Long Downbeat Poems
Long Downbeat Poems. Below are the most popular long Downbeat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Downbeat poems by poem length and keyword.
He stepped down from the stagecoach kicking dust up with his boot
He stood a while, he lacked a smile, his teeth gripped his cheroot
His Stetson it was thick with dust, his guitar case was too
He looked around this downbeat town; found no man that he knew
He’d travelled to this lawless town of which he’d gotten word
Two preachers vanished here before, but he won’t be the third
For he had brought his guitar which, to praise the Lord, he plays
And when he strums those guitar strings, the congregation sways
Had this town been a Wild West town, he’d know which way to go
But how does one say ‘Hotel’, here in outback Mexico?
A man in a sombrero, three armed sidekicks in his wake
Sauntered up and told him to be gone for his own sake
“Hey, Cowboy, we don’t want no Gringo, messing up our town,
Take yourself and your guitar before we take you down.”
The preacher said, “I’ll play for you and if you love the tune
You’ll point me to the chapel and the rowdiest saloon.”
He’d travelled to this lawless town of which he’d gotten word
Two preachers vanished here before, but he won’t be the third
For he had brought his guitar which, to praise the Lord, he plays
And when he strums those guitar strings, the congregation sways
He reached down for his guitar case, the Mexicans took aim
And with a little slight of hand, the preacher did the same
But nothing grins as wide as when a bandit thinks he’s won
And when four guns are facing one the job’s as good as done
So was it skill or was it God who played a helpful part
When each of those four bandits took a bullet to the heart
The sheriff, if you’d call him that, said, “Have you got a name?”
The preacher said, “I’ll tell you Sunday if it’s all the same.”
The sheriff, having none of it, said, “Tell me who you are.”
He said, “I’m just a gringo with my god and my guitar.
But men of God preceded me and got no help from you.
So clear your desk, I am not me… I am those other two
He’d travelled to this lawless town of which he’d gotten word
Two preachers vanished here before, but he won’t be the third
For he had brought his guitar which, to praise the Lord, he plays
And when he strums those guitar strings, the congregation sways
Spoken Word Poetry: JAZZ ALIVE
Man alive, and this ain’t no jive, I’m diggin’ on jazz to stay alive/
East Coast rhythms from the 50’s and 60’s, in the heart of the city, where the music breaths/
Up all night to dig the modern jazz scene, and out of the cool midnight cookin’ shows at the Blue Note/Located at 131west 3rd St. NYC the place to be/
City lights flashing, hipsters, record buying, dressed to the nines in retro threads at dive bars and clubs where the real jazz magic spreads/
Catch the scene, and get hip to the latest with the 50s swingin’ jazz machine/
Bill Evans Trio, Modern Jazz Quartet, Miles Davis, Lester Young – Can You Feel the Beat/ It’s Milestones with Miles/At that recording, Davis’s bebop/hardbop music was manifesting into his future modal thing/
Milt Jackson, Chet Baker’s smooth serenade, Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” in Five Four Time, John Coltrane’s Cascade, Cannonball Adderley, Wynton Kelly’s embrace, Paul Chamers, Jimmy Cobb, all left their trace/
The city never sleeps, no change of pace, play your gig till 2 AM/
Chase the night with grace/catch a cab, hit the jam, Sweet Basil’s swinging where the music never dims/
Women strong and fierce, oh how they loved their jazz men/
Financial support flowed like a sweet refrain/
“This Here, “Dat Dare,” and “Moanin’” what sounds, in Bobby Timmons groove/you know what I mean/
The Tenor Conclave, Hank Mobley, Al Cohn, John Coltrane, Zoot Sims/ Hi-Fi jam sessions to no end/
Max Roach on the scene, Deeds Not Words, his LP/
Abby Lincoln, Helen Humes, Sarah Vaughn, Dinah Washington – jazz voices supreme all greats in their prime/
new record companies popping, day into night: Jazzland, Riverside, Atlantic, Prestige all shining bright/
Philly Joe Jones, Blues for Dracula, man what a scene, what a feeling on Halloween’s Eve, back in the day when Everybody dug jazz, but what happened to the Five Spot Café where the legends would play? /
So dig this, I’m walkin’ to Jazz Alley, Soulmates on my cell I know so well, Ben Webster and Zawinul, their melodies swell/
In this world of music vibes, man, I find my reprieve in modern jazz rhythm and choose to believe in the downbeat of jazz to set me free
Yo Bro Sound It Out/Tony Adamo
Yo bro, you got to sound it out/ let the spoken words roll/ let yourself go/your words are in and out of the rhythm track/ It’s the downbeat groove/ man, hit that word vibe hard you’re in the jazzo frame of mind/ word speak with high energy kickin’ it to the crowd/let your spirit upload/ I see you be diggin’ on that modern tempo, sync it up tight to punk jazz punchy/ bringing fire to your words that last all night/lo-fi horn breaks that make your spoken words come alive/ you be doin’ it to it on that hipster speak ride/ abstract thinking blows their minds/hey bro, take it to the edge/ neo-soul, hip hop, house, RnB, and jazz/ that’s your backing tracks for the complex word rap arrangements that smokes out the house/ are you hip to the soul train dance line with that vinyl 45-style sound/Don Cornelius was king in the programing of his dance show/ the funky rhythm and soul textured magic made the music sing out loud/ acid jazz lines push the drive in your words/ I feel the pulse, I dig the feel of the break beat delivery popin’ from your spoken wheel of feel/ You even rap speak to the radio along with the 50s and 60s soul music past/ man, you are the real deal/chilled out boppin’ hip hop, you spread your words like butter on toast/ funk music samples dance from the DJ backing you on stage, man he is the most/ beat chops kicks the words flying off the mic in a rage/ spoken word in between dusty breaks filled with jazzy baselines/ your downtempo feel in breakin’ it down/ man, your words have sex appeal/ you have the low riders cruising through time/ car hoppin’ and dancing to your spoken word rhyme/ brother this is your time/ let the world hear your shout/ hey bro, you gots to sound it out/let the triplets of jazz words you speak/ crash against the soul jazz horn section on top of the hip hop instrumental free beat/ Yeah/ now you be MCing/
CAR COURT
Enter, the older heavyweight steel giant,
The bailiff, a 1954 Hudson, reads unhesitant :
On the docket for this morning : guilty by implication - a Trabant,
In close custody with a Cutlass Supreme for supervision.
Next on the docket: a Pinto for likely gas-tank explosion.
Third on the docket: an English-made car (any marque) - body corrosion.
Lawyer for the prosecution, a pretentious character, a gas guzzler SUV
4x4 off-road with winch - for Saturday use on driveway only -
Hangs out with Vettes; and uses NO2 in fuel. Who?Drugs? Not me!
Downbeat guy as the defence counsel , a solid no nonsense Hummer,
A real enviro-bummer,
Klutzy ugly and personality like a mack truck in summer.
Trabant coughed its way to the stand.
Clerk of court Volkswagen, order in hand,
Read the indictment quietly, efficiently, bland.
Prosecution began with noisy opening musical-horn tunelets
The jury, all serious-minded stolid Volvos and Toyota Starlets
Were not impressed. Hummer clumsily interrupted with an objection, “Let’s
Stop, on the grounds of precedent,” but at this point Pinto reversed,
Crushed its trunk and its gas-tank exploded, and worst ,
Hit the the English car : and into flames they both burst.
Cutlass argued with the SUV, which was winched away pending sentence.
Case against the English car dismissed from lack of evidence.
Trabant was deported back to Germany: no import licence
Overseeing all these proceedings : the ever-reliable, I-won’t-budge,
The I-have-a-spotless-reputation, I-hold-no-grudge,
The mechanical virgin, the silent Rolls Royce as judge.
...........................................................................................................
Sunshine undulates across verdant plain
casting dark shadows ushering twilight zone
ringing athwart tree trunks
invigorating, joyously kickstarting,
and plenti revitalizing
bountiful nature buzzfeeding
vim, vinegar and *****
caressing, massaging, and palpating with
soundlessness inducing bub bully giddy,
and sudsy spongy schmaltzy
harmonic livingsocial kerplunk
also intoxicating this perk o' late
ting teetotaler, no longer ginger
who doth oft times ale
with melancholic funk,
whereat imbibing nectar
of the Gods with fulfillment
temporarily quicken ends euphoric,
albeit 'pon firm meant soberly drunk.
Ah...nothing more uplifting
than (Anita Bryant raisin eyebrows)
plugging sunkist orange treat,
this sensate being privy,
sans front row seat
agog at orchestral, festival, viz
choral paean courtesy sweet
flora and fauna feat
bequeathed to Mother Earth,
a requiem pulsating with heartbeat
pitch perfect exultation
glorifying spring days soon obsolete
ethereal, ideal, and
sensational tonic to gin
prestidigitation, qua
natural psychological helpmeet
pleasant distraction with intent to read
temporarily placating, needling craving
for Pete sakes daily
fix this news junkie,
trembling when complete
awareness he doth accrete,
where quite glum, how
civilization didst mistreat
planet, hence feeling downbeat,
especially haunting ghosts of
Native Americans drumbeat
signal harbinger debacle
i.e. environmental doomsday
soon fated extinction
sealed and complete
inexorably inching closer to reality
necessitating superman to defeat
global warming rendering vast swaths
uninhabitable as Gaia global
temperature packs tremendous heat!
Beyond the measure the traditions
claim they sort and seek
might they find, might they find
ooh-bah-doo-bah: ah-ooh-ah!
The backbeat was sorted from the
"First tones" thats what she called it.
There are 12 planets in this system.
Each with ait's own distinctive sound
and duration. The forebeat must
proceed the downbeat. All with in these
32 distinctive notes.
In music, a backbeat refers
to a rhythmic pattern where the second
and fourth beats in a 4/4
time signature are emphasized
32 Distinctive notes within one octave
beyond the twelve tone system
"backbeat"
--------------
With the intensity of passion
that one would expect to
affectionate and pleasurable
infatuation or obsession
unintrusive thoughts and
welcoming passions
where it neither draws lines
or recreate those things defined
sorta simple
an easy
pleasey
satisfying love
more than anything
much about nothing
just cool pleasing togetherness
thats what we're doing
"syncopation
--------------------
No drama
no foolish expectations
a lotta
ooh -ah yeah
and no
fouled-up communications
like it like this
tell me like that
love is what we're doing
Baby that's
where it's at
___________________________
"Poco Rallentando"
Curtis verses Julliard
Music Lessonaters Collaborations
of Sounds
--------------------------------------
May 13 2033
In my city, downtown are many homeless,
wandering the busy streets so aimless;
one day, I saw my own brother begging,
my brother's face held such a bleakness.
I crossed the street my mind so confused,
my brother homeless- oh my mind refused;
but my reality was in an outstretched hand,
I wept- how can I help my brother, I mused.
I had to find him help- get him off the street,
a place to live and good food each day to eat;
that started me on a twisting journey,
with help my brother is no longer downbeat.
Since then, this girl has been on a mission,
I talk to the homeless and hope a day brighten;
with a partner, we pass out coffee and blankets,
we give sandwiches and quickly they are eaten.
Two days a month I help at a food bank- local,
and often at a clothing depot I help when able;
I always keep some change in my pocket,
some days at the animal shelter- cats I cuddle.
I suppose you could call me a good samaritan,
but guess what- helping people is a lot of fun;
every homeless person is some mother's baby,
it seems that helping is a path I have chosen.
__________________________
November 25, 2017
Poetry/Rubaiyat/A Path Chosen
Copyright Protected, ID 17 9660-73-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym
Written for the contest, The Good Samaritan
sponsor, Craig Hawkins
Fourth Place
Proud parents gathered for the fifth grade band presentation.
The kids labored long and hard to enhance their musical education.
'Twas the band's first concert since its recent organization.
The harried teacher approached it with a sense of trepidation!
Moms and dads endured the commotion at home for many weeks,
As their blossoming prodigies practiced and honed their techniques.
Suffering through the blare of trumpets, the bleat of saxaphones,
The wail of clarinets and oboes, the atonal pitch of trombones!
The girls were dressed in white blouses and black, slinky skirts.
Boys wore dark trousers, black bow ties and snow-white shirts.
Each of the girls had a pretty ribbon adorning her hair.
Boys had even combed their hair - which was very rare!
Teacher apprehensively grasped her baton and waved the downbeat.
The program began with a simple rendition of "Bonaparte's Retreat."
At the end of the concert a heartwarming thing occurred.
The audience rose exclaiming, "Twas the sweetest music ever heard!"
Though at times they were not in tune and the tempo somewhat slow,
They proudly gave it their best and put on a wonderful show!
Was a spark in a child's soul that night fanned into a flame,
Boosting his or her enthusiasm to strive for musical acclaim?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I was sitting outside in the garden,
and stroking me cat on the back,
when I must have brushed on a flower,
which angered a wild bee to attack.
Accidentally I made the mistake;
a mistake that brought me to my knees,
and now I have been diagnosed,
that I am quite allergic to bees.
Well it’s not just the presence of bees,
or a problem with bees on the wing,
but it’s usually a flower or hive,
that induces the insect to sting.
I have been stung wearing no shoes,
inadvertently touching a hive,
had black eyes and swelling and eczema,
but been lucky enough to survive.
So the doc says I must be allergic,
for apitoxin has built up in me,
now he’s sent me for allergen tests,
to stave off ‘bee inflammatory.’
While sitting in the waiting room,
a Mother and daughter walked in,
so we started to make conversation,
on allergens which affect us within.
The daughter she held up her hand,
displaying a band on her wrist.
It’s a band for medicinal alert,
for her allergy’s that do persist.
She’s allergic to peanuts and eggs,
wheat, seafood and cottage cheese.
Now they are worried ‘bout chocolate,
but nothing was said about bees.
I asked her if cats are a problem,
but her answer was downbeat and flat.
She lifted her eyebrows and shrugged,
‘I don’t know, for I never eat cat.’
whn my eys got stuck on u for frst tym...
d whole world has become so full of lyf n i
ws fine...
dn u hv ur eys on me n it makes dt more
real...
n i ws sucked by downbeat of people
hearin of ds deal....
i ws getin crystld by ur aura n pictures...
i ws chkd by evry drama dt ws held for me
to cut it..
i knw dt people wl laugh at me to c al
dese apertures..
its hard to stay apart frm u whn i hv to
admit it...
around d waves u hv made me laugh hard
n to cherish..
i ws star strucked by ur persona ...which
hlpd me to escape..
i cnt frgt dt tym whn u hv said my aura a
home n make me clownish..
i ws cryin hard inside as i ws scared by
our relation drape..
dn i hv choosen to remain stay apart frm
u lyk a gesture..
n also whn i heard dt u hv been taken by
odr girl..
its just hv pushd me towrds my aim bt
wid more bravure..
i ws standing alone facing wrld wid my
senses birl..
aftr a long tym whn v saw each odr facing
badlucks..
i ws drntchd by d situations n laughin at
our destiny..
nw v r standin lyk an individuals n history
just shucks...
nw v r enjyin d peace alone n waitin for
other scrunity...
love pari
if u likd d poem or if didnt ...just put ur
input wid cmnts....i wud love to observe
dt..