Long Clifford Poems
Long Clifford Poems. Below are the most popular long Clifford by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clifford poems by poem length and keyword.
West Coast Kool Jazz/ Spoken Word
In the air of the West, a cool breeze blows with a brushed silver sound, air-conditioned rhythm, sleek and precise, a cool jazz crown/West Coast KOOL JAZZ is born, where the vibe slides in quiet silk/where shadows flicker like neon on a sun-worn beach/ Shorty Rogers at the gate of this new thing called WEST COAST KOOL JAZZ/his jazz mates in the wings, a tight-knot of fate/Shelly Manne taps the heartbeat in drums, Red Mitchell bows the bass, Jack Sheldon paints the horn with a silver-traced grace/Frank Rosolino, Pete Condoli—names that hum in the cool jazz groove,/they sculpt the air with breath and blues that move/Soul jazz seeds sown by hands of color and courage/African American musicians paint their jazz chords into a golden collage/Clifford Brown glides, Sonny Clark lights the way/Harold Land keeps the street’s rhythem bumpin high all day/Hamton Hawes deep in the pocket/ Jimmy Bond rings the tone, Man, these cats be takin’ care of business making a living By day, IN THE RECORDING STUDIOS they chart the maps of notes those sight-reading saints in studios with movie scores in their hearts/TV shows and commercials, a vinyl jazz cosmos spun/ they stitched the world of sound until the work was done/ AT NIGHT THE CLUBS WOULD COME ALIVE in and around LA/ SHELLY MANNE’S HOLE. ZARDI’S, THE LIGHT HOUSE IN HERMOSABEACH, THE DOWNDEAT/ IN THE CITY BY THE BAY/THE BLACKHAWK, and the jazz workshop/Dig this blend: cool strutting harmonies in the air/cool jazz meshed with hard bop’s stubborn flare/East Coast grit with West Coast cool in the same breath, MAN, are you kidding me? like a highball cocktail, sun-kissed, at a beachside bar/ The cats kept their business in the cadence of the scene, living the dream/A breeze of brass, a whisper of reed/So listen—let the echoes ride the shoreline of your mind,/where shades of avocado and chrome rivers meet the electric LA grind/ THE SOUND OF THE EAST COAST BECAME WEST COAST COOL BOP/ LESS EDGY AND NOT AS FRANTIC AS A BIRD SOLO/ MAN, COOL WAS THE RULE/ HOW YOU DRESSED, ATE, and walked around town with your lady on your sleave/the West Coast cool sound//where jazz and history MEET/
Checkered Past
I put out our checker board and pulled out your special chair
Imagined your delightful laughter, as if you were sitting there
That twinkle in your eye, that inspirational glee
Then before I knew it, you were really sitting there with me
You told me we'd been granted a single more day
To spend it both together in a very special way
I said "Grandpa I love you, I can't believe that you are here!"
You looked so very happy and down your face there rolled a tear
I asked you a single question "Tell me what is heaven like?"
You said in heaven you are young and have a special bike."
All of those that you had loved, that before you passed away
Were gleefully waiting in heaven, now together you all play
Dad and auntie Debbie, Grandpa Kutz and Bobby Lenz
Even your mom with pure blue eyes and oh so many other friends.
For age is not a factor no one there will ever grow old
The sun is always shining and the wind is never cold
Still you were thrilled to leave and spend this day with me
To tell me a few jokes and to share your history
For the thing I most remember is the stories you would share
I listened much more intently as I marvelled at you there.
No question remained unanswered, as you sipped upon your tea
You also wanted to know, if I was as happy as I could be
So I introduced you to my family, my son Matthew and my wife
I told them how very thankful I am, that you are part of my life
You sat back down in your chair, and made one final play
Winked and said "I love you, this has been the perfect day!"
I loved playing Checkers with my Grandpa Clifford.
I miss you Grandpa!
Written December 11, 2015
• Those Meat Pies/Tony Adamo/2011
Straight to the head groove in hip time/ lay me out man It's jam time/ Ya know the funk is slight/ It's tight/ bright syllables in five four time/Walkin' the beat on low down street/ her hips got me in a deep trip/ high on the smell of her sex/ her ex is Ted the freaky flex/ sippin a black coffee brew on a hot musky day/ lovin you baby is the only way/walkin' the dog on a four lane highway/ drum sticks as chop sticks/ Man do fries go with that shake/ subway fusion' dance hall bumpin' grinding bodies to the iphone dance/ can you see it? Love has got you in the trance/ the acid head trip/ street corner junkies lyin' bout their lives/ mama makin' those meat pies/ dive in brother and sisters the hipsters teachin" ya how to side step the squares/ have it your way love on the rocks with a hard knock chaser/ Man I'm flyin out JFK/ get me outta here I changed my mind straight up/ my passport says Paris France/ My feet say hip me to the nearest dance/ Where's that ladder at? I need to climb out of this heat/ Art Blakey and the jazz messengers birdland brunin/better grab your girlfriend cause she's in love with the band/ Clifford Brown/
Brownie was the man/ dead at 25/his influence lay heavy on those young cats
including Donald Byrd, Lee Morgan, Booker Little, Freddie Hubbard, Woody Shaw, Wallace Roney,/ I put a match book cover under a table lag to help me balance up my thoughts on settin up shop to sell my jazz vinyl / No free give away today/ wait was it true/ the great Gerry Mulligan was waiting tables at a little jazz dive called the ashtray/ waiting for the nite to fall so he could jump the stage and free himself/ be himself into the kool jazz scene/(Chet Baker Sings, It Could Happen to You/ Me? yes you bro/ Mike Clark and the Headhunters/ What was that he said?/ oh it's Thelonious Monk in shades and beret/ diggin life the Thelonious way
Tony Adamo Hipspoken Word
Sent to earth on assignment
She plodded like Clifford, the big red dog
Unaware of the frequency carried
Emanating signal from her Daddy God
Life was an adventure on the sea
Or a secret passage ready to be explored
Her head cocked with sorrow
When others scattered and she was ignored
The years waned her ambition
Trauma fragmented her mind
But that heart of LOVE kept beating
In every adversity she would find
Warfare against evil spirits
Fought and won on her empty bed
Forged a soldier of complete submission
Leaning on the promise WORD had said
At this moment, she rests in silence
Careful to process with focused attention
When REVELATION appears in TRUTH
His extended hand is movement with permission
...to rise.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-18-2026
alternately titled: breast damned fallacy hi-jinxed!
In her “60 Minutes” interview aired
Sunday (March 26th, 2018),
the **** star known within red district
as Stormy Daniels bared
her "naked lady" version
swearing oath of honesty,
she emphatically dick cleared
on a stack of video nasties,
and x-rated 'zines
now she can live rest of life
guilt free offloading
hush money endeared
a posteriori into infinitely
jesting bordello loop
with calmly enchanting bug eyed,
drooling media hounds,
whose nostrils flared
squelching the trumpeting Don,
who maliciously glared
for traitorously breaching
“genital man's agreement”),
playing the (sock it to him role
of goody two shoes)
christened Stephanie Clifford)
shaggy long haired
pseudo Mayflower madam averred
to right justice in sought after
condom free nation,
where the turkey
ought tubby national bird
mandating free codicil
to second amendment as of furred
thus, that ass hide from right to bear arms
premature sea r man ejaculation
of Peter ought to be heard
where sudden sound
sans pubis seams burst
jock strapped unseen bulging Johnson's
onslaught hail of expletives cursed
out the mouth of salty sailor spewing Prez,
hook halled for a recess first
and foremost before
questioning resumed
automatically immersed
within tawdry tabloid pulp pit
whore sing Bacchanalian refused to quit
particularly when groin
set zipper (flimsy – obviously,
NOT put thru linkedin
locked down rigorous paces
realized, when pry vet eyelit
of trouser snake split)
yielding singular (nada so sterling)
gamut gallimaufry variegated erector set
with singular bulbous
ram rod rocket like trivet.
Appointment to have organ removed by robot-assisted surgeon.
Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive
You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses
Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique.
Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine.
There's always governance even if there's little or no government.
Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it?
At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill!
Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been
Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident.
Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford
But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife.
Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty
And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get.
The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek
Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot
To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town.
Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus
Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome
Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion
And the whole known world from India to Britain.
It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy
Although after a while you stop remembering
To fear. That's when everything becomes clear
Purpose v. purposelessness matters less,
Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference
Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents
Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust.
Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room.
Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion
That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised
So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business
Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with eyes
open,
Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work, imposes
Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
I WILL NEVER EVER FEAR TERRORISTS THREATS ON LICENSE PLATES FROM JAMAICAN DRUG DEALERS OPERATION BRAITHEWAITE JOHNSON THE FBI INSTALLED WIRES ON MY UNBORN CHILD 1988 THIS DANGEROUS DRUG CARTEL IN NORTH CHICAGO ILLINOIS MY CHILDREN AND I SEATED WITH SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND ARLINGTON HEIGHTS FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION ARLINGTON CHICAGO I WORE WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS 988 CRISIS RIGHT 988 TO 989 TAKING DOWN CLIFFORD JONES OVER 20 DEALERS AND 30 ISLANDERS FROM JAMAICAN I SIGNED OFF ON THE DRUG BUYS EUTH THE STATE DEPARTMENT TO MY HORRID SURPRISE THE JAMAICAN DEALERS NIECES BEGAN PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON ME IN ORDER TO HAVE ALL THE CASES OVERTURNED UNDER SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND AND SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH CORRUPTION ABUSE OF POWER IMPERSONATING MY IDENTITY WITH THE DRUG DEALERS NIECES FALSIFYING FBI INFORMANT FILES IN ORDER TO LAUNDER THE JAMAICAN CARTEL OF DEALERS DRUG OPERATION UNDER MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM THIS IS HUGE THE EXTREME IDENTITY FRAUD THEE IMPERSONATING OF AN FBI INFORMANT ACTUALLY OVERTURNS EVERY CONVICTION CARRIED OUT BY SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND BREACH HORRID OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE EXPOSING ME TO DEATH EXPOSING MY IDENTITY AS AN FBI INFORMANT TO HUNDREDS MAYBEY THOUSANDS CONVICTED FROM 1988 TO 1989 THRU 1995 ONGOING 2025 EVERYONE ARRESTED CONVICTED AS A RESULT OF MY WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS ARE INDEED APART OF THE IDENTITY FRAUD OF AN FBI INFORMANT EXPOSING ME TO BE MURDERED THIS CREATED A SEVERE BREACH IN ALL THOSE CONVICTIONS THAT MEANS MANY PEOPLE SERVED 20 YEARS UNDER SPECIAL AGENT BRAND FALSE INFORMANTS FALSE CONVICTIONS ABUSE OF POWER
Written by YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
INTERNATIONAL POET
He wished it to be full of sound.
round about the way successful
collaborations are done.
Fun: done: and Right.
Sought of like taking the featured
artist's position and elaborating on it.
People still love rock, urban
contemporary grooves
and soulful bassey pieces.The stigma
around marriage
seems to cause discussion.
Is it good news? The two lovers united:
or one lover and one willingful participant.
Or one eager and one uneagerly: but willing
to be. A new position appointed by the direction
of the evolution in sequence. from
stranger to friend to lover
to fiancce?fiancé: then to wife or husband.
WeIrDO. than non be alienated through such
sequence.
Six saxophones
11 bass instruments
a rhythm section
the motif uses two classic guitars.
A 1939 English Clifford Essex Paragon
and a Bass Alembic Series
He Brazen I'm Kabosh
we are Kings of the Coliseum!
The Grand Inspector sings
and the
Brazen Serpent commands.
The Indirect passing reference.
t is characterized by a low-register brass melody, a fast chromatic guitar riff, and mood
surf-style electric guitar (played on a 1939 Clifford Essex Paragon) brass (trumpets, trombones), seven saxophones, and a rhythm section (upright bass, drums, piano a synthesizer
I
Kegal before me
Might then I'll love
You
We as one
Kegal before me
To intise my need
of suckegal
Kegal
Kegal
Your strength
Your wisdom
Kegal
Kegal
Kegal
My need for
Such
The hizzdom
Longful yearning
Your kegaling thrust
A need in your optimism
Kegal me as much
Yeah, that's you
Yeah it's me
Kegal me lady
Take the time for me
__________________________
Kegal Yosef
Kegal Yosef
Kegal me lady
Kegal me all night long
The Vik Flick Remix
---------------------------
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."