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Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Dancing the billow in the sea
the cool one will show up
deep down from the deep
with the flute on the lips.

Listening to the flute on play
chorus clouds bang out
floating by the river blue
down the sky they sing.

Ambling with the wonder light
the sun draws in
from the secret valley
as if the punter in the sky
knew it, knows the flutist
rose from down the sea!

There is no stop in the solar disc.
Twirling around the inner music
every orb, every planet is a bee.

The waning and waxing Moon
in silhouette and at half-light
swings over the sea.

It’s all start from the ground
it was from our sea waterfront
Him the sweetheart in the midst
floated the leading light the bumblebee.
All the stars bubble in the galaxy
they know this ancient story!

Since then the brightest bulb
the sun in the solar ring  
leads the bunch’s mindful
butterfly dance on the way home.
Following the never-ending music
of the pre-design command ‘qun’ be!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Above Reason
Daisy Marrow Sep 2013
The first time I saw you it was in math class.
I didn't notice anything about you at first I just memorized the back of how your head was.
After all, I had an hour to ****.
The second time I saw you were in English class.
You sat next to me but not by choice.
But I was happy about it.
It took me about four to five weeks to talk to you,
and I wasn't even the one to speak first.
You introduced yourself and then we worked together on an assignment.
It's been two weeks and I haven't said another word and I probably won't out of random.
My anxiety swallows me whole
and I'm sorry I can't even say hello.
But I have had time to notice you.
And let me just say
I'm in love with your taste in music
I'm in love with the way you hold your books
thinking that if you change the sound of your voice when the diagonal changes,
or if you struggle reading words you've never seen before and sit there for a few seconds trying to piece together what they mean.
I love how you can play the mandolin, you should show me sometime.
As I think about these things I also pick up how you would never even think of me.
I mean really,
you probably want some girl that's outgoing and can strum a guitar solo at midnight with you.
You probably want someone with long hair you can intertwine your fingers in,
or someone you can spend an afternoon together after church with.
I can't move mountains
and I can't even speak without looking like a fool,
but even if nothing will ever happen
It would be just as quite exciting being friends with you.
We could trade books and make each other mixtapes.
It hasn't even been a month yet and I'm already writing mediocre poetry about you.
I'm sorry about that by the way.
I'm not asking for a relationship but a friendship with someone like you would feel just the same.
I wrote this in like 20 minutes and I apologize I don't even know
2013
Stephen E Yocum Aug 2018
A steady cadence  
pulsing in a heart beat
like rhythm, voices
and strummed instruments
all in harmonized concert,
An orchestral multitude,
of frogs and crickets,
never tiring or ceasing,

How many must there be,
to render such a cacophony?
Sustained and loud enough
to keep a city folk awake.

Nature's Music of the night,
should you but choose to listen.
How do they do that, all night
with absolutely no intermission?

A crescendo finale triggered
only by the coming dawn's
first light, and the boastful
crowing calls of our cocky
persistent red rooster chicken.

Where these musicians go in
daylight is anybody's guess.
To sleep I suspect, deserved
resting up for yet another
night of music.
Another value added feature
of living out in the country. Night
voices lulling me to sleep outside
my open window/screen.
Äŧül Feb 2016
Their voice so harmonious,
Silent when no strings attached,
All the curves so very ****,
Smooth is their texture,
Admiring their beauty with fingers,
You seat them on your lap,
Putting their arms around your shoulder.

Tickle them hard to make them peck,
They touch your heart with their sound,
Nibbling your ears in between,
The motion generates friction,
Friction generates heat,
So icy sweet is her music,
All over, you script success.

I talk of my guitar here.
I have 3 guitars.

My HP Poem #1022
©Atul Kaushal
D Awanis Oct 2016
I remember they once told me that
music is the best time capsule

It's where people keep their secrets and feelings;
of their insecurities, their mistakes, their sadness, their first cut,
and even the wounds and bruises that invisible to the eye

It's where people let their wildest dreams alive;
of the one they can never reach, the one that will never come back, the one that got away without proper farewell

It's where people store their most sacred memories;
of their first kisses, their first love, their first dance, their first bucket of roses, their first heartbreaks

So they were right after all,

Music is dangerous, yet addicting; it can either tear you apart or put the pieces back altogether, it depends on what kind of ghosts living inside the interlude

Thus, be careful who you listen the music with
some melody is louder than the others
Today I played the music box you gave me on my seventeenth birthday. How odd it is to realize that music sometimes can be a time machine, how every strings and clinks bring me back to you—towards you
Sad Boy Jul 2018
I hope I don’t see anyone I know
I need to be high to enjoy the show
It’s wearing off can we please go?
Come back to my place we’ll snort some blow
Inspired by EP
Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
From Alan Lomax to the commercial music machine.

At the turn of the century when recording 1st became available to the masses “Music or recording a song” was an opportunity for common folk to reach out and tell the world something up front and personal, it meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement an epitaph a form of audio immortality ~ life mood emotion captured and bottled for all eternity!
A great addition to the family "Album" something more tangible; a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a real point of view!” a legacy, a blast from the past!

Few people expected music to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged covered and played over and over again by musicians in the form of "cover music"  or become secularized, ****** and constrained by a musical genre.

Labeling and streamlining music mostly benefits the commercial music industry! This multi-billion pound industry has made commercial success through the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound & synthetic culture  to sell their product!

And so what was originally intended as a historical record, a personal message, or an immortality motivated art form, is now sold as a product containing  noise and yet more advertising, pertaining to genre nonsense, labeling and re-marketing, so much so that there is now more nonsense immortalised "Just fashion noise" than anything else.

To re-cap ~ I Think that songs are an audible form of expressionism and like story telling they convey moods and messages from the past! If singers and musicians create more than they copy then they are saying more whilst not devaluing the words of their predecessors!
From Alan Lomax to the commercial music machine.
A culture of cover singers, blinkered snobbery and the hermetic music industry !
Alex McQuate May 2018
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
Debbie Brindley Jul 2018
Your hands and fingers
so very strong
Yet filled with tenderness
as you strummed my song
Such a wonderful guitarist
I loved watching you play
As the melody you played
carried you away
To a place so peaceful
it was beautiful to see
As you strummed the piece of music you'd written for me
Missing you. Missing you play
Tommy Randell Sep 2017
I've caught the virus,
the virus of You
Your DNA has become mine too
And like viruses do
Through all of history
I've become a carrier
Of your elegant mystery

My symptoms are smiling
And being distracted
A little naïve and overly romantic
The world knows I've got you
And I'm contagious
In every poem I breathe
Over hundreds of pages ...

It was a one time thing
In a room of silence
A point in time that is now time-less
A nervous smile
A single tap of your foot
Being there as you played
Was all it took.
Sally G** is an immensely talented Flute Player from Sheffield, England. Falling in love with her was as simple as this poem suggests and as long lasting - I was in a pub over 25 years ago participating in a Trad Irish tunes session ... and she played.
Debbie Brindley Jun 2018
Immerse me in your music
Let your melody
dance upon my skin
Surround me
in the notes you play
seducing me from within
Let the music take over
My body starts to sway
Emotion flows from your guitar
It's rhythm taking me away
On a journey
to where there is nothing
but your music surrounding me
Encasing my body
in the beauty of its melody
My husband was a fabulous guitarist. I miss hearing him play
AKIKO May 2017
Musika'y karamay
Musika'y Kaibigan
Musikay may saya sa kabila
Ng kalungkutan

Tinagpian ng musika
Ang puso kong nawasak
Sa pag-ibig nga'y nabigo
Puso ay nasaktan
Musika'y may lihim
May Luna's din palang taglay

Salamat sa iyo
Gumawa ka ng kanta
Salamat sayo at Salamat sa musika
Sa tuwina'y may karamay
Sa lahat ng oras
Sa bawat sandali
At kahit saan pa
Salamat sa musika heto na ako
At  nakapag
    MOVEON NA
Follow me >Akiko
and leave a comment
Knit Personality Jul 2018
Like Paganini, long before,
     Who knew the very Devil well,
And made a deal in days of yore
     To play his wiry strings like ****,
     So Robert Johnson set a spell
The Devil with, where cross two roads,
     And learnt the blues incredible
In different keys and varied modes.

Like Niccolo and many more
     Who made a deal their soul to sell,
So Robert Johnson would ignore
     The rumor spread from tell to tell:
     The bluesman, he would only dwell
Within the bluesman's bluesy notes,
     Where he would holler, shout, and yell,
And sing the blues in varied modes.

So Robert Johnson, true to lore,
     Unto the Devil's tempting fell,
And he an oath, for certain, swore,
     An oath right diabolical,
     Which thenceforth did him thus compel
To fill his blues with hidden codes,
     And play the blues like ringing a bell
In different keys and varied modes.

                    ENVOY

     Ubiquitously audible,
The Devil sings himself his odes:
     The world, it hears and thinks it swell
To hear the blues in all its modes.  

O.O
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
The music was spilling out of us
The Guinness was going in
Terry’s octave mandolin
Was riding out in front of him

Like a boat tethered in a tidal surge
Like a young colt backing off the rein
And for each unexamined wreck of a song
He’d let out a little more sail

We were flying

Upstairs in The Taffes Inn
Was an oven of chords
Songs about the famine and
Ireland’s tragedy of wars

And I answered
With an ash-pit tongue of a poem
Showing our Yorkshire wounds
Made by London’s bonds

We were crying

Telling of Fishing, mining and grief
That having no say was having no meat
Coming stumbling and shaking to our common regard
To a Dublin breakfast, a mixed grill of the heart

Where we agreed to our passions
And our histories’ concepts
Where we sat and said nothing when saying nothing was best
That one sausage alone is a very deep subject

We were frying.
One sausage etc is a quote from Ciaran Carson's book on Irish Music and culture 'Last Night's Fun' - A must must read!
Cress Rosario Dec 2016
She loves to sing when no one can hear
She sings, “Hello!” to the sunshine
She lights up the stars of night sky

She sings when garden blooms
She hums when sorrow looms
She sings her pain away
She sings her love today
Jeff Gaines Mar 2018
Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback. I will be building my Author page tonight (12/21/2018) and my website finished first thing Monday!

  By Christmas, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!
Big, Biggest Love,
        Jeff Gaines
A rather silly little ditty. It's pretty self-explanatory. It may be a draft. Not sure yet. So, if you come back and find some bit changed, then it was ... if not ... then it wasn't!

And please, PLEASE don't come at me in defense of Hip-Hop. My opinions about that current state of affairs are absolute. I have toured with SNAP!, Wu Tang Clan, **** and Red, Onyx, Bone-Thugs & Harmony and have worked with EVERY Hip Hop artist you could EVER name as a Lighting Director.

As for Street cred, I LIVED at Park and Broadway Brooklyn for almost 8 years, right across Park Ave. from The Sumner Houses projects in Bed-Stuy.

So, don't DREAM of challenging me about "what I know" about Hip Hop or having street cred. To polish all that, I was a nightclub DJ for 20 years. Chances are, I was spinning "White Lines" in a late night bottle club or roller skating to "Rappers Delight" BEFORE your parents even MET!

I DO love much of the current stuff ...

BUT ...

SO, SO much of it is complete and utter GARBAGE. The violence and misogyny that it glorifies is so far beyond belligerent, ignorant AND pathetic.

Your words will fall on Def Ears ...
(PUN INTENDED)
September Rose Oct 2018
I need you to know
That life keeps flowing
People miss the big picture
So caught up in tomorrow, they cant see how much it wont matter in a week
In fact by then, they'll have a new tomorrow to worry about

I need you to know that our hearts beat like cellos and our blood runs like ink
That no one has ever had to listen
That the world is still new and there is still so much to change
That the sky still waits for exploration
And so do the deep seas

I need you to know
That people are kind, or they want to be
And bigotry is only a product of parents who are a product of theirs.
And that people who change for the better are reaching themselves
And those for the worse are losing themselves
Because people can change their habits
But not themselves

I need you to know
That we all die
And life is like a solemn orchestra
Serenading you to loss
But never forget that beyond what the music brings
It truly is beautiful

I need you to know
It all deserves the world, every last detail
And that Nocturne No.2 will get you through anything
And that it's all about outlook

As we depart
I need you to know
That ink runs like blood
And cellos beat like our heart
And people are kind
And the world is an adventure
And emotians are art
And art is emotions

Above all
I need you to know
Embrace the world with open arms
And you will be everything you contend to be
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
Night filled glittering skies
Cloud bright trimmed in lines
Sloe-eyed music pops and fades
Drones straight edged across the lies
Drugged up players in a lit up world
Smooth cries fill the ears of hardhearted rituals
Flashbulb strobes beat the pace
Fist raised groups of hazed out praise
Rushed up feints in the days of the lost
Last light shines as sloe-eyed music pops and fades

cc2011
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