Long Conductors Poems
Long Conductors Poems. Below are the most popular long Conductors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conductors poems by poem length and keyword.
A Little Train
Train, the train of my home, home of my heart, childhood, past
Past, yes, but lives. Hmm, yes, so good to travel here, and live
Live this air, this life, this feeling, this atmosphere, loved desire
I will come back again, I want to greet everybody here again
The people, the conductors and conductresses, and the neighbours
Shop assistants, waitresses, shops, pubs, and all the stations
All the roads, ways, trees, everything. Good to live in my living heart
This is the best feeling in this superb mind; this is not part of a country.
A country that is everything. Only one. Here is my mini farm. Live here
Live here, a secret mind. He has passed away, but he is always calling
Calling his memory my literature teacher, the grand soul of this land
Good to remember him, master of literature, hmm, why has he gone?
Little train, little train
Train of tales
From past
Help to live
Again
The
Lost
Friends
And past
Memories are silent thoughts in life's tragedy
We were lovers who crossed the boundaries
of passion, forever hungry
lost in the fog of wants and needs
like two blemished flowers
trapped in the wind of desire
becoming conductors in a symphony of emotion
holding our truths tight to musical cords of understanding
bringing sound and motion to our world of madness
that grew out of our yesterday's follies
which lay hidden in the dark corners of our failures
shared without words of promise
Dare we pass this way again
we would love once more in a binding of failed hearts
that found time for the heartbeat of another
when we danced the dance of lovers
tied to one another, tied to no one
stopping our lives briefly to exchange melodies
drunk on passionate forces beyond our control
when beauty was a face
that poured honeyed sighs from a breath
like the lingering scent from a fresh-cut rose
when love was a drink to quench our thirst
from our wandering desert
parched and yearning to be loved
before we said goodbye
and planted a final kiss to memory
she breezes in with the April winds
a lovely lass pure and romantically inclined
baby animals frolic with her in the meadow
the tulips struggle toward the sun to whisper hello
she is Ostira, Goddess of Spring
Refreshing grasses wave in wonderment at the princess
Iris stand proudly, hoping to be noticed by their monarch.
zinnias sit back and relax, confident in their beauty without praise.
in their oranges, pinks, and yellows what can be prettier?
Every plant feels newly-done, rejuvenated, refurbished
spring is leaping in the air with joy for she is here!
Ostira, Goddess of Spring
many think they know her; the lilacs do.
The daffodils created her for they are the cheerleaders
Arriving first, like conductors, guiding the flower brigade
Bleeding hearts, daisies and dandelions love her also
She is Ostira, Goddess of Spring
And for a split second I felt free.
Perhaps freer than I have ever been.
Relying on the shoulders of a stranger.
It couldn't have come at a better time.
The acquaintance of seeing yourself in someone else.
Perhaps it's better that I choose to not know you or this moment
we know as perfect
would come to a screeching halt.
Seeing you, seeing me for anyone you choose In the compassion of thought.
There we stood within arms reach, yet we embraced the full distance of privacy.
I mean after all would we truly come to understand each other if we tried.
Who's to say that full disclosure would lead to total certainty or uncertainty.
The question still provokes.
As uncertain as it may be, electricity is still dangerous.
Still it paves the way as a connection is sparked.
In the likely hood of a grounded current.
We'd be sure to cross again.
As sure as plastic melts, as sure as glass is soon to shatter.
Left ungrounded.
We all have a beginning and end.
In ultimate truth I agreed, in some form we continue to introduce ourselves to our former selfs.
To an extent, I admire addicts.
They aren't afraid to be who they really are.
And like that.
Two conductors were exposed to the repeated trace of static shock.
Exhibited behind glass in the most beautiful of explosion
Some Cinderella's end up with glass slippers
others inherit breakable petals inside a rose heart
When duty calls most of them query to unanswered prayer
it is no wonder with time, they all become dragon slayers
Some sweep ashes and clean rugs until the day they die
others come to realize they matter and slowly begin to fly
Stage coach dreams bull-whackers and conductors
if they don't break out soon, they will need a doctor
Evil step mothers and brutal step fathers
they all turn out to be dutiful good daughters
some Cinderella's get to go to the ball
some, well they never leave home at all
Catgut
--------------
Gestures and facial expressions
they were advised to
differentiate between
both fact and fiction
to ensure that everyone was
on the same page
Clear points of ending and finishing
plus smooth, seamless transition
from one song to another
A segue is often without a break
in the music or performance
some conductors hire people specializing
in this field to ensure a
proper position
of professionalism taking on
the challenge gives the Liaison
more input on production
and gives the conductor
more time for creativity
unity and cohesion are key
it includes the responsibility of
beat tempo and dynamic markings of
each performance
a walking pace or moderate tempo
to Presto
it is important that all involved are wise to each definition
using examples to show the difference between the two
it is the responsibility of
the liaison to prepare the cast of musician
to there renditions of each
the conductor than can meet the challenge
of forging the perfection
of what has been determined
and composed
and adjusted and readjusted to
give the musical cast the most room
to be as perfect as possible
a demand for perfection
is often used in such professional settings
it is demanded from most active performers
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Songs that are written lyric first or Music first are
often given story to help promote the
interest to al involved
The Musicians and audience both are than fans
of the composers and Lyricists.
Written By:Pobl Yfory
what are they there for?
what's it got to do with anything?
i am confident on this one
throw away your vertigo stick
they measure my son's height
to get into the opera
they don't measure me
but i tell them they should
as i am at the pinnacle of opera sensitivity
my friend is between baritone and alto
i'm between the car and the theatre
as i search for the venue on my phone
we are one metre away
between the peanuts and the legal drinking age
the performance begins
and i recognise the aria
i turn to my son and whisper,
"this is from that car advert."
there is no interval
and i feel tough
i shudder when i think that the earth takes a whole day to rotate
but we flim flam out of the opera house
there are still tickets for Don Giovanni
it apparently ends in hell
so swallowed up in the life to come, no longer inhabitants of this world
the following week we see Spongebob the Musical
I OPENED A DOOR
TO A UNIVERSAL ENERGY.
IT SEEMED TO BE
EVERYWHERE.
AND...IN MOST EVERYTHING.
I HAVE TO SAY
IT WAS A LITTLE CHAOTIC.
TRAVELING FASTER
THAN THE SPEED OF LIGHT.
OR SHOULD I SAY LIGHTNING.
BOUNCING, JUMPING, LEAPING
PASSING, OVER, UNDER
AND THROUGH.
IT WAS BEING
BUT NOT BEING CONDUCTED.
LIKE A SYMPHONY
BUT OUT OF CONTROL.
IT WAS AS IF...
IT WERE SEARCHING FOR
CONNECTIVITY.
IN THE PROCESS
COLLIDING AND TEMPORARILY
FORMING LAYERS, SHEETS,
AND SPHERES.
LIKE A FINALLY OF FIREWORKS,
AT BLINDING SPEED.
WHEN IT STRUCK THE SURFACE
IT CREATED YELLOW REDS
AND BLUES.
WHICH SEEMED TO COLLIDE
WITH ONE ANOTHER
CREATING THOUSANDS
IF NOT MILLIONS OF SHADES OF
ORANGE, PURPLE AND GREENS.
I STOOD IN AWE
OF MY SURROUNDING.
OBVIOUSLY FASCINATED
BY THE BOMBARDMENT
OF MICRO
BOLTS OF LIGHTNING,
I TOO WAS RECEIVING.
I COULD FEEL IT TRAVEL
IN AND OUT AND THROUGH ME.
I LOOKED AT MY HANDS.
I COULD SEE THE ESCAPE
OF ENERGY.
I POINTED MY FINGER
AND WITNESSED A
CONCENTRATION OF ENERGY.
IN THE FORM OF A BOLT
OF LIGHTNING.
I THOUGHT ABOUT IT
FOR A MOMENT.
I HAD TO ASK MYSELF
THAT ALL IMPORTANT
QUESTION.
WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON?
LIFE IS GREAT
FANTASTIC
INCREDIBLE
AND AT TIMES...
UNBELIEVABLE.
I LOOKED AT BOTH MY HANDS
PALMS UP AND BROUGHT
THEM TOGETHER AND CREATED
A SPHERE.
I SLOWLY SEPARATED THEM.
CREATING A LARGER SPHERE.
MY ARMS WERE EXTENDED
OUT TO MY SIDES
AND MY PALMS FACING UPWARD.
I WAS NOW INSIDE THE SPHERE.
I FELT SO ENLIGHTENED.
SO....RELAXED AND AMAZED.
I SLOWLY BROUGHT MY HANDS
OUT FRONT OF ME
TOWARDS ONE ANOTHER
AND CONNECTED MY FINGERTIPS
AND THUMBS TOGETHER.
NO LONGER WAS THE ENERGY
OUT OF CONTROL.
WAS I THE CONDUCTOR?
I AM THE CONDUCTOR.
I WAS IN CONTROL OF THE ENERGY.
THERE IT WAS, IN FRONT OF ME.
I HAD MY HANDS AROUND IT.
NO LONGER CHAOTIC.
A UNIVERSE OF ENERGY,
IN THE PALM OF MY HAND.
HARMONY OUT OF CHAOS.
TRANQUILITY OUT OF NOISE.
IF GOLD AND SILVER
ARE THE BEST CONDUCTORS
FOR THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY
OF LIGHTNING.
WAS I GOLD OR SILVER?
OR SILVER....
ENTERING....
THE GOLDEN AGE?
Michael E. Harris
02192021
“Tubman”
What colours a heart
courage?
What colours a mind
belief?
What colours a soul
unity?
Underground
we carry torches
from station
to station
We are the Light
We Lead
No colour
No religion
No epic
delusion
Where is the race?
The race to confusion?
We are One
You and me
We are One
We all bleed
Underground
we carry torches
from station
to station
Poets grieving
Vigilantes seething
Electric conductors
of Love
punching tickets
elevate the fire
Light rises
out of the numb
sacrifice the smallest
midst mountains of Moriah
signals waking
signals waving
Freedom
Glowing
Colours are All
Colours
Ultraviolet
magnetic to spectrum
silent tapping, unheard
sometimes seen
no snake doctor lectern
truth burns
souls bound to each other
all grieving
in one way or another
we all learn
Hearts beating
Lungs breathing
signals waking
signals waving
platforms all crowing,
now eyes open
listening,
debating
all signals waking
new story weaving
Souls searching
Souls kneeding
Light now is calling
Light now is leading
Tubman is not
dreaming
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)
“Any cause needs speakers and organizers.
Any mass movement requires
women and men of great ideas.”
Tubman, Harriet.
Harriet Tubman is sometimes referred to as the Moses of her people because of the way she led them out of slavery. The Underground Railroad operated at night. Slaves were moved from "station" to "station" by abolitionists.
He perched himself upon his stage.
He stretched himself up tall.
The Countryside Conductor
Fanned his wings and beckoned all
To join him as he welcomed in
A bright new sunny day,
To bring cheer to any appreciative heart
Who cared to listen on their way.
He belted out his melody
That lasted right to noon!
The sweetest kind of symphony,
The merriest of tunes.
Other voices harmonised
By whistle, croak and tweet.
Of different meaning in the bird world,
To humankind an aural treat!
Somehow too, it makes impact
For when we need a lift out of despair,
We may find ourselves recalling
The conductors tune that filled the air.