Best Rockers Poems
Lou Reed , Mistral of his time
so you walked this road on the wild side
unique in music , never selling out
believing in Art instead of commercialize
Lou Reed the musician never compromised ~
Sweet Jane not enough for our crowd of eccentric rockers
still will live forever with the many that left before you
one can imagine from John Lennon to Johnny Ramone
a party in Heaven of the finest rock bestowed
no text , no MTV when they pursued a dream
New York, hotel Chelsea an age of Renaissance
ragged jeans and leather jackets ,Art on stage
No, your Rock not ever fade away , it will stay sweet Jane forever ~
For the fine Man with words , ode to Lou Reed .
Categories:
rockers, art, celebrity, death, dedication,
Form:
Ode
AC/DC, the rockers from down under
Boston, with Tom Scholz on guitar, sweet thunder
Creedence Clearwater, singing Proud Mary
Deep Purple, from the 70's, rocking and hairy
Eagles, easy listening, bum hugging music
Foreigner, with their Englishman Mick
Gun, from Glasgow, Taking on the World
Heart, from Seattle, just have to be heard
Inxs, singing their Afterglow
Journey, from Frisco, under the Bay Bridge flow
Kiss, in make up, after these Crazy Crazy Nights
Loverboy, from Canada, in concert excite
Marillion, prog rockers singing the lovely Kayleigh
Nazareth, from Scotland, singing Please Don't Judas Me
OMD, with their song Enola Gay
Pink Floyd, just let Emily Play
Queen, without Freddie, but their show went on
Rush, from Toronto, three playing amazing songs
Styx, with Tommy Shaw, their blond blue eyed boy
Thin Lizzy, from Dublin, playing Inverness were a joy
Uriah Heep, named after a character by Dickens
Van Halen, with Eddie, and his guitar rockin lickin
Wishbone Ash, a favourite band of mine
XTC, singing Senses Working Overtime
Yes, with album covers, by Roger Dean
ZZ Tops, singing Legs, those legs need to be seen
Categories:
rockers, inspirational, music
Form:
ABC
Very early Fall morning…crisp and clear.
Sitting on the patio, sipping hot coffee.
Only my path to and from the bird feeders,
Rain gutters hung on the stockade fence,
Has disturbed the beautiful, glistening dew
Blanketing a lush, green Bermuda lawn
Awaiting the season’s final mow and a Winter sleep.
Early morning sunsmile creates a mist, a little fog,
That artists have great difficulty recreating.
And the sprinklers are making music too….
CH CH CH CH CH CH CH CH
As I filled those bird feeders,
Only the patient cooing of white wing dove
Waiting in the surrounding trees
Could barely be heard above the sprinkler.
CH CH CH CH CH CH CH CH
Feeders filled, I walked away.
The air erupted with bird song.
Our giant privets were alive with hungry sparrows,
Each announcing breakfast.
All the locals seemed to understand.
The robins and larks, the finches and cardinals chimed in;
But only the jays’ sharp calls could be heard above the din.
What a ruckus…but so beautiful a song,
It is a ‘wall of sound’ to be envied by rockers.
Orchestrated by Mother Nature….Mrs. God.
The sprinkler's barely heard....
ch ch ch ch ch ch ch ch
Squirrels wait out of sight.
One may bark now and then, but
They’ve learned that patience pays.
It’s not just time to feed those damn birds;
It’s time to feed the greedy squirrels too;
And chow time is well worth the wait:
Sunflower seeds. Peanuts. Suet. Dried fruit.
You can almost hear them as they gobble,
“Mmmmmm. Man, this is the good stuff, Bro’.
I mean the good stuff. What a life.
I’ll never leave…not even for a girl squirrel.”
It’s as if they think they’ll never eat again;
Every morning.
As if we hadn’t been feeding them
Every day of their lives…and their parents.
If we could tell them apart.
They would have names.
Well....everybody's happy.
All this and good coffee too.
What a beautiful Fall morning.
Categories:
rockers, animal, appreciation, autumn, basketball,
Form:
Blank verse
After all these years
We meet again in this place
Where, with you I dreamed my dreams
There - safe in your arms
As you held me through the years
Through the laughter and the tears
You and only you
Know the scars upon my soul
Know the pain this heart still holds
Now I find you here
In this old abandoned house
Alone but for memories
Rockers worn flat
Cracks upon your broken back
Arms still reaching out to me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written: December 3rd, 2009
2nd place in - Matt Caliri's contest: Speak Chair, Speak
Categories:
rockers, nostalgia
Form:
Personification
With the palms of well-worn leathery hands that in younger days guided a Tall Ship round
the globe many times with the help of stars that still twinkled in his eyes, the old man made
a porthole in the frosty forest of swirling ferns that had been painted on the kitchen window
pane by Jack-Frost during the night.
As I sat on his lap, he told me the creaking sound made by the rockers from the rocking
chair we sat in on the hardwood floor - if he closed his eyes, could make him believe he was
back with the wind in his sails, rising and dipping and swaying with the whims of the
waves ‘ore the sea.
Back- and- forth, back-and-forth, we rocked as the porthole on the window pane grew larger,
exposing the winter wonder land outside where trees and roads and roof-tops lie frozen
beneath a layer of fluffy snow that looked like icing on a birthday cake, as the house
softened and swelled in the warmth of the burning kindling wood that snapped and crackled
in the stove.
Rocking back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I asked him, looking into those eyes of green, with
that far away look. “Grandpa, won’t you tell me please, what lies beyond the sea?” He
paused for a moment, blowing silver halos that rose from his pipe in an aroma of sweet
smelling ‘Old Sail’ tobacco, and with the magic of his words, he took me on a journey,
rocking across the sea where he showed me all the places and wondrous things he’d ever
seen.
That was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, where an old man, taught a
little girl, that life is but a dream.
~~~~~
In memory of: Captain James George the Third - My Grandfather
~~~~~
2nd place in 'Anything Goes #2 Contest - sponsered by Constance La France
Author's note:
This is one entry of many that will appear in my next book ' A Journey of Roses and Thorns'.
They are true events that have happened in my life - some where roses, some were
thorns. I have learned valuable lessons from both.
Categories:
rockers, family, happiness, introspection, love,
Form:
Narrative
The House is full of stuff my husband saves;
A pair of bentwood rockers, goose-neck armed.
His grandparents sat in these, discordant creaks
Punctuating arguments. No one sits there now.
There where they are we do not need the chairs
Nor the table with the wobbly center post.
The sewing machine, treddle run, would work
But belts and bobbins no longer can be found.
The old piano, a gift from grandma for a child
Who thought he’d learn to play. He never did,
The keys are out of tune, but the wood--
The curly maple keeps its seasoned glow.
A hundred other things that take up space
Flowered lamps, a bowl back mandalin.
Newer things would go there just as well,
We only keep them for the tales they tell.
Categories:
rockers, grandparents, memory, nostalgia, old,
Form:
Blank verse
Cutting through the consciousness
of the U.S.A.
Children of Chuck Berry and Elvis
Girls gyrating wildly in the corners of the space
While the odor of beer
fills the room
My ears are full of sound
And I jump up and down
Glad I came to this place!
The noise drowns my sorrow
So who cares about tomorrow?
This poem was inspired by Chuck Berry's song "Hail. Hail Rock and Roll"
Categories:
rockers, chanukah, music,
Form:
Ballade
It's judgment day with Henry Smith
He's sick of all your music
You've gotta stop that reggae drop
His radio's polluted
It's judgment day, he's sick of it!
Those Gothic pale faces
Those people think they own themselves!
He'll put them in their places!
And poets with your gangster rap
Reform your tilted hats!
You speak your mind and Henry smith
Has had enough of that!
You punk rockers, he's had ENOUGH!
Change up those things you wear
It isn't right! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!
To smile and spike your hair
But judgment day, it came and went...
Good gracious me! What luck!
Henry Smith, he said his piece,
And no one gave a >>>>
By Kyle Ezra Kriticos
Author's note: This poem isn't about anyone in particular, in fact I only used the name Henry Smith because it's common!
Categories:
rockers, sick,
Form:
Ghazal
Arsenals of axes brought by the crate
Pedals increasing experimental
Trashy dissections of raw cityscapes
NYC rockers gone transcendental
Static blasts shredding the off-key high pings
Maracas hit toms to keep structured pace
Drum sticks wedged under alternate tunings
Meted by contrasting booms of the bass
Dissonance anteed raises the ceiling
Shaping sound by analog disruption
Searching/defining an urban feeling
Stark layers of beautiful corruption
Sweet ballads sung without being pretty
Growls and screams about something gritty
Categories:
rockers, guitar, integrity, music, sound,
Form:
Sonnet
Why are they marching this is what the question is on everyone's mind today!
Why are they marching?
To show that things can be accomplished in some other way!
Why are they singing and standing arm in arm?
Why are they speaking, dancing and shouting and willing to come to some harm?
Why are there wives leaving their families and homes?
Why are they shouting in Africa, Canada, Saudi Arabia and Rome?
"We are women, hear us roar" has been tried and we've all heard this rhetoric before?
No, you've missed the message they are trying your heart to implore!
For history has shown that boat rockers will always exist!
And at this moment they are beyond pissed!
Another administration trying to impose their will! Another government, we know the drill!
The peaceful protesters getting louder still,
We want what we are due!
Equal rights, equal treatment, a fair chance not based on the equipment between our legs!
While others drink the nectar we are tired of the dregs!
Oppression! Sublimation! intimidation! Soon prejudice will fall.
Open the doors, discuss, debate, declare:
"build a bridge not a wall!"
Justice and freedom and love through peace, is the call!
Our children are watching, their's is the fate we hope to protect and secure
Let not your ignorance and intolerance, the agenda obscure.
Lady liberty shines her light like a beacon over our shores
They want what is theirs and want to make sure you keep yours.
The man who now sits in the office so white
Seems to need a reminder that intolerance just isn't right.
Men stand up in battles, swords poised and ready to fight
Women choose the different route, shrouded by night.
Singing, chanting and speaking
Words so powerful, united they stand side by side
Sending the message that love and peace will abide.
Why are they marching is the question on everyone's mind today.
Why are they marching?
To show the world there is another way.
They are not criminals, some are teachers, mothers, lawyers, doctors, your neighbors, your friends
They are pushing to bring hatred to an end.
Their message is clear if you open your heart and hear their call
Justice, love, freedom, equality, peace to all.
Categories:
rockers, anger, angst, appreciation,
Form:
Couplet
Our synaesthesia is for free,
Music is the muse for me,
It's in my blood, you see,
Images imaginary,
Elvira Madigan wakes to see,
Mozart play Mozart lucidly.
Swooner songs sound so silly,
Old rockers croon so vividly,
Funny lyrics in my brain,
Sounding a little deranged,
(It is hereditary
in my family)
Yes, Synaesthesia is for free,
Smurfette's songs, so silly.
Categories:
rockers, allusion, family, music, song,
Form:
Free verse
Damien's fire.
Burns within.
The original sin.
The rockers taking.
In music making.
Loving the guitar.
Songwriting by far.
Playing for the ages
of fire breathing pages.
Unleashing lyrics beasts.
Strumming,
before those drums.
Of a life coming undone.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make the world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make the world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
So, rock with us baby.
Make, this world go crazy.
We need nothing more.
Than sin at our door.
Play the deepness of the soul.
This burning that was stolen.
Licking over that spine.
Strumming on the shrine.
These dark times unwinding.
The instruments of lying.
Feeling the heat of searing.
The hearts time in bleeding.
Cut me with that knife.
Of loves sinful strife.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make this world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make this world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
So, Rock with us baby.
Make, that world go crazy.
We need nothing more.
That sin at our door.
Categories:
rockers, art, song,
Form:
Lyric
A rocking horse is a child's toy, usually shaped like a horse and mounted on rockers similar to a rocking chair. Predecessors of the rocking horse may be seen in the rocking cradle, the tilting seats used during the Middle Ages for jousting practice as well as the wheeled hobby horse. The toy in its current form did not appear before the 17th century, though some conflicting sources note medieval manuscripts including references to carved rocking horses, presumably of the toy kind.
Categories:
rockers, writing,
Form:
Vaasokht
Once upon a corner in the City,
An old porch of craftsmen days
Vine winding posts and bannisters and rockers,
Drawing one and all on their way.
Afternoons were busy with our mother,
Rocking, mending and meting out wisdom;
Children resting from lawn cartwheels,
The paper boy stopping for advice about courting.
Scents from the gentle boiling of beans
Blowing freely in the fresh spring air;
Shasta daisies wrapping its foundation,
Bermuda smelling fresh from mowing.
And
There was laughter and lemonade, and
Newspaper, movie magazines and song sheets.
Young marrieds’ visits – women stay at homes, then
Stars began twinkling at twilight,
Father his Chesterfield, mother rocking at his side,
Recounting their day, children gone inside,
About Mister This and Mrs. That,
Teasing and whispering undying love to each other,
Where have these gentle times gone?
Categories:
rockers, nostalgia, sweet,
Form:
Free verse
Family nights on front porch
Fireflies with cold light as torch
Moonlight shadows on the lake
How much more can a heart take
Tepid breeze whispers softly
With creaks of rockers and swings
Wood frogs croak mostly off key
Until the whippoorwill sings
May 27, 2018
Eight Line Contest by Joseph May
7 syllable lines checked by howmanysyllables.com
AABB CDCD
Third Place Trophy
Categories:
rockers, dad, family, farm, happy,
Form:
Rhyme