amonkie

Time for a little something new... trying this one out!




Your Challenge : Feel free to do either or both


1) Write about an experience you've had with music - the way a song/concert/cd/etc affected you... an experience with an instrument you play/played... be creative


2) everyone has a different interpretation of what makes music - what's yours?

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Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

ngdawg

ok, this one I think I can do


A weekend of being together
A day of sheer laughter mixed with moments of love
A night of celebrating to excess
We touched, we kissed, we shared our secret
You took my hand and led me out
"I want you to hear this" as you turned it on
You held me close and we listened together
Words of love and magic filled our space
As I listened to the man sing
As I listened to your heart beating
I didn't know
It was our last night
I can't hear this magic
Ever again

K-Wise

Wow this sort of thing would take me forever to write...until then heres a rap I wrote years ago back in like 2001 on a whim. I was talking to a friend on AIM and i hadn't written in months and he told me "Write! NOW!" and this is what came out.

It's pretty much #2 of those choices but somewhat affected by the lack of quality hip-hop that was around at that time which pissed me off. It was an homage to some of my heroes, and some of my favorites at the time.

It's called "Inspiration" (And it's difficult to read..sorry)

Yo when the new era bring terror suffacated from glimpses in the mirror not recognizin ones inner sanctum//wisdom is scarce within this society of stank dunnz//Low expectation nation is a trend domination high death raisin society playin games you do the equation//Rhymes written wit out inspiration just the same bullshit sayins from played out cats lookin for pay raisins wit out the federal agents//I lack the patience//for this nonsense content of mainstream across continents//unhappily turn my head to the dread of hip-hop I mock the glock and choose to rock instead//fed!//up with this form of expression risin in succession ignorant to true blessins within the minds of real specimens//thus they stuck in repetative sentences diamond chains hangin like appendages// the arrays of wackness are lost in endlessness//further killin the true vibe I thrive to describe to the modern mind in verbal homicide to open eyes to this "hot" shit in disguise leavin music deprived of the true meaning of live//givin thankfulness those real cats alive//Mos def: political individual tryin to better a society of outraged criminals wit thought provoked lyricals//Wu Tang: tru essence of raw and hardcore wit out the "shock" and gore of present day rap galore they were the first none before as I rep the name once more//Talib Kweli: ill as the next man concious of grand as spits bellow out his saliva glands represent a form of dyin man in hip hop may he forever stand//Common: truely an inspiration with each creative statement real in every essence skill is blatant hands down my favorite lyricist that currently exists majority of ill kids ain't top 40 lists and that makes me pissed//Canibus: Just raw and lush wit a scientific bust ever present within his scientific content a true definition of the skill within men wit dope spittin truely an emcee in his own division seperated from the "hot" mainstream Mtv created of sounds quickly faded as I often stated//Eminem: though not my fave choice he has a voice that speaks the truth that he feels and dats respect fa real I disagree wit the lyrics but someones gotta be the bad ass who raise the middle finger to the upper class a sound I dislike but will always last it was autum when I caught a taste of "Rock Bottom" and greatly inspired a spawn of well drawn lyrics of the Don//Just a small dose of the Realness that is overlooked by many with skillz a plenty that greatly inspired this emcee to raise hell evidently the entity that thrive for exellency//True potential is an often lost essential drivin force when chose to rock the mental//all this becomin eventfull music disgraces the pencil//No insight to todays hype that any ass could write I choose to smite despite the constitution right//They make money and forget where they came lost in a game of name that soon shatterz like a window pain recievin heavy Rain//I feed off of pain stengthening the chain link I remain and sink into my brain//lost in rhymes flowin like a river in the mouth of oceans I've chosen to be opposin this wack form drasticly enclosin realness spoken//I break free open forever livin specimen to rock a pen as I begin a melody developing science formed mentally//The evident intelligent of the IRS(Old online crew Ill Rhyme Slayers) wisdom sentiment//to rock the mind with time spent I represent//who can deny thy with straight eyes I challenge thee to try//face to face despite the race illness is endless space not too often traced by the minds of the ignorant basket case//who would choose a disgrace such as Ma$e over illness encased with the Pharoahe Monch//they only front on the mic with feeble junk lackin funk and divine to truely define would be a life time of the good in rhyme//wasted like an indoor wind chime or single mime in an empty room//an ape without a limb to climb//This is what they fail to see the essence of emcee is within me as I stay forever standin rappin landin on the mind but lackin understandin...

Probably not what was expected but a good start I think.

Asta!!

__________________
"I love music and it's my parents fault (closing statement)." - Me..quoting myself...from when I said that...On TFP..thats here...Tilted Forum Project

It ain't goodbye, it's see ya later! I'll miss you guys! - Asta!!

Hain

Music is the creative flow that occurs unknowingly. It begins as a toe tap, a hand wave, a head nod. As it fills the room, it becomes a liquid that carries you into the rivering beat. Listen, you can hear yourself taken into the chaos or harmony that are the sounds. It rolls within one until it cannot be contained--out you shout the chorus. And it is here that a single feeling, a seed is planted and every one takes it with them when it is over and sweated.

...It is that fragmented Mobius Strip of a song stuck in your head with five lyrics, no beat, only leaving you to buy the CD.

__________________

////\\// IRONSKY.NET \\//\\\\

K-Wise

^ I love that man. Really good

Asta!!

__________________
"I love music and it's my parents fault (closing statement)." - Me..quoting myself...from when I said that...On TFP..thats here...Tilted Forum Project

It ain't goodbye, it's see ya later! I'll miss you guys! - Asta!!

Amnesia620

In hopes of covering one or both parts of this challenge, this is my attempt.

Music and poetry go hand in hand,
I still cannot begin to understand,
How those that are Deaf at birth,
show no interest in music's worth.

Many who're Deaf can read and write,
and see poetic words within their sight,
why they pay no attention to the flow,
no sign of recognition important to show.

You can't miss something never been had,
this truth is something I find to be so sad,
to me the message is forever crystal clear,
I'd long for beautiful sounds if I couldn't hear.

__________________
For example, I find that a lot of college girls are barbie doll carbon copies with few differences...Sadly, they're dumb, ditzy, immature, snotty, fake, or they are the gravitational center to orbiting drama. - Amnesia620

Amnesia620

A personal experience of my past, true and complete.

Many moons ago just after we first met,
Sean and I reminisced just after sunset,
He told me of a beautiful girl he once knew,
Feelings of love were so deep and true.

He told me the tale of the love he lost,
His eyes showed the sacrifice and cost,
And then he sat upon his piano seat,
Preparing to play without a music sheet.

I smiled at thoughts of his skillful play,
I wasn't prepared for such music to sway,
Around me as I stood in shock and awe,
He played the notes without one flaw.

Such sweetness wasn't the only token,
His music retold a story in words unspoken,
Of a love he once had and one day lost,
And his sacrifice in and of it's total cost.

The music went from light, calm, and cool,
To turning deep, dark, and soulful,
Explaining how a piece him was amiss,
That which had been a part of his bliss.

What passion could be felt from every sound,
The message's meaning became so profound,
I stood in utter awe and every feeling was felt,
A romantic story of love that made my heart melt.

And when the beautiful song had reached it's end,
I had insight in the guy who was my boyfriend,
I saw within him a heart capable of the unknown,
I yearned to feel what he felt before he was alone.

His time as my boyfriend has passed and been spent,
A relationships life of one year has reached it's extent,
And in it's midst remains a solid and pure friendship,
That is locked, forever, within Time's clenching grip.

And this memory will never be able to escape my mind,
For it opened my eyes to something I was once blind,
Sean wrote it for her and on the sheet each note stayed,
Such honor I felt in hearing his hands and heart as he played.

Beautiful music of the soul does not come from the pen,
Though sadness comes from that which Fate has stolen,
Honor and hope are born, thriving from such wisdom and heart,
As one song ends, a new song's story is given the chance to start.

__________________
For example, I find that a lot of college girls are barbie doll carbon copies with few differences...Sadly, they're dumb, ditzy, immature, snotty, fake, or they are the gravitational center to orbiting drama. - Amnesia620

Hain

^ Love it, Amnesia.

__________________

////\\// IRONSKY.NET \\//\\\\

Amnesia620

Thank you, Augi. You're awesome for telling me so. Thank you.

__________________
For example, I find that a lot of college girls are barbie doll carbon copies with few differences...Sadly, they're dumb, ditzy, immature, snotty, fake, or they are the gravitational center to orbiting drama. - Amnesia620

cellophanedeity

Here's a bit of a stream-of-consciousness based on a recollection of my first bistro performance in highschool...

I sit in a cafeteria chair on the makeshift stage. There's maybe fifty people in the audience, and I can name them all. I wish I couldn't see them. I wish I didn't know them, and I hope they don't say anything after I'm done. Just a polite clapping, then I can return to my seat and watch the rest of the show. Oh god, she's almost done announcing me. A minor. C. G. D. Yup. In tune. These lights are killing me. I'm so nervous, and it feels like I'm sitting face to the sun with ice against my back. Remember to breathe Katie. Just don't forget to breathe. Ugh, bad note, but don't worry. It's all cool. Hannah's smiling, Eleni's bobbing along. God, I love this song. I don't even need to think about it to sing it right. A couple last notes now, make them sweet.

I did it. I'm done. They're clapping more than I expected. My face is so warm and I'm shaking and I bet they can all tell how nervous I am by the sound of my voice and the way I look, but God, what a rush.

Hain

Amnesia, No problem :jamming to Goo Goo Dolls now: Good work is entitled to such.

It is that one song you always sing
Never fail a lyric for what they bring
Someone always one step closer be
And I am never the happier but when she see
All that I love to sing is in my dream

Because this is me, my life, and I am sharing it right now!

__________________

////\\// IRONSKY.NET \\//\\\\

xray21

That Beat..

The words fade,
That beat stays,
My hart pounds,
Two of us becoming one,
The Love,
The Passion,
The Sweat,
In the moment,
To the beat of the drum,
Faster and Faster,
Harder and Harder,
Stuck in the SIN of the beat.
The Beat Starts to slow,
The Words Slowly come back,
Stuck in the SIN of the beat,
Now where done,
And the beat wont ever be the same.

__________________
Blessed By Pain

xray21

cellophanedeity I like it.. I want to sing now.

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Blessed By Pain

amonkie

In a welcome embrace I escape
the troubles of my world behind
These ivory keys beg for my touch
Each caress slowly clears my mind
Some days we speak of solemn duty
other times cry for days gone by
Yet each time our ways must part
I can't help but regretfully sigh


---------------------------------------------

This world of silence weighs upon me
The first sound of balls dropping
Difference shines like night and day
Can't seem to get enough of what I miss
Even the muted garbage truck dumping
can be a silly symphony to my ears

__________________
Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

stonewallja

GOOD NIGHT IRENE GOOD NIGHT

Youth Remembered

By Walker Jackson/All Rights Reserved

Nineteen-fifty-one: seems like eons ago. Well, it has been fifty-three years. Pretty good years I might add. I'd been in England about a year serving Uncle Sam (AF), and I was slowly falling in love with the English and their ways. And those friendly pubs were irresistible: warm beer, crackling fireplaces, piano sing-a-long, pinches of snuff, dry English humor, and lively conversations. London, only seventy miles away, was the fun capital of the world: what with all those dance halls, West End theaters, the Palladium where Big Bands played, and tea rooms that served gypsy violin music to warm the atmosphere. And I could go to London with twenty bucks and have a blast. I loved it. It doesn't get any better than that.

I'd celebrated my twenty-first birthday. I could drink alcohol legally. And I was tending bar nights at the Brize Norton, AFB, NCO Club (near Oxford, England) to save money for a much needed furlough. I've not forgotten those nickel-dime nights at the club. You could get drunker than a Lord with fifty cents in your pocket. Let me explain. Imported German beer cost a nickel and a large shot of any kind of booze cost a dime. Actually, it was nearly impossible to spend a dime. Everyone was really generous hearted. Unbelievable. Genie…take me back to those years.

Now, the pressing question became where to venture. Of course, Paris flooded my empty cerebrum immediately the stimulation being all those sea stories I'd heard from the returning GIs after World War Two. Weekends in London had quenched my thirsts for amour, theatre and crowds. Did I say that? I needed a romantic haven where I could relax in the sun and rejuvenate my spirit: away from the beaten path. Especially the places GIs went.

While talking with friend Sergeant Bill Taylor one night at the club, I mentioned my upcoming furlough, and he suggested I consider a sojourn to Jersey the largest of the four Channel Islands.

"Why would I want to do that?" I asked him.

"It's an island paradise located fourteen miles from the Northwest coast of France. It's sparsely inhabited and it's a duty free port. Prices are ridiculously cheap. Consequently, hordes of English citizens take their holiday there. You know families and their sons and daughters. Day trips to France's wine country are available. You'll love the cheeses and le vin. And those French femme fatales. Ooh! La! La!" His expression was exaggerated, but I got the message. His suggestion immediately appealed to my fancy and frugal nature. So, I booked a roundtrip train ticket to England's coast where I purchased a roundtrip boat ride to Jersey eighty miles away.

That was how the story began. Irene came into the picture the night I went to a dance hall. I really loved to dance. I'd spent most of the day at the beach swimming in the chilly ocean surrounding this serene island and drinking ale at an antiquated pub nearby at four pence a pint (five cents). Vim and vitality gushed through my veins. I went alone dressed in civvies: a sporty suit, white shirt and no tie. The night was warm and the overhead fans offered little relief from the dank environment. We'll call the place The Starlight Room. I really don't remember, but is it important? It was located on the second floor of a century old building in the middle of St Hellier the only town on the island.

I arrived early. The place was half full, but people were coming in parties. A waiter came. I ordered a pint of ale. It was placed in front of me seconds later. After two gulps, a party of five, three ladies and two gentlemen came and sat at a large table nearby. I knew they were Irish. Their accent and joy on their faces gave them away. I figured out by observation that the petite lady with long, dark curls, blue eyes, and a sedate smile on her peaceful visage was single. She was delicate and pretty. I was excited with the possibilities. I'd ask her to dance the moment the band started, which was minutes away 'cause they were warming and tuning their instruments: saxophone, bass, drums, and piano.

Minutes later the band started playing the ballad "I'll Walk Alone." People rose and went to the dance floor. I rose and went over. As though she expected my advance, she looked up smiling warmly when I stopped. "Would you like to dance?" I asked with as much charm as I could bring forth. Oh! My! Those blue sparklers were captivating.

"Yes, I'd love to." Her voice was sweet and sincere. And I knew right away that she was all the things I'd heard about the colleens of Ireland.

I learned she lived in Dublin, her name was Irene, and she'd be going home in the morning. After the dance she invited me to join her, which I did with pleasure. I leaned that she was an accomplished pianist, having studied practically all of her life, which I'd guessed was twenty-three years. Well, we danced and talked and danced and talked.

Just before the second intermission the bandleader said, "Is there any talent in the audience. We usually have a contest after this intermission. I'll wait at the bandstand for any of you who'd like to enter the competition."

I'd been practicing and playing the trumpet again. My lip was in good shape. And I wanted to impress my Irish lady friend. So, I went to the bandstand after several others had preceded me. "I play the trumpet, but I don't have it with me."

"Wonderful! It just so happens that there's a trumpet backstage. Go have a look."

Backstage I found the trumpet case, opened it, and found a silver trumpet that looked to be thirty-year-old if it was a day. I took it out of the case. I pushed the valves and they wouldn't budge. I took all three valves out and spit on them. After returning them, I worked them a few times. They moved now, but not too freely. I had a notion to spurn my ego and return to the table, but some Divine compelling shouted…Do it Walker!

I blew some muted sounds to warm up the instrument and limber my lip. Then I went back to the bandstand. The musicians were back. "So, said the leader," are you going to have a go?"

"Yes. Why not" About six reasons flashed before my eyes: embarrassment headed the list. The mouthpiece was different. But it's very difficult to sit-in with a group of strange musicians. And the valves were sluggish, but Stardust is a slow number, so that wasn't too big a concern.

"What would you like to play?"

"Stardust in D-flat."

"You got it, maaan. Give the man a tuning note, Fred."

"The piano man played a B-flat." I blew the C-note. The trumpet plays one note higher than the piano. The horn was sharp. I was pleased. That meant the piano was tuned. I pulled out the tuning slide and blew again. "Close enough I think. I'll take the three pickup notes slowly and slur into the chorus."

My gut started revolving inside my gut. I remembered all those times I'd played the bugle calls for flag lowering at the military college I'd attended for a year. I stood in front of the battalion near the flag knowing that every one of those demons hoped I'd screw up. And I did occasionally. But they dare not snicker.

Hey man, you can't back out now. Bite the bullet," demanded my alter ego.

I pressed the mouthpiece against my lips, took a deep breath, and hit the first note sharply…the second note came easier…the third one even easier. I now felt confident as I slid into the chorus. And I played the hell our of Stardust.

I felt a bit cocky…maybe proud better defines my feelings…when I rejoined Irene at the table. She glowed. "Walker, that was so beautiful." She said taking my hand.

"Thanks, Irene. The tune is my favorite."

"I guessed as much."

Well, we listened to a lady singer, a comic, and several others. I felt as though I might win the prize of five-quid ($14). I could surely use it. I was thinking about riding the rails to Scotland when I left Jersey.

Announcement time came. I waited anxiously… "And the winner is Walker Jackson. Let's give him another well deserved round of applause."

The magical night passed sublimely into submission. We'd held hands once briefly. But I felt the warmth and admiration she felt for me, and I hoped to meet her again; I saw it in her true Irish eyes. And for some mystical reason I felt certain there was a future meeting for us.

And there was. I went to Ireland at Christmas time to visit her. That's another story.

__________________
Red beans and ricely,

stonewallja

Amnesia620

My Ya He, My Ya Ho, My Ya Ha, My Ya Ha Ha
What happiness I feel
As I see what's real
On the screen brightly before me
A little internet window
Takes the time to glow
Showing me a man who's dancing
It is quite hilarious
And it's worth such a fuss
To watch him act in this silly way.

In Reference to my link in Tilted Humor, Check it out, It's hilarious!

__________________
For example, I find that a lot of college girls are barbie doll carbon copies with few differences...Sadly, they're dumb, ditzy, immature, snotty, fake, or they are the gravitational center to orbiting drama. - Amnesia620

Hain

Finch - What it is to burn No matter how many times I hear this song, I always see a cinematic.

It begins with a view of the ether, tainted red smoke as one approaches an old television screen filled with the terrible scenes of war that plague the world. SHE BURNS! As the scenes fill the screen, an angel falls from the stars towards Earth. Today's on fire the sky is bleeding above me... and I am blistered. As he falls he sets fire to the heavens and changes the rain to blood--it is the end of the world. He impacts and everything around him is burned, nothing to him happens. I walk these lines of blasphemy...every day... and still... He walks the streets, none able to see his wide wings that cross both side of the street. Like a bad star, I'm falling faster down to her. She's the only one who knows what it is to burn. Unknown to him, a young woman, cries in pain, feeling the hurt that the angel does not. I feel diseased. Is there no sympathy from the sun? Around him he passes by people looting, rioting, killing... His wings extend above everyone and none see it. The sky still fires, but I am safe in here from the world outside. So tell me what's the price to pay for glory. The world is still at war with itself, tanks, mortars, machines of death propagate the end. The woman whispers some unheard prayer and leaps out of her window to the street and the angel sees. Like a bad star I'm falling faster down to her. She's the only one who knows what it is to burn. The angel rushes to her and the wings gain white flames and the people stop, they finally see what they are doing. The angel holds her, remembering her from some past life, past love. Holding tighter than dear life, he screams to the heavens and hells of the after life. He casts deadly glares to the people around him, and they cry for her. He holds her in his arms and raises his wings as far to the heavens as they can reach. Today is fire and she burns. Today is fire and she burns... SHE BURNS! SHE BURNS! SHE BURNS! SHE BURNS! SHE BURNS! SHE BURNS! He races towards the burning heavens and fills the world with his sadness, filling the fear of death into these people. He dives towards the Earth, whirlpooling the fires, the deaths, and the blood with him. Like a bad star I'm falling faster down to her. She's the only one who knows what it is to burn. He opens a hole into the earth near her body and the flames carry with him. His wings rip and burn in orange flames. As he falls into the eternal fires of this hell he sees her soul rising out reaching her own body. One life for another, she will live. As she rises, the world is gray and light snow falls.

__________________

////\\// IRONSKY.NET \\//\\\\

Adonis1782

I write my own songs as a hobby. I believe music is one of the spices of life that everyone can enjoy. Most of my close friends have heard this song and they like it. This is an old version of it so bear with me.

Thinkin Bout You Makes Me Wanna Grab Another Deuce-Deuce

thinkin bout you makes me wanna grab another deuce deuce
let loose my mind
fall behind
to the next thing I wanna do
put on a song
sing to myself
and wonder where the time is gonna go

got no tears to cry
they’ve all been spent
my body’s broken
and my mind is bent
don’t know what will happen
get me outta this trap
guess I’ll shoot a game a pool

hot wings come by
with a pretty waitress holdin
one more round for the boys
she winks at me
mysteriously
I turn my head and sigh
she’s not you
and I’m not him
told myself
this wouldn’t happen again
but here I am
stuck in this mess
and my heart wants to confess

got no tears to cry
I’m by myself
don’t know what to do
with my new found wealth
can’t have you
and don’t know why
so I hang my head to sigh

how can love
be so foul
and tame a man to doubt
the power of a woman
in his arms
and go another bout
she hurt me bad
at least she’s still sane
heart hurtin her
from these foolish games
I’m not myself
and she know’s why
as I hang my head to sigh

__________________
" yer damned if you do and yer damned if you don't "

-Bart Simpson

spectre

Big thanks to amonkie for helping me with this one:

I didn't listen to it very loud
the sound took over for the pain
I just listened to the music
and it was oddly peaceful

__________________
"Fuck these chains
No goddamn slave
I will be different" ~ Machine Head

Jenny_Lyte

This Girl's Music

Time to celebrate, everyday's a Holiday
So let's Jamboree with the family and Hip Hop Hooray
Hey! Ho! Who are you calling a ho?
Time for an MC Lyte quote, "Act like ya know!"
The best thing to happen to hip hop since turntables, mics and boombox blearings.
Rocking Afro puffs, black back pack on my back and big hoop earrings
Naughty like Treach, FU like Clef
People wanna know what the hell Jenny's gonna try next
So one for the money and two, three and four for the show
Just like LL I'm in love with my ray-dee-oh!
I bump like I’m hilly and I club like I’m billy
Get willy and nilly actin’ a fool cuz I done gone and rapped myself silly
With a pen in my hand and a beat in my head
I represent hip hop till the day that I’m dead
Hip hop still rocks baby on all the blocks
The real Jenny from the Block says you know it don’t stop
Rockin' Boston and my nook in Brooklyn and Hoboken for my peeps
With a middle finger on my shirt, cuz I wear my emotions on my sleeve
So no matter how many times they use it, abuse it, diffuse it and loose it
I know it’s a man’s world but hip hop is this girl’s music