20 Lines A Day

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New Writing Prompt:- Listen, Pick and Write!

New writing prompt-

1. Listen to your favorite song.

2. Pick a phrase or two, a line or many lines, from the song.

3. Write a poem including those phrases/lines.

Here is mine-

Song:- Way back into love by Sabrina from the movie Music and Lyrics

Phrase/Line:- I know it is out there, there is gotta be something for my soul somewhere…

Something out there…

I find myself wandering around

with no aim or goal in mind,

with the knowledge that

there is something out there,

there is gotta be something

for my soul somewhere,

that would bring me

the faith I so desire,

that would set it alright.

I find myself hoping

that it is out there

for my soul somewhere.


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Until Next Time…………….

The Last Rose of Summer (SwittersB)

 

I saw this today, provided as a form of farewell tribute for a sweet woman, Marianne Matthews, that had just passed. Included was her rendition of The Last Rose of Summer, sung in 1954. I found it touching enough to share.

‘Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o’er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love’s shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone? 

Maggies Farm


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Song of autumn

The temperature is dropping,

Summer’s heat is gone,

The leaves are going golden

and winter won’t be long.

We’re pulling on our sweaters,

donning thick big coats,

and pulling out our tissues to

blow a drippy nose!

Don’t worry, don’t scurry, don’t hurry time along

Just

sing

our

autumn

song.

 


Song of Love

Sing the song of love with me-

The song which you know by heart

but have hidden within the valleys of your heart,

let it come to you, let it guide you.

Sing the song of love-

The song that will end all this pain.

Let’s sing it together,

let us all sing it together

so as to engrave it in all our hearts.

Sing the song of love with me,

for it will bring the joy, the beauty in our souls.

Sing it with me- the song of love.


Winter’s Nocturnes – A Sestina

He sits down.

Melodies unfurl with a twitch, a light trill,
And the man leans back, savouring every note
Cloaked in black, and stained with tears,
Winter’s gifts a forgotten sight. Under the stars,
He bows his head, straightens his back, and the haunting
Begins. He slams on the piano keys, sorrow a dark cloud.

He remembers lying down, watching the clouds,
He remembers the chirping birds’ magnificent trill,
He remembers her – her bright green eyes haunting
His own. Her hand, knotted
With his. He remembers lying down, watching the stars
As each twinkled, then faded, merely a tiny tear.

Yet her soulless body besieged his mind, tattered and torn.
Each passing bar, a doubtful cloud.
He sees not the stars.
He hears not the trill.
But only senses the funeral of the notes.
Like death angels chanting, dancing, haunting.

He plays to hunt
Her spirit, to guide her to fill the tear
In his heart. Each note
Forms her silhouette, dimly glowing against the black clouds,
Against the wintry mist. She smiles at each familiar trill,
Her eyes are gold, like the stars.

The music makes the fair moon and stars
Weep, for its haunting
Siren beseeches attention. Hark! Music flows like a rill,
As his fingers dance over the piano. Too abruptly, it stops. The air tears.
He hovers on the piano, like a cloud,
Contemplating. contemplating. contemplating. Too soon the notes

stop

for your reference:
Word 1: trill
Word 2: note
Word 3: tear
Word 4: star
Word 5: haunt
Word 6: cloud


Fishermen’s Song

Gnarling fury,
Menacing wrath!

From Poseidon’s clutches
Deliver thy torn sail!

Warping whirlpool,
Growling gale!

Hear thy cry,
Wailing screams
Echoing – ing.

Winter’s splash
Strikes cold.

We
Await
The
Coming
Of
The
Peace

like it? I appreciate demand constructive criticism! >:)


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I ain’t an old song!

All of a sudden I was pinged after so long,

I thought I have been forgotten like an old song.

I wasn’t going to reply any soon,

But I took it as a boon.

Getting to say ‘hey’ to some one,

While eating a stale bun.

It isn’t bad to do so,

But I won’t take a bow.

I had been forgotten so long,

But I must tell I ain’t an old song.


Time

 

 

 

 

 

The clock ticks out the hours around its face,
the repetition without grace.
Yes, I’ve been here before
through nighttime’s door,
a case

of dejà vu I can no longer shake.
The never-ending circlings take
me to the mornings, nights
in all its flights.
The rake

and sweep reorganize off-kilter life,
removing all the fear and strife.
Upon each phase’s stage
I turn the page.
No knife

cuts into well-filled mornings, afternoons
or midnights. Perfect timing croons
its melody, the song
that rights all wrong
and tunes

the orchestra of minutes into hours.
Vast gardens show their blooming bowers
with foliage and tree.
Take time to see
these flowers.

 


Truth

Speaking of the truth, I have now realised truth is not important because it holds no significance in how we perceive things today. So, what is important? Important is the thing we believe is true even when it is not…

Something to ponder about…

Haven’t got much to share, so, here’s the song I have a Dream by West life.


14 Comments

Notes on a melody

A young girl brushes her hair, humming.

Perhaps she is alone.
A canary will stop singing
if you put a mirror in its cage
finding in the reflection a mate,
company, its creation the cobblestone
along the narrow lane of loneliness.

Perhaps she is in love.  Consider
the singing plants of Damanhur,
so connected to the earth
they sing an otherworldly song
on electric frequency that
can be heard with electrode  and microphone.

And what of music borne of fight
or on the rhythm of the sailors’ oars
the beat of birds’ wings
a clatter of prejudices falling to the floor.

Perhaps creation, found in each part,
pain the hedgerow for a house of love,
struggle comes and goes like weather,
faithfulness a lamp in a window.

A young girl brushes her hair, humming.


Other Side of Distance 13

Forget about the staccato

of cities

talk about the legato

of the fields

subsidized for

the choreography

of pollen

 

With green tracks

stitching together

Y and X axis

of map

a measure at a time.

 

Liaisons from blue to blue

and beyond

flowing from the same

root which brought rhythm

and the streams

themselves.

 

The land is severed and fixed again

by song

ask the wind about it.


Other Side of Distance 5

Thames, Seine, Volga . . .

Toes dipped from

Spain, Italy,

Greece and Africa

into the middle of the world

are foreign

but familiar

is the East River

resting between

the kvetching of Brooklyn

and Manhattan

and giving reason

to bridges, tunnels.

* * *

here the fish don’t tire

before reaching other side

nor do birds

but songs are forgotten

midstride

as cities

come to completion.

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