Long Musician Poems
Long Musician Poems. Below are the most popular long Musician by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Musician poems by poem length and keyword.
"as an entity in the dream we conjured
we know not we are both the dreamer and dreamed
how then may we wake up when we are in trance
in bondage to illusions we ourselves stream" ~ Unseeking Seeker
D r e a m s
when draped by the dreamed,
connected to the inner consciousness,
is a manifestation~
of etched m a g i c,
composing songs of the soul,
tied to the heartbeat of the Universe,
letting awareness be the curator,
no longer a victim of fate,
but rising as the artist that paints~
peace and harmony,
from pristine pigments,
through blissful brushstrokes,
to recreate a landscape of love,
oblivious to the illusions
that veil our visions with vanity,
confining us to caves
of perplexed perspectives,
with hazy hieroglyphics engraved
in superficial gold
from Cleopatra’s jewels.
And I trace lifelines amidst moon-rays,
grasping the luminous light,
laced with enlightened beams,
waking up from lucid lies.
My thoughts have long floated amongst
brushing off salt-soaked blues
that soaked my skin in oceanic mists~
surreal sea-urchins
that whisper manipulative mantras,
anchoring me to an abyss
that floats with nothing but darkness…
I see through the marine mirage,
the truth that no longer
is trapped in euphoric melodies,
luring me to dance and dwell in delusions,
as if I am a victim of my own thoughts.
So I close my eyes,
let my mind wander through electric fields,
designed to resurrect
the sleeping stars adrift
in my veins, lost in material longing,
blind to the seraphic glows
floating through the air~
Tonight, I taste flavors of freedom,
to attain eternal nirvana,
unchained from hypnotic reveries
that dared not unravel
colors of clarity,
and spices of zest and zeal,
engrossed in mindfulness
that emanates candle-lit flames of truth,
illuminating twilight skies
with dreams drawn
from fingertips of f a i t h,
seeking spiritual clues
to conquer cosmic castles,
detached from the deceptive dreams
we’ve spun with greed and apathy…
For we are;
the dreamer and the dreamed,
the lyricist and the lyrics,
the poet and the poem,
the painter and the palette
the musician and the melody.
We rise and soar
across celestial gardens,
absorbed by the light,
silencing conflicting cadence~
within inner chaos,
forever adorned in sanguine stillness.
Yesterday, turned out,
To be, a magical day...
I got a great new drummer,
Totally excellent, I must say,
And he took the band,
To his amazing studio...
With every bit of exotic equipment...
A musician could know...
He mixed in like magic...
Making the band's chances
of reaching success to greatly grow...
And, though my physical pain was
much greater than usual,
We went to a diner in Queens,
for a menu perusal,
I treated my mates,
To a hearty dinner meal,
Glad for once I could treat,
It seemed no big deal...
From there on we went...
To the Howard Beach Yacht Club,
To play a musical gig,
The kind of job we do love...
Hosted by Queens Hell's Angels,
A fund raiser for poor kids,
For the "toys for tots bike run",
Sounds unreal, yet it was not,
It was just what it claimed,
That it really was, and every year
It still is...
We played for free,
though we got food or drinks,
Without charge...
And helped them earn money,
In their own hometown biker's lodge...
Well we were suplimented by
by other good musicians we knew...
We played an awesome set,
We knew what, and how, to do...
As for me, when I received,
What I perceived as a musician's slight..
Asked not to play...
every song that was planned,
For that big night,,
It seemed to me....
To be not being treated quite right...
So, yet, when we played,
We were sharper than a knife...
And were heros for the night...
Every song quite tight,
However, this somewhat offensive remark,
That was made to me,
Turned my playing skills
Up quite a mite....
And when we reached...
A great level of musical
Excellence,at that point,
And when it was at it's height...
We were rocking that joint,
We played way out-of-sight.....
But regarding my minor ego wound,
I somehow made my point,
So by a long night's end,
I had easily won that
Stupid and needless musical fight...
Picture "biker chicks" dancing
Exotically in front of the band,
Seemingly in ecstasy...
Which gave us a hand...
You see, such a thing...
Will make us play all the better...
And thunderous applause,
It seemed dotted the "i's"
In that letter....
We "Smoked 'Em" real good,
They loved every song....
Seemed they wanted us,
To play all night long...
Great satisfaction, and fun,
I really did have...
For at least my tired soul,
It was a heavenly sent salve.
Gitanjali 11
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Leave this vain chanting and singing and counting of beads:
what Entity do you seek in this lonely dark temple corner with all the doors shut?
Open your eyes and see God is not here!
He is there where the tiller tills the hard ground and the paver breaks stones.
He is with them in sun and shower; his garments are filthy with dust.
Shed your immaculate mantle and like him embrace the dust!
Deliverance? Where is this "deliverance" to be found?
Our master himself has joyfully embraced the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all forever!
Cease your meditations, abandon your petals and incense!
What harm is there if your clothes become stained rags?
Meet him in the toil and the sweat of his brow!
These are modern English translations of poems by the great Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), who has been called the "Bard of Bengal" and "the Bengali Shelley." In 1913 Tagore became the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Tagore was also a notable artist, musician and polymath.
Gitanjali 35
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been divided by narrow domestic walls;
Where words emerge from the depths of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not been lost amid the dreary desert sands of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward into ever-widening thought and action;
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Keywords/Tags: Translation, Tagore, Bengali, God, Religion, Prayer, Chanting, Singing, Counting, Beads, Dark, Temple, Doors, Shut, Tiller, Ground, Paver, Stones, Sun, Shower, Garments, Clothes, Mantle, Dust, Deliverance, Master, Creation, Unity, Meditation, Petals, Flowers, Incense, Rags, Toil, Sweat, Brow, Work, Labor, Hindi, vain, worship, entity, God, temple, chanting, singing, counting, beads, petals, incense, meditations, tiller, paver, dust, rags, sweat, toil, mrburdu, Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, India, Indian, poet, Bengali, sea, seashore, children, mother, dog, love, lover, patience, curtain, death
I was gratefully listening
to a theologian musician
repeat a rabbinic tradition
of four levels of resonant soul:
individual (egosystemic),
communal (local),
social (cultural, national identity)
global (Earth,ecosystemic).
A mature musician,
like a wise theologian,
sees these four soul identities
as circular
double-binding octaves,
mutually informing up
and down,
in
and out.
As EarthMother's original staging womb
organically recreates
using the fractal language of DNA inscription,
prediction,
predication,
to recreate yet another individual soul,
as BrahmanEarth outside soul
is to AtmanEgo inside spirit
of dynamic resonance,
preferring regeneration as positive
as more power-indwelling
than degeneration as negative.
So, it was jarring
when this musical theologian
referred to human bodies
as machines,
rather than organisms.
Machines seem to be left-brain dominant
power reductions
as compared with
Left with Right-balancing organisms.
For robotic machines,
punishing or rewarding communities,
leviathan bureaucratic
autocratic societies,
lifeless planetary spheres,
power is either on or off,
energy is positive or negative.
For living organisms,
individual through holonically Earth-wombed,
power is both regenerative
and degenerative,
positive and negative;
Not digitally governed by our either/or switch
but analogically healed, developed
and wounded, decomposing
with both/and holistic interdependent consciousness.
Human nature
sounds like a robotic analogy
and hopelessly predictable,
dully rational
as a LeftBrain dominant machine.
Humane nature/spirits
feel organically metaphoric
polyphonic
polypathically rounded
theo/eco-logical music composed
and decomposed,
marvelously trans-rational
as left with right hemispheric balance,
rhythm, communal
pitch, cultural
resonance, EarthWomb global
Soul,
ZeroZone regenerative
more powerful than degenerative,
Yet organic cycles
and recycles,
purpose
and repurposes of life
decomposing death
require both
to recreate
recompose
recologize
recognize
theologize
musical soul
as powerful
resonant
both-thought/and-felt structure.
But, when we started singing together
I knew
for sure
he, as we,
feels more and better
as metaphoric musicians
than analogical machines.
Musicianship
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Another Tale Of Musical Madness...
It was in the early seventies...
My friend and rhythm guitar man,
Mark Trotiner, worked in a well
known musician store in NYC...
Another one of those so rare
"light up the room types"-
He played great rhythm guitar,
Couldn't play a lick of lead,
Sang proudly with an awful voice,
Was the arch-typical Hippie of the 70's,
Knew all about music and bands,
Was friend to Frank Zappa,
Blues Project men, had met Jimmy Page
and countless others, the first
of the Greenwich Village Super Hippies
All the bands knew him...
He could charm your socks off...
Swore till the day he dies,
He inspired Mark Knaufler"s
"Money For Nothing"..
And I'd long learned how
to catch a bullshooter in crap...
Listen to his story....
Wait a good amount of time,
Ask him again about it...
See what has changed...
Repeat this process about
Three times,
You're sure to expose the lie,
I did this to him repeatedly
Over the course of years,
And he passed every test...
(that story itself worthy of
a great work...someday soon...)
However, he was the core figure
In the Grateful Dead Cover Band
I was in...with his guitar player friend,
Mark "Bone" Diaz- 6 foot three,
80 pounds, curly red hair tied back...
Greatest musician I ever played with...
And another anxious singer
with no voice...
Well Mark was always meeting
musicians of various levels...
And so charming, so unassuming
he appeared to be...
He had that aura, like cousin Bill
In all my life, those two still..
Stand out with this gift...
Oh, give me a spoonful of that gift...
And what a boost in my life it would lift
Anyway, (and this happened twice...)
Hope I don't get mixed up...
It's like tossin' them ol' dice...
This band, named "Koala"
Early 70's recording band...
Invited us down, based on Mark's word,
To open a set for them..
At their Bond Street Loft...
We wound up there twice...
Were told to bring naught
but our guitars...
Their equiptment world class...
Now I'll compact these 2 stories
To make my point...
We didn't know what we had
stepped into...
Should'a never entered the joint...
First gig, just like the "Big Day Gig",
All other musicians crapped out
on us at the last minute...
And I wound up doing this job
With Billy, Mark T., a drummer,
and me..
Im Saven my freestyle rhymes so I got da proof n soon I'll be raising da mothaen roof, feeling bullet proof..with all my skills shining through..my competitors ain't know what to do.. when I grab da Mike ..they know they through... Spitting dope rhymes til they getting high from da dope fumes rising from my Microphone, now they leaving yo. They know they got no chance 2 win any battle against me. No competition for this oleschool rap musician making them disappear like im a en magician...they b running they b twichen n of course they b en n wishes they didn't motivate this freestyle main-e-ack now they all under attack.
I've been writing a lot lately, poetry. Comedy n freestyle raps, giving mothaers heart attacks. My compatision fallen fast, blasted n smoked. I ain't no joke. Everyone finishing last. Day taken snapshots at my sexy ass. I'm now standing alone at da Top of da class so all my haters can kiss my ass.. . Fast or slow.. it ain't matter yo..I am unstoppable, like an F5 Tornado, blowen my competitors apart ..morning, noon or after dark, sreadding MC's like im a great white shark!!
Tearing the mothaers slowly apart from every possible angle. Die-angle to a en triangle. I got every possible angel covered til them mothaers smothered n I'm so hot they starting to smolder n smoke. Take a nice long toke til u start 2 choke..now they know what dis freestyle rappers all about. Turn u out ..choke u out til you en passen out. While I'm passen out my demo.. that is gonna demolish anyone in my way yo. Either way ya wanna see it I'll be undefeated n I en mean it. Gotta gansta lean a gansta limp with a tight gansta grip on my .45 with an extra 50 shot clip. This is real n legit n I won't en quit with da.45 hangen off my right hip with that extra en clip..
Maken mothafukers limp like they a dope pimp...
Now I'm heading 4 my dope ride..
2 get da away from dis homicide...
The seen was messy, the seen was sick..
Mothaers learning arithmetic..
5 glock 9 rounds will kill ya quick!!!
Or it will kill ya slow..
Either ing way your gonna die Yo!!!
ing with me n keeping yo life..
Don't ing mix, n I'm not gonna tell ya 2wice...
Once is enough n s gonna get rough..
U gonna get roughed up ..stuck up ..n hit up..Your body on da back of da pick-up..
Not anymore able to hick-cup..!!
You are my life and in that I believe
Always my love will be only for you
Flattering though that sounds I must confess
My first love is chocolate - sad but true
Sensual visions to capture the feel
Bringing the contours of wind sculpted plains
Hold that thought even though I love it so much
Must let the dog out before he drives me insane
Shimmering soft on the eclipse of love
Cloudless these evenings of star sprinkled mist
Just looked - no lustrous stars in this sooty sky
But stay for chocolate drizzled cake - I do insist
I drink in your fragrance
Tasting the flavors, your moistened lips
I heard something of interest today,
Chocolate doesn’t go to the hips
Kiss me ‘midst the maples
Kiss me ‘long the shore
Kiss me o’ my precious one
Now and ev’r more
Its thirsty work I must confess
This kissing and walking along the shore
A chocolate sundae sounds rather good
At that quaint little place that I do adore?
I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
My! you do know how to set the mood
I can’t go past this - you do know me
The night feels right the lights are turned low
What’s this the video has stopped? Hello!!
Johnny has left the building? Just when I wanted more
No matter- my debonair poet of delight
Conjure me up some George Clooney tonight
Well set aside your chocolate pie
For Hollywood is coming by
And as you explore your favorite star
I’ll enjoy that Hershey bar
Oh Fickle Heart chocolate second placed?
From gold to silver - it’s now displaced
Footnote:
I’ve used George Clooney as he is globally acclaimed as the most favored flavor in the ratings.
Personally, I favor the more 'Bono' type - (I love his voice)
Paul David Hewson, known by his stage name Bono, is an Irish singer-songwriter, musician.
Acknowledgement:
My deepest appreciation to Chris Green, poet extraordinaire for sparing some of his wonderful talent and collaborating with me to bring you this arrangement.
Copyright © Maria Williams & Chris Green | 12 July 2017
The grace, the flow, the singing vibrations.
I'm ready, I'm ready to pull my bow across the river of time.
Time that steadies the flow of these rippling musical notes of mine.
I'm ready to connect with an extravagant classical insturment.
To be one with a delicate and delightful viola.
I'm nervous and shy, for playing in front of someone feels like I'm exposing my inner self through my third eye. I release my self and put my soal into my gracfully flowing fingers, in hopes that they don't deceive me and unintendedly linger. I trust in my abilities as a musician and let my viola sing. Sing for me, and spread my talent and soal, thoughout my music. I stead myself and let the time engulf me, for I am fixed and doing my very best.
As the time drawls to an end, I send my last note and let it linger in the air.
I leave knowing I did my very best, but will that be good enough to get where I want to be? Am I truly talented, is this meant for me? All I can do now is hope for the best and have confident in myself. If putting your heart and soal into something isn't the best, than I don't know what is.
After much stress, I get to know if I achieved my goal. It turns out that I wasn't able to achieve that goal after all and now I'm sad. Sad that my very best wasn't good enough, sad that this is the first time that I haven't reached my goal in music. Everyone else passed and moved on, but not I. I who works myself hard and long to secced in my goals, was turned down. I who comes to class on time, sits up straight, and practices at night on the weekends until late. None of this was good enough, or maybe I'm not as talented like I thought I was.
Warm, wet, tears stream down my face and seep into my skin.
Many things cross my mind this is one I can't simply mend. Should I give up and end? Am I not fit to be a musician? My heart aches to know the truth, to know what I did wrong, but I'm not strong, too afrade to ask. Instead, I cover my deep blue eyes with these small hands of mine. I weep. My brain says to give up, that I'm not good enough, while my heart tells me to keep going, that I have spent too much time, loving and caring for my viola and music of mine. Everyone and thing is putting me down?
I'm truly lost and crying tears, tears of failure so dear........
Note: The author has a tentative melody as well as the arrangement of the song. However, a musician or a professional recording musician may happen to come across this piece of writing, i shall be glad to offer this a collaborative piece whenever the artistic contribution is suited to the author's preference. Please send demo.
Intro: random sound of children running; playing; singing
Chorus:
We are the remnants of the ages
And the off springs of the dawn;
Facing realities of the new day
Within the realm of a dream.
I.
I hear the voices of the past
As they echoed down my spine.
Beckoning me to move onward
Like an amber of a dying flame.
II.
I saw a silhouette at a distant
But I can't figure what it was
My clue was blurred with confusion
But there's a voice I can barely grasp.
Repeat Chorus:
III.
There are faces of strangers
As I have not known a long-time friend
They have come as generation
In which I feel I do belong.
IV.
We utter in many voices
But we're blended for a song
A song of joy, love, and freedom
From which our music got its tune.
Repeat Chorus:
Ad Lib:
Repeat 3rd and 4th stanzas
Repeat chorus twice then fade.
Author: Jecon B. Nadela
Date and time of writing:
15 November 2013 ; 1:10pm - 2:22pm
Typhoon Yolanda has just devastated our neighbor island in the Philippines leaving thousands homeless and starving. The death toll was estimated to over ten thousand. There was chaos and disorganization. I, too, was confused of what to write as I already have written poems about nature's wrath, sufferings, or compassion . It must be that I have a mental block or maybe the urge to write was blown away too as we're preoccupied with the news and the humanitarian endeavor we are trying to be a part of to aid the victims in the devastated islands.
Today my 9-year old son and his uncle instructor are sitting by the keyboard again for practice. I can sense the excitement as they reviewed the piano chords. With a smile he asked, can you also write songs Papa? I said, I have tried some and maybe I can try again for you and for your sisters and cousins to sing with you in the chorus. And the idea of children singing in chorus brought to my mind the lines of this song.