pretty self explanatory…
- Hello Darkness my old friend, I come to talk to you again
- Words are falling out like endless rain into a paper cup
One of the best. Pure poetry.
And this:
@EinsteinsHund dagnabbit, I came in here to post Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine man”.
“Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky
With one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow”
You can have your gold and your diamonds too.
All I want is a ring dang doo.
A Pillow of Winds by Waters and Gilmour
A cloud of eiderdown draws around me, softening the sound
Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side, and she’s breathing low
And the candle dies
When night comes down, you lock the door, the book falls to the floor
As darkness falls and waves roll by, the seasons change, the wind is warm
Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan, behold a dream, the dream is gone
Green fields, a cold rain is falling in a golden dawn
<removed excess lines, WE?>
Helplessly hoping her harlequin hovers nearby
Awaiting a word
Gasping at glimpses of gentle true spirit, he runs
Wishing he could fly
Only to trip at the sound of goodbye
<removed excess lines, WE?>
Crosby, Still and Nash - Helplessly Hoping
Nothing Rhymed
Song by Gilbert O’Sullivan
When I’m drinking my Bonaparte Shandy
Eating more than enough apple pies
Will I glance at my screen
And see real human beings
Starve to death right in front of my eyesNothing old, nothing new, nothing ventured
Nothing gained, nothing still-born or lost
Nothing further than proof, nothing wilder than youth
Nothing older than time, nothing sweeter than wine
Nothing physically recklessly, hopelessly blind
Nothing I couldn’t say
Nothing why 'cos today
Nothing rhymed
In her Leonard Cohen biography “I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen”, author Sylvie Simmons makes the distinction between poetry and song lyrics. Simmons states that writers of lyrics are writing words that fit the song, while poets are writing poems (or something like that, I’m paraphrasing).
Anyway, Cohen was a poet before he became interested in music, and it shows.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
And I choose the rooms that I live in with care
The windows are small and the walls almost bare
There’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer
I listen all night for your step on the stair
We met when we were almost young
Deep in the green lilac park
You held on to me like I was a crucifix
As we went kneeling through the dark
mmm
On a morning from a Bogart movie
in a country where they turn back time
you go strolling through the crowd like peter lorre
contemplating a crime
she comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
like a watercolour in the rain
<removed excess lines, WE?>
To everyone, be careful quoting more than a small amount of Copyrighted material. Several in this thread appear to exceed fair use and the quote post is far over.
I will remove some excess lines.
Does John Cooper Clarke count? Is it cheating because it started out as poetry?
Hot beneath the collar
An inspector calls
Where the perishing stink of squalor
Impregnates the walls
The rats have all got rickets
They spit through broken teeth
The name of the game is not cricket
Caught out on Beasley Street
Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now
Why don’t we just give 94.2% of Dylan’s stuff an automatic bye in.
The Byrds:
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew…
I quote the song nearly in full as it is from the first eight verses of the third chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes. The exception being the “turn turn turn” which is fair use, and the last two lines which I did not post)
Which I believe has fallen out of copyright… 
- “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season)”, a song written by Pete Seeger in the late 1950s, which the Byrds scored a 1965 hit with. The lyrics, except for the title which is repeated throughout the song and the final two lines, are adapted word-for-word from the English King James Version of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.[25] The song became an international hit in late 1965 when it was covered by the American folk rock band The Byrds.[26] In the U.S., the song holds distinction as the #1 hit with the oldest lyrics, and also with the oldest lyric writer, King Solomon of Israel.[27]*
Guy Clark isn’t so well known, but he had a poet’s soul:
Dublin Blues
So forgive me all my anger
Forgive me all my faults
There’s no need to forgive me
For thinkin’ what I thought
I loved you from the get go
And I’ll love you till I die
I loved you on the Spanish Steps
The day you said goodbye
The Randall Knife
My father had a Randall knife
My mother gave it to him
When he went off to WWII
To save us all from ruin
If you’ve ever held a Randall knife
Then you know my father well
If a better blade was ever made
It was probably forged in hell
My father was a good man
A lawyer by his trade
And only once did I ever see
Him misuse the blade
It almost cut his thumb off
When he took it for a tool
The knife was made for darker things
And you could not bend the rules
A couple of observations from the late folk artist Bill Morrissey:
.
The house burnt down on a rainy night, and I never did find out why.
I just stood alone ‘neath the silver maple, trying to keep my cigarettes dry.
Waiting for the fireman I couldn’t save a thing,
and deep within my home above the roar of the flames,
I thought I heard my telephone ring…
.
I park my cab on Water Street,
I’m waiting for a fare.
Watching young girls in their first heels
step like colts across the square.
Handsome Molly
(Traditional, but still poetic)
That is one of the most beautiful songs ever recorded.
Yeah, the words “A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late” were added by the Byrds.
Confusion will be my epitaph
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it, we can all sit back and laugh
But I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying