Elegy Music Poems | Elegy Poems About Music

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

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Moon Walk on Your Grave

Moon Walk on Your Grave

A life begun in stardom,
now, ending up in shame.
Relentless media, cruel world,
who then is there to blame.

A sadness inside,
no tears on your face.
The pain all but over,
mass confusion erase.

In wonder we watch,
can a life be explained?
Can't surface your agony,
under facade you remained.

Let's focus on the talent,
musical joy that you gave.
In peace now I pray,
moon walk on your grave.

© Rene' Brady 2009

Copyright © Rene' Brady | Year Posted 2009

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Elegy for Michael Jackson (3)

You shimmering waves on the ocean blue
Dance not again, he cannot dance with you
You weeping forests where the winds wail too
Let your bright tears fall in the pool of dew
The world of pop will never be the same again
The king is dead, and life is a dream so vain.

                  O day most callous like the callous world, how
                   Did you come about? By whose love designed,
                   Whose genius bore him, gave him life? O now
                   Do tell us of his human coming, since maligned
                   It's oft forgotten that he was somebody's child
                   Context in a world where his skin was reviled:
                   And yet some marveled that he parted from it
                   To build a world different from base to summit.

Genius is a gift and not a choice, and he was all
A moment's glimpse of earth's troubled paradise
For Michael was not mere mortal he was our tall
Selves transformed to art, so nuanced to the wise
That understood how his dance moves were silk
Syllables of protest and regret, a symbol cocooned
In loneliness, a man pining for the rare social milk
Of happiness against a material breast, festooned

                    With a race unhappiness. He was more than we
                    Saw with naked eye, Michael was an artist true
                    Context in all our history. And yet his mortality
                    Was not less not vulnerable due to fame, a blue
                    Note then sing for him, remember this day's despair
                    How the fickle fans in fragile praise came again
                    Away from the media's maddening glare to share
                    This moment of dark our universal deluge of pain.

O Indiana, this is your son, O America this here
Is your native child, weep here ye poets, weep
For him, the poet of the broken soul, Let no tear
Leave a eye that's dry for the lullaby of his sleep
Come ye world that felt his charity, beg angels
Hear us and welcome him; Michael, forever we 
Will keep our hearts beating for you, in citadels
Of shining peace when your songs bring memory. 

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

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The Day That Music Died

The day that music died, singing wept.
Into the sea of melancholy voice crept.
Each word spoken reeked with pain.
When could we ever be whole again
Under the rug good lyrics were swept.

Singing is really a magical thing.
Everyone agrees music has a ring
It sates all involved, fills to the top.
Once you begin, you hesitate to stop.
Your imagine yourself to be the king.

There are none too old to learn, they say.
Never again we give our song away.
We'll sing, we'll sing never quiet.
We will sing, until we start a riot.
Music for ever and ever and a day.

8 Aug 11 Charles Henderson

Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2012

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King of Pop

made you


Copyright © Jessica Arteaga | Year Posted 2009

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An elegy for a piano teacher

She’s rolled up with patience
dedication and faith in the Lord;
her strictness punctuated a shared vision
that focused on learning acquisition.

  Her punctuality, precision, and determination
  to teach her pupils with discipline and right focusing;
  as a rule of thumb she always obeyed
  made the essence of what music means to all.

Rain or shine she’s there in her cubicle
waiting for her pupils scheduled to take their lessons;
those Hanon exercises, arpeggios, and other finger articulations
would lead off in concentration or warm-up in every lesson.

  Perhaps she’s a scarecrow to some who hadn’t known her;
  but she’d a listening heart described as a story line;
  with depth and assurance that no one is denied,
  along with other slow learners who coped with perseverance.

Truly, her endless word to slow down in every measure,
her technique that entailed so much discipline and correction
through memory lane I still remember a constant repetition;
her affinity for perfection that requires discipline and proportion.

  She’s a teacher keenly aware of her pupils’ emotions,
  her generosity explained either in time or learning a score;
  as a sign and meaning to pedagogical association
  with thriving efforts to play the music with technique and precision.

She’s held in the affectionate memory of her pupils,
their collective thoughts about her fittingly honored her
a woman like her with a horizon of meaning to everyone
a true Filipino educator with a glowing torch in her soul
and her music sustained my vocation to go on.

  Its magical link to depth and soul of human expression,
  its beauty and inspiration that kept me to deepen my own calling;
  to make piano sing in the balance of emotion, technique and celebration
  a way to experience Him with wonders and beauty – limitless world.

Maraming salamat , Maestra Marina M Diokno!
I really missed you; I really treasured whatever you taught me;
your strong affinity for virtuousity, allegato and sostenuto,
indeed, a memory lane suffused with gratitude and threads of appreciation.

Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012

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Paul's Gone

The music 
          has stopped
 and the piano bench is now 
      He brought the gift 
of music to thousands of youth 
   he also loved the other arts - painting and dance
He cared about oppression and 
had a Jackie Robinson poster on 
  the wall
He went to shul every Yom Kippur 
(although I knew he had his doubts)
He moved up in economic status 
     and he always voted 
    He read about the lousy 
Holocaust in his last years 
    He was a proud mama's boy 
He led choruses in the army 
     So long Paul Anish from your surviving son
          (and he raised two other children 
                  and had a beautiful baby 
die at one)
      He loved poetry especially Wordsworth
He loved his wife of 56 years 
 I hope I can be strong and go on without him
            So long Pesach - So long

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2011

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ooooh Marian

your sultry voice
your gentle laugh
those warm notes
welcome me in
how long has
this been goin' on

I've been around
and so have you
your soul touches
your fingers dance
gnarled with age
yet light on keys

across a wire
across the sky
clear across time
we say goodbye
how long has
this been goin' on

© Goode Guy 2013-08-21

eulogy for Marian McPartland 1918-03-20--2013-08-20

Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2013

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Rest in Heaven Mister 213

It was a clear dark night
When your voice was the only in sight,
The many years of childhood,
The "Hip-Hop Hooker,"
was the choice of many tunes,
So know, that in our genre,
We may never forget
How the regulations of the game was maneuvered,
By just 16 bars,
or how we jammed and sang,
Along in our car,
To the many soulful grooves,
This one, Nate Dogg is for you;

Copyright © shane solomon | Year Posted 2011

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Marie III--Is the Coffin Too Deep

So frigid was her immaculate body Her last second in screams is all I can see Love's revenge was my guilt With you I'd rather let you die with Bound hands Without you, Marie, like the psychopath's dream Death is all that I can see; All that could redeem Did anyone ask Did anyone recall The sweet taste of the poison The swift slash of the knife he penetration of the lead The pain of her decaying heart I can hear it's bellowing cries But why can't you, Marie, Hear my paranoid eulogies Is the coffin too deep? Was it so hard to solve Was it so hard to see That I strangled her so easily My nails piercing her comely skin Blood dripping like the pomegranate I crushed with the shovel I shattered her shins The knife to slight her wrists Didn't you see I did it all The only witness Couldn't say Is the coffin too deep? The pain of her decaying hear tI can hear it's bellowing cries But why can't you, Marie, Hear my paranoid eulogies Is the coffin too deep? Marie I cant stay Earth is to cruel when your coffin is to deep Forever in death and in death alone The pain of her decaying heart I can hear it's bellowing cries But why can't you, Marie, Hear my paranoid eulogies Is the coffin too deep?

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

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Uncle Mack

Old Uncle Mack had a long life,
seen alot,
racism and civil rights,
picked cotton in a hot summer field 
for a man who didn't care for him.
He rode the rails for most of his life,
seeing things and meeting people,
landed a nice retirement check.
Humor and wit seemed to pour out 
of Uncle Mack like the Country Blues
he could play on that old Martin.
I met him late in his life
in the deep old South
of this nation through a friend.
He wasn't really my Uncle,
he became much more than that.
I help him do the things 
he needed to do.
He taught me how to play the Blues
and told me stories of days long gone by.
On a hot July day my friend
called to tell me Uncle Mack
had quietly passed away that night.
At the funeral I was the only 
white person around,
some of the family questioned me.
After the preacher said his say
and the tears were falling,
I began playing my guitar the way
Uncle Mack had taught me
and let my tears fall like rain.
All were silent when I was done,
I threw my guitar pick in the grave
and walked away thanking the Lord
I'd met this man,
my "Uncle Mack".

Copyright © mark king | Year Posted 2006

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My Friend Mark

I've known him since high school,
He had an immense impact on me,
Tosseled, curly blonde hair,
And always with a smile,
A musician's musician,
With talent a tad lower
Than he gave on,
I feared no audience when he was there,
He somehow comforted me,
He always had a bright outlook,
He was magic in a crowd,
With tales and totes to please us all,
He made a 40 watt bulb burn at 100,
I particularly remember he and Mike Joseph,
(Who stole an amp from me),
Sitting on the "Peeve Room" floor,
with acoustic guitars on laps,
Playing "Uncle John's Band"
To my delight, in 1970,
And all the music he opened me
up to, my God, he taught me so much...
Hence my great sadness at his passing,
When the angel of death came down to touch,
And take this musician, genius, and friend,
Into another celestial abode...
They left a hole in my heart,
Where once his gift of friendship flowed.

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

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Requiem For the Absolute

Take the sun away, and find me in a new day
The laws of this land are so hard to obey
You've showed me the way where we must all g
oTaken from me this beautiful sanctuary
Required till this day was your frozen soul
Blessed art thee for you have conquered 
So gently you unwrapped my hopes and dreams
Lost and numb my heart beckons for the day
Relinquish these hands searching for my soul
Find a way to make me through this day
Requiem for the absolute- a prayer that cannot wait
Requiem for the absolute-I'll wait till the hymns be said
Requiem for the absolute- the dream that will not end
Barriers that create I create-- her suffering the cause of pain
While you sang to me about the dead star so innocently
So I came to thee while your eyes were glistening ever so sweetly
Inspired by thee I can't wait to see the day (the day)
when I have got you in my grave 
Relinquish these hands searching for my soul
Find a way to make me through this day
Requiem for the absolute- a prayer that cannot wait
Requiem for the absolute-I'll wait till the hymns be said
Requiem for the absolute- the dream that will not end
Relinquish these hands searching for my soul
Find a way to make me through this day
Requiem for the absolute- a prayer that cannot wait
Requiem for the absolute-I'll wait till the hymns be said
Requiem for the absolute- the dream that will not end

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

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A smile
A guitar
A rolled up cig
A voice that sings
At every gig

A mind that travels
Beyond this plain,
A sense of humor,
Sometimes insane...

A devotion
To daughters
Of whom he was
so proud,
A tendency never,
to talk too loud

Words and thoughts
Wise beyond his years,
Human suffering
That brought on tears

Mark T...
His Gors nickname
I wonder if he liked to fish,
One thing's for sure,
I truely wish

He did still tread
This earth, a world
so grand,
I was oh so privileged
To be in his band.

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

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Luciano Pavarotti (1935-2007)

Goodbye, Luciano,
easing through death's door,
no more thy voice shall soar.

Farewell, Luciano,
no longer croon ‘O Sole Mio’
to take thee back to Sorrento.

Adios, Luciano,
unto a peaceful slumber deep,
from the world's travails escape.

Hark! Enrico Caruso,
bid the angels welcome Luciano
into the heavenly choir in the sky.

Copyright © Wilfredo Derequito | Year Posted 2007

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My Rapture

In this end, 
I give you my suffering 
My finale in life, shall it come
And I shall miss this suffering
Death, my comfort in songs
For I do not wish to go now

In this empty space
After me, 
Here and there you chase
Shadows they blossum
No fear upon me expressions de facial
Of coarse it's a due date
A sudden divorce, pursued by fate
My enemies
Those whom have wronged me
The promise of this song may be
Because of you
My flesh shall never greet peace  
Doomed, my purgatory
Yet these flames may never deplete my feet
Shall not be accepted 
Your sympathy
I saw it, I stepped on it, I left it
Do not expect thee to beg thy mercy of leave
For misery has sheltered my wounds at this lovely feast

Copyright © Jerry Golden | Year Posted 2008

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To Pete Seeger - circa shortly before his death - verse one

this anonymous weaver spins his written tapestry
to acknowledge your ninetieth year
no matter this author unknown who deftly weaves
(for pete sakes) with english poetry
which rhyming threads fire away 
(from axons to neurons)
at warp speed way out there
attempting to coalesce into some semblance
of comprehension from non other than me
a veritable stranger, 
who considers your a folk icon
that hoop fully destiny will spare
until one grain of sand takes thee
to eternal blue skies astride 
astral throne like king henry
with minstrelsy folks housed in a place
like my father’s mansion poised far and near
intent to discern the adroit banjo finger picking
plucky talent admission for all – free
whose eponymous trademark
je nais sais quois legendary voice 
rings like a bell in the air.

Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017

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Bird traps

The hunter went out to the bush
baits in hand, bird traps in the bag
birds flew and circled in morn air
as he released bait insects to clients

Little did clients know the danger
all scooped at the baits so delicious
the traps did good job for the hunter
as victims were twisted upside-down

Then they remembered it was a trick
the sky they could not see anymore
delicious meal offered became a curse
and no longer were they one in unity

Few specialized in noise making trade
neighbors pecked each other with beaks
whichever got off by luck joined hunter
everyone for itself, none for the other

Bird hunter took control of the territory
new generations of birds became victims
singing funerals hymns, cursing ancestors
as hunter grew loathsome and insensible

Copyright © Solomon Ochwo-Oburu | Year Posted 2017