Singing bottles
bottles of raw wine
the old soldiers
sit on the street singing
through wind and cold
Poems on the topic: song
Poems on the topic “song” on Poets.by.
Refrain
At the office
or at home,
if reckoning day came
in a bottle…
I sing.
The day the music died
My song died,
a note gone to ash.
My flageolette got an ague.
My shot harp sat
in a bed of nails.
Song Dogs
Three days before the 2020 U.S. presidential election, my friend L. and I get lost on a hike above a dammed-up river, too busy arguing about politics to notice that we’ve branched off onto the wrong logging road. The sun is going down. On the ridge above us, coyotes start singing. Their melismatic solos intertwine in a way that can’t be called dissonant, though Lord knows it’s nothing as simple as harmony.
no longer lost
that hole in the clouds
far upslope
The Song of the Womb
The song of the womb begins
on a minor key among the bivalves
and sea cucumbers, whose tunes
are all palindromes and serve
a purely decorative purpose.
The song of the womb sounds best
played by a full orchestra, despite
the many adaptations for solo flute.
It’s got rhythm—that probably goes
without saying—and sheet music.
It can be used to communicate
over great distances underwater.
Scientists say the song of the womb
may predate the evolution
of consciousness! It is not, however,
the first choice of the womb itself,
What to Call It
To the thrush singing at the woods’ edge
it must look as if I’m hitting myself
but that’s only incidental.
I’m swatting mosquitoes.
To the cops at the stadium
it might appear that she’s praying
when she closes her eyes
to see the afterimages on her eyelids.
To friends & admirers of the legendary coach
it must’ve seemed so generous,
all the things he gave those boys,
all the places he took them.
To us it’s a mournful song
but to the wood thrush itself?
Perhaps just the sound of dusk
passing through its windpipe.
Deconversion
Ice is a house I could
not stay in, the answer to
a tune I never hear.
Tell me how I promise forever
in the present, with fiddles and songs
and an old horse at grass.
Which trouble
is the truth, coming into the streets
to stand?
A long time
Waiting forever,
For her return.
Sitting besides,
A grave.
Mind filled,
Thoughts of her.
Maybe she could've,
Been saved.
Singing a quiet,
Lonely song.
About a girl,
Who lost her heart.
Her existence,
Became wrong.
So she ran,
To the dark.
MY MASK
My mind speaks for freedom
My body forgets where I'm from
I just keep on dreaming
& Always,
Sometimes,
Singing.
Falling
I'm falling
Still falling for you
Still falling for you after all this time
Falling
I'm falling
I'm lost
Lost in your favourite song
Falling
I'm falling
I'm falling when I see you
When I see how you don't see me anymore
Falling
I'm falling
I get lost in your eyes
Eyes seeming so familiar, when they are not
Falling
Loneliness
Loneliness comes over you in the strangest of all moments
It takes just a song
A song that overwhealms you with this strange feeling
And you keep listening to it
Again and again
But that feeling lasts
It has its claws deep in your heart
And suddenly you start crying
Eventhough you don't really know why
So here I sit
Crying
Unable to understand why
Hoping that feeling will go away
But it doesn't
It stays with me
Stays with me like an unwelcome companion
Relationships
All these songs
They only sing,
about what's its like
To love someone,
or the breakups
But none really hit
The one spot in the middle
Which is the most important-
-the during
It sets the mood,
decides your future
Without it...
there's no me and you
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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