verses that sing

Logan Ray Grant12-5-2020

Love’s tenderest touch, your gentle words reveal
Caress my soul. sweet poet, with your verse
Write dulcet lullabies which make me feel
Secure, like infants held at breast to nurse

Turn tears of sadness into peaceful streams
Make whispered breezes whisk my strife away
Put passion in my fantasized daydreams
Paint troubles in to flowery bouquet
Your words are like a song, please sing to me
Sweet poet, how I love your poetry

Written by Logan Ray Grant on 12/21/20 for Jeanne in the mountains

Deeper

Neil Waldman

illustrator Neil Waldman

History

by Andrew Gent

Every poem has been written before
at least fifteen times.
Every song
sung better.

The Neanderthals discovered caves
already painted with the story of their lives.
They invented fire
over and over again.

And you & I
whisper the same sweet nothings
we were born with.

“History” by Andrew Gent from Explicit Lyrics. © The University of Arkansas Press, 2016.

Definition #273 Song

sung lyrics for my poem

portrait song video

Poem on the Fridge:

stainless-steel-fridge-yqkzudox
New stainless steel fridges don’t have magnetic fronts. Hold only ice, water and finger prints.
Go to side for poems, or inhale the food colors and aromas within!

Poem on the Fridge

by Paul Hostovsky

The refrigerator is the highest honor
a poem can aspire to. The ultimate
publication. As close to food as words
can come. And this refrigerator poem
is honored to be here beneath its own
refrigerator magnet, which feels like a medal
pinned to its lapel. Stop here a moment
and listen to the poem humming to itself,
like a refrigerator itself, the song in its head
full of crisp, perishable notes that wither in air,
the words to the song lined up here like
a dispensary full of indispensable details:
a jar of corrugated green pickles, an array
of headless shrimp, fiery maraschino cherries,
a fruit salad, veggie platter, assortments of
cheeses and chilled French wines, a pink
bottle of amoxicillin: the poem is infectious.
It’s having a party. The music, the revelry,
is seeping through this white door.

“Poem on the Fridge” by Paul Hostovsky from Selected Poems. © Futurecycle Press, 2014. Reprinted with permission.

E-Boxes

Jeanne's Watercolor Box

Jeanne’s Watercolor Box


Surface Watercolor Pattern

Surface Watercolor Pattern

Used to be
I had one
in-box
on the
dining room table.

It was
housed
between
the salt
and figs,
pansies
and african violets.

Now
some fifteen
in-boxes
beep
blink
and
boss me
at home
and abroad.

While I
discern
“right of way”
in car
or crosswalk.

Their icons blink
and jostle
for space
on tiny screens…
thumbnail size.

They
claim to
reach the clouds.
While,
really,
need to be plugged
into a wall
each night,
lest screens
go dark…
incognito.

They sing
and gyrate
and pull
my pockets down
’til dress
comes off
shoulder
and drags its hem
in dust.

Some won’t work
unless my ears
are helmeted
and I look
astronaut,
antenna swinging
in the air.

Most of all,
these in-boxes
take me out of balance.
They act so
all-important
as to knock me
Off my feet,
scatterbrained,
heart bleeding!

I’m turning
inside out!
Taking fifteen
in-boxes
in, to turn
to one.
I’ll send
them out
together
in a song
of grace.

A song of praise.
Out to you.
Hear the music!
Surround sound.
Take calm.
Be at ease!

Children Without TV #8 (That’s Entertainment!)

Picked from the Eyeglass Collection

Picked from the Eyeglass Collection

Change the scale; viewpoint!
That’s entertainment: script, song,
laughter, showmanship!

Today I was transfixed reading David Wiesner’s Caldecott winner book: Mr Wuffles!
The point of view is from the eyes of insects!
51e0yA-eF5L._SX258_PJlook-inside-v2,TopRight,1,0_SH20_BO1,204,203,200_
Preview at Amazon.com

In Box

Used to be
I had one
in-box
on the
dining room table.

It was
housed
between
the salt
and figs,
pansies
and african violets.

Now
some fifteen
in-boxes
beep
blink
and
boss me
at home
and abroad.

While I
discern
“right of way”
in car
or crosswalk.

Their icons blink
and jostle
for space
on tiny screens…
thumbnail size.

They
claim to
reach the clouds.
While,
really,
need to be plugged
into a wall
each night,
lest screens
go dark…
incognito.

They sing
and gyrate
and pull
my pockets down
’til dress
comes off
shoulder
and drags its hem
in dust.

Some won’t work
unless my ears
are helmeted
and I look
astronaut,
antenna swinging
in the air.

Most of all,
these in-boxes
take me out of balance.
They act so
all-important
as to knock me
Off my feet,
scatterbrained,
heart bleeding!

I’m turning
inside out!
Taking fifteen
in-boxes
in, to turn
to one.
I’ll send
them out
together
in a song
of grace.

A song of praise.
Out to you.
Hear the music!
Surround sound.
Take calm.
Be at ease!

In de pen dence Day:
July 4, 2012
Jeanne Poland

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