Music There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats. -- Albert Schweitzer
HOME PAGE   •Contest Winners
ORIGINAL WORKS: Romantic Sad Humorous Old Favorites Wish I'd Said That Nature Thoughtful Patriotic One-liners Limericks Friendship Life In General Happy Family First Love Dreams Dogs & Cats Memories Cowboy Poetry Paint a Word Picture Holiday Themes Nursery Rhymes Music Sports Political Religious Travel Collected Works Ballad Poems POET LAUREATES: Elizabeth Santos N.G. "Gary" Stapp FOR FUN: •NEW: Crossword Puzzle •Magnetic Poetry •Shakespearean Insults •What time is it where you are?  ABOUT US: From the Editor Favorite Links Copyright Info		Editor's Pick: SONATA The fingers search so cautiously the key, Pressing firmly in and yet without a sound. A hand withdraws to rub an aching knee, The other hanging lifeless toward the ground. The right hand hovers once above the board And sends an angry fist into the white Where notes are dropped and scattered from the chord Like shadows in the pale cold blue of night. The fist unwraps, its fury now a smolder And tucked inside, a hand with lines so deep They trace the path of one man growing older, Of one man fighting with eternal sleep. The crooked fingers worn away by years Hover slightly just above the keys And break the blurry fall of one man's tears. And pressing in they find what no man sees. Within the minor melancholy of the notes, An echo when the hands succomb to age, That like a haunting specter sadly floats, Like distant words of one forgotten sage. -- Submitted by Mark Haefele from Denver, CO e-mail: mjhaefele@excite.com SWEET HIGHLAND MUSIC I heard sweet highland music drift across the glen From a lonely highland piper who from the hills appeared, and then The mists did slowly rise up from the heather on the ground And the skies were brightly lit up by an old familiar sound of bagpipes and drummers marching homewards from the war Once more victorious, although pools of blood I saw, With faces that were grieving for brothers, sons and friends Who all had fought for freedom, until the bitter end. Eyes were fixed like bayonets, were stained and smeared with death, Bellies were full of hunger, but there was no time to rest As the enemy had gathered, regrouped with new laid plans To regain the advantage that was taken from their hands By men in kilts and tartans whose allegiance to the cause Could not be broken by the mighty English Rose, Or the longbows that were aimed and fired to foil these fearless men Who were led by the highland piper through the mist - enshrouded glens. New battle roared and English sword won favour for a while, There was no calculation in their plans that Scottish Guile Would foil and thrice outwit them, as they stood and faced defeat, They had no other option but to turn and then retreat Back to the lowlands: to the homelands that they knew, To rethink how those bagpipes and their tunes could be subdued, Why the fight for freedom was a fight that would not die But ran deep within each Scotsman's heart and kept their spirits high That lived and breathed, would never leave, from the cradle to the grave That bred a strength of character that is always on parade, As if a mighty peacock as it spread its coloured tail. The Scotsman's fight for freedom will never be derailed. Will always be a part of life in times of war or peace Written as an epilogue when life on earth has ceased, When bricks and stone are all that's left, when the oxygen has gone The eerie sound of bagpipes will forever linger on. © 2002 Alan Glendinning All rights reserved -- Submitted by Alan Glendinning from Aberdeen, Scotland e-mail: alan@glendinning.net THE FIDDLER The bow lightly touched the strings, As the music filled the air, And the fiddler closed his eyes, So the melody was clear, The dancers moved with ease, Across the smooth plank floor, While the fiddler played his tune, The sound went out the door. The music rose to heaven, Where God, His ear attuned, Smiled His affirmation, For the beauty brought to bloom. The fiddler finished playing, Put down his bow and 'lin, Closed his eyes to rest a while, For the music had to end.  -- Submitted by Norman Edward Rourke from Beggs, OK e-mail: stonebluff@pccompsoft.net A COUNTRY CONVERSION SONNET I used to think I'd never turn to country. (I liked a few like Johnny's "A Boy Named Sue.") Miller, Willie, Campbell, Cline, Lynn, Nany: They'd "Walk the Line" or "Walk All Over You." The 70's arrived, and it was common For country to cross over the radio dial: Newton John's or Denver's with lyrics homespun; Parton's, Mandrell's, Rondstadt's and Gayle's had style. "Elvira," "Lucille," "Margaritaville," and "Men," And "I'm A Survivor" were hits on which later I'd stumble; Reeve's bittersweet "Wish I Could Hurt That Way Again," And funny Mac Davis finding it "Hard To Be Humble." Now I'm "Riding With Private Malone." "Have Mercy." Those pesky country twangs might still reverse me! -- Submitted by Andrea Dietrich from Pleasant Grove, Utah e-mail: Pandie55@hotmail.com I SING I love to sing Your praises, And make a joyful noise. I love to raise my voice in song It is among my greatest joys. I offer You my songs, Lord. I hope Your ears they please. I know I'm no great singer, But singing puts my soul at ease. I offer songs of sorrow, And joyous ones also. I offer songs that praise Your name, On pitches, high and low. Humbly I stand before You, Singing from my heart. I feel nearer my God to Thee, And I hope we'll never part. I sing my songs of worship, And celebration too, Thanksgivings and devotions, I render all to You. I sing Hallelujah, Hosanna on high. And I hope to keep on singing, Until the day I die. -- Submitted by Margaret R. Morgan-Monges from Baltimore, MD e-mail: GreKaWa@msn.com SYMPHONY The music is too faint to hear With normal type of hearing But I fancy sounds that reach my ear In the little clearing. I imagine I hear melodies In a quiet glade: Crickets play the violins, A giant spider plucks the strings Of its webby harp. A hummingbird provides the pitch, As gentle breezes blow, Morning-glory clarions Are played by busy bees; A praying mantis waves his own Director's wand with ease. Such is the music that I hear, When walking in a wood. It's only for the inner ear But clearly understood. -- Submitted by Carol Merolla from Johnston, Rhode Island e-mail: AFD10@home.Com SOUTHERN CROSS He was the greatest of the great A master of the strings The strains from gently fingered chords Took flight like angel wings  He rode on horseback into town To strum his sweet guitar They came to dance and hear him play From villages afar  His hands were well accomplished Though still of youthful age And she was always there to hear him Play upon the stage  To this dark exotic beauty He would play sweet lullabies He said he saw the Southern Cross reflected in her eyes  He felt her gaze upon him With every note he played The more she watched, the lovelier The music that he made  One night he pledged his love to her And made a promise true "If you will give your hand to me I'll play for only you"  And so they wed, he kept his word And never went to town For his love was much more dear Than recognition he had found  A promise made so long ago But to this very day From behind his little ranch house You can hear the music play  Segovia-like strums float down From up atop the hill The moonlit palms stop swaying And the bamboo stalks are still  And she is there to hear his song His wondrous serenade Each night the music's lovelier Than anything he's played  He lights a cigarette and waits The moment to be right Pleading any cloud to pass And open up the night  The moment that the moonlight comes To touch upon the strings He cradles his guitar And to his tender love he sings  He gazes at the Southern Cross And plays through loving tears And she looks down and smiles As she has for many years  The Southern Cross is brighter here Than any other place As the master plays his music Starlight shines upon his face  -- Submitted by Elizabeth Santos from Pottstown, PA e-mail: escheffey@aol.com NOSTALGIA Music permeates the room nostalgia floods my mind with memories of a distant past. When did I hear that music and where? What lifetime was I in? Was I a man, lovingly serenading my bride as a Venetian gondolier? Or, was I the bride, being comforted by that lovely song? The music changes, martial music, military boots, what war? and where? Was I a private in that war? Chapel bells accounce the time for evening vespers. I race across the courtyard to get there on time. Life changes through the ages, but the music remains the same. I cry for what was past and yet the same. -- Submitted by Dorothy C. Fox from Elyria, OHIO e-mail: dorothycf@cs.com STRINGS Lovely the music sweet violin sings How many bows have slipped over your strings? How many eyes looking on with respect? How many fingers caressing your neck? Fiddle of bluegrass and banjo of rag Thousands of notes played with never a lag How many pics plucking colorful tunes? How many strains under old southern moons? Weathered guitar with a lazy old hum Passion's flamenco in hot rhyhmic strum How many notes in baroque-worn guitars? How many songs under how many stars? Harp's golden threads are like magical strings Plucked by an angel with opal-white wings Is it that God makes your beauteous sound? Or are your sweet melodies heavenly bound? I think that the universe pleasantly rings Each day with the beautiful music of strings -- Submitted by Elizabeth Santos from Pottstown, PA e-mail: escheffey@aol.com I hear a beautiful sound. I just shut my eyes and drown away, In the droning of the song. The song plays and plays. And the days just pass by, And run away. This wonderful thing, Is around us everyday, It never really seems to go away. It can make you get up and dance. It can inspire people, to do things that they have never done. But most of all, Music, Music is just fun. -- Submitted by Amie from Cincinnati, Ohio e-mail: AMIE2311@EXCITE.COM That snuffling, whistling refrain repeated throughout every night can be annoying to me, my love, can wake me from sleep with fright. It's like a tune you have mastered, all the notes memorized. An A, a C, a G, a D, Then F sharp in surprise! Yet there is something assuring in its constancy, my dear, for as long as I feel these vibrations I know that you are near. I dread the night that will come when silence lasts too long, and I'll awake with a start to find that you are gone. Do snorers snore songs in heaven, keeping time to an angels' harp? If so, please send me a tape, but darling, please keep it short! -- Submitted by Brenda Bruner from Webb City, MO EMAIL: rbruner@janics.com "To Sing Like You..." Alive, just to feel this. Hearing it is Bliss... It's an Angel's Voice that I listen to... The type of voice that penetrates right through you. Beauty whispering into my ear... This emotion-music that I hear. The sweetest voice is ecstasy. His lyricism, his divine rhapsody. I feel his music, he makes me see... I listen, and love what it does to me. -- Submitted by Abagail Waller from Richmond, VA e-mail: Yoshi007@webtv.net THE MAGIC HARP High and happy, sweet and low That's always how the music goes Somebody went and broke my heart But then I found a magic harp Sometimes I get up in the dark And I pick up my magic harp It makes the saddest, sweetest sound That can bring a true love 'round The strings they pluck, the bells they ring The angels' voices rise and sing 'Til wayward moods and blue emotions Melt into sweet and still devotion -- Submitted by Lisa G. Leming from San Diego, CA e-mail: lgleming@hotmail.com SILENCE This violin so lovingly shaped By caring hands, its magic waits. Silently its power strains Inside the curves of polished grains. Where is the touch of fingers, worn? Can it still tear my heartstrings For which it was born? -- Submitted by Kenneth Hoffman from Morristown, NJ e-mail: kchoffman1@juno.com MUSIC OF THE MIND When I hear the sound of the fife and drum, I want to sing out with a voice fulsome The sound of the music makes me gay It uplifts me from day to day. To dance in vibrant bright colored clothes To share the song with some of those Who sing and dance within God's sight On sunny days or starlit night. To twist, to twirl, to whirl around To jump for joy, feet off the ground To flee from all of life's restraints The music varied as a palette of paints. To dance on, not touching a shimmering stream To be alive and to reach a dream. -- Submitted by Geraldine Shadian from Kihei, Hawaii e-mail: gshadian@hotmail.com BIRD CHOIR There is harmony in the bird choir coming from the limbs of trees the melodious tones are carried by a strong or gentle breeze. They sing with such perfection each note is pitched just right As all the little feathered throats Trill the darkness into light. Each day they praise the sunrise and twitter through scorching rays or softly chirp the moisture on snowy and rainy days. Shielded only by the leaf tops During nature's many seasons They fill the air with music Glad to be alive…the reason! -- Submitted by Burmah M. Teague from Chickamauga, GA e-mail: burmahteague@hotmail.com SHARE YOUR MUSIC God gave us each our own music and the world to be our stage but most of us are living with our music still unplayed This gift that we are given is ours to use if we dare it is our greatest tool to show how much we care "Martin" shared his music gave us all a dream his message was very simple "Let Freedom Ring" "John" stood up and played his music the song he shared was true "Don't ask your country to make things right ask instead what YOU can do" A diminutive committed lady so fragile and so weak "Teresa" touched every nation each time that she would speak A simple comic and actor he shared his special song "Bob" lifted up our spirits from World War II to Vietnam One song was sung so long ago that's been shared throughout the years a "Carpenter" gave his music that will save all those who hear Your music has the power our future's in our hands never doubt that words can change the world it's the only thing that ever has -- Submitted by Jim Serviolo from Valley Center, CA e-mail: jserviolo@hmc.cc MUSIC It overtakes my soul Conquers every thought Portrays the deepest of emotions Accomplishes the greatest feats Negative vibes slowly interrupted Soothing beats intertwine smiles It goes on, and on. -- Submitted by Christine Pendergrass from Dallas, TX e-mail: atfu@swbell.net
TOP
		THE POET'S CORNER - ORIGINAL POEMS FROM AROUND THE WORLD Nan Crussell Computer Services © All rights reserved e-mail: webmaster@silentwords.com P.O. Box 334 * Newcastle, CA 95658