Long Bop Poems
Long Bop Poems. Below are the most popular long Bop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bop poems by poem length and keyword.
Software that’s deployed incomplete,
we are expected to go with the flow.
Agile is supposed to put people first?
I’m looking at a slew of burnt out staff.
Expectations without the proper tools,
I’m not really a fan of looking like a fool.
I am here to file a corporate complaint,
right now before it’s too late.
The patrons who choose our business
notice the consistent inconsistencies.
Drops, outages, and all flavors of ‘Fail’
are not supposed to be commonplace.
Piling on more the experts won’t survive,
nothing will be left of a fine tuned skillset.
Quality or quantity? An ancient argument.
There is a line I fear we have crossed.
I am here to file a corporate complaint,
right now before it’s too late.
Junk-bait replaced an aspirational brand.
Is that what we are destined to say?
Well I’ll be damned if I let master class die.
Trash is trending and we have a reputation.
Flexible doesn’t mean sacrifice soundness.
I don’t ever want to hear ‘Remember when..’
I am here to file a corporate complaint,
right now before it’s too late.
Listen up, this is a showcase where words swing as a funky drum beat high on Bop and Swing/
hip talk spoken into a full club room of party goers, high on life drinks and weed/
We talk in half notes and blue notes, cool and defiant, loud and fine, the spoken word giants talkin’ bout Ice rides, and why are Americans bein’ arrested and killed so Trump can have his day/
We be cookin’ up phrases hotter than Tower of Power’s horn section at midnight at the Apollo/
We ride the tempo that never disappoints, tough times tucked into the groove/a melody of grit and glow, where every syllable moves/Monk in the corner, keys glowing like streetlamps on a rainy night/
His zigzag rhythm teaches us to hear the truth just right/
This is a new thing, a blue thing, the shape of jazz to come in the air/a blueprint of sing speak improv words with no fear of corrupt politicians rigging our voter elections/ man, power to the people and down with the evil goons in our politics today/
always speakin’ out was Ornette Coleman, with his avant-garde horn soul to soul playin’ into a new terrain that tore the jazz sky apart/Eric Dolphy, Don Cherry, Archie Shepp—names that make time cry with their bold jazz manifesto playin’ in blocks of new bar structures, and way out chordal jazz sounds. Man, these cats be flyin’ way high on the new thing that they be puttin’ down/
The universe be jazzin’ with zounds of acid jazz, crashing galaxies in a smile, face to face with the solar wind chorus, where the wild and free harmonies pile high the SUN RA way? And where it’s at—the last-minute rush of the jazz workshop’s glow/ Village Gate, where echoes of Lee Morgan still steal the show, Lee’s horn slicing through smoke and memory, like a red comet in bloom, his Sidewinder’s horn of rhythm and hard bop folds into the night of day/It’s out there, it’s always been out there, a pulse you can hear if you listen/a language that refuses to stay still, always insisting, So hear this: the talk isn’t merely a sound, it’s a living parade, a map drawn in jazzy blue notes, where every street corner is a new jazz note played/Keep your ears ready, your feet on the floor/ dig this, man, jazz’s is a living scripture, and we’re only asking for more."
Every Spring there’s a battle cry
from deep within the South;
It raises the hair of millions for miles;
Tempers rise and just continue to climb
brushes try as styles explode mid motion;
Nothing can stop the impending siege;
Wild curls wage war with humidity;
Summer follows suit bringing sweat
to frizzed ringlets that go out of control;
One goes up while the other goes down
leaving bangs to hang limp like noodles;
With longing you look at the ten percent;
Over and over again failed products,
new ingredients same formidable foe;
Dog days leave you looking so unkept;
Wild curls wage war with humidity;
Doing this and trying that
slaughtered instantly by air;
Warriors fall this combat so daunting;
Lean into the wind armed and dangerous;
One final stand for the incorrigible;
A worthy opponent? My old school hat.
Wild curls wage war with humidity.
The color spectrum’s made up of ebony
mixed with the warmth of a lustrous pearl;
Yet we’re still focused on our differences
instead of taking in a panoramic view;
Feeding energy into separation
how can anyone relate to one another?
Black and white are every shade of grey;
None of them are miscellaneous;
Letting some in forcing others out
painting with the word ‘Inclusion’;
But the truth inside the message
doesn’t really let us all belong
any longer;
Cast out over things you can’t change
left the misfit once again;
There’s never a seat with my name on it;
Black and white are every shade of grey;
None of them are miscellaneous;
Remember that it’s really very simple:
Our blood is always the same hue;
Believing anything else wastes time
and keeps us all lagging behind;
Every soul has the same value
despite what you see with your eyes;
Black and white are every shade of grey.
None of them are miscellaneous.
IT WAS SUPRISING TO HIM
HE DATED HER FOR MORE THAN A YEAR AND
WHEN SHE TOLD HIM SHE HAD MARRIED
NINE MONTHS BACK, HE STOOD SHOCKED
AND AMAZED.
SHE SMILED AS IF JIS FEELINGS WEREN'T TO BE HURT
OR AT LEAST BRUISED.
BUT IT DIDN'T STOP THEIR, SHE TOLD HIM SHE KNEW SHE WAS PREGANT
AND SHE THOUGHT HIM TO BE THE FATHER. IN ANY INSTANCE SHE'D EXPECT HIM TO TAKE CARE OF HIS CHILD AND TOLD HIM
HER HUSBAND HAD AGREED TO RAISE THE CHILD AS HIS.
SHE THOUGHT IT WAS NESSACARY TO ADVICE HIM OF THE LIMITATIONS
SHE HAD PLACED ON HIM, AND GAVE REASON TO SUPPORT HER THEORY OF MALE EGO AND PRIDE.
HE THOUGHT SHE WAS CRAZY AND ASKED HER TO LEAVE. SHE MILED AND SAID I WILL CALL YOU IN THREE DAYS, WE CAN TALK THEN.
HE SAT ON THE SIDE OF HIS BED FOR HOURS, AND THE ONLY WORDS HE COULD COME UP WITH WERE
FROM ONE DAY THINKING SHE JUST LIKED HAVING COMPANY, TO THIS. EXTREME TO EXTREME: AND WONDERED WHO SHE RECEIVED ADVICE FROM AND WHAT GRIPE DID THE OTHERS WHO SUPPORTED HER HAVE AGAINST HIM.
SOMBOR THE UNMAKING OF THOSE WHO CONSPIRE TO MAKE NIGHTS TOMMORROWS FOR COUPLING. SHE WISHED HIM TO BE HER PAYDAY. AND NOW HE WAS FACED WITH HER DISTORTED WAYS OF ESTABLISHING EXSISTANCE.
You walk in hoping for solace or a smile,
instead you’re ostracized by iconoclasts.
Oh what irony!
Becoming what you profess to be against,
don’t you see what a joke that is?
Now we’re overrun with hypocrites.
Safe spaces aren’t so free,
they’re not open to all who enter;
Copying a cadence shouting their beliefs,
rhetoric gets you in the ‘In’ crowd.
Somewhere art’s been left to flounder,
shy behind all their shallow noise.
No desire to speak,
that’s been tried before.
Can’t open up when the response
is so utterly phony.
Safe spaces aren’t so free,
they’re not open to all who enter;
You’re not backed up when you’re gone.
Don’t think you’re exempt from their rules.
Only truly welcome with a cave-ate,
be a catalyst for their agenda.
God forbid you hold your own opinion
perhaps it’s better to remain exposed.
Safe spaces aren’t so free,
they’re not open to all who enter.
The feeling of a target on your back
and a thousand tongues waiting to scoff.
That’s how you feel being a square
surrounded by a family of rectangles.
You’ve got to be courageous to stand out,
you’re already locked in your reflection.
Ever been the only one in the room?
It feels like every eye is on you.
The longer you sit those nerves stand up,
feeling simultaneously alien and awkward.
Minutes multiply your heartbeat spirals,
you want to run out but that’s too loud.
Is it even worth it?
Hidden tears begin to tease mascara
blinking back weepy warning bells:
This fatal audience will see you fail.
Ever been the only one in the room?
It feels like every eye is on you.
Breathing through it is all you can do.
Have courage, smile, and just be you.
We’ve all been self conscious, it’s okay.
Hold you’re head up straight and tall
Let them see you as the star you are,
shine on in the dark be the spotlight.
Ever been the only one in the room?
It feels like every eye is on you.
Classical is from the Middle Ages
in the mid-1940's we had Bebop
a fast-tempo 19th / 20th century Jazz
then along came Doo-wop
with group harmonies
the 50's brought us rock and roll
which developed the 1960's
(sad to say) Disco and its glitter ball
then psychedelic pop rock
blues and folk rock
and in the 1970's it was Hip-hop
and also Rap
which was misspelt
it should read 'Crap'
the 1980's were synthesised
1990's gave us Garage and Grunge
2020's saw online streaming
by the record industry which makes me cringe
Country music (C&W) too (hit or flop)
I know it's true I left out (Reggae) more than a few
but no matter the genre tempo or key
the self-same seven notes do it for eclectic me
Shy, anxious, or just ridiculous;
Truth? It really all feels the same;
A bar always beats a house party.
Getting people’s pets in trouble
hanging with them in the corner,
not feeling the small talk anyway;
I’ve never really tried to fly
then suddenly I knew I had to soar;
Caught between home and happy,
I’m not getting anywhere staying in;
No one to talk to but there could be;
Tug of war you can go to hell.
Fine! I’ll go get in my car;
Who knows who or what I may find;
Plastic smile but I can’t stop shaking;
The closer I get the more I want to go back;
I’ve never really tried to fly
then suddenly I knew I had to soar;
A thought broke through the static
‘Strangers don’t bite or sting,
go through the door turn the key!’
Sternly I tell myself
‘Give people a chance to know you.’
I realize it’s all up to me.
I’ve never really tried to fly
then suddenly I knew I had to soar.
Set the standard don’t follow the leader.
That’s what I was taught as a little girl,
work hard and you can do anything.
This is the land of opportunity,
there is no limit chase a skyscraper!!!
Everyone can obtain the American dream.
No wonder the ‘It’ word is now ‘Mediocre’,
we’re dogging those who have made it.
Those red, white, and blue colored eyes
have faded into a jaded palette;
Left without sparkle or ambition
right at the struggle they give up and quit.
The bar has lowered and no one cares,
yet they want to throw stones and axes.
Don’t expect to prosper from the game
renegade geniuses are going to change.
No wonder the ‘It’ word is now ‘Mediocre’,
we’re dogging those who have made it.
Love bombs to the unknown mastermind
who found a cure for every form of cancer;
Pulitzer Prize to the one who took humans
interplanetary, until they saw their initials.
If you can’t help than get out of the way,
set the standard don’t follow the sheeple.
No wonder the ‘It’ word is now ‘Mediocre’,
we’re dogging those who have made it.