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Quatrain Music Poems | Quatrain Poems About Music

These Quatrain Music poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Music. These are the best examples of Quatrain Music poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Across the Universe

   Across the universe

Has there ever been a band, 
That so many understand
Life changing music, made and played, 
By courtesy, of their hand

Imagination limitless, 
Creations lit the spark in us
Visions of a better time, unreal sublime, 
Took away, the dark in us

Those were the heady days, 
Absorbing us in many ways
Seducing ears, eyes filled with tears,
With how their songs amaze

Now I recall how sad we were, 
At the setting of the sun
But all good things, must come to end, 
When all is said and sung 

I would wrap up all those lines,
That tingle jingle at the nerves
And send them in a rocket ship, 
To burst, across the universe

Nothings gonna change their world
Nothings gonna change their words
Nothings gonna change their world
As they fly across the universe




 
For Beatlemania Contest
Poem Written 7 March 13




 


Copyright © Richard D Seal

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The Violin

She was a lonely violin,
in a case all by herself,
looking forward to the evenings,
when he’d take her off the shelf-

After reaching his destination,
he would gently set her down,
and ever oh so tenderly,
remove her velvet gown-

With chin held high, he’d hold her close,
she made him feel so proud,
and then a song she would sing ,
which always drew a crowd-

Together they were magical,
making music quite refined,
he knew that she was special,
of an extraordinary kind-

Late one night the maestro sighed,
a tear rolled down his eye,
this cannot forever last, he said,
for soon I’m going to die-

The violin now knew,
that soon would be their end,
he had filled her life with loving care,
and been so true a friend-

Now on any given night,
walking down this unpaved street ,
some hear a violin’s lonely cry,
so sad , but yet so sweet-

Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens

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The Piano Speaks

Like shining jewels tossed into the air
Each note rings out with brilliant  voice
Gifted fingers flying on ivory wings
This magic that makes my heart rejoice

Music that rocks me on gentle waves
Or ride where raging fires have been
Coloring the prisms that are my tears
The piano- evoking emotions from within


For Kristin's contest - "Soul Tunes"

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

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High Hopes

Before we implode or reach cluster one
What do you want from me, as you humans dry run
We are Poles apart in what you and I do
Marooned you will be, if you don't turn to be true

I am only but a sphere, but your wearing the inside out
Our futures lost for words as we enter life's drought
There is time for dialogue to take it back
Will it be a great day for freedom, or will we enter our black

Around the table of powers we have to keep talking
We had high hopes when we stooped, we may cease to stop walking
It beggars belief that we are heading into strife
Maybe one day we'll acknowledge, that were coming back to life









http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/music-3.php

Copyright © James Fraser

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Give me this Water

There's a place under the sun-which provide shade for
everyone. Where is this place! not in a place of refuge, but
stored within yourself-providing an overflowing river of ever-
lasting prudentcy too anyone?... If you feel it - Shout! "Give me
this Water".
       This dampsel in this story come's at the point were absolute
direction was needed and finds herself speaking to the Messiah-who
would provide her with direction and deep quinching thirst for proph-
etic neccessities to get one's life in order. "Give me this water", are 
you at that point now? right now, whereas the decision you've made
has brought you upon that crossroad of your life.  A life whereas we're
sleeping with anyone, most times the wrong one, all looking for love
and emptiness has mis-lead us to become complacent and a nation
of unprotective boom-mer's has emerged and our live's has no order.
    Jesus say's - I will give you water, water that will provide fulfillment
of Place & Grace. Running to the next town she tells everyone come-
meet this man who has told me everything of my past and of myself.
This-this man-for he must be the Messiah, he speaks to me about a
special water, that shall be an atonement unto his Kingdom.  These
folk's come from all the places north of the border. Together we all
shout!  "GIVE ME THIS WATER".

Copyright © John Streeter

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THE BEACH ENTERTAINER

Miles of broken, sunbaked seashells,
resembling pieces of porcelain of lesser value,
lying across a populous beach subdued by misty blue,
as hungry sea-gulls pounce the fiddler's crabs..


The beach entertainer draws huge crowds;
singing funny songs and making comic skits
by spicing up his unique modus operandi,
and modestly mocking his modus vivendi...


He has never made lots of money,
but settles for dollar bills to earn their sympathy;
dressed in tight and colorful ministrel's attire,
he amuses the public with his monkey-shine...


And he pulls out his fiddler and the crowds go wild,
awakening, by its high-pitched sound, a dope fiend,
who has built a temporary shack threatened by the blowing sand;
He puts on his sunglasses and disappears in the groovy sunshine...



The beach entertainer follows him, leaving everyone behind
saying," Sorry, brother...I didn't mean to wake you up, the bum turns around  taking off his lenses.
and exclaims, " Music doesn't fill an empty and aching belly...and cheer up a feeble mind! "
" Here's all I got...take it and get something to eat!" He says stretching his hands.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci

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Painting My Husband

His squarish jaw, waggles when he thinks,
holding his fingers entwined at his waist.
He stares past his silvery frame, sinks
into mind, until I break in and say hi.

His thin silvery hair, is plush with curls at neck.
He stoops over as if time has weighed in
I see him counting, saying what the heck
here’s a bird, a butterfly, noisy squirrels.

His hands have a pain in them, all webbed
inside, pulling muscles taut, but they wave
they stroke the air, my legs, the seas ebbed
the sand, the sky, building the future in mind.

And when he picks up his violin mistress,
he dances her, never still this man of mine.
His harmonica hoots the day’s stresses,
digging out his soul, bending him like grass.

Sometimes I have to silence his motions,
hold him close to heart, let him sleep.
But always he plays out his commotion
making me music, making him mine.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper

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An Afternoon Of Music


How lovely this autumn afternoon
While I dream away this time alone
Listening to the bird outside the wall
Singing with the sweetest mellow tone

Gathered to me now this written music
Scrolls scribed by great masters of the lyre
The strings that bring to life my happiness
Sounds that set my joyfull heart on fire

Choosing one that calls the little bird
Whose voice is clear and  speaks of life
I will now play until the twilight deepens
For tomorrow I will become his wife



For the Scrolls contest...

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

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An Hour Alone



When the day's living has left me full of stress
If only for an hour, I make the world go away
Lock the door, a hot bath and a glass of wine
And let music, perhaps a Bach symphony, play

Slowly my heavy burdens begin to lighten 
A sigh, a sip and with the sweet melody drift
Soon enough reality will call again, but for now
I appreciate this small but treasured gift…..


For the Indulgence contest...
1/29/15

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

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The Gift Of A Violin


He gave her the gift of music
The  violin, his greatest treasure
Grandpa once played it with joy
Now hers to find its sweet pleasure

She slowly started to learn the way
To make the strings begin to sing
Hours of practice a pure delight
Until the storied notes took wing

Born into a life barren of comfort
That one gift changed everything
Music lifted a soul that mourned
The comfort that beauty can bring…





Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

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Rick Roll

Rick, you got me once again;
I'm tired of feeling dumb.
Curse your mindless hyperlinks!
Kiss my big fat bum!

Rick, I'll never pass it on,
On this day or another.
Let the halfwits have their fun.
Let them have their druthers.



© 2011, R. Erin Lenth

Copyright © R. Erin Lenth

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Her Violin

Her Violin Deep love of music fills her soul... God-given talent makes her whole, Her friend, her lover, held to heart… One feels the bond will never part. Her violin, sweet violin, She plays her tune above the din Of earthly sounds, of mundane things Her melody of heaven sings. Deep passions rise in tones sublime, With magic bow, the soul will climb To fly enraptured by the joy Her violin and she employ. © Sandra M. Haight 2014 All Rights Reserved ~4th Place~ Contest: Let The Music Play On Sponsor: Mystic Rose Judged: 01/01/2015

Copyright © Sandra Haight

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Music and Meditation

Written by John Moses Freeman

Music and Meditation

~A Mozart symphony to soothe one’s soul,
meditation’s friend is good music’s blend.
 ~Quiets minds considerably so I’m told,
good music and vacation is man's friend.

~Meditations and soothing music relates,
put on a good record, do yoga stance.
~Drives out bad manners, bad spirits vacate,
bad thoughts of one’s mind, like ants in the pants!

For and in honor of Dr Ram
And contest: Music and Meditation

Copyright © john freeman

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Baby Elephant Walk

The flute plays low
Dum, dum, de, de
Organ joints the tune
Dum, dum, de, de

Clarinet delights the ear
Dum, dum, de, de
Baby elephant wobbles
Not graceful now

High piccolo shrill gay
Dum, dum, de, de
Trombone show the way
Woddle of baby elephant

Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

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The Magic Guitarist

The thrumming thrumming thrumming can seem so very near as fingers strumming strumming make magic that I hear. Your fine guitar - passionate - What longing it can bring! As you stroke the strings of it, my heart is quivering! I wait for that resplendence - melodious and low - I know will soon commence. Your sweet words soon will flow. Your voice which hums, lilts and croons (forever gorgeously) a plethora of love tunes, keeps on bewitching me. I can’t know just who you are, but I can feel your glow as your music with guitar spills from my radio.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

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Musicianship

Musicianship 
(3 May 2014;  For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)

Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?

Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.

What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,

And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.

And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.

Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, 
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)

Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.

It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.

All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.

But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.

To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday

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These Dreams

She wakes every night Around the same time Shivering and sweating As 3am chimes This nightmare she carries Fills her with fear As every night draws Her death she feels near At eighteen years old With her whole life ahead What attracts these dreams As she sleeps in her bed The nightmares increase As the weeks pass by To a party she's invited As she gives life a try Her previous nightmares Seem a distant past As she dances the night away Praying that this is the last She indicates it's late To home she must head In the back of her mind Is the dreams that she dreads She takes a shortcut Only to hear footsteps behind Before she knows it There are two by her side Taunting in ridicule Down a dark alley they lure Screaming and scratching This daughter so pure To a darkened room With this evil of two To her naked flesh As they do as they do Her eyes start to close And the last thing she sees Through a small basement window A clock face strikes three ).(

Copyright © James Fraser

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Playin' Man

A completely true story....

My grandpa was a playin' man
He had a local four piece band
I was without a doubt his number one fan
Grandpa and music went hand in hand

Get together's on Saturday night
A little moonshine to start out right
Dancin' a jig under stars so bright
Dancin' and playin' until mornins' light

My grandpa was a playin' man
He played harmonica in his four piece band
I was was without a doubt his number one fan
Grandpa and music went hand in hand

Singin' songs of long ago
Happy voices singin' way down low
Grandpa puttin' on quite a show
Where he learned those songs I don't know

My grandpa was a playin' man
His guitar makin' magic in that four piece band
I was without a doubt his number one fan
Grandpa and music went hand in hand

Fiddles screamin' out loud and clear
Folks would gather round from far and near
Everybody grinnin' from ear to ear
Those memories to me are oh so dear

My grandpa was a playin ' man!

©Donna Jones

Copyright © Donna Jones

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Pacific Valentine

No one asked her to dance at their Prom that night It beggars belief in me, what's wrong with these guys Her beauty is all I see, personified within my sight To not even to approach, I'm in total amazed surprise Moving now to the present, although pasts have lived Paths of life have drawn us to be amidst of each other Recent discussions daily, our template to never sieve It beggars belief to me that others they would rather Now you have to be me to see to what my eyes declare Breathe with me to see, within politeness my eyes grace It beggars belief in me what's wrong with these guys stare To never to ask her to dance, their Prom, invited place <*> The night has finally arrived for my ask to come to light To see her standing there for my eyes to behold Draped against her tanned a dress that so delights My heart in pumping joy as our evening starts to unfold At the edge of our bed she stands, her beauty immaculate I offer my girl my hand as she smiles we begin to dance Hands to shoulder to waist, two in movement calculate Engrossed, absorbed, I'm caught, her scented fragrance Slowly our hands in roam, listening to 'The Flame' by 'Dare Eyes in glancing look, anticipating minds in thinking wish Lobe to necks now met, disheveled clothes reveal bare Our song now nears it's end, our hands in touching bliss <*> Buttons open straps in slide, shoulders where fingers walk Gravity about to be tested, soft cotton just can't resist Tongues like fencing epee's, when earlier they just talked Unison hand in hand, engrossed in naked to bare assist Covers turned lie silken sheets, rose petals sporadic adorn Two souls in facing look, kisses aplenty caressing touches Entwined in loving join, hips grinding torsos bourne Rhythmic writhing palms in palms, lovingly in clutches <*>

Copyright © James Fraser

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Tides of June Memories


The tides of June carry me over yesterday's sparkling waters to the distant shores preserved in my mind. Playful summer memories are just a light twinkling in my eye, pressed into worn photo albums, I find. Hotter days conjure thoughts of friends, no school to muddy the rippling lake and hours of summer fun. 'Last one in 's a rotten ..., splashing 'round, we kept cool, cannonballs and belly flops, a relief from the ruthless sun. An old boat dock became our fort, buckets of tadpoles were our mascots. Our neighborhood breathed new life and laughter... bikes flung upon the grass, lake waters beckoned of adventure 'til the ice cream man's music brought sweet dreams to chase after. Michael Jackson, The GoGos and Duran Duran played the soundtrack for our restless days. From our fort, the radio blared across the yard. Warm breezes held music and secrets of boy versus girl attacks. And though we often complained, the boys were never barred. Many years ago, summer time brought treasured carefree days of hide and seek, dodge ball, board games and cold lemonade. Slip and slides, cool lake swims and running through sprinkler sprays, all happy memories of our never ending June days on parade. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders for Memories of June Contest (Joann Grisetti)

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

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If Music Be The Food of Love, Play On


The notes, oh the notes that soared above The music to grab and hold the heart A rhythm carried by the winds of life Two things that cannot be keep apart So feed the soul with music then The sounds that bind us to each other Spoken with unbroken line and phrases Filling needs for self , for one another In time the music will have a softer tone But they belong together, hand and glove The melodies will linger in each memory Speaking softly..."If music be the food of love, play on.."
"If music be the food of love, play on....." Shakespeare, from- The Tempest-

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

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No Words



Long ago, near a quiet lake lived The People
Living as one with Mother Earth and Father Sun
One day there came to them, a beautiful boy
Straight and strong, but of words he had none

With The People he grew to glorious manhood
But still he had no way to speak of his heart
So with love and patience Grandfather made a flute
And then No Words and his flute were never apart

You could find him in the first morning rays
Or in the quiet evening's soft comforting shade
Speaking to The People and to the spirit world
With the music his grandfather's flute had made

It's haunting notes spoke of the beauty around
Of the life lived and loved by the water blue
Rising up to fly with the wind and the clouds
The music of a No Words man of the Sioux


Barbara Gorelick..for the " Tell His Story" contest
Hosted by Constance, the Rambling Poet

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

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Something Like You

Something like a love song
Crossed my mind,
Sang to my soul,
Made my heart fly.

Something like a daydream
Drove me wild
Had me on cloud nine
Free like a child.

Something like a miracle
Hit me hard
Had me jumping and skipping.
I was touching the stars.

Something like a love story
Took my by surprise
Feeling like I won the lotto
Gave me butterflies.

Something like a love song
Played softly to my heart beat
Its all your fault
And I'm swept off my feet.

Copyright © Stephanie Whitley

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Stage Personality

Up four steps, on the stage, become a different guy
I’m a Gemini; could it be that’s the reason why?
On the stage, the showman in me suddenly runs free
I don’t how, but I do become a  different me

Copyright © Charles Sides

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Music Festival

Music Festival

Boys in glitter and gold quote the doors
With dreadlocks they beatbox drum and base
A girl balances my friend with her legs
He lies planked above her face

Flags ripple with colour
Cheers wave through the crowd
The clearest pitch of an angel
Embodies my soul with sound

I'm inhibited won't you accompany me
Sunlight replaced by lasers and neon Crucifixes
I lust for a disturbing insatiability
I've become transfixed

Paramedics attend to paralytics
While I unwind I feel
The sleepy sexy wind on my face
And I drift off

Copyright © Rory Hannan

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My Rock n Roll Party - In Memory of Mr Tom Bell - Poet

"Roll on tonight my mates are coming round For a few cold beers and some rocking sounds Time is drawing near, as I hear a knock at the door Blimey! at this time of the night, a vacuum salesmen stands before" "Hey pal make it quick, I have a party to host Tell me your pitch, now disappear your a ghost The best place for them is in the lunar craters Sucking on Listerine soaked tissues, singing, "see you later alligator" "Another knock on the door, and I'm pleasantly surprised All my intended buddies on my doorstep, the parties arrived For a night of drifting, ending with earache and pain Entering wormholes of insomnia, no pain no gain" "Our party is going to be like a cool Rock 'n' Roll gig Beers flowing a plenty, this ain't no highland jig We start with Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention Best friends and myself, our schooldays convention" "This is no wine and dine as Dire Straits play The "Sultans of Swing" sounds excellent any day Next we play Deep Purple, listening to Jon Lord's Hammond sounds Music is our medicine in six speaker surround" "In between sounds to the kitchen we head Tid-bits and more beers to keep our gig well fed We sample some Grunge Metal listening to Nuclear Waste But once again Classic Rocks rules, as Grunge is not our taste" "For the next couple of ours it's like The Monsters of Rock AC/DC and UFO, the Rock never stops We air guitar to "Whole Lotta Rosie" Wearing spandex boxer shorts, one of us drumming like Cozy" "We all awake in the morning, some with sore heads But it was never a night that we were ever going to dread It was a bunch of guys who met whilst at school Who released their friendly energy, like fools but really cool" "Tom, I never knew you, but I thank Catie for this Writing this poem, just fills me with bliss I know you will be busy, but if you happen to look down Give our convention a shout, join our Rock n Roll clowns" My tribute to Mr Tom Bell, so many people spoke about him. Reading what they said, I only wish I knew him.

Copyright © James Fraser

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The best investment I ever made

My son upon this Christmas Eve 
I reminisce of midnight hours
Your fingers dancing over tenuous keys
And the emotions your talent empowers

I couldn't comprehend how you taught yourself to play 
Or just how this symphony of one became 
The songs you have inside of you like heaven on display
I revel in your poignant craft uniquely unprofaned

It's true that your propensity 
Can lean toward darkened depth
A common vein for artists 
To be moody and depressed

For your pain releases beauty 
by your gift it's voice relates
You know your in the masters company 
of Mozart, Bach, and Hemingway

So when your struggles weigh 
As the sea laden oceans sand
Take your seat and breathe
Stretch out your feral hands

Creating an instrumental euphoria 
For the lonely and the damned
Open the gate to moods your feigning
Though others will misunderstand 

Christmas Eve and it's memories
This flashback came my way
Of your very first piano 
The best investment I ever made

But one day when I'm aged and old
It will be you who cares for me
Play for me then on that Christmas Eve 
With your love in every stroke 







Copyright © Sarai Romani

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The Little Girls Abyss

Ever since I was young I always had this dream About a little girl who lived next door Who drowned in a nearby stream I don't know what possessed me But I always knew one day She would turn up at my door And ask me out to play I mentioned it to my parents They said "listen" and sat me down It happened before we moved here Her bigger sister let her drown The family we bought the house from Moved on from the fear of this Their teenage daughter suffered nightmares And dreamt of a wet abyss Many years have passed I am now well into my teens But this aura that still surrounds me Everywhere I look she's seen One evening I went to shower As normal I pulled back the screen I turned to look in the mirror She was there, staring back at me There was an incredible similarity She looked like me when i was young Now having shown herself, is it over Or has it really just begun UNSUPPORTED CODE

Copyright © James Fraser

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Fame And Glory Due

...to all jazzmen and women everywhere

There are those who improvise within a structure,
with four beats to the bar, or down home blues,
melodies and harmonies which stay within the fold,
embellishing the tune how e'er they choose.

Then there are cats who improvise to their own drummer,
inventing sheets of sound no ear has heard,
who bounce off one another, and break off from the norm,
Sun Ra's Arkestra, Sonny Stitt and Bird.

They wrote a new agenda, redistributing the forms,
inventing broader schemes of interplay,
as Jazz became a melting pot of signatures and styles,
through Ragtime, Big Band, Bop, until today. 

America's indigenous expression,
born here, appreciated everywhere,
let us be proud of all these marvelous musicians
who bring fame and glory for us all to share!

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe

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Keys

Soft keys pressed by soft fingers moving swiftly
eyes close and heart slows down for once
words are not flowing like they usually do
so the music fills lungs and I find a bunce
words are everywhere and my thoughts are lost
writing with the soft rhythm of the piano keys
relief passes over, for it feels like ecstasy 
to write again like a passing breeze
my only comfort when the world is suffocating
the simple smile of a rhyme that makes sense
the beauty of the work that my fingers produce
the wonder of how the heart is so immense
soft keys pressed by soft fingers moving swiftly
eyes close, but my heart stays focused and ready
words are flowing faster than a silver waterfall
nonetheless they are sure, pure, and steady

Copyright © Juli- Michelle