Open Poetry #15 |
Orange blossom Special |
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
orange blossom special orange blossom special violin play then the whine bring back that love, mine start out slow, mellow bring my languorous fellow sing that violin get rambunctious then and put on a fiddlin’ spin seek him quicker, then orange blossom special sing your song, and fiddle long transport us this night [This message has been edited by Sunshine (edited 07-20-2001).] |
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© Copyright 2001 Karilea Rilling Jungel - All Rights Reserved | |||
SEA
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 2000-01-18
Posts 22676with you |
"get rambunctious then and put on a fiddlin’ spin seek him quicker, then" I like this one very much Your pen always flows such smart rhymes |
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Logan Senior Member
since 2001-05-28
Posts 1641Arkansas |
The transport of the strings in different play, you really do this well, you know...very gentle smile |
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SmittenKitten Senior Member
since 2001-06-20
Posts 1131where the sky and horizon meet |
As a fiddle player myself, I appreciate this poem greatly you know your music! ~Krista "Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. |
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vlraynes Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-25
Posts 8229Somewhere... out there... |
Sunshine- You always do these so well! Wonderfully written.. hugs, ~vicky "...until you have read the verse on his |
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Paula Finn Member Ascendant
since 2000-06-17
Posts 5546missouri |
Woohoo girl...you sure make these words sing.. |
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Mark Bohannan Member Rara Avis
since 2000-06-21
Posts 7269In the winds of Cherokee song |
Kickin!! |
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Poeminister Senior Member
since 2000-02-26
Posts 1862Regina SK; Canada |
Enjoyed these. Nicely done. |
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Irish Rose Member Patricius
since 2000-04-06
Posts 10263 |
well, alright! " I walked beside the evening sea And dreamed a dream that could not be" George William Curtis" |
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Marge Tindal
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Karilea~ Delightful foot-stompin' good one ! Me like ! ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ |
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