Long Keyboard Poems
Long Keyboard Poems. Below are the most popular long Keyboard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Keyboard poems by poem length and keyword.
Only three of us now who knew
both sets of our grandparents.
The three of us, 96, 94 and 88,
how much time have we left?
There are sepia photos from the
old, first Brownie cameras, a few
portraits of some from a bit later,
all still, silent, as they were not in life.
Being the oldest, I recall two great-
grandmothers, albeit vaguely,
one only in a darkened bedroom,
the other short, chubby, with the
horn she put to her ear to listen.
My mother’s father, Grandpa Jones,
studied his Bible lessons every day, but
he died when Dan and I were little.
Who but we three now remember the
stern but kindly mother of my dad?
Grandma Pope had endless patience
teaching my small hands to make jam,
can tomatoes, make pie crust and bread.
She had an infectious laugh which sent
tears rolling down her cheeks.
She let me go alone to
the bakery to buy penny rolls.
Grandpa Pope first showed me a keyboard
and named the keys. An accomplished
pianist and organist, who had worked
for Chickering Pianos, he didn’t play
often any more, as he had toughened his hands
in the factory where he worked during
the Depression, but when he played
everyone was completely entranced.
My mother’s mother, Grandma Jones,
was Boston proper, a wonderful seamstress
and seemingly stern, but very loving.
I often would crawl into her bed at night.
When I had mumps she made me hot chocolate.
She would be sure I had hat and gloves
and take me to lunch at Jordan Marsh.
We did endless puzzles in her sitting room.
So much more to these people than
ever can be seen in a photograph.
Even this poem only scratches the surface.
The love, quirks, personalities are missing.
I suppose, some day, my descendants
will look at pictures of Doug and me
and wonder what kind of people WE were
and what WE really were like.
A teacher taught many years ago
theres no gold at the end of a rainbow.
The gold you seek is there for all to see
its within you and its within me.
Kindness and compassion are the key
Im sure you will agree.
A friendly word,a helping hand
a letter a text that would be grand.
Hold my hand wipe away my tears
show me how you truly care.
Speak words that cause joy not harm
always,always try to charm
And this world will be a better place
if more people just embrace
So share a hug, swap a smile
you will find it most worthwhile.
Now just follow me
and you will see .
PRESS alt, hold it down and the number 3 on the keypad on the righthand side of the keyboard (windows ) place your cursor in the address bar at the end before you try it
A precious gift from me .
With every note struck thunder rages with spirit
off the piano keys, tornado spins out of control
with the crescendo coming to a whisper and the music plays on
as two lovers climb the black and white keys to heaven.
5/4/2019
Poetry Contest: Liberum Divisa
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
Stairway of Music to Heaven
Fragrance of roses and grass dipped dew
Moonlit night plays a solo of romance;
“I will love you tonight”
With every note struck thunder rages with spirit
off the piano keys, tornado spins out of control
with the crescendo coming to a whisper and the music plays on
as two lovers climb the black and white keys to heaven.
A sense of awe, as emotions of both spirit spin on tiptoes
of each step of the keyboard with love caressing them tightly
as they take each step flowing so elegantly.
Voices tenderly laying their lips on their structure,
blessing them with the song of the heart that says I love you.
1/12/2016
Copyright © E
LEGEND: GH - Glenn Hughes JL - Jon Lord/Lordy
GH: "Oh Lordy!"
JL: "Heil!"
GH: "How'd ya like puffin' that magic."
JL: "Bugs is outta the hat, man, -- so the trick is -- how you gonna git hoppity back in there? I'll git the keyboard ready and let's start puffin' man!"
GH: "Huffin' soloist?"
JL: "You puffin' man?"
GL: "I thought Draggin's are heavy-footers?"
JL: "Scales are tamed on my Draggin; -- meet you out front, man."
My take on their version
Their version
You and I see the maybes, the possibles, ... and the crazies.
The world around us hangs in doubt
It's easy to get lost in all the turmoil when we're apart
You face a crime that we'll hear about
The words out bring us closer, hears of my bleeding heart
To pay the cost, would never be the same
That's the scene, we're the maker, dreams that last forever
Eternal lovers, we're not to blame
We did create ... be our blood stain
There's no mistake, there's no refrain
It's insane everything that we know and stood for is still all fine
The same surroundings that stood
we're here again, look around and you're not found around this time
Are here again - this time around
To lose you, I would choose, the timeless end, that space transcends ...
As I look around you can't be found
To lose you, I'd rather see the endless
But this time around ... our true nature be found.
Time and space go passing by
This time around
This time around
So look around, we all will be found
In love
Sitting here, waiting the vibe moment,
the water of creativity breaks;
and silent words drip
from the womb of my mind.
Silent words—flowing,
filling blank pages of time
with echoes of sculpture thoughts
chiseled from the abysmal consciousness
of my inner being; laboring awakening words,
struggling in the web of pregnant hope.
And when these words
shall have delivered their song,
leaving the staccato rhythms
of the keyboard silent
like the darkness of stilled night,
this new born poetic vibe will be
silently screaming:
Echoing throughout the night,
vivid vibrant vibes of ebony hued melodies.
I keep a notebook on the nightstand,
pencil at hand – life-rafts for thoughts.
A flock of dream-crows take off all at once,
the clatter of their wings
a whole symphony played in just one moment.
Grandmother would speak in her Highland tongue;
sounds lyrical and melodic. As a child
I just listened not deciphering or even thinking,
absorbing only the sounds of her rhythmic brogue,
her Celtic chimes.
Mozart leaps up from a nocturnal reverie
stumbles around lighting candles,
lays his sleepy forehead on a keyboard
endeavors to recall a certain harmonic
overheard as the trills of Pipistrelle bats.
When my head swings from the pillow
I cannot find the pencil.
Mind mutely watches a cappella words
wander away from their musical roots,
silence falls out of nowhere into nowhere.
Camino Poetica
Punching letters and keyboard penetration,
fostered dreams convey as salvation.
To that land of sacredness beyond mountains,
tasting sweet mothermilk healing fountains.
Visual rendezvous with colors from a rainbow,
mist and vapors of life captured for tomorrow.
Elixir from internal flame with its intuitive dreams,
caring firmament follow every thought it seems.
Misty blue keeps on rising turning to fine rain,
nature baptism without procedure to claim.
Cradle of art and science show a limitless way,
words still wet and fresh from mysteries to convey.
A ballad of ancient time repeats its ancestor’s vision,
poetic thoughts and its mirrored permission.
Lights from the Camino are the ever living cure,
that every poetic moment is magical for sure.
I’m sitting at this keyboard pecking out a song,
Thinking of the kind of love that always done me wrong.
I let my mind drift back a ways, focus on those simpler days
Of courtship for women and men.
It was a whole different rodeo when…
It was pinball and pool halls,
A shot and a beer, a quarter gonna get you three plays
At your typical blue collar honky tonk joint.
Recalling Waymore and his outlaw days.
Waymore on the prowl when the cat come whispering
Play his smoke and wine for any lady listening
Sniff around the taproom with those no good friends of mine
Take the barmaid home when she gets off at closing time
It was a whole different rodeo when
You could tell from the feel of her skin
We were loving in person back then.
Now with internet dating a fly on the wall
Could choke on the internet haze.
It’s all google-eyed, cyber love, harmony crap;
I’m missing Waymore and his outlaw days.
Waymore on the prowl was a wily specimen.
Caught more tail with come-ons than with instant messaging.
Had a way with words like they were stolen property.
Left a woman knowing she’d been texted properly.
Block
An idea forms and your mind is on fire
Your fingers are itching to write
The eagerness builds, the excitement explodes –
Your heart and your soul are alight.
You drop everything. The moment is key!
You rush to your screen or your page.
Fingers on keyboard, pen in your hand
And you wait for the muse to engage.
Then… Nothing.
You stare at the page, lean back in your chair
Fingers on head, interlocking.
But mute and defiant the page stares right back.
Its blankness rebellious and mocking.
You jot down a word or two, force out a sentence,
Immediately rejected, deleted.
For ninety long minutes you take your best shot,
As each futile attempt is repeated.
You’re beat, feeling drained with your chin on your chest;
No masterpiece written today.
After all that struggle you can’t even remember
What the great idea was anyway.
So admitting defeat, you stand up and stretch.
Trying desperately not to feel doleful.
Tomorrow awaits. Perhaps when you try,
Your writing won’t be quite as woeful.
To all wo crave turkey...good appetite and good health!
Utilize your skills in creating charm in a bright dining room.
Round up the best ideas for success, ask if you need help.
Kidding yourself is absurd, get all the help from friends.
Enamor yourself with dinnerware and silverware that match.
Yearn for an athmosphere so warm, cheerful and elegant.
Allow kindness when dealing with kids who spill apple cider.
Nobody should be privileged to say Grace but the host.
Dance afterward with everyone in the decorated living room.
Papa can smoke his cigar, if it doesn't bother the guests.
Unity should be stronger on this day when all thank the Lord.
Major issues about noises, caused by children, should be ignored.
Pretend that Thanksgiving Day is the last one they'll ever see.
Keyboard should play Hymns of thanks, not songs they all like.
Inside the fireplace, the red log crackles reminiscing Thansgivings past.
Nag not when the dog chases the cat under the table...laugh!
Parents should be soft, not harsh...let Thansksgiving be a fun day!
Inside the fireplace the log crackles...reminishing of Thanksgivings past.
Endure the screams and the fights a little longer...no child is an angel.
Say the final prayer of gratitude as everyone bows their heads.