Long Descant Poems
Long Descant Poems. Below are the most popular long Descant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Descant poems by poem length and keyword.
Humpback beauties call to their young
Communicating to calves so precious
Don't be so immediately audacious
You can wander, just don't go too long
Blubberous parents are there to keep them close
For companionship, warmth and learning
Send each other many signals, the little one is yearning
Because of the ocean they want to make the most
Eating their fill of plankton and krill
The smaller babe makes a hydro sonic point
To the older one who loves this oceanic joint
He doesn't want to hurt or kill
The humans who eavesdrop on their descant
Like some other whales with mammoth choppers
Accidentally maiming overboard fishermen and surfers
These watery wonders are appreciated that's all they ever want
Imbibing benevolent attention only for half a century
Deep sea divers first decided to bring down equipment
When he spoke his special song, they had no idea what the male bull meant
That day being approached he was so hesitant and on sentry
Because whalers before had waited for them to breach
The surface for mere minutes finding some oxygen
Finding instead a foreboding air of danger without question
So reclusive they remain, staying out of reach
Beaching is another danger when whales will cry
For help they so need it and must be rolled back out
A benign thing on sand dangerously sprawled about
Back into the depths it should be before it go dry
Nature's biggest mammals can never be at rest
In the wild and bountiful marine, using fluked tales to swim around
Whales have a lot to say, their stories abound
In civilized society with whale translators today we are at our best
Making compact discs of them, something special we can keep
The arias of the ocean composed of many shores
Whales speak responding in the ripples as prophets do with lore
It works quite well for some, to lull ourselves to sleep
We should always stay in assonance.
Now is the summer of our troppo paradise
Made sullen winter by this pretty virus;
And all the sun that shone upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with funeral wreaths;
Our bronzed arms hung up for effigies;
Our happy discourse changed to boring meetings,
Our merry dance to funeral march.
Soothing peace transforms to grim-visaged war;
And now, instead of gentle flirting in shady ways,
To please the souls of friendly watchers,
We mount barbed steeds, to the alarums of
Call to war, ‘gainst hidden foes.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this trumpet sounded time of pestilence,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To condemn these frightening days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And fan the evil dangers of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set Politicians and the Common man
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if Parliament be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should COVID-19 closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'C'
Of Nature’s heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
COVID-19 comes.
When Azrael* comes knocking, it won’t be with bony fists,
I believe, he’ll be a Doctor, with a cure,
Or a Maiden with her posies, a Knight jousting in the lists,
Or a gently whistling, mournful Troubadour.
When my time has come for leaving, I believe, I’ll punch him out,
Though I’ll break my hand in doing it, I’m sure
Or he’ll duck the blow and throw me o’er his shoulder like some lout
And I’ll have to go with him to Evermore.
I suppose he’s used to fearsome images, limned in the mind,
Where spectres, spooks and ghouls widely endure
But I think he’s just a jailer, come to open (and be kind)
The way out of a cage that serves, no more.
So, when he brings his medicine, I think I’ll swallow it,
And thank him for the friends he’s brought with him
I don’t believe he’ll be a jolly soul, although I wit
He’ll stroke my bald head, turn the lights to dim…
Or, when she shows me posies, with a certain tranquil air,
I deeply will inhale, nod, go to sleep,
And let her cool my hot brow with a hand that isn’t there,
Give thanks, she’s eased the passage I must keep.
Or, when he boldly rides at me, sharp angle to his spear,
I’ll bellow out a challenge, DING! his helm,
And keep my seat, take point through shield, ride at him without fear,
And know my lady watches o’er the realm.
Or, lastly, when he whistles a low tune that stills my heart,
I’ll join in, softly sing along with him,
As he plucks his sombre lute strings I will hum the descant part
And slowly fade away, heart in the trim.
____________
*Azrael – in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem of the same name, the Angel of Death
2/28/2019
While most "old" music terms are still in use, some specific, less common words include descant (a high, concurrent melodic part), duet (for two performers, contrasting with modern duo), and dulcimer ( an American stringed instrument, now often called lap dulcimer). Older terms often refer to a specific function within a piece, like descant, or a specific instrument, like dulcimer
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Sacré bleu I had startled her
a specific function asked her
bought this annoying word to light
it was spoken after his request for a
specific type of singing during the song
they had rehearsed.a high concurrent
melodic part where the song seems to
stand still as a ooh's and ah's create a transitional
sound but first the Soprano must hold a note for
33 seconds the sound is to be mixed into the song
but during a concert it is added right into
the song giving the lead vocalist a 35 second
break to restart the song in a different tempo
Little stringed instruments and brass horns
and a snare and kettledrum music section
he want to use a nord stage 4-88 but the power
wasn't available in the area. So Gariben repurposed
a flat screen tv into a solar panel and we were on our way.
The tent were we practice doesn't have the aucoutics to record
but we are studio bound. 25 members of the orchestra
will combine with the "Jinx" band to perform Tensail's best: aint that right Tensail? Tensail say's Yeah!
Life way back then when i was ten,
From wartime days, to peace again.
Few luxuries on ration books,
Not even scraps for feeding ducks.
But more important than our wealth,
To tend our needs the National Health.
As smoking chimneys mixed with fog,
Our lungs were filled with filthy smog.
Always hard up, no cash to spend,
My mum would say, make do and mend.
Bows and arrows, were once scrap wood,
We all took turns being Robin Hood.
Old pram wheels and packing cases,
Now soap box cars, for thrilling races.
In summertime, games in the park,
Promised my mum, home before dark.
Some orange juice with jam and bread,
Those poor little ducks, never got fed.
On sunny days we had picnics,
Saturdays our treat to watch the flicks.
In windy weather, flying our kites.
Our streets at night, lit by gaslights,
We raced pell-mell down helter skelters.
On top of disused air raid shelters.
Chumping wood for the Guy Fawkes fire,
Sundays, i sang descant, in the choir.
Wintertime rugby, for the school team,
Lots of energy, we let off steam.
Exam results were a big surprise,
Top of the class, winning first prize.
So many gifts and so much pain
sometimes it seems we've naught to gain
for born within this maze of genes
comes great insight but also burdens
The gift of sensitivity
this rare potential for connectivity
with a genetic map, each child born
must reach out far beyond their skin to transform.
Reach out within creation rampant,
detached from bloods vehement drumming descant
each child must puzzle through the skin of man
interweaving their genetics unplanned?
Since, life and death must ebb and flow
the weak child must pass, the strong must grow, and so..
unprotected sympathy declines
some seek strong drugs while others seek their wine.
It hurts, oh how it hurts to see
to feel, to know, to hush, to be an amputee
but sensitive souls can seldom bare
raw, bloody life on earth without a care.
And so, they come and go lost souls,
if not aided by a higher hand's control.
We all lose, we lose their divine gift
their plight is ours and death comes swift.
*Dedicated to Craig Cornish
and all the sensitive souls who find life
too much and must dull its blows.
By: Sashi.Prabhu (ZEAUOXIS)
15th June (spice jet flight Mumbai to goa.)
For a soothing breathe we gasped heavily between us,
Emotion soaked waters on to the sandy shores they began to gush.
Embracing our lusting bodies in a romantic fling,
From our joyous mind a melody bean to spring.
The sounds of luring descant of the waves erupting on the shores,
Sea shells press against my bare back as the pain my body ignores.
As your bare body lay upon a wanting me and kissed me passionately that night,
I could see before my closed eyes the moon shining and smiling all decked up bright.
Our bodies gyrating in fond togetherness and the feeling ecstatic all entwined,
I knew then I could truly call you mine
Our bodies rubbed and moulded themselves in the wet sand,
Let loose, both, unbridled feelings raging furiously out of hand.
As dawn set in we could not purge, desist or quell,
Our desire to grind together as mid night pearls in a shell.
Our love we soaked our selves within its depths,
have within my thought's reach, those moments fondly kept………..
Eviscerate my being! Distort my face!
Bring me closure to my ego; replace!
Seizure in dark games through which we interlace,
Beckoning the reaper's embrace.
Subvert my empathy!
Break me into colluded ecstasy!
Mold me in your image of apathy!
Put me in a daze of senseful apogee!
If only I could help You experience the same...
If only I could put out what had went aflame...
If only I could rid you of your own self blame...
My ultimate goal- to personify your game..
Knowing I belong on greater stages;
I set out to share a seat among your stations!
As I'm marching alongside your pages,
I'm taunted by the echoes of ages,
mocked by divine wages.
Taxing are the paths to your way.
My will's faltering, hope's grey,
mind's in a state so risqué.
Tell me, is this the price that I must pay?
"Fractious paranoia vying to supplant.
Vying to take over, to ruin your descant.
To kill that which would lay bare, the one which I shan't.
And destroy the altar to which I hum and I chant."
Flouncing flamenco style or doubling up for a pass a doublet is neither a right or a wrong in a semi colon in nightgowns. But trespassing on a land? Really? Who said? Hum. Huh. Disgusting. Go irrigate a system. It is irrelevant in an underpass. Really. Are Astronaughts astronomically passing? Or is it the ordered preordained multitasking whisk that whirls around. Speaking in a descant voice is rather a pleasant octave. Ignoring ignorance irrationally is a quotation on a journey. But planting ones feet in a mystical view is an integral part of being a being and being a being is good and who would argue with a ninety thousand year old goldfish. Not wise. Not clever. Compunction compounds. I don't wanna wear clothes says I but I have to. Says who. Snails travel at high speeds un the morning. Hahahahahahahaha now eat. Hahahahaha boom bang. Imminent. Dangerous dogs demonic. No ha ha to that bunch of dying arranged posies. Xxxxx decriminalisation z
Form:
...inspired by 'August Rain' by Joseph Brodsky
The afternoon dissolves to darkness,
suddenly the downpour tumbles
and the spouts regurgitate.
Willows wilt and elm trees tremble,
intertwine, then dissassemble,
all awash in green and grey,
threads of nature cast asunder,
unattached they dance and scatter
at the dimming of the day.
Hedges stripped, once meshed together,
tree tops tussle in the fray,
the kettle sings a screaming descant,
shrieking o'er the storm's foray, and listen
to the cabin creaking, squeaking loud
as if to say, I'll bear this, and so much more.
Windows grey with condensation,
all are safe and warm before the fire.
Comfort can be relegated,
greatcoats hang from studded rafters,
scarves and mufflers blend together,
boots and slickers for the brave ones,
regimented rows aligned.
Now there's stew and home-made biscuits,
mugs of cocoa laced with rum,
a cure for nature's howl and hum.