Long Bandstand Poems
Long Bandstand Poems. Below are the most popular long Bandstand by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bandstand poems by poem length and keyword.
The first K-mart
opens its door.
Into space we
start to explore.
Motown Records is born,
It's from the soul.
We have new music,
It's called Rock n Roll.
For luck we carried
A rabbit's foot.
We kept phone numbers
in a phone book.
There were two
keys for the car.
The Barbie doll,
an instant star.
The kids had Bozo
and Howdy Doody.
We saw the first
drive-in movie.
We had I Love Lucy
on the TV.
We had no safe place
for safety.
In real-time we
experienced Beatlemania.
Our information came
from an encyclopedia.
Food stamps for
people in poverty.
Dallas Texas they
assassinated,
John F Kennedy.
We wrote in cursive and
can tell circle time.
We shopped at the
local five and Dime.
We used the first
electronic calculator.
We ate Swansons
frozen TV dinner.
We got our milk
from a milkman.
Our President was
Harry S. Truman.
We heard music
from vinyl LPs.
We had no color
on our TVs.
The government signs
The Southern Manifesto.
Vaccinations begin to stop
the spread of polio.
We had Dick Clark and
American Bandstand.
The papers read,
Say goodbye to Marilyn.
Turbo1904?
Post-hippie and pre-disco kids were we,
not clearly fitting one sole category.
Girls dressed formal for our biggest dance.
No short-shorts or those fab bell-bottom pants.
Exploring options at each fashion store,
we girls picked gowns whose length was to the floor.
Guys dressed up formal too; perhaps they’d rent
tuxedos that they wore to the event.
Some local band would play; their lead would sing
an upbeat tune for us like “Wild Thing.”
We danced free form, for we were not about
a single style of dance; we just rocked out!
No Bandstand moves for us; we did just fine.
No Salsa, Swing or dancing in a line.
I think the guys preferred the music slow.
Then into their slow dancing mode they’d go.
Around our dates we draped our arms. Our feet
seemed barely moving from one spot; a treat!
A treat indeed – though soft the songs might be,
hearts raced as partners danced romantically.
To “Have You Seen Her,” “If,” and “Maggie May”
we let our bodies sensuously sway.
The threat of Viet Nam was nearly gone.
To “Riders in the Storm” we blissfully danced on.
March 9, 2020
“Kim Rodrigues’ DWM Contest”
Stars are a wondrous sight in the night
They are a most dazzling precious light
Not only beautifying the sky
But guiding the way for you and I.
Dancing angels out in aerospace
With fineness full of heavenly grace
Around the moon scattered stars align
In eyes they twinkle, purely divine.
Devoid of stars the nights would be dim
The man in the moon would lose his grin
Alone in the dark, no company
No angels singing in harmony.
Stars were made as a stunning duo
From the all-powerful supremo
Starlight and moonlight go hand in hand
Beacons that glow on earth's grand bandstand.
Each star has a pattern of its own
That stays unidentified, unknown
They are there for folk to reach out to
With a way of making dreams come true.
Baseball cards and hula hoops
Baloney sandwich, Campbell’s soup
Howdy Doody and Mickey Mouse
Mamie and Ike in the White House
American Bandstand, Rock 'n Roll
Elvis the Pelvis, Nat King Cole
Pez Dispensers and Kool-Aid
Bedtime for Bonzo, Panty Raids
Oscar Mayer’s Wienermobile
Superman was the ‘Man of Steel’
Archie & Veronica, Mad Magazine
Skirts and Bobby-Sox, Jukebox Scenes
The Roadrunner, Tom and Jerry
Durward Kirby and a Moore named Gary
The Price is Right, Let’s Make a Deal
Hostess Twinkies – b & w newsreels
A Dog named Lassie and Rin Tin Tin
Yankees and Celtics always win
Mickey Mantle, Ernie Banks
Whitey Ford, Hammerin' Hank
Joe McCarthy and the Red Scare
Semi-Crewcuts or Slicked-back hair
The 1950’s weren’t built to last
Still and all ~ quite a cast!
Jazz City breathes like a smoke ring in a midnight club/ Rudy Van Gelder at the console, the world’s greatest keeper of sound, Prestige Records spinning stories in the air/
First with the great jazzman, a medium tempo groove that slides from bebop to hard-swing, rails blazing as the jazz Coltrane blows by on a melody that climbs and flies/
Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis, cookin’ the pot, steamin’ with a pocket full of jazz soul/ Clifford Brownie Brown leads a hip Quintet, Max Roach on drums, a harmonic understudy whispering the language of the streets and the back alleys' life and love/
Some cats just don’t give a straight face to the night—high, sad, happy, drunk, angry—moods poured out on the bandstand like rain through a skylight/ The club crowd feels every wave, every push and pull, as these cats stride into something cool, strutting like tenor giants of the ‘50s and ‘60s, leaping on a note at the Half Note jazz club/
Ruth Brown, an R&B queen with a jazz vibe in her voice, comes drifting through the doorway—rhythm and blues calling her name, she answers with a smile that cuts through the smoke and lights up the room at the Surger Shack/ She’s something else, a heartbeat of dance steps in a rhythm and blues night that never truly ends? This is not just music; it’s a city waking up with a horn section for a skyline, a doorway into sound where every mood is a stairway into every solo/
a streetlight, a conga line in every chorus/ Jazz City isn’t a place; it’s a pulse in the air, a memory you can hear whenever the world pretends to be quiet. So lean in, my brother, and get super hip/listen close, let the grooves pull you into their orbit/where the greats walk the stairs of time and the present keeps time with the past, one note at a time."
DIG THE GROOVE MAN, IT'S MIGHTY HIGH/
MILES, KEROUAC, BLOWIN’ WORD JAZZ NOTES, TO THE SKY/ LET’S GET DOWN 2IT/KEROUAC INNOVATIVE, REVOLUTIONARY WORD JAZZ WITH STRINGS/MILES AT THE BLACK HAWK, MAN, WHAT A SCENE/
JACK AND MILES WALKED THE WALK AND TALKED THE COOL HIP JAZZ TALK/
NO BLUE MOODS HERE/JUST HIGH NOTES OF WORD SPEAK AND BE-BOP, MILES COOL/
MAN, I’M INTO THIS JAZZ SCENE SO DEEP CRATE DIGGIN’ 4 VINYL ON THE WEEKENDS IS MY GIG/ LOOKIN’ 4 BLUE NOTE JEMS IN THE BENS/SAY BABY WHACHA SAY? / SHE’S ON 2 MILES ALL THE WAY/ SO DIG WHAT MILES SAYS IN HIS RASPY VOICE/ LIKE I GOTTA GETS GOIN’ TO A LATE-NIGHT JAM WITH MONK, DIZ, AND TRANE/I’M OFF THE BANDSTAND, WILL SOMEBODY CALL ME A CAB? /LIKE I’M OUTTA HERE, LIKE YESTERDAY/ (GUITAR SOLO)
TOP DOWN RIDE DEX’S BLASTIN’ FROM THE CAR RADIO/ THE COAST HIGHWAY LEADS THE WAY/ MILES REMANES HIP 2 THIS DAY/ BEAT POETS DIGGIN’ DEEP INTO THE NU BE-BOP SOUNDS THEIR WORDS FLOTIN’ HIGH ON WEED, COKE, AND RYE/ LIKE A CIRCUS ACT FIFTY FEET HIGH/ SO WHAT MILES SAYS, MAN, I GOTTA BOOK 2 A SWINGIN’ LATE NITE PARTY THAT’S OFF THE HOOK/ (ORGAN SOLO) KENNY CLARK, HERBE HANDCOCK, AND DAVE HOLLAND MAKING THE ROUNDS IN HARLEM SURE NUFF/ BACK BEAT 50’S JAZZ SWINGIN’ WITH JAZZ WORDS/ STEVE ALLEN HAD KEROUAC ON HIS TV SHOW/ GOT HEADS BOPPIN’ THAT NIGHT/ MAN, THINK IF MILES HIT THAT SCENE/ KEROUAC, MILES, AND STEVE ALLEN/ HORN PLAYIN’, WORD SAYIN’/ PANO PLAYIN’ SET/ SO WHAT DOES MILES SAY?/ I GOTTA BOOK OUTTA HEAR/LIKE MAN, SPLIT THE SCENE/REAL GONE BABY/ LIKE NOW…
The ones who survived their wars put on their uniforms to march
We gather at the bandstand under the Memorial Day arch
The fallen somehow know, and are there in spirit force
One leads us in patriotic songs, there is one lone white horse.
We are reverent and polite as we listen to the stories of old.
Shared with us by men who were brave, daring and bold.
They once told us stories about Europe and World War Two.
But those men are gone now, so Viet Nam and Gulf War will do.
We applaud and tell them “thank you for serving” the best that we can.
Memorial Day is the time to bring out lemonade a carnival man.
Picnics and laughter. We enjoy sweet May in the warm, nurturing sun.
Do we remember that many brave men and women will never again have this kind of fun?
Can you hear the pitter patter
Of the rain on my roof?
Can you hear the water splatter,
And the dog that goes 'woof'?
Can you hear that auto go by?
And the bike that zooms through?
Can you hear the thirsty land sigh,
As it laps the rain, dew?
Hearken! The tinkle of a laugh!
The rustle of a leaf,
The quiet mooing of the calf,
The weeping willow's grief;
Can you hear the crunch of the land,
When the lorry crushes?
Hearken to honking horns' bandstand,
As the traffic rushes;
Hearken! A baby crying far!
Music playing nearby!
How wonderful all these sounds are!
How do they gratify!
Thelonious Monk, In a world where he spins not just notes, but notes where bebop rides vibes/
Monk plays funk, Groovy good-time funk, A jazz revolution, a sonic delight/
No, Thelonious Monk did not play funk, But what if he did?/
are you hip to the scene a smoky room filled with the beat, would it be jazz funk? Bebop of today, with a strong, rhythmic bassline, a pulse that pulls your mind strings like a JB embrace/
a prominent drum groove, that makes your soul sway, funk chords dancing, Minor 9th chords, slipping and sliding, Dominant 13th chords, bold and inviting. Can you hear it? /
The bebop beat, fast tempo, bandstand sweaty heat always exceeding 200 bpm/
a race against time, a chase through sound, complex chord progressions, rapid shifts, and a whirlwind of keys, to catch you off guard, and bring you higher into the bebop ozone. C, D, E, F, G, A?, A, B/
Man, what a drag, to think Monk didn’t play funk, what a world he might have created, If his fingers danced on those keys, In a vibrant, electric harmony, where Bebop jazz meets funk, and the night spins on/
A tapestry woven with sound, Riddled with the heartbeat of a genius, A world where Thelonious Monk Is the king of the jazz-funk groove/
Backbone Slim’s Blues/Tony Adamo
12/10/2024
In the deep south, where rivers wind, A tale unfolds, of a soul inter-twined/
Backbone Slim, born where the cotton sways, In fields of labor, he spent his days/
Weary hands, skin kissed by the sun/ Back-breaking work, but he never would run/
Close to the soil, where his roots dig deep, A rhythm of struggle, a song to keep/
Voices holler, chanting through the air, From the cotton fields yonder, a story laid bare/
The gins were a symphony, grinding away/ Blues notes forming, In Slims younger day/
His early life was painted in pain, sorrow, disgust/
Lookin’ for freedom, in a world full of rust/
“Man, I gotta get out,” he whispered to the night/ Who can I trust in this endless fight? /
NOLA called out the soul in his blues/ A blues sanctuary where his heart could choose/
Man, give me a big holler, give me a shout, In the blues rhythm of life, let the music pour out/
So, dig, the blues is his canvas, his solace, his strife/ He’s hip to It/
It's not everyone’s life/
The Smoky Bars/Delta deep Juke Joints/No Bandstand Brother/Just Play in the Club Back Corner/
Slim will Play till he drops, it’s the pulse that beats in his life/
In every strum, in every blues vamp's embrace/
Backbone Slim finds his rightful place/
His 12-bar blues, a shot of hard gin/
Warm on the tongue, where the journey begins/
From the cotton fields' labor to his heart's sweet bluesy refrain/
Backbone Slim’s legacy is a testament to pain and gain/
So, listen closely, and get hip to the blues story, In the deep south, where the blues is gold/
For in every blues heartbreak, and every cryin' soulful tune, Backbone Slim sings to the rhythm of the bright full moon/
So, jump aboard his blues train and feel his song roll by/