Long Hi fi Poems
Long Hi fi Poems. Below are the most popular long Hi fi by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hi fi poems by poem length and keyword.
Serenade Me, Julius La Rosa
His striped tie has a green tint color
And his hands are dark and bulging with blood.
I can see them gripping the steering wheel like parrot talons.
I can see from all the way up here
That one of his fingers has a golden wedding ring,
And he just sits there in that Studebaker
Looking up at my apartment window,
Like I’m some freaking captive locked in a high tower,
And he’s my guard, my sentinel,
Making sure I do not escape.
“Hey you! Yeah you! I’m talking to you!
Oh? You have a problem with me seeing the blond bombshell?
The one with the face that launched a million ejaculations?
The face that burned the topless towers
Of a million American households?”
Now he has a cigarette going inside that sleek automobile.
It’s dangling from his lips
Like a big white toothpick from Scully’s.
The Los Angeles Mirror,
The front page,
Rests forlornly on the passenger seat.
I can even see the headlines from up here –
Something about an execution,
Julius and Ethel R.
Serenade me, Julius La Rosa!
Sing to me now! ‘Eh, Cumpari!’
It’s 1953 and all’s well in the world.
There shall be a tiki torch in every back yard!
“A cocktail? Here, have mine.
I’m well stocked here in my Kasbah.
Now, sweetheart, what were you going to say?”
“When I dance with you,
I feel like I’m in Paris by the Seine,
Dancing in technicolor with Gene Kelly.
You have wonderful moves and a very masculine touch,
And I can almost hear Gershwin music,
Way off in the distance.”
“By the way, my darling Norma Jeane, who taught you to dance?”
“To be honest, my mother.
It was an emergency situation, I had a hot date, so…”
And now we are sashaying on my torn and tattered carpet,
With Perry Como crooning ‘No Other Love’ on my Hi Fi,
Over there in the dark corner.
The lights of the Big Enchilada
Glisten outside my lone window
Like a million incandescent candles
That burn with lust for us.
“Hold me closer.
I need to feel your warm blood.
I need to breathe in your luscious sweet cologne.
Mmmmmm. Kiss me.”
“I will kiss you.
I will kiss you long and I will kiss you very hard.
But first, my darling, why not some Rachmaninoff,
The second piano concerto,
Instead of Perry Como?”
“No Piggy.
Locked in your arms I’ll stay.
Waiting for you to say,
No other love have I.”
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
Fi Fine, Fo Fun
Let me show you another way.
Let me breathe empathy towards your pain…
Hi Fi.
Remember me?
I’m the guy I think you need.
I want you to know, you are on my mind
And I hope you like me too.
Maybe we could go out together sometime?
Or just chill at mine; it is all up to you.
I want to look deep into your eyes,
Because there’s something there,
I don’t want to miss.
Maybe it’s the promise of a forthcoming kiss?
Or maybe that is just what I wish.
Your body wants to hide,
But your words are so open.
I have nothing to hide,
My soul is written down for you in poems.
So here I stand; yours if you want me.
Come chill with me some time
And criticize my bad poetry.
I should have told you.
How beautiful you are to me.
I should have hugged you,
To be more compassionate somehow.
I should have done more,
When you were so honest and free.
I should never have met you…Life would be much easier;
But you are in my head now.
So goodbye for now,
What I meant to say,
Was I’d really like to see you somehow;
If there is a way.
I want you to be with me sometime,
If you have the time;
To fit me into your hectic life.
I should have told you,
You’re pretty…hot!
I should have told you,
I’m not good enough.
I offer Peace, Love and Empathy
And I hope you accept it too,
For you are more than welcome.
But my heart is yours to see;
Maybe yours to keep…
Or maybe just yours to use,
If you just want the same old story.
Would you like us to share our bodies, minds and souls sometime?
If you show me yours…
I’ll show you mine.
I think I would like it very much indeed,
If you were to spend some time with me.
I could show you I am an Angel
And confess all my sins…
I could put my hands around your heart and love you…
If you would only let me in…
But if you just want fun
And you don’t want my love…
Then I accept, let’s have fun….
Let’s chill and
Be good buds.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
When I was a young boy, we had rabbit ears,
got ABC, CBS and nothing more.
If we would wrap the antenna in tin foil,
we’d sometimes get NBC on channel four.
Then along came something they called UHF,
if you put that little round thing on your set.
Then you would be able to have forty-one,
and some PBS nobody cared to get.
Pretty soon the TV shows started changing,
all of a sudden they were blue, red and green.
That’s when it became America’s pastime,
to own one of those big consoles was the dream.
Every house had an antenna on the roof,
the kids lying on a pillow on the floor.
We had cartoons on each Saturday morning,
I wonder who could ask for anything more.
But more is exactly what all of us got,
when they gave us the new cable in our town.
A hundred channels of nothing much to watch,
but it would take an hour to search around.
Then we got Hi-Fi and Wi-Fi, and Dolby,
with digital HD, 4K and 3D.
Then came Atari, Nintendo, and X-Box,
Play Stations and virtual reality.
Now it’s Netflix, Hulu and Paramount plus,
or a hundred other ways that we can stream.
It’s no wonder our kids stopped playing outside,
when they could see it all while glued to their screen.
There’s just way too many things to watch these days,
all this technology is to blame, I guess.
But after all these years I still wonder why,
I only watch ABC or CBS.
All across the nation
such a celebration
people in motion…
The radio station
in my head
plays on
with Scott McKenzie this time:
Are you going to San Francisco?
Be sure to wear flowers in your hair…
I can hear every note,
every nuance,
every tone
of the song
as if there were
a hi-fi turned on in the room.
While writing this poem, while
reading others,
I hear the
song of the day
playing on my internal
radio station.
As I’m listening and writing at this
very moment,
I wonder aloud
(to myself internally
and just above the radio),
Is this
what slipping into
schizophrenia must feel like?
If you’re going to San Francisco…
Is this what the homeless man
on the street corner,
in his filthy clothes,
hears in his head
as he contorts and
telegraphs his
internal radio station?
which corner has
he turned
from which
he cannot return?
Are you going to San Francisco?
Be sure to wear flowers in your hair…
the hallway ahead
is bathed in
sterile white light.
a bare bulb crackles
around the next corner.
what’s that?
a shadow
lurks menacingly
around
the corner.
whom casts the shadow?
could be
the
Spectre
of
Madness.
IF I died tomorrow –
I’d just be another defunct Debit Card
That was no longer valuable.
A monthly salary that no longer need be paid into the bank.
Gas and electricity could be ‘cut off’
Without dire consequences.
The telephone and broadband bill need not be paid
Due to the fact that I’m DEAD!”
And no longer need to be ‘put in touch’ with any of my contacts.
I could no longer be fined if I did not have a TV Licence . . .
Dead souls can’t watch TV!
The RAC would no longer need to come to my rescue . . .
They rescue ‘dead’ cars
NOT dead people.
I don’t think my ‘Home Start’ applies to dead bodies.
The contents of my house
Could be argued over by whoever. . .
Although I have made a Will.
The house could be sold at a profit;
Electrical appliance?
Well some things should be worth having –
TV, HI-FI., DVD etc.
The Fridge Freezer could be defrosted and sold.
Molly would be an orphan,
But she is registered with The Cats Protection League,
And would be looked after,
And found a new home.
Doubt if I’d be missed?
Just a number.
A Bank Account number.
A Direct Debit number.
A Debit Card Number.
A Credit Card Number.
Do you think the computers
Might miss my numbers?
Perhaps? . . .
It's such a great thrill being down in our house;
There isn't a chance of being quiet as a mouse:
With guitars and tellies and hi-fi and things;
Never-ending noise, then the telephone rings.
"It's my call". "No it's not, It's for me scream the choir."
They're all trying at once to yell down the wire.
Then just as the babbling begins to wane;
A knock at the door, Oh Help! -----it's Elaine.
"Can I borrow some coffee, some milk and some bread;
I'll return it next week", well that's what she said!
She plants herself down on a dining room chair,
Her soapbox cacophony splits open the air.
I usher her quickly out through the front door,
and dash to the loo, I can't take anymore.
I've made it in time just before the stampede,
who all, of course, have a far greater need.
It's now late at night, I'm about to retire;
To repose in my bed, is my one great desire.
Head on the pillow, now almost asleep;
Thump, bang, crash, wallop, from those horrible creeps.
They've returned from a party, it's all been great fun,
I wish I were the owner of a sub-machine gun!
~There Was a Time~
There was a time when I would look
out over the azure glory of a Michigan lake,
or tear up from the umber-brown beauty
of Grand Canyon in the Arizona sun.
There was a time when I smelled
the fragrance of fresh baked bread
when east winds blessed us with the aroma
from our neighborhood bakery.
There was a time when I could hear
Elvis singing on my neighbor’s hi-fi
without the head shaking sound
of a wooferized bass.
There was a time when I hopped
aboard moving freight trains
or climbed the tallest water towers,
indifferent to the loss of life and limb.
There was a time when Doug and I slinked
through harvesting backyards
pilfering grapes and teasing dogs,
ever mindful of how long the leashes were.
There was a time when I could eat
a box of Girl Scout cookies
as I watched ‘Cavalcade of Sports’
and never gain a pound.
And there was a time when I never felt
the cold as I scurried up and down
the sledding hill at Bancroft Park
with my Flexible Flyer proudly in hand.
Announcement
"State the fact," he tells the board, "announce mid-
morning without warning, too late then to
retaliate. Say, 'Times change, so on your
way, redundancy accompanies age.'"
Walks easy through his fortress-grounds of trip-
alarms and snarling hounds. Youthful bride is
safely sealed from vengeful pawn and bitter
foe, and waits, consoled by views of vale and
river's-flow, gleaned through rail and safety-gates.
Mower idle on the lawn; barrow still
beside a wall; jobbing-boy holds toil in
scorn. ''We'll propel the youth to manhood with
a jolt. He'll learn the bitter-truth of how
to cope without a job or hope, collect
his due, then face his fate as men must do.''
Holding high the diamond-ring, gift for the
girl with everything – to rent her love and
smile awhile – into the room where hi-fi
croons her favourite tune then, "Christ!" Mind won't
focus with the eyes; wife on table, lips
apart, hair a-splay, radiant as her
wedding day. Boy... a man between her thighs.
I chase away the housewife's blues.
In a cabin - fever dream.
It's the little things that give you heartaches,
heart -- or headache, oh such pain.
It is seven a.m.
Six children storming out the door.
They refuse to wear their hats and their boots.
It is cold and it is starting to rain.
The driveway to the school bus
is covered with mud.
Every morning start almost the same.
Too long, that I have gotten out of the house.
A housewife's shores never get done.
I turn on the hi-fi and dance to a waltz
and pretend I am not longer alone.
Sounds of the music, bring memories of youth
and roses and wine, long ago.
I sing to myself;" one day at the time;"
fly in a jet to my homeland the Rhine
and have a party all of my own.
I sit across Henry, we solve
the foreign affairs.
I convince a sheik who has oil coming out
of his ears that love is not for sale.
He gives me a line, with an oil can of tears.
I plead for peace with all the world leaders
and make angels out of the most cruel.