Melody
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The sea is inspirational melo-
dy, my stomach beats of its penmanship.
Biological immortality,
extravehicular activity,
This might be hard to understand
Hard to comprehend
Hard to accept that I’m not broken
That the torture did nothing to sway me
I am not your love poem
I am not your forgotten book
sing your soft song,
flow your voice through my ears.
sweet siren, drag me along,
your melody linger in my tears.
She calls to me
Her sweet melody
Sweeping through the aisles
I hear her song
Ringing in my ears
Her voice so angelic
She calls to me
As she belts her tune
And I am on the edge of my seat
Perhaps she lives
In our dreams alone,
She whose face is
Illumined
By the rays
Of the sun,
While the dansette plays
Some romantic melody,
O how I love
The one
Love on the blue Baltic Sea
The love I call
Baltic melody,
Love, there’s a love
That’s hard to seize,
Love carried by the summer breeze,
Love on the blue Baltic Sea
Young teen in the streets, looking for love on empty.
Mother's love wasn't enough so she had to leave.
Then she met you, bright eyed beauty.
Never knew she was special
Late night convos, a late night session
“If you can speak you can sing,And if you can walk you can dance,”She used to say.We all would laugh behindOur handsAnd raise our eyebrows, neverBelieving, because we wereToo clumsy,Too busy,
a melody strung
upon a page,
many don't understand.
what they see
strange symbols
latin words
The songs we survive on, drive on, and live for.
What is this love that embraces our core?
This love, that make us reckless and weak.
In the same breath makes us hopeless and meek.
Windows down
Engine's going
Music drowns the sounds of the roadside roaring
Leaving town
Songs are flowing
Music drowns the sounds of those left snoring
Melodic cloud
Alive and soaring
A melody played on the wind
Tangles itself amongst the smoke
Air crisp with cedar pine
Still cold while the sun has broke
A gentle lull of a new day
Rousing all from slumbers full
On midday, after school,
a boy picked up a beautiful guitar the color of sunset;
He tuned it and proceeded it play it,
to play the music of his life, the sounds of his soul,
he relieved all his stress.
Sweet bird, write music.
Listen to your heart.
Listen to
the mellow beats of music.
Listen to
every note as the
pianist plays.
Listen to
the rhythm of guitar strings
Listen to her,
as she plays that melody that I once knew.
That song that I thought was my saving grace,
twisted now to a devils song.
I want it to end,
yet how could it stop,
when for so long
What would this life be without you?
Without your sweet melodies
And your soft symphonies?
What would I turn to
When I can’t focus
Or when I am feeling discouraged?
With delicate fingers
An ancient song is woven from the soils of melancholy and ambition
Notes articulated each to their own
Black ink expressed with charisma on the white parchment
She plays a love song to the waves
as they gently kiss the sand;
She plays a waltz to the palm trees
as they dance in unison;
She plays a lullaby to the setting sun
I want to live in a song
Where every rhythmic beat is a stairway to my soul
And every low key reverses time and I rise again
Living inside the enchanted heart
Where music smells as of the breeze of an ocean's shore
I hear it, my body takes over.My foot uncontrollably leads the way.The beat tapping on my attention like Morse code.
One eye
Stung by a bee
But with no eye working
You cannot see
Two eyes
As it´s meant to be
But two eyes means one man
And that´ll get lonely
Three eyes
Unusually
Through beams of wood, light reaches for silver souls afloat.
A single breeze, a reverberation from the other layer of time,
Air dancing to the melody of ghosts across skin,
Just brushing the nerves, barely greeting,
I lay in bed, caressed by my warm covers.
Staring out of the window; that is littered,
With translucent, tiny little bulbs of water.
I hear it. I hear it against my window.
Youth.
Innocent, playful, potential victim.
Seeing the real world first hand, scared.
Day by day revolvingLife moving forward by minutesOpportunity
Leaves die but renewWhen the student finds their tunePast no longer troubles
That melody, that melody, that haunts my wretched brain,It fills my dreams by night it, it follows thought by day.That melody, that melody, its source I think of in vainIt is ever with me, whether I sit or stand or lay.
In the song of life, all lyrics need a melody
You are both the lyric and melody
You are the lyric of my heart and of my soul
The beauty of the rose, speaks a lyric of love
Love, speaks a lyric of you
There's just somethin
Bout the beat of a drum,
An acoustic guitar,
The way a man strums
That touches my heart
And moves my feet,
Always making me
Feel the beat
The cowboy boots
The partridge swings happily in the tree,
For some reason it cannot see,
The death day is drawing near,
And the partridge doesn't show fear,
A cat awaits from afar,
Your words sound as sweet as the morning dew
and yet thy words play with my gentle heart
too innocent to unveil what flew through
thy humbling failures cast us apart
A small bird I am doth sing my tune
ARGUMENT. Baile and Aillinn were lovers, but Aengus, the
Master of Love, wishing them to he happy in his own land
among the dead, told to each a story of the other's death, so
that their hearts were broken and they died.
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory's wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,
(poems go here) DEAR fellow-artist, why so free
With every sort of company,
With every Jack and Jill?
Choose your companions from the best;
Who draws a bucket with the rest
Soon topples down the hill.
MY dear, my dear, I know
More than another
What makes your heart beat so;
Not even your own mother
Can know it as I know,
Who broke my heart for her
When the wild thought,
That she denies
A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.
THERE is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing
Because it was your prayer
Recovered him upon the bed of death.
(poems go here) 'O WORDS are lightly spoken,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows
Across the bitter sea.'
(poems go here) WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
Music, the icing on the cake,
Music, the jubilant fish in the lake.
The vibes of my heart,
The most colorful form of art.
My bright life and happiness so far,
Comes with the lid of the piano slightly ajar.
You are my muse and my melody
A song in my head, my harmony
I'm not Beethoven or Mozart
But when I write my heart talks
Melodic perfection winds through my ears
and finds my heart.
Authentic purity overcomes me
in the length of a cleansing sigh.
I am an extension of the music.
The World ending in Fire,
or perhaps in Ice,
Possibly Darkness,
Maybe Light.
The Fires of Passion.
Glaciers of Hatred.
The Fear of Darkness.
Light of Acceptance.
Would you sit with me again,
and pour your heart in song?
As I crawl and drag myself along,
You crawled too, shared my burden with me.
As our ears experience the melodies of violins
We can't help but surrender and fall into a beautiful trance.
The cellos flow in, adding to the mind-numbing lullaby.
The roar of the crowd rang in our ears
This is the night we have dreamed of for years
A measure of drums started our tune
The Growl of my guitar filled the room
Then came the lyrics
The thump of the bass
Often my body sings the song of life, trying to outlive death.
A breeze seems to take my body and guide me to the familiar ivory and wood,
My head commands my fingers to dance along the keys, they do as they should
When did it become so difficult to predict?
The next departure, the next movement, the harmony?
Why is it that we go on about letting society tell us what to do?
That one place
The very center of my heart,
My very being,
My soul.
It has led me to
New
Adventures.
New
Friends.
Lessons
Learned and forgotten.
And music.
Music
Life is a symphony, we are all instruments,
And time is the conductor of the orchestra.
We live inside our own concerto
With its strums, and its beats, and its drums,
Its crescendo
And the melody finally reaches my ears
Those which have been assaulted by lies
Configured fears.
And the notes
The lilts
The passion
Comfort, liven, hearten.
My guarded heart opens.
