Organ Poems - Poems about Organ

You were just a heart, an organ that beat enough, to feel the need to raise a wall of stone, a fortress around which the wind whispers forgotten memories, and when the rain sheds its tears over the cold stones, you remember you were also flesh, a body that felt enough, to wear an armor of steel, gleaming under the...

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He weeps, assigned to mourn for others who Had none to mourn them, none to say goodbye, Those whose harm medicine can’t undo, Whose bodies he takes apart each passing night. He scrubs, a cleansing ritual, to keep Away the microscopic things unseen The rite distracts from tears he wants to weep, The tears a spell for spirits in between. The spirits who...

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my body is too aged to be of much use now but when I was young I signed to be an organ donor I was healthy then, no arthritis, great eyesight one organ donor can save up to eight lives and restore sight to two people I think this is amazing...

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It was a movement 70 million strong So the CCP decided to annihilate Falun Gong You wouldn’t think the movement was much of a threat It was non-political, but its doom was set. Normally a good thing – new organs extend life But China put Falun folks under the knife Organ transplants became a revenue source That evil still has not run...

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Got myself a donor card. One day I will depart. Donating all my organs but you can keep my heart....

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The last organ grinder played a blinder Intending to leave folk a reminder To music upbeat All those in the street Did a conga to “Eye of the Tiger.” It was the close of a splendid career The organ grinder shed many a tear As the music died He swelled up with pride For the crowd gave him uproarious cheer....

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You can always hear the jangling sound, Of the organ grinder as he makes his way around. He's out there in the rain or sun, And everyone looks and seems to have fun. He is a funny looking man with an old battered hat, Which he holds out for people to put their pennies in, but sometimes there are buttons...

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Echoes of despair swirled in my head as I inhaled the crisp autumn air My relationship was hanging by a thread I knew the breakup was near As i walked through the streets that afternoon I heard the organ grinder's familiar tune My heart churned out its own sad refrain Wondering if we would get...

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Tripe, sweetbreads, entrails, offal, some people spell them awful. Scottish chefs can do them right Haggis, a meal, out of sight. Making a proper meatball sandwich is virtual what-not-who and which needing perhaps some extra spice supply it with a bit of Scotch hype. The last, best organ 'grinder' that I got was on Panera Bread’s French baguette, hot. Barrel-shaped bread held tight as...

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Between paper-soft worlds of fragile imaginations, I float upon those gossamer tulips that split every second of saccharine musings and eclipsed confessions, distinguishing all photoelectric synonyms of lachrymose stimuli towards glassy manipulations of blood-fragranced sun. Everything that is sown in sweetened textures of afterglow-soil, always blossoms upon decayed fossils of frivolous fates, as balanced bullets have forever pierced through the...

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In a quiet street, his music would play, The last organ grinder, day after day. Under the moon's soft and silvery gleam, He lived his life like a fading dream. No crowd gathered 'round, no applause or cheer, Just the sound of his organ, crystal clear. With weathered hands and a knowing gaze,...

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Bright tune rings on the streets below Lovers sing and old feelings glow On the corner stands an old man Playing an old barrel organ Old hearts exult in deep delight With the gleam of the broad daylight The dying feelings lived again Like nurtured by some drops of rain In his eyes are the...

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Mine dad in the 1940’s was an organ grinder huh!, in the high seas in the Navy. In the 1940’s Lo, the clanging, bopping, banging of prepare containers foods. Large coppers pans and pots. Put together meals by combining and heating the ingredients in various ways. Prepared bake fix knock up grub rustle up...

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He can turn the crank, to tunes of happy song, One that his crowd has cherished for long, But something has so terribly gone wrong For someone has declared: you don’t belong, O, you don’t belong; no, you do not belong, As organ music on streets is forever banned Dismantling livelihood, so long he planned. So today he turns the crank to...

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He walks through murky puddles cobble stone City full of busy sounds and movements Time advancing enhancing improvements. Passer-byers in the youthful sunny' hours Social complexity of daily life Yearning at the hand's fundamental strife. With...

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