Long Artists Poems
Long Artists Poems. Below are the most popular long Artists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Artists poems by poem length and keyword.
Grave Music- -
When I thought of music
Those the song never tuning
Musicians so are cocooning
Taking thy hymn from out my heart
That moment my soul grew routine
Just what does this mean
Grave music
The grave a funeral
I saw the composers
Music is dead
Yet we still sing
And so I screamed, 'Is that a psalm?'
The recurrent repertoire refraining
It was attaining
It was reigning
Grave music
Once upon a midnight splendid
My passion is a phonographic guitar
When I thought of the music
I awoke and flung the score
Much I marveled the ragtime bluegrass
By the grave I saw the artists
I heard a musical, copyright copyrighting
Deep into that darkness availing choir yet still praising
Singing my songs of songs
Grave music
I awoke and flung the voice I have dreamed of the soloists
Screaming aloud with pitch voice, my choice
Deep into that darkness playing
Ever praising yet
Still
Music
Grave music
1/4/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
LIKE when cold cobble stones are Queens
without their Crowned King, only
now and when my foot-falls scream
through a suffering mostly unknown:
there's no words to express sorry
and love so the Angels shut their Eyes
saving all between the balustrades
and lost hopes of the Grace of God,
Breathe! Don't say sorry for what
you feel and through it all I Drink
for all all the good times and all
the monsters who chose the river
of dead seashells so shut your eyes
and breathe -- breathe for freedom
and expression to all our horde
of lovers, artists, and poets
So you will receive So you say
Just shine sun upon those who are
never heard, and love the despised
screaming souls of, "We are One. &
nothing more!"
:: 12-05-2016 ::
It just goes to follow, that the sun can not rise
If the darkness has not conceded its demise
But the night is a part of the birth of the day
Displaying nature’s art in a magnificent way
As sun breaks horizon it’s the end of the show
Credits start to run ... it’s now time to go
A true sunrise chaser knows just what to do
Arriving in darkness, anticipating the view
As sun creeps along it begins with the glow
The colors are intense as the aura starts to grow
The clouds are the artists defining the glory
Cumulous or stratus, they tell a different story
The sky is electric ... on fire with color
This sunrise will be like no one other
A spiritual enlightening comes over me
As the glow of sun’s fire peeks just above the sea
It grows in intensity warming my face
I feel the beginnings of a million other days
The surety in life as the new day debuts
We bid the passing night a fond adieu.
_______________________________________
2/16/2018
Written for contest: Sunrise/Sunset
Sponsor: Silent One
For nearly 40 years,
Much of Sid's environs were golden hues
and browns that are common in Fall.
Some of nature's best photographs become
so common as to be taken for granted.
The sky was still blue and the trees were GREEN,
filled with fruits and nuts enough to feed the world.
Nevertheless, Sid's once GREEN lawn had become a brown one.
The Western drought had taken its toll. All properties were
getting water meters coupled with mandated watering days.
And Sid had become accustomed to the look of summer brown.
Sid could not forget the day he set his eyes on a
picture of GREEN grass sent from 2,000 miles away.
He stared at nature's beauty and was aghast, taken aback,
and mesmerized by a GREEN unseen by him in many a year.
The best of mortal artists could not have painted GREEN
as arresting, captivating, and overwhelmingly beautiful.
To all of my friends on Poetry Soup,
you really are a dynamic poet troupe.
Though I’m not here every single day,
rest assured I’ll not stay away.
You’ve made me laugh and sometimes cry,
when your engaging works I do espy.
I sit here now with tea in cup,
occasionally I’ll take a sup.
Prodigious poems that I have faved,
command the entire center stage.
I revisit them whenever I’m down,
for them everyone deserves gold crowns.
Within this crisis there’s time to reflect
and take opportunity to reconnect.
So Guten Tag, Ola, Konnichiwa Shikamoo,
G’day, Namaste, Shalom, Asalaam, to you.
Ciao, Yassas, Bonjour, Hola, Goddag,
Nin hao, Ahlan, Privet, Goedendag,
Witaj, Halo, Helo, Selam, Hei, too;
stay well, I do appreciate you.
A chilly early 1987 morning, 7th March,
five booze cruise boys crammed in a car.
From overnight ferry, just disembarked
when told of the Zebrugge ferry disaster.
Hands freeze on the steering wheel,
as the driver recalls what we now all see.
In a queue, a last minute change he did feel.
All had agreed to travel on The Herald of Free.
"Let's go from Dover for a change", I suggest
All agreed they wanted to see Zebrugge
In the travel shop, our driver felt his unrest
"Portsmouth is a shorter drive back" thought the daft bugger.
And so yet again to Le Havre we went.
Oh on the trip, he got some stick all right.
But in the car I pat him on the back, "mate, you were heaven sent,
we all should have died last night!"
Reflections for Contest
hungover, in car tinkling with duty free bottles. It didn't really sink in (pun intended). Had he stuck to the plan we would have been on the Herald of Free Enterprise departing Zebrugge on the night of March 6, 1987.
His later recollection was that in queuing in the travel agent shop, (no internet or smartphones back then) he visualised extra driving from Dover, instead of Portsmouth, back to Taunton. And so "sod them, I've got to put up with these piss artists, so they'll have to put up with Le Havre again."
We never really appreciated the significance at the time, nor did the friendships last as we drifted apart thereafter.
If lawyers get de-barred and clergymen de-frocked
Does it naturally follow and make sense
That electricians are de-lighted and cowboys de-ranged?
Need some answers, no sitting on the fence!
Can a motorist be de-fined, a balloon's mood de-flated
This silliness surely must stop
Do dead mailmen de-liver, are old ships de-ported
Better stop before I call a burly cop
Do musicians get de-noted, dry cleaners de-pressed?
Now hold on, I'm getting quite upset
Can models be de-posed, do tree surgeons de-bark?
Haven't heard any answers as yet
Do skirts get de-pleted, has your hair been de-parted?
This must be some kind of a plot
Artists quit by de-sign, symphonies de-compose?
I think about de's things a lot!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Flava flav, Run DMC,
Digital Underground.
The early 90's I found hip hop.
I found poetry..
Langston Hughes, led to
Tupac Shakur.
Do you remember "Jada"
and "When ure hero falls"
Flamboyant, charismatic,
scholastic,
a ghetto philosopher..
"Thug Life", "2Pacolipse"
I heard you, I felt your pain,
your struggles...
"All Eyes on me"
and my favorite,
Makaveli...
You inspired me.
many have lost resolve to me,
by your collaboration with Jodeci.
"Me and my Girlfriend"
A masterpiece...
Tupac and Biggie,
friends turned vicious enemies.
Five shots,
an attempted murder plot
brought conflict and
a Bill Boards top ten spot...
interactions with Faith,
enhanced Biggies rage
"West coast, East coast"
beef took center stage....
Yet through all of your controversy
you would shock and amaze.
God has judged you my friend!!
I see you in white, sharp
with a glass of "Thug Passion".
When I meet my fate,
I'll see you with Nas
chillin',
in "Thugs Mansion"
I love you Pac!!
This poem is dedicated to one of the greatest artists of all time.
Tupac Shakur will never be forgotten, his message inspired many
before and after his death.... The name Tupac Shakur will always live on..
June 16th 1971--- September 13, 1996
RIP, we miss you Pac!!!
Jared Pickett
6/10/2010
Asavvy1
This poem has been written for Raul Moreno's Tupac Shakur contest.....
Enjoy my friend!!!!!
"Simon Edy, known as Old Simon, (1709-18 May 1783) was a London beggar who may have served as an inspiration for a popular nursery rhyme. He lived in a derelict "Rats' Castle" in the rookery of Dyott Street. He was born in Woodford in Northamptonshire in 1709 and died on 18 May 1783. He had a succession of dogs and the last of them was a drover's sheepdog called Rover.
He begged outside the churchyard of St Giles in the Fields and was a well-known figure, being portrayed by artists including John Seago and Thomas Rowlandson. He wore several hats, coats, and rings and collected much bric-a-brac such as cuttings from old newspapers like The Gentleman's Magazine, from which he regaled passers-by. As he was a simpleton, he is thought to be a possible inspiration for the nursery rhyme, Simple Simon, which was published in the Royal Book of Nursery Rhymes nearby in Monmouth Court."
Simple Simon met a pieman,
Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
Let me taste your ware.
Said the pieman unto Simon,
Show me first your penny;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
Indeed I have not any.
Simple Simon went a-fishing,
For to catch a whale;
All the water he had got,
Was in his mother's pail.
Simple Simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle.
He went for water in a sieve
But soon it all fell through
And now poor Simple Simon
Bids you all adieu!
The fighter who was with
a brilliant golden bow
the desired arrow
the fire tank!
He uttered a lamb's peaceable sigh
and the sheep's mellow reaction
to a lamb was always credited to its maker
unstoppable internal conflict
never let the sword sleep
design and build Jerusalem.
In the verdant English countryside
wandered around from one field to another,
enjoying the season's bounty to the fullest
Gliding through the rays of the sun.
In search of sympathy, insight, and peace
his gaze was drawn to a love orchard
numerous fragrant flowers burst forth
he was called Joy
unleash instinct and destroy reason
his art is defined by decked nakedness.
William Blake [1757-1827] was one of the most influential poets and artists of his day.
Written: January 12, 2022
Beloved Poets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh