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.
"Yo, it’s a swingin’ machine, Man, popin' through the city like a late-night pulse/Soul groove in the gears, a brass-tuned Tower of Power horn section that never clocks out/
Word from Bird slides through the air, quick as a sparrow in the valley of smoky jazz clubs/
Coltrane follows with a long, silver breath, reed-wide open as the horizon sets up the day/
The street becomes a jazz club man, don't ya know/ Soul Shack, sugar shack watch your back jack/
a doorway of rock soul 45s stacked high, where the past nods to the future to be sure/
Break it down, count down, the rhythm rebuilds itself in bricks to the soul jazz tempo/
Nu Jazz banners wave, NEW YORK Monday traffic slows to listen, and the gypsy cab, Latin tinge kool sound to refresh the hot summer day/ each car on their horns like a big band sound section/
Lou Rawls drifts in on a velvet breeze, baritone city slick, smooth in the morning/ His "Lady Love" waits for his embrace/
Philly Joe Jones keeps the clock honest as he jams in hi-fi/ sticks snapping a cadence snare to bass drum that won’t quit/
Settin’ the soul jazz pace, jazz hipsters walk the line between memory and invention, jazz players go toe to toe with the possibility of coming up with the new jazz thing/
Work it out, Mel Torme's "Comin' Home Baby" is out there, some were, every note a workout to dig up a new way to say the same thing/
over and over every chord change every beat every solo every Tenor conclave man, all night long/
Red Garland Quintet threads the Something Else needle on collective Improvisation with swingin' abstract jazz with pocketfuls of tempo logic/
Rellin’ with the Fellin’ in, Man, It's Sonny Rollins he folds space like a drum-major bending time, the horn colossus in his prime/
When it comes to modern technology
The word “bozo” suits me to a “T”
I quiver and shake and tremble all over
When my computer asks questions of me!
Think to myself “If you're so damn smart
Why are you asking this old guy?
I'm back in the days of peck-peck-peck
On my typewriter listening to hi-fi!”
I'm at an age when the brain doesn't work
The way it did way back when
Wait a minute, I'm not sure this old brain
Was that brilliant even back then!
Some of us guys were born to be techies
I'm just happy being real simple
Totally content in my own little world
All the girls just love my dimples!
I may be a bozo but I'm a happy bozo
Not familiar with that techie talk
Made it this far without hurting my brain
Technology's a total crock!
© Jack Ellison 2013
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.”
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.
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.