I invited some fellow clubbers back to our hotel room recently. I didn’t expect so many to turn up. I dug up a poem that I had written over a year ago and I read it to everyone. I would highly recommend you do the same with your poetry archives because it’s most inspiring to all involved in the after-party.
Here’s the poem I recited . . . I'm not sure what to call it . . . perhaps "Phantom of the Opera". I used the rhythm of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven". So tell me what you think?
****
From lilac lips a voice is singing, but the name – it has no meaning
So the music will be painful like a wounded soldier’s moan.
For the name may have a face but the voice will be disgraced
If it sings behind a label that is clearly not its own.
As its melancholy tune vibrates through flesh and bone,
Now a harsh resounding tone.
As you listen to the song you ask “to whom does it belong”?
And you discern that it is wrong to be swayed by such a drone.
But the music goes on playing and your mind continues swaying
As you’re hoping and you’re praying that the singer will be known.
And you drain the liquid lyrics like draining blood from stone.
Now a steady monotone.
Your heart begins to hum to the pulsing of the drum
And the singing and the ringing of the trumpets and trombone.
Though compelled it is your choice as you elevate your voice
And you harmonise your soul with the music that has grown.
Now a symphony duet, now the singer’s not alone.
Now an orchestrated tone.
A new passion has been found in the myriad of sound.
Your voice crescendos to a climax as an opera is prone.
The audience is there but of their presence unaware;
Your inhibitions are now distant as you find your comfort zone.
You feel connected not rejected, you’re no longer on your own.
Now trusting his intone.
The conductor’s back has turned and when you saw his face you learned
That the singer is a puppet like a king upon the throne.
The singer has been miming and although his words are rhyming
The conductor has the voice that you enjoyed unbeknown.
The conductor’s baton brakes as reality is shown!
Now a chilling silent tone.
Now the puppet’s strings have broken and the truth has clearly spoken
And the maestro takes a beating, he will reap what he has sown.
But his audience was inspiring and the angel he’s admiring
Is the one whose wings were soaring and above his head has flown.
She coupled composition when the trumpet’s sound was blown.
Such a pure angelic tone.
Will she sing with him again? He implores her as a friend.
Will she begin or will she end, does she prefer to be alone?
Violated, torn, before the union could be born.
In her heart a raging storm, a tornado, a cyclone.
Can she forgive him for the mask or will her heart be turned to stone?
For his sins he will atone.
****
Here’s the poem I recited . . . I'm not sure what to call it . . . perhaps "Phantom of the Opera". I used the rhythm of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven". So tell me what you think?
****
From lilac lips a voice is singing, but the name – it has no meaning
So the music will be painful like a wounded soldier’s moan.
For the name may have a face but the voice will be disgraced
If it sings behind a label that is clearly not its own.
As its melancholy tune vibrates through flesh and bone,
Now a harsh resounding tone.
As you listen to the song you ask “to whom does it belong”?
And you discern that it is wrong to be swayed by such a drone.
But the music goes on playing and your mind continues swaying
As you’re hoping and you’re praying that the singer will be known.
And you drain the liquid lyrics like draining blood from stone.
Now a steady monotone.
Your heart begins to hum to the pulsing of the drum
And the singing and the ringing of the trumpets and trombone.
Though compelled it is your choice as you elevate your voice
And you harmonise your soul with the music that has grown.
Now a symphony duet, now the singer’s not alone.
Now an orchestrated tone.
A new passion has been found in the myriad of sound.
Your voice crescendos to a climax as an opera is prone.
The audience is there but of their presence unaware;
Your inhibitions are now distant as you find your comfort zone.
You feel connected not rejected, you’re no longer on your own.
Now trusting his intone.
The conductor’s back has turned and when you saw his face you learned
That the singer is a puppet like a king upon the throne.
The singer has been miming and although his words are rhyming
The conductor has the voice that you enjoyed unbeknown.
The conductor’s baton brakes as reality is shown!
Now a chilling silent tone.
Now the puppet’s strings have broken and the truth has clearly spoken
And the maestro takes a beating, he will reap what he has sown.
But his audience was inspiring and the angel he’s admiring
Is the one whose wings were soaring and above his head has flown.
She coupled composition when the trumpet’s sound was blown.
Such a pure angelic tone.
Will she sing with him again? He implores her as a friend.
Will she begin or will she end, does she prefer to be alone?
Violated, torn, before the union could be born.
In her heart a raging storm, a tornado, a cyclone.
Can she forgive him for the mask or will her heart be turned to stone?
For his sins he will atone.
****
hahaha while I was reading it it was in the voice of the narator of that halloween episode of the simpsons where they rip off "the Raven" lol. nice work 