The musical was as uninteresting as I had originally believed. The dancing monkeys were a blast. Even when the smallest one fell out of step, the other monkeys kept rockin’ on. I felt for the little monkey. Everyone isn’t able to keep time, sing, and play the harmonica at the same time. We should all be so talented!
The musicality of his tone when he skrieked in her face was very commenable. He spat words and sentences of pure musical genius. I couldn’t have do it better myself.
Those who are labeled as “musical” are able to trigger that part in their soul that truly sees the meaning of life. Not always are we able to put words to it, but when words fail, music speaks.
The music begins to play
and the song starts to swell.
The lyrics sound like words, but
the rhythm
and the feeling that the singer
brings makes it
Music.
Soothing notes floated over the decaying deck as I disturbed my favorite set of wind chimes. I could feel the smooth mahogany sway under my fingertips, and cool metal cylinders twinkled in the dimming sun.
It’s about how I feel like I can never be tied down again. It’s about how I feel that I’m finally set free from anything keeping me anywhere. It’s about how everyone feels something, whether they be blind, deaf, black, white, gay, straight, man, woman, or child. Everyone has a common language– music.
Musical is a form of art that takes the public into a magical world of fantasy.
The mixture of music and acting is a great responsibility and a pretty hard job for the actors, but it’s very rewarding in the end. Acting by itself is a marvelous journey into the unknown and with the aid of musicality just makes it a better spectacle. Everything around us screams music, we just have to be open to listen. If we pay enough attention we can hear the world sing. So in my opinion the best way to get in touch with my emotions and all my surroundings is to first get in touch with any type of art, music, dance, painting, theater, watching a musical can be just it.
Oklahoma, you say? where the wind comes sweeping down the plain? I have a friend who forced her beau to sit through twenty-three minutes of it. Later I told her, really it’s a good thing that this sickens him. You want that.
lift your leg and give us a song. the trouser trumpet all day long. love the sound, hate the smell, but man it’s fun as hell. Wrinkle your face, strain REAL hard. Make us hear it across the yard. Butt booming music sets the mood. Just don’t do it where we’re eating food.
The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s musical of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s performance of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
I love music but wouldn’t consider myself musical. I play a few instruments, though none of them very well. Music is great though, it can move us in ways nothing else can, bring out emotions in a few notes that dozens of words could never conjure up alone. I wish life were more musical sometimes.
I don’t try to hid behind a mask,
This is really what I think,
Well, I feel torn between two,
I feel my mind is on the brink
Angels cry because of my ways,
let out demons of mine I’d sworn I’d someday slay
This is a war that has occurred before,
been jotted down for centuries as lore.
A person’s mind is a battlefield,
Lores’ authors acknowledge this behest,
written on paper and stone, with bone or ink,
Their minds seem to also be on the brink
(I must not be as alone as I think)
Yet my demons know what I do and say,
They’ve damned me as their prey,
The Angels leave me, yet cry and moan,
bordering on the brink, I’m still as stone.
Suddenly,there is a burst of insight,
My demons still hang above me in my peripheral sight,
and after the brink, the abyss looms below,
but I now see I have a long way to go.
The Angels’ cries turn to song,
maybe it’s been this way all along,
maybe in darkness there is light
Maybe the brink teaches you to fight.
The musical playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s performance of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
I was never very musical, and that’s why everyone was so surprised to find that I ended up as the drummer in a rock group. A very successful rock group.
That didn’t stop them from trashing me. No talent, they said. Can’t
carry a tune, they complained. Never mind. I was making the money, and
they weren’t.
The word musical makes me think of high school when I participated in a few musicals. I was never the lead, but I always had a great time using my skills.
musical
music
instruments
singing
beauty
ears
audience
fears
love
tears
The word musical makes me think of high school when I participated in a few musicals. I was never the lead, but I always had a great time using my skills.
I play trumpet. I still play in church and some times I play with the pep band. That is fun for me because my high school never had a pep band, and the music is fun to play. I hope when I play kids realize that they don’t have to give up when they are older.
The wind whistles through the grass
As I stand in an open field
I stand quiet and still
Feeling the ebb and flow of energy
Go over me
Around me
Through me
As I listen to the Music of God
And see beauty where all I saw
Was nothing
I don’t know a play a person. A play about a person. maybe people consider themselves musical, because they like music or they are hip to music. they know about music they write little reviews about albums and musicals.
I feel dead to life, have lost touch with the ether, can’t smell properly, I may stink and not know it, my orange juice tasted like detergent this morning, revelations come and then go before I can log them into my head full of holes like a sieve is meant to separate things and I wonder is it the drinking or is it genetic, and then the tinkle of the man peeing in the adjoining apartment seems as musical bliss and I join him in the endeavor and thus I have participated and am alive.
…and the love of all sounds
especially those that rings and chime
and the distant yell-
what makes us, making us made
is the thrumming, low monotone
tick and chatter
intonations
the sound of us, and (oh, no)
the sound of you
music is eternity
and the blue of your eyes
bores your voice
into my soul entwining mind
I’ve always loved a good musical. It’s impossible to explain why, other than a deep love of music, a deeper love of dance. M used to sit me down and make me watch them. And really, what’s not to love? Singing in the Rain is probably my favorite. You can’t argue with Gene Kelly.
She had a musical moan, the way her whole body could be expressed in one sound. She was beautiful. A song of a person. And I loved her.
She was sexy, her lyrics were her thrusts and gyrations, and the melody was in her eyes, fierce and in love.
I dreaded this. But my friend insisted that we go. She was much more of a musical buff than I. Truth be told, I hated musicals. They stop the plot in the strangest places and break out into song. Just get on with the story! I screamed at the characters in my head. There are important things to worry about!
Absolute insanity, what you would hope yourself to be, but you don’t have to be to have fun, don’t need to actually be musical in the socially accepted way, be musical in your own way.
Who knows present trash will be tomorrow’s pop (not that today’s pop is any good)
I’m drowning in words that I have never said.
They follow me around, building pressure in my head.
They beg to be released, they cry out to me at night
But no one’s here to listen, and they’ll never see the light.
It’s a small mercy when your mouth clamps shut and instead, you talk with your finger tips and feather touch. My body hums, finding a beat, a rhythm in a silence of gapes and gasps. And with a slow fury, I am the one fighting for words, tripping and stuttering, grasping for that last sweet note.
The moment it hits my body..priceless. The second I’m mesmerized by its captivity I get lost in paradise. The sound of music controls my senses in the most unforgiveable way. Play it again….
Musical. Musical. If someone is musical they are somehow musically talented. You can go see a musical like matilda, which must i say is amazing- if you are reading this get off ya bum and buy tickets. and no i am not an actor for the show haha how i’ve got side tracked
Though wholly at random, the transit of the car over the cobbles had a certain musical rhythm to it, combined with the muffled screams from the boot, it was like some kind of macabre opera
The musical was as uninteresting as I had originally believed. The dancing monkeys were a blast. Even when the smallest one fell out of step, the other monkeys kept rockin’ on. I felt for the little monkey. Everyone isn’t able to keep time, sing, and play the harmonica at the same time. We should all be so talented!
The musicality of his tone when he skrieked in her face was very commenable. He spat words and sentences of pure musical genius. I couldn’t have do it better myself.
Those who are labeled as “musical” are able to trigger that part in their soul that truly sees the meaning of life. Not always are we able to put words to it, but when words fail, music speaks.
The music begins to play
and the song starts to swell.
The lyrics sound like words, but
the rhythm
and the feeling that the singer
brings makes it
Music.
Soothing notes floated over the decaying deck as I disturbed my favorite set of wind chimes. I could feel the smooth mahogany sway under my fingertips, and cool metal cylinders twinkled in the dimming sun.
Life is a musical. Sitting on the subway, I sway to the beat. I hear the clicking and clacking of the wheels, the conversations are the lyrics.
It’s about how I feel like I can never be tied down again. It’s about how I feel that I’m finally set free from anything keeping me anywhere. It’s about how everyone feels something, whether they be blind, deaf, black, white, gay, straight, man, woman, or child. Everyone has a common language– music.
This was it. This was the moment that I would become a star. My heart fluttered as the curtains pulled back and the musical started. It’s show time.
Musical is a form of art that takes the public into a magical world of fantasy.
The mixture of music and acting is a great responsibility and a pretty hard job for the actors, but it’s very rewarding in the end. Acting by itself is a marvelous journey into the unknown and with the aid of musicality just makes it a better spectacle. Everything around us screams music, we just have to be open to listen. If we pay enough attention we can hear the world sing. So in my opinion the best way to get in touch with my emotions and all my surroundings is to first get in touch with any type of art, music, dance, painting, theater, watching a musical can be just it.
Oklahoma, you say? where the wind comes sweeping down the plain? I have a friend who forced her beau to sit through twenty-three minutes of it. Later I told her, really it’s a good thing that this sickens him. You want that.
lift your leg and give us a song. the trouser trumpet all day long. love the sound, hate the smell, but man it’s fun as hell. Wrinkle your face, strain REAL hard. Make us hear it across the yard. Butt booming music sets the mood. Just don’t do it where we’re eating food.
I think about the movie The Pacifier when I see this word because of the ending where the teenager was the leading role in the musical at the end.
The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s musical of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s performance of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
I love music but wouldn’t consider myself musical. I play a few instruments, though none of them very well. Music is great though, it can move us in ways nothing else can, bring out emotions in a few notes that dozens of words could never conjure up alone. I wish life were more musical sometimes.
I don’t try to hid behind a mask,
This is really what I think,
Well, I feel torn between two,
I feel my mind is on the brink
Angels cry because of my ways,
let out demons of mine I’d sworn I’d someday slay
This is a war that has occurred before,
been jotted down for centuries as lore.
A person’s mind is a battlefield,
Lores’ authors acknowledge this behest,
written on paper and stone, with bone or ink,
Their minds seem to also be on the brink
(I must not be as alone as I think)
Yet my demons know what I do and say,
They’ve damned me as their prey,
The Angels leave me, yet cry and moan,
bordering on the brink, I’m still as stone.
Suddenly,there is a burst of insight,
My demons still hang above me in my peripheral sight,
and after the brink, the abyss looms below,
but I now see I have a long way to go.
The Angels’ cries turn to song,
maybe it’s been this way all along,
maybe in darkness there is light
Maybe the brink teaches you to fight.
The musical playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s performance of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
I was never very musical, and that’s why everyone was so surprised to find that I ended up as the drummer in a rock group. A very successful rock group.
That didn’t stop them from trashing me. No talent, they said. Can’t
carry a tune, they complained. Never mind. I was making the money, and
they weren’t.
The word musical makes me think of high school when I participated in a few musicals. I was never the lead, but I always had a great time using my skills.
musical
music
instruments
singing
beauty
ears
audience
fears
love
tears
The word musical makes me think of high school when I participated in a few musicals. I was never the lead, but I always had a great time using my skills.
I play trumpet. I still play in church and some times I play with the pep band. That is fun for me because my high school never had a pep band, and the music is fun to play. I hope when I play kids realize that they don’t have to give up when they are older.
must souldered thee swat
The wind whistles through the grass
As I stand in an open field
I stand quiet and still
Feeling the ebb and flow of energy
Go over me
Around me
Through me
As I listen to the Music of God
And see beauty where all I saw
Was nothing
But the only time they listened was when she sang.
I don’t know a play a person. A play about a person. maybe people consider themselves musical, because they like music or they are hip to music. they know about music they write little reviews about albums and musicals.
Is she musically inclined or is she just another girl
That’s what I wondered
That’s all I wondered
I feel dead to life, have lost touch with the ether, can’t smell properly, I may stink and not know it, my orange juice tasted like detergent this morning, revelations come and then go before I can log them into my head full of holes like a sieve is meant to separate things and I wonder is it the drinking or is it genetic, and then the tinkle of the man peeing in the adjoining apartment seems as musical bliss and I join him in the endeavor and thus I have participated and am alive.
…and the love of all sounds
especially those that rings and chime
and the distant yell-
what makes us, making us made
is the thrumming, low monotone
tick and chatter
intonations
the sound of us, and (oh, no)
the sound of you
music is eternity
and the blue of your eyes
bores your voice
into my soul entwining mind
I’ve always loved a good musical. It’s impossible to explain why, other than a deep love of music, a deeper love of dance. M used to sit me down and make me watch them. And really, what’s not to love? Singing in the Rain is probably my favorite. You can’t argue with Gene Kelly.
She had a musical moan, the way her whole body could be expressed in one sound. She was beautiful. A song of a person. And I loved her.
She was sexy, her lyrics were her thrusts and gyrations, and the melody was in her eyes, fierce and in love.
music is everything and anything. the sound of rain, the sound of cries, the sound of silence. its not just
I dreaded this. But my friend insisted that we go. She was much more of a musical buff than I. Truth be told, I hated musicals. They stop the plot in the strangest places and break out into song. Just get on with the story! I screamed at the characters in my head. There are important things to worry about!
Absolute insanity, what you would hope yourself to be, but you don’t have to be to have fun, don’t need to actually be musical in the socially accepted way, be musical in your own way.
Who knows present trash will be tomorrow’s pop (not that today’s pop is any good)
I’m drowning in words that I have never said.
They follow me around, building pressure in my head.
They beg to be released, they cry out to me at night
But no one’s here to listen, and they’ll never see the light.
It’s a small mercy when your mouth clamps shut and instead, you talk with your finger tips and feather touch. My body hums, finding a beat, a rhythm in a silence of gapes and gasps. And with a slow fury, I am the one fighting for words, tripping and stuttering, grasping for that last sweet note.
The moment it hits my body..priceless. The second I’m mesmerized by its captivity I get lost in paradise. The sound of music controls my senses in the most unforgiveable way. Play it again….
richard
was
musical
but now
he’s not
Musical. Musical. If someone is musical they are somehow musically talented. You can go see a musical like matilda, which must i say is amazing- if you are reading this get off ya bum and buy tickets. and no i am not an actor for the show haha how i’ve got side tracked
The winter sun danced to the musical sound of me falling down the stairs.
Though wholly at random, the transit of the car over the cobbles had a certain musical rhythm to it, combined with the muffled screams from the boot, it was like some kind of macabre opera