He's Music

poem by: Raychill Ellisonwonderland
Written on Dec 10, 2015

Born on a Wednesday at one two eleven, 
what a fine year, nineteen eighty seven.

Ears painted on to handsome framed face, 
you cruise through this world at a lightening pace. 

Bangs on your bass raise temparaChurz, tempo so natural all emotions are stirred 

Such soft angel lashes, as hard as they come, 
your rhythm is instinct, like the beat of your drum.

Singing sweet soaring no fret left undone, 
I can only be talking 'bout you my cool Son.

 

Tags: happy, love, rhyme,

Add Comment


Christopher Russon commented:
Lovely cool poem.
Frank Hornby . commented:
Cool poem Raychill.........I've got a guitarist grandson.....was in a band called..Hoags Object....(stuff on u tube..)...keeps me young ..hahaha......you are so proud of your son.....it's obvious....

 

 

More by Raychill Ellisonwonderland

...
The reunion 6 9 04

poem by Raychill Ellisonwonderland

Written on Dec 10, 2015 Sit there, backs turned, Eyes Wired Shut, disconnected from your gut. Bowels Moving to the Rhythm of your Heart Pumping. Mouth Open and Shut, Spilling Shit. Ears Closed to those Who Know. Head Throbbing ... Read more

...
There's

poem by Raychill Ellisonwonderland

There's a woman in my lounge that I love deeply. In my lounge is a woman of my womb but she makes my world and she gave birth to me. In my world, There's a woman that lives and yearns for the rush of fresh crisp air when new pe... Read more