Best Studio Poems
In the Meister Halle
The Geist of musicians
Feed on Zeit
Categories:
studio, allusion, art,
Form:
Haiku
One would not know, to look at me,
my years spent at the ballet barre -
tights sticking to me in summer,
cold fingers in winter.
And the aching to be better,
to be seen,
to be given a correction from my teacher.
She was the goddess of all dance and knowledge,
the stern angel of technique and artistry.
She made me cry,
yet I loved her.
She made me hate myself
and hate ballet and its impossible standards.
If I had been perfect,
self-loathing would not have existed
in that sweat-wringing studio;
the click of her cane would not have conjured dread.
I yearned to be beautiful-
in her eyes and in my own,
but she always wanted something unattainable.
Now, decades later,
if by chance I hear that music,
I inhale with anticipation,
dancing in my mind -
weightless and lovely,
the movements forever ingrained in me.
Perhaps I do a port de bras
if no one is watching.
But I'm sure she is looking down and frowning,
hoping I will extend my arms a little more.
The strange thing is, I know she loved me.
She just wanted something from me that I didn't think I had.
Categories:
studio, beauty, dance, self, student,
Form:
Free verse
i need to GET OUT
DEHYDRATING; stuffy
can't wait for OUTSIDE
Categories:
studio, life,
Form:
Haiku
..IT'S BEEN SAID LOVE IS BLIND..
HER LOOKING GLASS SEES JUST FINE..
IN THE MIRROR OF REFLECTION..
MAGNIFIED IMPERFECTION..
NO OPTICAL ILLUSION..
BRINGS HER TO THE CONCLUSION..
THAT YOU ARE PERFECTLY FLAWED..
YOU SEE, SHE CAN SEE THE ISSUE..
DEEP DOWN IN THE TISSUE, FROM WHICH EMERGES THE DEFLECTION OF LOVE..
THAT POSSIBLE YOU NEED IT..
BUT YOUR MIND IT CAN'T CONCIEVE IT..
BUT IT'S ON MINE..
THERE'S A WAY SHE CAN GET IN..
BUT NEITHER OF YOU WILL PRETEND..
YOU WILL UNDERSTAND THE VALUE OF HER, FRIEND..
NOT A SECOND TO REST ON HER HEART..
ONLY A MOMENT FOR EMBRACING OR MELODIC STEPS WHILE FACING..
THOSE THAT CAUSE THE PACING PLAY THE BIGGEST PART..
I WON'T BLAME YOU IT SEEMS..
THAT THING YOU FEAR IN YOUR POCKET THAT'S GREEN..
IS THE ROOT OF MANY THINGS..
ONE BY WHICH YOU ARE DRIVEN..
KNOW THAT ONE DAY YOU WILL BE LIVING..
FOR THE LOVE OF HER..
Categories:
studio, musiclove,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
The Studio At The Beach Part II- The Green Dress Regalia
Her dear father and his consoling ways
If she couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork
he'd put his book down, light his cigar,
In a deep mellow reverie, pick up his guitar
I know it hasn’t been easy with schoolwork
he'd sigh, smoke billowing from his mouth
Shrouding our faces in a gray-white fog
He'd speak in a comforting melodious purr
Wrapping his arm around his daughter’s shoulder,
My precious little jewel, there is no reason
For you to be so downcast, you're breaking my heart
Categories:
studio, dedication, fathers day,
Form:
Free verse
only You can understand
the heat of mirrors
the brightness of cameras
the resistance of perfumes
the pain of existence
before the cold shower
in the studio of destiny
Categories:
studio, cute love, desire, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
The Red Dress Regalia
Waning spirits sigh, the roaring ocean calls
Her playground, the coolest place ever
Dressed in flamboyant ruffled regalia
Fiery guitar scales in the background strum
Drumbeats from her hammering heals
Scuff marks adorn the wooden boards
that her father laid down for her floor
Categories:
studio, dedication, fathers day,
Form:
Free verse
It was 1988
And things seemed great
I walked off the stage
With a degree at the right age
There were changes abound
As I entered life’s next round
One happened a few years later
When bowl games needed to get things straighter
On New Year’s Day Night
The Orange Bowl was colleges big time sight
Granted on another network sugar was being splashed
With this game that could springboard one to nice professional cash
With a nice halftime show
It was a nice way to let last year go
But there was one network’s selfish greed
That tarnished the gridiron holiday gift underneath the tree
They wanted it all
And stopped at nothing including putting the parent company’s store in the mall
Due to this obsession
Athletics saw nothing that would define the word recession.
More bowls were put in place
To allow every student athlete a chance to build their talented case
But it was the Orange Bowl who had a foe
Direct from Epcot France featuring the French Quarter drunken trance.
New Orleans had the party the night before
Hours in front of midnight when they showed the old year the door.
Someone in a yellow jacket made the shift to compete with the King of Orange’s tropical gift
Now the viewer needed to do a little remote control clickering
To ease the family’s bickering.
Today King Orange will stay out of the way
Of New Years Day
Instead they play a day before we say goodbye
To the year that gave a good try.
With a team from the VA that will need a good military strategy to find the winning way
And another team from the north part of the state it should be a nice game that is worth the luring bait
But it is that wonderful halftime production
That has found itself through the years getting reduction
They have tried everything
Including getting celebrities to sing
To combat this couple minutes of rest
That makes the players ponder on how well they are doing on the gridiron final exam test.
In closing good luck to the two teams
As they deal with tropical greens
Finding out what everything means
While playing this game in their dreams.
Categories:
studio, football, french, fruit, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
Zarker Street was treeless,
front porches of houses
reaching the sidewalk,
not a square inch of grass
to welcome even a weed.
The polio ambulance, like a
a hungry animal, idled
In front of Ronnie Dasher’s house,
his brother being carted to the curb,
bound for an iron lung.
All the kids, having run inside,
watched from behind the windows.
“Mama, mama will I die?
I talked to him last week.”
How do you get away, get away?
In Miss Laken’s voice studio
at the corner of Twentieth,
a soprano student yearns
to reach the higher branches
of a more capacious garden.
Categories:
studio, anxiety, assonance, garden, song,
Form:
Lyric
In a bright studio overlooking the noisy street,
I hide from the living to write with a frantic beat;
loud voices and sounds will subdue before dark...
very sweet is the the melody of the lonely lark.
Even when it snows, the view is quite awesome:
watching snowflakes slowly come down and dress
trees in glistening white...one can feel lonesome
when every audible sound is hushed by stillness.
How lovely it is when happy faces peak from windows!
They may seem immensely surprised or stupefied;
and some even open their doors and come outside
to observe the fluffy snow descend on the pines' boughs.
I pause for another minute, then resume my writing...
it's profound observation that inspires the heart and mind,
giving this motivated poet many ideas of positive feeling;
I sense and absorb them, not noticing kids getting wild.
In a bright studio overlooking the noisy street,
I fear shadows towards evening when feet
make deep footprints that lead to my stairs...
and afraid of ghosts, I begin chanting prayers.
Categories:
studio, beauty, fear, lonely, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Simple
tech
unique
doing
intellectual
overwhelming
Categories:
studio,
Form:
Bio
My mornings will begin five hours past midnight
Eyes barely open, calluses still hardened
I grab the pick from my nightstand
Feeling strong and hyped despite drowsiness
The pick flips as the strings sing their tune
Awakening bliss of chords and melody
Waiting to be in the studio with you..
Light strums become distorted beauty
Your presence is at my side
Power is on, inputs are occupied
Notes harmonizing ever so sweetly
Almost no effort is made
Yet the process is so perfectly tuned
Oh to be in the studio with you..
Time for a homemade breakfast
Familiar scent of eggs and sausage
Sunlight crashing through the open window
Plucking out my notes between bites
Such a warm and welcoming feeling
A morning complete, sweet songs and orange juice
Across the hall from the studio with you..
There's no need to leave our home
Business trips mean walking to the beach
Painting, drawing, creating for money
Submitting our hearts into various auctions
Odd jobs, writing songs, living simply
Food on the table, love in our home
Glad just to be in the studio with you..
Afternoon fades into a sunset
A visual reward for surviving another day
Playing guitar on a warm rooftop
Looking into the world resting in your eyes
Romantic chords intensify your glances
Our bodies embrace as sun lights the ocean
Holding you forever in the studio with you..
The pick lies on the nightstand as we lay to rest
I see it as my motivation and my charm
Fighting for what I love, evolving into my dream
So that happiness and satisfaction can flourish
Your voice is a lullaby, sweet and eternal
Resting our minds for the following day
Another night in the studio with you..
Music is a lifestyle, not a hobby
A lifestyle I hope to completely acquire
On a distant beach of endless splendor
Laying on the rooftop with guitar and voice
Music and love coexisting with no limits
The world is our studio
The studio with you..
Categories:
studio, life, love, music, workworld,
Form:
Free verse
Darkness beneath,
The torn and tattered sheets
You lie awake,
And feel the walls shake
As again this year,
Christmas ends in tears
And with all the gifts,
Your life just shifts
Cuz Dad's job kills,
And Mommy can't pay the bills
So you just lay and weap
Cuz you just can't sleep
But you swear,
You'll one day make it out of there.
Categories:
studio, childhood, depression
Form:
Rhyme
Ten guitars line the wall
A rack of six, a rack of four
Standing sideways to me while
Proudly facing me, two more
Making the point that this was a
Place of music, joy, creative pain
Emphasised by the lyrics of
A broken daisy chain,
Another a song of
A life over too soon
The only expressed regret of
How he would miss the moon.
Music flowing over me
As I sit with half closed eyes
Sinking into the mood
Unaware of time flowing by.
Twelve guitars stand watching
Making me aware
This is a place of music
Of crafting, loving care.
I think they still watched me
As we closed the door
Wishing there had been time
To listen to so much more.
Categories:
studio, appreciation, music, peace, song,
Form:
Rhyme
High time i did their studio voicing
To ignite a genuine rejoicing
Over verses dismissed like Virus
And by Sun Magaz The Mysterious,
Poet making out as The Deleterious.
For all he might seem Boisterous...
But Good Producers gasp for cash,
Here in Nigeria ‘dying to smash;’
Rare knocks at their doors for sought job,
Even as they bear he names like Bob,
Planning to it complete with Marley
Or if it’d trouble cause Barley…
Yet, Reader can The poet’s Voice pick
Theirs quite likelier for The Task click;
Wasn’t there A Dolly Parton’s song
A Whitney Houston’s gave Bigger throng?
Categories:
studio, imagination, inspiration, poetry, prejudice,
Form:
Rhyme