Best Santana Poems
BAR
*MUSIC*
FUN
*MUSIC*
ALL
*MUSIC*
*R*
*O*
*C*
*K*
*A*
*N*
*D*
*R*
*O*
*L*
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AC/DC
VAN HALEN
VAN MORRISON
ROLLING STONES
MICHAEL JACKSON
THE POLICE & BOWIE
PINK FLOYD & DYLAN
SIMON & GARFUNKLE
GUNS AND ROSES
EAGLES, CREAM
TALKING HEADS
BYRDS,COSTELLO
REO SPEEDWAGON
VANILLA ICE & B-52’S
THE WHO & SANTANA
THE CARS & JOURNEY
MADONNA, GENESIS
NIRVANA, BEATLES
THE BEACH BOYS
LED ZEPPELIN
AEROSMITH
There I stood, flushed: gripping
a diaphanous pelvis of his guitar,
he rips a pulpy drool of velvet notes…
glossy under a roulette of lights,
saucy on the parquet floor upon
an artist's feet :his body movement
resembling a twisted weave; the
bossa nova of high timbre frothing scales
of primitive jungle moans,
while Latin hands roll with dizzy
Carribean beats as if Santana
and Jobim grooved with him.
Oh he aches, shakes like a livid soul,
more ravished than refined
in his groping music, my night's balm.
Streams of ‘Oye Como Va’ entice a trance
rippling down my spine, ready
to tug with the accompaniment of
drums and sax; till the last rhapsodic groan
prolongs a dazed jiggle for hips
to leap unto the heat of the sky.
My flesh perspires as I whirl,
unmindful of the exotic rhythm
prancing like a black magic woman!
-------
10/17/2015
Trashed Poem #3 Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings
By nette onclaud
Hot Air
The name of that wind is Satana
It’s hot and it’s dusty and dry,
Don’t call the wind Santa Ana
In error, for that is a lie.
Saint Ann the mother of Mary
Is remembered in so many ways
But not for a wind that blows from the desert
And makes your skin and eyes craze.
In Nineteen O’ One a reporter
In error rushed his dispatch in
He wrote Santa Ana the rotter,
It is he that committed the sin.
The name is Vientos de Sataná
The wind of the devil that’s hot,
A weather man called it Santana
But that is a name it is not.
So we are left here in confusion,
Raymond Chandler back in ’thirty eight
In “Red Wind” to Santa Anas made allusion
As conditions the local folk hate.
The wind blowing in from the passes,
Curls your hair, makes nerves up tight,
Drying the air and scorching the grasses
And everyone’s edgy all night.
Within ageless canyons we hold our breath.
Ash clouds engulf us, survival or death?
Santana stampedes, pariah unchained.
‘Tis Dante’s hellhound of Hades renamed!
Chased from our homes and all else that we own,
Panicked we flee, to a refuge unknown.
Behind us a past we can never forget
The clear hills of May, June’s swallows…regret.
Sparked up by nature, mishap or misdeed
Transmission line wires sing songs we must heed.
Flora in peril. Restore what is left!
Redeem our planet for which we’ve been blest.
Wildfires delivering whirlwinds of flame.
Let’s pledge to assure renewal sustained.
To a rhythm my feet were moving.
Left, right, T.A.N.G.O.
Moving at a pace full of life and spirit.
A willing partner I had.
Twirl, pause, five steps always ahead.
Stamp and up he holsters me.
He was best with the twist.
My hips would gyrate.
Moving at the steady pace of his grasp.
Completely igniting my body fiercely.
I could not help but change my pace.
To a beat from Santana
I enacted to a tarantella dance.
Feeling his strong hands;
Hold, feel, touch and inflict.
Aphrodisiac some would say.
Perfect partner I thought.
1, T.W.O.S.T.E.P. we go
1, 2 he leads me.
I follow like a loyal dog, the irony.
I loved dancing.
I loved dancing with him.
Cha-cha he changed the pace.
Cha-cha I felt my heart beat.
His hands slithering.
His body away from me it went.
Coming back again for a sultry dance of shag.
The dream partner I needed.
Zouk he dances again.
Paso-doble he serenaded.
My heartbeat getting stronger.
My feet moving willingly.
Moving closer.
His hands grabbed me softly closer.
Waltzing he teased the tip of my nose.
Moving slowly down to my lips.
Allemande our arms where.
He whispered in a tricotee tone.
Au revoir my sweet.
I’m sorry to be such a bag.
But our dance has come to an end.
Cakewalk he strode away.
A partner he was to me.
But never was I to him.
Fox trot I complimented myself.
A fool I felt as I broke in a hora dance alone.
My perfect partner was gone.
I guess those who understand dance moves will understand this, but Im pretty sure its understandable ;-)
© Herzel Poshiwa
Watch this Hispanic street punk
Furiously drive home his prayer
Frowning and sweating Latin funk
While the blond hippie shakes down her hair...
Santana at Woodstock, 1969 on U-Tube
I had a dream
went to a meeting
in an international metropolis
somewhere in Asia Minor
with Mandella, Bono
Schuller and Lieschke.
Clapton and The Edge
were jamming in the background
Santana just shook his head
heavy matters were decided
whilst Neil Young remembered
to wage heavy peace
Mandella just smiled and
reassured us that no matter what
we must not let fear stand in our way
of carving the road ahead, the road to freedom
Madonna said that the road to hell
is paved with good intentions
and broke into song
yet the harmony sounded more like
don't let fear, don't let fear, don't let fear
intimidate your vision
even if you're blind.
Set to the Albatross, by Fleetwood Mac. (Hum along).
On love and astral travelling,
Through the stars we're wandering,
On the Universe we're pondering,
My eternal love, Napoleon,
Intangible man, but full of fun,
Our jewelled cloak of stars,
We've journeyed from afar,
Shape shifting, glittering,
On love and astral travelling,
I'm no Carlos Santana,
I have no scarlet bandana,
I am the oestrogen,
Old Josephine,
Where haven't we been?
I have no testosterone,
You're my "Yes, master," Napoleon.....
On love and astral travelling,
Sentimentally wandering,
Are you Angelus or Incubus?
Reminiscing, reflecting-----
Comical groupies for loving,
On love and astral travelling.......
They came from The South, The North and The West Coast
450,000 together for peace and music, half a million at most
Richie Havens inspired all while singing his "Freedom" song
Country Joe McDonald dropped "F" bombs his whole set long
Carlos Santana amazed us, as he gave all and sacrificed his soul
Arlo Guthrie with Woody's weed, packed his pipe and smoked a bowl
Canned Heat and The Bear asked us to work together united stand
Levon Helm pounded skins and sang "The Weight" with The Band
Joe Cocker warned us more than once that he might sing out of tune
One after the other, CSNY, Alvin Lee, Sha Na Na midnight 'til noon
Janis gave a piece of her heart along with a "Ball and Chain"
Jefferson Airplane sang about Alice out in the pouring rain
The Fogerty's sang about where they were born and two girls one proud
And for the life of me I can't figure out why The Who played to this crowd
Jimi capped it off with The National Anthem and "Purple Haze"
the perfect ending to four long daze of rock and roll blaze
So if your travels take you to New York Up State
Stop at Bethel Wood, the place where Rock History was written in
Slate.
"1969, when music was grooved in vinyl and carved in
Rock"
Inspired by the song "Woodstock" written by Joni Mitchel and performed by Crosby, Stills and Nash
Word Lyric #9 for Music
“Testimonies of Old Hippies”
We are still traveling by the speed of mind,
We’re the old freaks, and survivors of the great Be In,
Winsome hippie girls, now old and still kind,
Play pan flutes with feathers glued to their skin.
We were there when Joe and Jimi stole the big show,
With their mythic renderings cast in vinyl stone,
What was it? Where are we? We did not exactly know,
Janis and Pete and Alvin Lee lacerated the night alone.
And we heard The Bear boogie on down the wooded road.
Some of us saw magic mushrooms smiling on a giant toad.
Richie Havens and Carlos Santana let it all fly as we sat there,
Far away into mind space, their epic explosions resounded,
Electric guitar hysterics with screaming rants compounded,
We were all laid to waste there, in the rock n’ roll blare.
We old freaks still travel by the speed of mind,
Old dudes, and hippie girls hang around and are still kind,
We still secretly toke at midnight, all of us with the ghosts,
Of Joe and Jimi, when they sliced the sky, before that vast host.
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Black-scape throughout, life’s survival or death?
Spring blooms of dogwood. Renewal sustained.
Santana stampedes, she’s wicked, untamed,
through canyons of ages. We hold our breath.
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Now Dante’s hellhound of Hades renamed!
Desiccation abounds where there were fresh
spring blooms of dogwood. Renewal sustained.
What brought this on us, is someone to blame?
Nature or mishap? A crazed soul's arrest?
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Now charred, disfigured but memory maintains
the clear hills of May, June sparrows, content.
Spring blooms of dogwood, renewal sustained.
Flora in peril, all creatures the same!
Twixt ashes or mudslides? These losses attest!
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Spring blooms of dogwood, renewal sustained.
Alaina
Se llamaba Alaina
She stole my heart in a cabana
I still can’t listen to Santana
I need my gotta see my Alaina-na-na-na
My Alaina-na-na-na
Oh oh oh oh oh, um um um um
Her hips did all the talkin’
I knew I was a dead-man-walkin’
There’s no defense against those curves
Can’t say it wasn’t worth the pain I endured from
Alaina
Se llamaba Alaina
She stole my heart in a cabana
I still can’t listen to Santana
I need my gotta see my Alaina-na-na-na
My Alaina-na-na-na
Oh oh oh oh oh, um um um um
I had no doubt she’d be trouble
Her smile had me seein’ double
I love the places she takes me
So not knowin’ where she is, is makin’ me crazy for
Alaina
Se llamaba Alaina
She stole my heart in a cabana
I still can’t listen to Santana
I need my gotta see my Alaina-na-na-na
My Alaina-na-na-na
Oh oh oh oh oh, um um um um
My Alaina
Se llamaba Alaina
She stole my heart in a cabana
I still can’t listen to Santana
I need my gotta see my Alaina
Se llamaba Alaina
Sound Check
At five this morning
I opened the drapes
There was a little
Blue bird perched
On the white railing
He did not move
Holding a peanut
While I was singing
Santana
Picturing Santana
As I had seen him
At Grant Park
Wearing a blue
Bandana
And playing
A royal blue
Guitar
Making the guitar
With a bit
Of peaceful effort
Sing softly
A five minute solo
And a black hawk
Flew above him
All the other musicians
Stopped playing
And Santana was
Ad-libing
For maybe ten minutes
And although there were
A half-million people
The crowd grew so quiet
You could hear
The sounds of Michigan
Avenue traffic
The sun shone clear
The crowd was in awe
Santana was praying
While he played
He was singing
In Spanish
The Act of Contrition
Over and over
The crowd joining in
Behind him
Was a banner
Of Our Lady Of Guadalupe
Maybe he’d play
Another ten minutes
The same wondrous way
The entire band turned
The gal next to me
Started crying
Everyone faced
Our Lady
And were singing,
Praying in english
Spanish and polish
The Gal next to me
Was still crying
And then I remembered
This was only rehearsal
The crowd was expanding
Everyone was quiet
The breeze was gentle
The crowd sang softly
More birds
Flew on stage
It was 75 degrees
The crowd was mournful
But ecstatic
The woman’s little boy
Jumped on my lap
As the band left the stage
Santana turned and smiled
See you guys
In one hour
Then he put arms and
Hands in the air
Looking into sky
He said
Gracias.
Te Adoro.
The crowd was weeping
I was stunned
The crowd was quiet.
I, the little boy
And the mom
Next to me began
Singing
Como La Flor
Then the whole row
The whole section
Sang softly along
The wind picked up
The sun was brighter
The sky had gotten
A copper blue shade
Like a painting
The crowd kept singing
Louder and louder
Now quite loud
And finally the voices
Drifted
The birds flew peacefully
Over the park
And everyone was noticing.
The mom next to me said
Firmly
There is hope.
RATTLESNAKE HILL
Meshoppen Township, Pennsylvania
Every high summer has a magical day
when the forests and fields are impossibly
green, bathed sun-up to sundown in a
yellow-gold light made lazily kinetic by
high-soaring hawks, busy beavers and bees,
the ever-cautious deer, the shadow of the bear
The music from the kitchen is “Samba Para Ti”
somehow softly Santana in the early afternoon
where community names like Meshoppen,
Dark Hollow, Mehoopany, Black Walnut,
Tunkhannock and South Auburn are a tapestry
of stories over steep, rolling land
where a young married couple gathers hay on our
hill, from their tractor and wagon a wave and a
smile, their two mixed-breed dogs are loyal and loping
and part of the team and this grateful community
celebrating the sounds and the tangled choreography
of hunting and mating, of nurturing and feeding,
of farming and family in our forested ridges of
feathers and fur, the Susquehanna River full of webbed
feet and fins; my wife in the meadow, her mid-summer
aura of honey on ivory accented with red, talking to
the grasses, to the birds, to the trees, the sounds of
spirit voices, something sacred in the breeze
On the porch of the farmhouse, I sit, an aging
man at ease, feeling blessed and content, watching
Nature’s conversations with her sun-drenched
creations on the bountiful, beautiful, fertile
green slopes of Rattlesnake Hill
Emanuel Carter
Right now
I’m not blaming you…
Pretend I have not had the
Privilege of hearing those
Lines before. Tell me.
Eternal glare on my
Sunglasses, which I wear at night.
Only an annoyance…
Never to be worried about.
When with you, I feel like
An ice pick could go
Through my
Ear and into my brain, and I’d experience a similar
Reaction. I’d like to
Go drink cheap wine and
Lay in the back of my truck, on an old mattress.
And sing—
Sing anything—as long as it’s
Santana…or soft Slipknot…