Long Gigs Poems
Long Gigs Poems. Below are the most popular long Gigs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gigs poems by poem length and keyword.
Man, let me riff some hip words on the free jazz collective band/their music of free improvisation, and their social rapping Will have you jumpin' out your bones, Man, afteryoudig them you will feel the room tilt and swing/the Quartet of young lions, ready to burn the jazz house down, with no mercy, just a way new thing/Man, they be somethin' else—no more rough roads or tired let down gigs to survive/they have become the boggie down jazz hipsters of today with a suitcase full of New York gigs/They turned Art Blakey's Moanin' inside out, like lights out, and forgetaboutit the way they flipped out Miles Davis' music from Cookin', Relaxin', Steamin', Workin' LP/ It's cool struttin' vibe music that makes you wanna shake your thing/let your brain catch up with your feet and hear the chorus sing what's new/ like a soultrain dance review/ feel the room ignite with the bands music popin' in your ears/a musician may ride one groove, and the clubs crowd may hear another/This new free jazz collective free-for-all jazzmatazz, future funk, acid jazz, young players who won't be put into a box of straight-ahead thinkin'
jazz, Be-bop, hard bop, in a time zone of history that never ends/say it loud, Man, these nu jazz cats are jacked up—proud, unchained/The club audience breathes as one, because every note invites a new world, every horn solo rewrites the books/ the Free jazz collective band have got their hooks in you and won't let go/ the new of today jazz will blaze a future that respects the past but never clones/Man, we move, we groove, we roar with delite, we stay on top of the new jazz thing/ we are jacked up proud, loud and alive—this is where the free jazz collective band jam is bound
Who is playing
soloist gigs
angrily plucking
stolen strings
dulling tunes
fraying wings
clouding sky
of heart
in spring
raining down
from eyes
a dirge
ego centered
soloist
not all players
are asleep
faith enlivened
congregation
guards
its sheep
with holy
zeal
from the wolf
teeth of
fear
tune your mind
bend your knees
join the
togetherness
symphony
every life's
unique gift
gives the world
its heartbeat
can one color
a rainbow
be
or a sparrow
like robin
sing
who will hear
the tongue's wish
if the ear
refuses to hear
and decides
instead to speak
open windows
of the heart
fa beyond
the farthest
star
God who
hears
pride speak
and the voice
of solitude
weep
trust
He'll blend
your tune
unique
in a glorious
hymn
of love
never ending
song
of joy.
Honorable Mention in Brian Strand: Your Choice I-5/23/25
EDDIE MARS AND THE SOLAR WINDS
The biggest band in Lisburn and fronted by Eddie Mars
A guy who could play anything, on his collection of guitars
On vocals, Charlie Venus, who was the joker in the pack
He played his fender tele' through a great big marshall stack
On bass was Johnny Neptune, with his yellow platform shoes
He harmonized on vocal, a disciple of the blues
The keyboards were delivered, by Hector Mothership
He worshipped things electrical, and loved the microchip
Ray Uranus kept the beat and he wore a bowler hat
Sure only a crazy drummer, would adopt a name like that
They played all over Britain, with their rockin lunar style
They sold out gigs in Wigan, they were lauded in Millisle
Their stage show was fantastic, with a massive lighting rig
A spaceship and some planets, lit the stage at every gig
That grew a loyal fan base, as they played across the land
They lived a life of excess, just like any touring band
Success soon followed in their wake, awards came thick and fast
And very soon the space machine, had an ever growing cast
Five young lads from Lisburn, fifty people in their crew
An entourage of strangers that they never even knew
Five big trucks, a fleet of cars, a chopper and two planes
A man to do the finance, who didn't even know their names,
Still, fashions change, the sales dried up, the audience died away
And soon there were no big crowds, to watch the five lads play
Their last gig at the Ulster hall, was an evening to forget
Out of tune, and full of beer, as they stumbled through the set
And things got pretty messy when accountants came to call
They had no cash, they had no rights, seems their manager had it all
Their luck ran out, the band where broke, they had to end the show
They had to sell up everything, the spaceship had to go
Ray could never come to terms, with all the hurt and pain
He took some drugs and alcohol, he just never woke again
Hector went to college and he earned a top degree
And now he is the I.T guy in a light bulb factory
Johnny is the local star, who likes to talk about his fame
He tries to pull the young girls, and dine out on his name
Charlie lost his family, when the alcohol took hold
He shelters in the hostels when the weather gets too cold
Eddie left the country, when it all became too much
He now lives in Australia, but he never kept in touch
My D.I.
Written: By Tom Wright
3-16-2008
I’ll say when you eat & I’ll say when you sleep
And from your recruit mouth I’ll hear not a peep
You’ll visit our barber and get an Army issue “burr”
You’ll resemble some prisoner just released from stir
You’ll sleep with your rifle and spit shine your boots
You’ll repeat my Jodie calls and hold all the hoots
You’ll be my road guard stopping the necessary cars
You’ll not leave Ft. Leonard Wood to frequent the bars
You’ll stand daily inspection and there best be no gigs
You’re in the Army now not back home with the pigs
We’ll first break you down then build you back up
When finished you’ll be a mad dog not a cur pup
You’ll like doing push-ups or that’s what you will say
“Cruit” you better learn to love it for it gets worse each day
You’re mother didn’t want you, that’s why you are here
Unfortunately I don’t either, but me, you’ll learn to fear
You’ll double-time on marches with an eighty-pound pack
And God save your behind if you’re the one in the back
You’ll fight hand to hand and learn to kill at close range
You’ll spit in another’s eye for less than asking for change
You’ll be subjected to ridicule to the extent that I can
For my job is to keep you alive and make you a man
Appreciate Uncle Sam for the Ozark vacation he’s giving
And never, never, call me sir, for I still work for a living
Nothing like a white glove inspection
with a bad breath DI nose to nose cursing you.
Ah the good old days. ha
The Hill of Howth During Horse Show Week 1972
June 16 is Bloomsday when in a world defying time
which stately fat Buck Mulligan starts off with a swim
and Stephen Daedalus feigns teaching and plays with his
senses on the sand and Leopold Bloom goes to Paddy’s fun-
eral at Glasnevin, eats a gorgonzola sandwich, drinks a burgun-
dy, and bu-bu-belches gloriously before Gerty McDowell puts on
a show on a shore and in the afternoon Blazes Boylan gigs gigs gigs
to Molly Bloom to picnic on Plumtree’s potted meat and other comes-
tibles but she the eternal female gets the last words of flowing memory
and desire and yes Leopold may find a new fatherhood which Stephen
more snot than son may still sneer at because it’s already another day
and that’s what you do to time in fiction unleashing again memories
of what books do to readers I wonder, Ron, what’ll you be reading
this year but thinking I’ll skip the cheese and quaff Guinness or
sip bourbon instead but still I will be remembering the Hill of
Howth was magic in the soft evening air of the horse show
when Sally and I rode up there for drinks and a night’s
cup of talkin’ with Charly Stefan and his lovely wife.
Spring starts the year with soft flowers
Sometimes brought with gentle showers
Air fragrant with scents that devours
Hues so bright and bold that glowers
Green grass which also empowers
Rabbits hide in brush and cowers
Blue skies show their calming powers
Buds seem to open through the hours
Winter waves goodbye through scourers
Spring’s beautiful tales are all ours
~
Summer opens with stunned fervor
Welcome sun rays that do nurture
Beach trips that add life preserver
Roses in much shades add favor
Small cookouts bring the server
Birds fly past to gently murmur
Kids buy cones in every flavor
Trimming hedges seems so clever
Lawns are mown for the observer
Summer’s joy, the perfect merger
~
Autumn creates a sense of peace
With leaves falling softly to cease
Limbs stark and naked to decease
Mums create a vivid showpiece
Lakes say sad goodbyes to the geese
The crunch of the leaves does increase
Bouncing in raked leaves is caprice
Some take nature walks without fleece
These cheerful blushes are so nice
Autumn’s certainly God’s showpiece
~
Winter brings in the harsh weather
As the birds may lose a feather
Horses bridled with smooth leather
Gigs throw snow round altogether
Some ride sleds that they will tether
Cardinals trust the snow measure
Many love snow days much better
It seems nice to wear a sweater
Ice hangs down from eaves together
Winter’s blessings are a treasure
~
Spring’s forests fill with wildflowers
A time that brings no wallflowers
Summer’s sunshine is a searcher
Some days bring about a scorcher
Autumn brings about a new lease
For a season shared with a niece
Winter’s clear skies last forever
Reminding us to take shelter
God’s paintbrush portrays the seasons
Showing us He has His reasons
October 7, 2019
LUDix-Rym Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
Bass'd on Structure
------------------------
Coda Falsetto; A world renowned Percussionist and Sax Man and Singer. He and his sons were famous and were part of a Combination Orchestra that Toured the World singing and entertaining Millions............Mister Falsetto most would call him took the Orchestra on the road and ended up at a beach resort there he did several gigs. While on the beach a rival member of a different Orchestra who knew the the Fabulous Falsetto's were in town so he found were Coda was and
decided to stay close to him to gain some incite of his musical rival.
He rented a giant Canopy and camped out next to the area on the beach were "the Fabulous Falsetto's" were. They BBQ'd and tanned on the beach listening to songs on the radio.While the group gathered a crowd while they rehearsed
"Compassioned Outcome" on guitar and in acapella; "the guy next door used a recording device to record the session. Later on after the crowd dispersed: one son of his told his father he had a date: with the woman he bought with him, in a tape recorded by "Taco" Femata Cluster: the father was heard saying to his son, " listen, I know you like her and all: but I think she's to much woman for you. I seen her talk to six or seven different guys while we were here. And she handled these guys like they were her brother or husband. I just don't see that in you and her. I'll say she has genuine interest in your money, and the only concern I seen was that of her trying to get away from you, probably enough for you to miss her.: just slow down,"
Watch the rock and rollers
With their bellies and their wigs,
Playing songs performed at
Oh-so-many early gigs.
The keyboards and guitars still sound
Real good, though maybe slower
Yet their voices simply cannot reach
The high range or the lower.
Blown-up photos from the past,
Not meaning to, are mocking
Their current selves who do their best
To do their roll and rocking.
The audience, all old as well,
Belt out, with zeal and passion,
The lyrics they remember
From when tie-dye was in fashion.
The music bubbles in my blood;
I watch and I’m transported,
But find it sad attempts to bring
The past to life are thwarted.
*Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction
Dad, born into white-hot poverty
eldest son of an adulterous drunk
abandoned
man of the house at five
white privilege.
His stepfather, also a booze bunny and bigot to boot...
To escape, he went to vocational school
as all the poor waifs did back in the day.
white privilege....
Married too young, a couple of sons...
was promised a job out west,
By all of people, the adulterous drunk...
3000 dreamy miles later.
With two small boys swirling in the prospectors' pan
but all the gold had vanished by then
white privilege.
He managed to make ends almost meet
with shovels for hands, soul of concrete.
white privilege
We survived in a one-bedroom, converted chicken coop.
At the age of twenty-two, he was crowned the king of desperation
Supported all of us without any complaint, including the deadbeat, my Uncle Frank.
White privilege.
Divorced, he lost custody of his doves.
Months beyond broke, he staggered back home.
Into the embrace of, you guessed it, the same drunken bigot.
White privilege.
Deadly happenstance brought us all back together again.
For forty years he wore the burning wreath
of back-breaking gigs on cinderblock dreams.
2 steps forward, 2 and a half back
One foot in the grave, the other on a snot rag
His ledger, never in the black.
White privilege,
Four decades, he earned the right
to hang up the shovel and pan.
The concrete settling into the joints
of his bent turtle hands.
Willing us away from poverty's fangs.
White privilege.
Soon after he retired. Mr. C arrived.
For three long years he battled and survived.
With Veins still flooded with benzene rings.
He had a blind date with open-heart surgery.
White privilege.
Old battleaxe versus scythe, he fought off the reaper.
Only to bury his mom, whom he loved very deeply.
The next to go was his beloved son.
White privilege.
He's not quite out of that shadow.
But I think he'll make it back to reclaim that glow.
I'm honored to have known such a bright angel soul.
My Privilege.
Rosie played the Hammond Organ at the church
This week she left us in a real lurch
For Rosie went off with one of those vaccum salesmen
Who turned her eye wearing Spandex boxer shorts on tight skin
The choir director will be in dire straits
Because a mouse built his house in the organ with his mate
We placed a listern soaked tissue in there
Hoping it will stink those meese away __that pair
Now Rosie's husband is one medicine for insomnia and emotional pain
He's drifting in and out of being nearly insane
I heard some tid bits the other day
At the convention for women only what can I say
Well this is it, "Rosie's now playing gigs
At the "Wormholes" all night club where truckers park their own rig."
It's right next to those lunar craters
Where in their kitchen at night the vacuum salesman peels potatoes
That night they saw a UFO land and steal nuclear waste
And this was beyond half-past eight
When Rosie wined and dined her friends
She told them the whole weird story..The End..
Believe it or not your choice....