocks and was kept warm by the news
He dreamt of silk and of oceans painted blue
He begged for life and thought entirely of death
He gave his soul to love and music was his breath
He searched for purpose until the final day of rest
He was buried by the wind that carries his songs to the West
Let the Petrarchan bards
Paint you a sonnet
And the midnight quartet
Sketch you a couplet
As you sprout a smile
And let your silhouette
Supply neon colors
To their heart's palette.

Let your grace be
The abode for odes
And ballads be
Love's romantic codes
As you move your lip
And spill a word
And launch those
Poetic ships aboard.

Amidst those verses
Fretted on your grove
Amidst those rhymes
Feathered on your dove
Forget not my lady
Forget not my darling
My poem and my love.

Amidst the quatrains
Embroidered on your gown
Amidst the refrains
Sprinkled on your crown
Forget not my lady
Forget not my darling
This poet and his love.
mark Aug 2018
*** is one of the sillier of human behaviors
along with bowel movements
vomiting
and sometimes eating
trees are so  much more civilized
orderly mating
quietly courting
producing and sharing
their efforts with all around them

their singing, dancing ,and laughing
is choreographed
not a frenetic jazz interpretation
but ballads
sweetly put
no *** crimes
no need to dominate


I know we are not trees
but we are related
they're the branch of the family
that plays instruments
reads long novels
discreetly meeting their needs
without high heels
Leiser Poetry Feb 17
Music in the club was booming.
High energy rush,
makes you work up a sweat,
a very good beat,
will make you stamp your feet.
Oh DJ can you
play classic rock.
Some old school ballads,
guitar licks,
coupled with a little bit
of naughtiness.

Maybe play us some punk,
something loud!
something proud!                                                                              
Music I can pogo to
in a circle of friends.
A real head rush
raw energy that
makes you want
to shout!

Oh yeah music
is a real rush.
Its all in the beat man,                                                                    
repeat it's all in the beat
lets us stamp our feet.
I heard of a shamaness
who cures dogma
lays off documents
on the coast
of her ******,
swings her liberty torch!
and puts on a red cloth.
Her *******, like
speechless
fragile animals
Eyes like poison wells
across the
grand brows
and her smell wrapped
in a burnt sleep
for
ten thousand years.
She cures dogma!

I smoke too much
I dream of an explosion of the silver forests and
I want to fall as beautifully as the ballads tell,
I have held my breath and now I'm entering the coast of her ******...



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Next page