Long Funky Poems
Long Funky Poems. Below are the most popular long Funky by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Funky poems by poem length and keyword.
The smoky clubs of thought/ where shadows dance and poets talk of truth whispered low/man, a story without end/ can you dig it, my friend/ improvisation’s the key, always unlocked in time, a jazz riff echoing truth in research of a paradigm/
assumptions about the nature of reality in jazz talk, scales, and harmonies, the framework we embrace/is not life the same? like established knowledge, but thinking out of frame, lighting up the space, to build on a jazz note we create, we innovate, say, give the funky drummer some/
just like Miles on his horn, exploring what's in the score, man, the vibing brain, a hipster’s thought, where networks of creativity ignite, and a conscious soul control breaks through/
The mind unfurls its thinking wings, a melody takes flight in a jazzed-up symphony of science, burning ever so tight/
a rock steady beat, the rhythm deepens, but the jazz spills over, it paints a wider scene, Pollock's action strokes, vibrant, raw, and jazzy, mean/
Oh, but the freedom in his canvas, a rhythm in his hand like McCoy Tyner’s dancing on the keys/
improvisation's spirit, always in jazz and graffiti wall art on subway trains sprayed across the Bronx highlands/Miles himself, he painted too, abstract hues so bold, from horn to brush he journeyed, a creative, restless soul/ life jazz influence profound, taking its hammering toll on his body and soul/
man, the tempo picks up, into the evolution of funk more emphatic, much more in the pocket of James Brown/ ya dig? exploration, a pattern found, a quantum leap into the unknown jazz heap of sounds/ like a jazz horn solo taking a giant step into the ubiquity of a jazz riff, a seed that has been sown across the river of stars/
In science and music, the spirit intertwined/a quest for understanding, etched upon a circle of fifths/ and the universal wind cries Mary, a jazz solo vast like a Jimi Hendrix acid jazz blast/
repeating rhythms echo across jazz music and cosmology/ in spoken word harmonies with in and out thinking with room for improvisation, improvise your life, and breathe it in/ get hip to the rhythm in your soul/ let it flow, man/
Let the jazz of physics make you brilliantly whole/gung-bow-chi, chi, gung-bow/ drums as the backbone to the funk thing/ It’s a strong emotional and spiritual bond into Life, and the physics of the Jazz sound
From the moment we became grandparents we have felt conflicted
at the way, in books and media, grandparents are depicted.
But we’ve been grandparents for a while now
(one grandchild just graduated college)
So we believe it is time to share some grand-parental knowledge…
When a cartoonist draws a grandma her hair is invariably in a bun
If she’s not wearing a sweater…chances are she’s knitting one.
When she walks it’s with a cane and we will forever take offense
how she’s always wearing glasses and has no fashion sense
When a cartoonist draws a grandpa he is never very tall
His hair is a vibrant shade of gray or white…if he has any hair at all.
His plaid pants never match his shirt…his glasses are as thick as a window pane
He could be in a wheel chair or like Grandma…walking with a cane.
If you look around at grandparents today, you’ll find us agile and nimble and spry
In fact you’ll discover to your amazement those old stereotypes don’t apply.
Deborah doesn’t wear a muumuu…her hair is never in a bun,
If you ask our grandchildren what they think, they’ll say their Nana’s fun.
She’s creative, she’s compassionate, she’s patient and I can verify
She’s great with babies, loves to bake and sings a soothing lullaby.
As for me, though I am a little bald, I don’t wear plaid pants, never would.
snd if I do say so myself, I make the clothes I wear look good.
I do not fish, don’t watch much TV, I don’t read the Farmer’s Almanac
When my grandchildren ask to play football…guess who’s the quarterback?
Deborah and I will try jumping rope, playing soccer and climbing trees too
because in this day and age, in our generation, that’s what grandparents do!
We are a mix of old and new, we are much cooler and hipper than before
(Even though I’m pretty sure people don’t say cooler or hipper anymore!)
We embrace some of the traits of our grandparents, yes the good ones have survived
but speaking for Deborah and the grandparents I know, a new generation has arrived!
So cartoonists when you draw Deborah draw her with style, grace and fun
And if you’re drawing her baking cupcakes, make sure they’re funky ones.
And when you take your pencils out don’t draw me in a rocking chair
Instead…draw me climbing up a tree or in a top hat
and if you want…
you can add more hair.
Ella Cuthbert lived with her husband John, in an age of twinkling stars;
They had a little dog named Alfie, who loved riding in pretty, swift cars.
Alfie was loved by those who knew him, as red flowers charm adorers;
And he was the darling of their street, like rainbows, crossing borders.
The Cuthberts had many interests, and on lazy days they were content,
To rove summer streets with Alfie, wondering where blue violets went!
Friends do not go out of style, as the glittery, memory stars, flash lime.
They found fun activities for Fridays, when pearl moon began to climb.
Funky family visited feature-rich evening, in faultless days of summer;
Amidst feasibly fragrant, flambe flowers, swaying to sudden thunder.
Ella lived in a house of barking, at motley windows of Alfie excitement,
Where bluebirds and ruby butterflies met, on mysterious assignments.
Sea salt added flavor to sweet breezes, on the street of Port Goodbye;
That overlooked white sand and surf, where stars peeked, like a spy.
Nervous night and day were newlyweds, at the dawn of fading dreams.
Later filled with novelty and notions, and neighbors, amidst sunbeams.
'Mountain devils' bloomed wickedly red, in the beautiful Blue Mountains,
Aptly shaped blue puya blooms, trumpeted sunrise, near cool fountains.
Purple 'surprise lilies' were stunners, appearing abruptly the world over,
When the rare 'parsley fern' was savored, like beautiful, coming closer.
Eager Ella called Alfie one day, but was dismayed at getting no answer!
Yet, a hole under their fence said a lot, like a scented, blooming planter.
Crushed Ella and John went searching, like the spotlight of pearl moon.
Though posters offered a reward, they felt anxiety, on the edge of June.
Then woeful Ella finally uttered the words, that became a beloved rhyme;
Like when riotous spring blooms come early, sweetly ahead of their time!
After a week, Alfie was found at last, in the thrill of mockingbird evening;
When a lady chanced to read his collar, when pink stars were convening!
'Oh, where, oh, where
Has my little dog gone?
Oh, where, oh, where
Can he be?
With his ears cut short
And his tail cut long,
Oh, where, oh, where
Can he be?
Oh where, oh where
Has my little dog gone?
Oh, where, oh, where
Can he be?'
Alison Alligator eating artichokes on a ant hill,
watching
Beverly Bear floating on a cloud over there,
which developed a leak,
drenching
Charlotte the twin headed elephant
up to their knees,
floating
Danny the dingo swimming past.
While watching,
Eli the iguana,
slithering over a leaf
sharing a log,
with Francis the frog looking over,
as Gwenda the goose flew overhead
into the gum tree,
where,
Helen the hermit had laid down her head,
on
Ivy the twinning snake,
who was always late,
slithered up the tree,
to give
Jay the monkey,
who was feeling funky,
a fright.
she dropped a nut on,
Karen the kite,
who was in flight one starry night.
As Lil the parrot continued to trill,
while
Marsha the mammoth grew quite still,
to much noise was making her ill,
gave her the shakes
and
Nosey Nancy the ant came up out of her mound
to see what was shaking the ground all around.
Olive the ostrich bent all her knees,
standing straight was making her sneeze!
Then
Penelope the porcupine trotted on by
to keep an appointment with
Quirky the quill,
she was the queen of everything,
she was quite mean.
pushing
Ruth the rambling rabbit into,
Silly sue who was a sea lion and lived in Sillyville,
and lived there still.
Alongside
Terrible Tonya the Tonga tiger,
who danced with,
Uncelet Uris who came from the north,
because of to many Tonga dancers rolling tires back abd forth.
Violet the vampire bat flew down to show
Wilson Lucille the very large whale,
how to stay out of jail.
she had a tendency you see,
to hang out with
Xantus, the hummingbird,
who lived on a yacht with a
Yak Zack ,
and stole yogurt by the lot.
Finally to tired to tired to chat anymore,
Alison, Beverly, Charlotte, Danny, Eli, Francis, Gwenda, Helen, Ivy, Jay,
Karen, Lil, Marsha, Nancy, Olive, Penelope, Quirky, Ruth, Sue, Tonya, Uris, Violet, Wilson Lucille, Xantus, and Yak Zak
fell asleep on the floor.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
a flustered tango of Gypsy moths
drumming the porchlight; chalk artists;
the endemic disappearance of farms—silos lost
in unkempt fields; space stations; the sunlit-scent of lemon
oil on cherry wood; birth; the chasm between cultural
appropriation & cultural appreciation; the history in our dust;
loneliness & heartbreak; trivia; funky funerals;
climate change, hurricanes, earthquakes & neglected
victims; heirloom charm bracelets, homemade
wind chimes & the homing sound made by a singing bowl;
masquerade balls; cityscapes hidden in ant hills; fly
fishing; serendipitous skinny dipping; missing children,
teddy bear memorials, forensic identification, monsters
never found in sleepy towns; the horrors of zoos—
elephants gone mad, lions robbed of their pride;
book reviews; civil unrest, bad cops & good cops & young men
gunned down; brand new fire stations; cancer survivors who wear
baldness so beautifully; my favourite pair of jeans; river rocks
found by dearest hands; a letter that can never be
received; joyful celebrations; incandescent dragonfly
dreams; twenty million at risk of starving to death;
wildflowers shaking pretty little heads;
misogyny disguised as religion; forgotten veterans who die
a bit more inside every day; the rainforest, shrinking;
saintly stoners & postulant prostitutes; toxic smog;
madmen with warheads; cheese cake & ice wine;
every personalized Kama sutra move & the God-given
ecstasy of body on body language; holding hands;
why one giggle can change everything; Thanksgiving
prayers; abandoned minefields, boy soldiers & devastating
amputations; the songs of the working poor; lightning
over the lake; his timely phone calls; brotherhood & sisterhood;
love in its every form; old maps; twenty-one gun salutes;
the extinction of the Galapagos Giant Tortoise; being
five, being twenty five, being ninety-five; kites; dogs chawing
on ragged rawhide; church-like museums on a Sunday
afternoon; make-shift picnics; deja vu; thrift store
wedding dresses; long drives with comfortable silences;
fading freedoms; censorship; seamless moonlight;
introspective dalliances with self-acceptance; the power
of purpose; how to be the bigger person; how to go
in a new direction; how to rise above . . .
ONE SHOULD NOT MAKE PLANS FOR TOMORROW, LIFE IS UNPREDICTABLE, THE UNEXPECTED CAN HAPPEN IN A SPLIT SECOND. “QUOTE BY POET”
I woke up to a brilliant sunny spring day,
The flowers blooming, the birds were chirping,
The tree leaves dancing to a gentle wind blowing,
Rustling their young leaves, our chime tinkling.
The jacaranda trees which looked so dashing
Giving us a glorious show, their flowers tumbling
To the ground beneath, resembling purple carpeting.
Our annual optician’s appointment was today,
So off to mall we go, reluctant to leave our patio.
We were right on time, and the optician saw me first,
All good he said after my consultation, go have fun
And choose your specs.
Whilst choosing my funky frames, a petrifying noise
Surrounded the mall, the six of us froze.
So scary ,surreal, horrendous and mind boggling,
Loud shots, automatic gun fire, people shouting,
Shots fired from where no one knew, people screaming,
We huddled under the counter, shots still ringing,
The brave receptionist ran to shut the glass door and locked it
Then ran back to join us under the counter.
Normality returned all too soon, as an elderly man who
Seemed shell shocked and disorientated, stumbled in as the
Receptionist cautiously re-opened the door. He told us the
Robbers were professionals, and were in and out in 5 minutes,
Well-rehearsed he added, and the almighty thunderous
Bangs we heard, were from hearsay, that the robbers
Shot and broke the glass display cabinets, taking
All and every piece of jewellery with them. A getaway car, revving,
In the open parking on the third floor all ready and waiting.
The jewellery shop was just above us. The ear shattering
Sounds were thus inevitable.
My thoughts however went to those terrified people shopping,
In the corridors of the mall,
Who had no shelter at all.
What happened to that wonderful sunny spring morning that I woke up to, flowers blooming, tree leaves gently swaying in the breeze and majestic jacaranda trees carpeting the ground with their purple flowers.
We are mere mortals who live on a very turbulent and troubled planet, a planet called earth.
Miraculously, no one was injured, to my knowledge.
THIS IS A TRUE STORY - IT HAPPENED TO US ON THE 30TH SEPTEMBER
The bridge/ Hear that?/ Snap it pop it / Not the one of stone and steel, holding cars and trains aloft/ This bridge hums/ It vibrates/ yellin’, mo’ funk and groove please woven into the boss horns strung with a bassline thick as smoke and Clyde Stubblefield holding down the fat beat/
Acid Jazz snap pop snap de beat/ tradition on one side, diggin’ for the now, for the new/ Jazz, ancient and revered, but dust collecting on the shelf, needed a spark, a jolt, a psychedelic brother a sister like no other/ Acid Jazz, the answer/
A handshake and a high five between jazz straight ahead and a synthesizer’s jazz fusion swing/
A knowing nod to Coltrane remixed into becoming the nu Acid Jazz king/Trane is way dope now to a whole new listening audience/
skillfully crafted club bangin’ acid jazz lick and samples/ the veins of hip-hop, throbbing hard and raw as DJs scratched the beats deeply rooted in the arrangements of funk jazz numerology/
Did deep house feel its pulse, its rhythmic pull/ Broken beat, fractured and funky, did it recognize its kin, polyrhymatics and the turntables… Oh, the turntables sang a different song/ a revolution spun on vinyl, a rebellion built on rhythm, Jazz and Soul/ Rap, HipHop and acid jazz as a Voice for Rebellion and Social Change / DJ Kool Herc, a sonic architect, laying foundations in the park and party basements/ Grandmaster Flash, a surgeon of sound, slicing and dicing the beat/ Afrika Bambaataa, a global sound system, uniting tribes with groove/
yo bruh, reality check/ They weren’t just playing records, they were playing the instrument/Scratching, back spinning, beat juggling – a symphony of skill/ Mix masters, beat captains, electronic alchemists, wizards behind the wheel of Hip Hop fortune/ They birthed a new language, a dialect of dance, a history rewritten in the hiss and crackle of vinyl on a HiFi Stereo/ Acid Jazz… Modern Jazz… Trip hop, Latin Tech House/ The DJ Culture… Rap, Hip-Hop, a family born from a shared rebellion, Formidable, Definitive/ Each is a testament to the power of sound, to the bridge built on a bassline, drum sample/
a thump, a bump on a low rider jam/ to the future forged in the fire of the beat/ The voyage is not over/ I have a fear of standing still…like I’m outta of here/
Bonnie Brown was in love with Charles, like black pearl clings to night,
So young and engaged to be married, like myriad stars, shining white.
They were active professionals, dwelling in a charming, bustling town;
As warbling charms orange noon, after pink mist clears, with no sound.
They had dreams of future and a family, like purple nights of fantasy;
And they were already making plans, like butterflies flitting frantically.
Fellowship of friends made fabulous Fridays, when they met after hours,
Dancing fun and funky karaoke, like dragonflies, among yellow flowers.
The family had always preferred flying, and finally arrived with jet lag,
In their flurry of activity; like snowflakes, or thunder's flashing, red flag.
Bonnie lived in the house of teatime, preferred in contented moments;
When speckled, green birds flew by the window, of afternoon suspense.
Scarlet rose was seared in heart's memory, on a street of grass sighing;
For Bonnie loved growing pretty blooms. She found their colors exciting!
News of the nation was on neighbors' lips, in the modern times of now;
But, novel nature took no notice, and it wouldn't have mattered, anyhow.
'Candy cane sorrel' blossoms thrilled children, in sweet days of summer;
As 'firecracker' blooms lauded 4th of July, 'mid droning, cricket latecomers.
'Red slipper' flowers lounged in velvet, while the 'parrot lilies' squawked;
And gardeners got rich as 'ruby cloud' descended, 'ere moonlight walked.
Bonnie planned to take a trip overseas, for two weeks of rest and gaiety;
But it'd be hard parting with Charles, like fall, bereft of flowering society.
Bonnie had so much fun, witnessing beautiful sights, like she never knew!
For all folks need a little adventure, like rainbows of skies, suddenly blue.
Charles was busy with a major work project, but missed Bonnie terribly;
Like colorful seasons that keep repeating, their vibrant days, customarily.
'My Bonnie lies over the ocean,
My Bonnie lies over the sea,
My Bonnie lies over the ocean,
Oh bring back my Bonnie to me,
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonnie to me, to me,
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonnie to me!'
A Strange Man from a Far Distant Star.
A strange man from a far distant star;
Comes to teach us, to show us the future.
To show us a new direction, a new path to follow;
To stop us becoming, our own killer.
The future is orange, in this ungodly land;
The fire burns brightly, for this galactic traveller.
We must all learn, how to understand;
The message he left, which could change our future.
We must help him return, to the planet he left;
To let him show us the things, that are buried in our heads.
This psychedelic spaceman, with his orange platform boots;
Travelled to the moon and beyond, fighting aliens and fixing robots.
His special silver suit and his shades made him cool;
He's got some moon dust for his baby
And a piece of rock from Mars for her school.
Untouched land, heading back to his land.
From a forgotten traveler; from a psychedelic spaceman.
From the strangest of strangers, here comes the man from Obsidium,
With his tin pot space rocket, which runs on petroleum.
The spaceman's here, to show us the way;
To travel the stars, using his galactic space map.
One step for mankind, that was taken by a monkey;
Has let him take us to the stars, but he's never coming back.
This journey is one way, the destination is Obsidium;
He will bring us into contact with his peers and all sorts of aliens.
We can bounce on the moon, with a lack of gravity;
Finding new alien species, on the volcanoes of Mars.
This adventure will be joyous, with occasional tragedy;
But our mission will lead us, to travel to new stars.
The first question he asked was who will win the Human race?
And do you think Linford Christie, would win Britain first place?
Or would a pioneer win it, so they could claim it?
Like they claimed the native America; I guess they'd just steal it.
Then he said "Come with me and I'll open your minds;
Show you Jupiter, Venus and Pluto’s endless mines.
We can leave this place called Earth and explore a new galaxy;
We can race a shooting star, we can do anything.
But you must give up this life that you take for granted
And beam up with me, into my funky spaceship.”
(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Of all the trials and test this year
A lot of nerves, a lot of fear
By the grace of God I’m here to tell
It all ended up going very well
If life is a journey, school is a maze
A wonderful way to spend your days
So much diversity, so much culture
Feels so good to no longer be a vulture
Picking scraps up off the bone
Heart encased in a block of stone
I simply love being tender and true
Like a billowy cloud in a sky so blue
Floating on air for the world to see
Like a peacock strutting proud as can be
Yet, forever humble and forever true
Eyes no longer red they’re clear and blue
No longer living all tired and funky
I kicked the crap up out of my monkey
Kid’s gather to me like chicks to a trough
I welcome them in I never shrug them off
Which is truly as strange as strange can be
I once would have said, “Get away from me”
“Nothing in me should be considered good”
“You’re looking for a hero, I’m no Robin Hood”
Today, I’m first to school and first in my seat
With exuberance for life, which can’t be beat
With kids gathering to me looking to study
Listening in awe to their gray headed buddy
I’m forever speaking on life and all that it entails
Guiding my younger friends down happy trails
Being very careful to not criticize or judge
You can’t help someone holding a grudge
I tell all the youngsters with a heart so true
I traveled one hell of a road to get to you
I have a single goal before I enter my grave
I want to teach you all how to not be slaves
Don’t let fears and addictions control your life
That’s an endless road of sorrow and strife
Make your dream and grab your star
Let the world see who and what you are
Whatever you do, do it with a smile
Life is truly a gift enjoy it for awhile
It feels so strange to feel so good
We all have it in us to be Robin Hood
I dedicate this poem to all the youngsters
who come over to my house to study. You
know, I never would have dreamed that I
would be considered a good example. It's
truly amazing what the Lord can do in our
lives. The correlation I'm speaking of with
Robin Hood; is that we all have it in us to
take from the bad and give to the good.