Best Folk Music Poems
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
O river of rivers,
The queen river,
Flow as you wish,
Gather silt forever
That on your shores
Men may harrow, then sow
The seeds of happiness
And sorrow to grow.
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
O river of rivers,
The starry river,
Your blinking waves drum
Of Behula's shiver.
I too am lost,
The tattered merchant fool,
My peacock barge rides
Fate's whirlpool.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend,
O river of rivers,
The wise river.
Who would speak for us?
If not you, may be never.
Yet the mountains rise
From the hearths' ash,
You are silent, while
The history is brash.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
O river of rivers,
The hungry river,
The consort of Ruin.
An arrow in Falguni's quiver.
The infinite wasteland beckons
Hold onto heart's dream,
One more sun above
Anguish and scream.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
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Form: Bhatiali
Date: 19 / 11 / 2016
Bhatiali is a form of folk music native to Bangladesh and Bengal. There is no place for Taal (a term used in Indian classical music for the rhythmic pattern) in pure bhatiali. Even rhyme is not that important. Generally, these songs are sung by the cattle herders on the fields or the fisherfolks living off a river. Among the several subjects of folk music in all of Bengal, that includes Deha-tatva (about the body) and Murshid-tatva (about the guru), Bhatiali deals with Prakriti-tatva (about nature). Probably the most renowned poet of this form is Jasimuddin. Some of Rabindranath Tagore's songs can also be categorised as typical bhatiali.
When I sit alone with my memories
My mind drifts back to the early 60s
When folk music was all the rage
The New Christy Minstrels, Peter Paul and Mary
The Brothers Four, The Limelighters, The Kingston Trio
The Canadiana Folksingers... who?????
A six member group called The Canadiana Folksingers
Included myself and my first wife Linda
Along with two guitar players and and a one-string bass
And I played the five-string banjo
Did we have a blast? Oh yah!
Made an album called “This Land Is Your Land”
And a 45 rpm single called, “Hi Jolly!”
Along with appearances on both
Of the only two Canadian TV Networks at the time
My memories of those days long ago fill me with pride and tears
We can't go back but we can dream
About when we were young
And the world was ours to explore!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Today's Sounds
Music rolls off the banjo, bluegrass
Active cheery sound, gland it’s around,
Folk music in little town passed down by word of mouth;
Family remembers and other people too, and songs abound.
Symphony sounds dynamic notes through the grand hall,
Aria Nessun Dorma rapturous great joy emotion,
Opera transports to a lofty feeling, heavenly classical,
Piano music and classical guitar uplifting feeling locomotion.
Listen, echoing 14th century chant cathedral music,
Hymn captivating, baroque music alive to this day,
History’s not historical, it’s not even past; and organ rolls on,
Waltz smoothly wafts across the air through the dance hall bay.
Ice cream parlor music cheerful tunes with hot fudge sundae,
Oldies music reminiscence rock ‘n’ roll, jazz, country and western feeling,
Big band dance music, rhythm and blues, brass band thrill,
Gospel music, spirituals, and blues, highland healing.
Motion picture music score jumps high fidelity positive
Enjoyment, touching stereo button to instrumental music roll,
Relax in the day, easy listening music comfortable rest,
Sound waves motions ear drums, people listen alive soul.
The Vietnam War came immediately into my mind
And how sad it was, because so many young men died
They were innocent, many between eighteen and twenty
The rest of us lost our innocence too as they were returned
in flag-draped coffins.
I was a teenager when I became aware of the Vietnam War
My boyfriend had to sign up for the draft; there was no choice
Unless you had a congressman or a senator in your family.
It was a sad time. Folk music was slow and dreamy.
We were talking about flower power, wearing bell bottoms.
The hippies developed as a protest against the establishment.
We were singing folk songs that reflected our sadness.
Where have all the flowers gone to me represented our innocence.
We were never innocent again after the Viet Nam War.
teeming with pride,
humble and its peen.
sometimes only wearing underwear.
culture so rare.
dancing on there own line of drumbeats,
minding there own a folk music.
so keen on their own particular heritage of kin,
made u of their own ideas and dreams.
Rain poured down
Made me think about music
Like listen to blues
The droplets danced on the metal railings
Made me think about music
Like listen to jazz
It was the end of may
Made me think about music
Like listen to joik
A dog run past me
Made me think about music
Like listen to country and western
It was Sunday
Made me think about music
Like listen to Gospel
The dog’s owner called out for his dog
Made me think about music
Like listen to opera
A red, white and blue car was parked outside
Made me think about music
Like listen to folk music
The dog’s owner ran after his dog
Made me think about music
Like listen to r&b
The dog’s owner was united with his dog
Made me think about music
Like listen to soul
It stopped raining
Made me think about music
Like listen to classical music
A woman went by; red dress, black sweater
Made me think about music
Like listen to rock and pop
It started raining again
Made me think about music
Like listen to heavy metal
The rain hit the artificial grass
Made me think about music
Like listen to electronica
The sun split the clouds
Made me think about music
Like listen to salsa
Like listen to cha-cha-cha
It started to rain; again
Made me think about music
Like listen to the last song; played
Last round in the pub
Last song played by the band
Last chance to follow her home
It made me think of a song
A song I know I don’t know
The song I don’t know how to sing
The song with “Corona; Corona” in the chorus
Me; I’m very happy
Because I don’t have to think about:
Music in the church
Song by a grave
Old time Appalachians deep within the hollows.
Self-sufficient, hard working, fine mountain folks
With farming, barn raising, and crafting skills,
Logging, mining and music to pleasure the ear.
Devoted to family, kin gathering they do.
Faith in the wisdom of their elders is seen.
Church going and revivals, strengthening their beliefs,
Appalachians are dignified, spirited mountain folks.
Gathering of families, generations of kin.
Folk music, old songs blended with time.
Mountain twanged voices singing out songs-
Flatfoot or clog dancing, kicking up heels,
Fiddle picking, foot stomping, hand slapping thighs,
Ballads of life's struggles, celebrations and griefs,
Brought over by immigrants generations ago.
Brings a sense of home for the young and the old.
A dedication to a friend of mine.
Pride flags fly high today
Folk music family
Mennonite bureaus
So many melons and windsocks and dreamcatchers
This place signals a rebellion
Echoing antebellum times, seething with vibrancy and it boiled over
And for a moment broke the inertia
Love wins today and today we know
That we are a people of progress
But koyaanisqatsi waits for us outside this field
Just past these barns
Most of us are forced to march with that army too but
We can build a bulwark here and move it out beyond the dusty paths
It is up to you artisans, Amish, millennials, immigrants, farmers, poets
Today I secretly join your ranks
The Grief of Gaziantep.
Hotter than a Dragon’s kiss,
the seas boil under saffron sun.
Tiny thrumming mosquitoes zone on sweating, caramac skin,
Customer entertainment...hanging from shop fronts,
nine carat gold cages lure buyers in,
imprisoned, flush-red faced finches,
wings of pumpkin-orange
hypnotize purring feral cats.
The afternoon air laden with aromas,
Cinnamon, cumin, ginger...
Bluest sky tips to ripe pomegranate.
Anatolian mountain weavers peddle hand-spun carpets,
fine silk, cool cotton, warm wool.
Faded proud portrait of mounted Ataturk accepts toasts
from chinking, inky Turkish and golden-apple tea glasses.
Layered lutes echo the Ciftetelli as lovers entwine... ***
An odd guest delivers a soul-scalding gift.
Blast! Bang! Splatter! Shatters the buzzing streets of Gaziantep.
Poppy-red plasma sprays through ghost-grey gusts...
Whimpering, wailing, screaming, sobbing,
echoes of sadness rupture the sodden earth,
in once jovial corners, now cups of embers smoulder.
Still Mama’s jet hair moves...like Puma’s in slow-motion.
Leapt into an everlasting world of sorrow,
grief beat-beats upon severed hearts.
Ceaseless pain flutters on wings of wind,
as stretchers convey the motionless and the maimed.
A Jasmine flower chain now a poisonous asp.
The apricot horizon flits through boundless violet skies
as the barley half-moon sings with newborn stars.
Bleeding wounds will scab,
hope, the key of freedom, falters.
Swallows weave darkness to night.
Longings for the lost...
as loved ones whisper in their sleep.
*** Ciftetelli..Turkish Folk music often played at Weddings.
Dedicated to the Citizens of Gaziantep Turkey... Where 54 people (including 22 children) were killed and many injured by a suicide bomber on Saturday 20th August 2016. One mother lost four of her five children.
Joan Chandos Baez is an American singer
Eighteen years old, first of the later date
protest folk singers
Famous before Bob Dylan!
Songwriter, musician, and activist.
Folk music of protest and social justice,
in the fields of nonviolence, civil rights,
workers' rights, and the environment
Made over 30 albums
Fluent in Spanish and English,
recorded songs in at least
six other languages
March on Washington for Civil Rights
Supported Cesar Chavez and his
United Farm workers Union
Protested Vietnam War, and supports
homeless veterans
Fundraiser for the Ukraine refugees
Eighty years of age, Joan is still
performing for cherished causes
History will teach us
"The Purpose Of Life" through
the genius women such as Joan Baez.
work in progress
Footle of Country Bands
S**t Kickers/slide guitar
cowboys
Stetson
John Denver/folk music
“Thank God”
fiddler
Footle Of Rock Bands
Guitar strings/stockings
steely
nylons
Big hair/bands
hairspray
glamour
Roadies/Hotel
seconds
trashed rooms
Thrash/Punk Rock
Bangers
Façade
Lost my kids once just for a minute or so in the fair: needle in haystack.
Busy and purposeful Sunday morning. Fascinating bee hive but I wanted my kids back
Thought they were next to the glass beads jostling and rattling on a necklace chain,
Or near the polished fossils, and bags clinking their sea-shell collections from Spain.
I squinted for their faces in the crowd,as rows of cheap eyeglasses looked invitingly
Over at the gaudily-decorated casual shoes, just arrived breathless from Turkey;
And stalls overflowing with flame-coloured dresses - Moroccan, from Agadir -
Trying to inch down to the ground like wriggling children. But not my children dear.
Toy insects buzzing joyfully and plastic windmills whirring playfully in the breeze
And serious-minded compasses busy seeking north didn’t fill my search with ease.
Carousels with ponies and dinosaurs, birds and elephants?
Maybe they had fulfilled my wandering kids’ secret wants?
Noisy price-haggling. African traders switching from language of Germany to Wales,
Or even to Arabic, as they sensed customers's different interests and possible sales.
Chinese and Vietnamese comparing views in French, their only common tongue.
No doubt, my three had slipped their leash and were hiding: they were young.
The swish of the decorative paper garlands in the breeze was near-lost in the crowd;
And the conflict between Welsh folk-music and American heavy-metal rock so loud.
And I listened to the colourful chatter pulsate
Of traders trying to persuade money to leave your wallet.
Girls in sandals and sunglasses. Old ladies in floral patterns and blue-rinsed hair.
Young men eyeing girls trying on dresses ……but my three were not there.
Ah - but then! At the ice cream stall I saw three hungry mouths, kept
Pressed to the glass. Three money-less urchins all glad to see dad. I swept
Them up in my arms and started to relax and enjoy the fair-market.
I’d lost my kids for just about one minute.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Lisa Cooper ~Dark Poetess's Contest County Fair
7:37 PM 26 Oct 2014
Greying hippies maturing youths
Young parents and a child or two
Wooden floor darkened room
color lights breaking gloom
A sea of voices sharing life
On a cool autumn night
Folk music locally grown
Smiling waiters make you feel at home
Pizza,pretzels and flowing beer
Bringing laughter and cheer
Dancing gypsies spinning round
Loving life to the wonderful sounds
A little time to frolic
A little time to forget
A little time from reality
Renewing the heart and tranquility
All American Rejects are dull
Blues music is full of soul
Country music keeps me sane
Danity Kane are really vain
Eminem came back from his "trip"
Folk music is pretty lame
Grunge music is about the same
Hip Hop relates to my life
Indian music makes me want a knife
Jay Z has good new songs
Kayne has been seen in a thong
Lady Gaga is moving up
Make cool beats
New music is out
Oldies are whack
Brittney is back
Queen Latifa is large
R. Kelly got a charge
Spiritual music is calming
Taken to the top of the charts
Underdogs need to get some smarts
Videos on MTV
Wild and crazy is what they'll be
X-tremely good
Young and hip
Zac Brown Band
MARKET IN BRITTANY, FRANCE
Lost my kids once just for a minute or so in the market: needle in haystack.
Busy and purposeful Sunday morning. Fascinating bee hive but I wanted my kids back
Thought they might be next to the glass beads jostling and rattling on a necklace chain,
Or near the polished fossils, and bags clinking their collections sea-shells from Spain.
I squinted for their faces in the crowd, as rows of cheap eyeglasses looked invitingly
Over at the gaudily-decorated casual shoes, just arrived breathless from Turkey;
And stalls overflowing with flame-coloured dresses - Moroccan, from Agadir -
Trying to inch down to the ground like wriggling children. But not my children dear.
Toy insects buzzing joyfully and plastic windmills whirring playfully in the breeze
And serious-minded compasses busy seeking north didn’t fill my search with ease.
Noisy price-haggling. African traders switching from the language of Germany to Wales,
or even to Arabic, as they sensed customers's different interests and possible sales.
Chinese and Vietnamese comparing views in French, their only common tongue.
No doubt, my three had slipped their leash and were hiding: they were young.
The swish of the decorative paper garlands in the breeze was near-lost in the crowd;
And the conflict between Breton folk-music and American heavy-metal rock so loud.
And I listened to the colourful chatter pulsate
Of traders trying to persuade money to leave your wallet.
Girls in sandals and sunglasses. Old ladies in floral patterns and blue-rinsed hair.
Young men eyeing girls trying on dresses …… but my three were not there.
Ah - but then! At the ice cream stall I saw three hungry mouths, kept
Pressed to the glass. Three money-less urchins all glad to see dad. I swept
Them up in my arms and started to relax and enjoy the market.
I’d lost my kids for just about one minute.