Baritone Poems - Poems about Baritone

Due to an inherent desire for love ...

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Bari Red, Maroon Swinging, Smoothing, Swaying Candy For My Ears Saxophone...

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Foul mouthed he was,foul mouthed he was called, A beast with words,an obsession he wards, South is his tone,without a fear to his baritone, A grave his tongue digs,for him he'll only sink....

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oh lord how long shall it take for love to sail her ship through this wall of fire through the truth and lies until your baritone blue eyes...

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Dressed in white Was it really right Glistening sunset Where lips met Wine glass sorrow A gift is tomorrow Lowered your eyes Hiding lies It was not fate For love to wait But it was fate She would be late Confetti falling Broken voices stalling Shattered stairs Sudden glares Highest of high The lowest sigh White to red All were dead Dressed in white It wasn't right Dead in war ...But what for...

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Upon entering Methacton Junior High School as rookie Warrior, (the sturm un drang sports team mascot) no doubt this goy he brew a facade sans being wimpy kid, bookish nerd, and puny dork who felt wracked with crew zing the by gone memory lance of nostalgia to return...

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Round about nineteen 1971-2, yours truly bid adieu to Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School (situated at crossroads – then beau colic rural routes of Evansburg Road and Ridge Pike), where nary a clue prevails today of such pristine farm country due to undergo radical urbanization during my boyhood edu cay ting this sensitive kid asper flora...

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Minimal involvement with extracurricular activity at Methacton limited to playing Baritone Horny within the band though marginal interest existed to maintain constancy feigning noteworthy interest second to none eventually Mister O'Donnell (I remember without mental exertion - surmising that tubby name of bandleader)...

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An arthritic flesh Hesitant wipes off deteriorated lens Every exhale, Another tragic sulk unto morrow’s pit Flaunting suicidal fallacies Off-white flag motions Signaling mercy under liar’s duress Muted pride Cracking dusty knuckles Penetration’s decrepit vowel Slipping in between faulty, stamped licenses Just to belong Another back-handed waltz Bordering beggar dialects Untrue Towards paradoxical epiphanies A faceless identity Converging amongst unwelcomed hymns Tainting hallelujahs with discolored spit Worming their decapitated fingertips With equilibrium massages Back to a...

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Liquid fire in his heart Hands too soft to play the part but if that fire turns to ice the tears will flow not once, but twice The passion play has found an end For broken hearts that cannot mend but if that heart turns in to stone his fate will be to die alone He knows not how to heal the hole The...

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