Long Musicians Poems
Long Musicians Poems. Below are the most popular long Musicians by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Musicians poems by poem length and keyword.
“I'm ready to go anywhere
I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way
I promise to go under it”.....Quote by Bob Dylan
I AM A STRANGER HERE without you
I CAN'T EXPLAIN why
I walk through this RING OF FIRE
WHERE THE NIGHTIME IS THE RIGHT TIME-
when out of the darkness I SHALL BE RELEASED
from the uncertainty of my struggle
There are 500,000 souls here
with one voice of peace and love, and I…
am finding my voice in Neverland-
intensely running in the circles of my irreverence
to create the chords within the tunes…
my music - my rhythm – my soul
my words to change the world
Looking to my orator of this brotherhood
MR. TAMBOURINE MAN,
the designated ghost of my hope
hammering the jingling beat
that shackled my feet to follow
this haunting melody inside me
where I am the master of my freedom
But…
You are my song of songs,
YOU ARE AS GOOD AS YOU'VE BEEN TO THIS WORLD,
the hand I hold to walk in this light
lingering sweetly in the HIGH TIME
of my experimental chaos
that I so fiercely hold onto
within the bosom of my art
that rages ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER
of my soul
MY DARLING BE HOME SOON
I’ve gone through several dragons;
each one had to leave.
They’d discovered gifts and talents,
to make their lives complete.
Musicians, sculptors, chefs and more;
have trained within my home.
Once offered the chance to go, “Pro”;
they went right out the door.
And so, I searched for a dragon;
it took me quite awhile.
But, it was so important that,
I find the right one, with style.
When I finally found one,
and brought him to my home;
it wasn’t long till I found out;
he loved ice cream cones.
Eventually he worked up;
to fifteen cones, a day.
It was getting quite expensive;
he even swiped one from our pup!
“That was rude”, I told him;
“You had one of your own”.
So much ice cream, he did eat,
he was no longer slim.
If he began eating banana splits;
he’d weigh a million pounds;
so we told him, to get any,
he’d have to pay ten cents an ounce.
His ice cream face just melted,
into the biggest pout;
elephant tears welled up
and he acted like he’d been pelted.
The next day, he left the house,
we thought he’d gone for good.
Mid-day he came flying in,
he was wearing a new blouse.
Said he’d gotten a new part-time job,
driving an ice cream truck;
it was clear that dragon,
would probably eat up gobs.
At least he’d planned to earn it;
so we would not go broke.
The next day he arrived in his own truck;
in one day, a driver’s license, he’d gotten.
Three days later he came home,
and admitted he’d been fired.
He owed the truck’s company;
for a load of missing ice cream cones!
Crying big old elephant tears, he handed us a bill.
Six thousand dollars worth of ice cream, he ate;
he couldn’t pay them off, he feared.
We agreed to pay them, for him but,
he’d have to work it off.
And he’d have to give up ice cream cones;
his face was, oh so grim.
Though it took a miracle,
he managed to succeed;
but, giving up his ice cream cones,
came not without a price.
Now, he’s hooked on pickles!
As the moon and sun share the fabric of a fading song of ancient blues
a ceremony of torch light identity ensues
chieftains in regalia of royal feather headdresses and mantles of warrior mania
approach the flagstaff that Clark and I stand under with a procession
of musicians clad in the symbols of their souls
playing instruments that speak the language of their knowledge,
after being bedazzled by the brute majesty of the music and pomp
our men give gifts of tobacco carrots, knives, beads and small bells,
chiefs Wueche and Arcawechar tap both of my shoulders
with their ceremonial spears, a gesture of friendship and blessing
after which we toast to the fortune of patient eyes with a dram of whiskey,
my elocution of America's intentions and jurisdiction
is delivered with sincerity and alacrity just as an eagle protects it's range
and with the wit and instincts of a wolf Chief Wueche
agrees with the terms of allegiance but also admonishes us
not only of the pirates of the Plains,
but that supremacy is the child of wrath for the natives
especially for the dominant tribe of the Sioux Nation, the Teton,
he seems to somberly realize that his Yankton people
must either become a weapon of America's war machine, or be destroyed by it,
J.A.B.
a fear of commitment
or fear of marriage
exuberant, swinging
and downright unapoligetic
he calls music
the woman he always
In every genre she still wishes
to be pleased
even we you disagree
even when she refuses to inspire
even when others don't hear
what your hearing
a little adive
they right people
to tool that htaang
getting it where
you know it should be
when my mind refuses to
be kind to me
and I don't know my way
it's right and real to me
to find the right things to say
put my name on this one
I'd stand pround to brag on this
that's sweet in the right places
and tart enough to kiss
that's how it should be
we gonna do it how it is
not scared of the rejections
that won't make me mad
Listen to the music
switch up a swing
let the musician be musicians
and let the singers sing
Bésame Mucho
inspirational Gooiness
and
the makings of
Automatic Inflatible LifeJackets
Songs taken Serious
The Music notations were somewhat divisive: due to the
words used weren't defined or agreed upon. I remembered
"Geloina striata. Linne" were terms used to describe the stage hands. Some saw her
Recreating language as way of "creating conditions that increase vulnerability to, or the likelihood of, a disaster, whether natural or of human error. What the industry details is enough to see her as a trouble maker. Or just lazy: she often would refuse to research the roles of characters to give insight of how they act and respond to the actions spoke within the script."Anempathetic" or empathy is what musicians call it. When the actions or sequences are jived against the music or style of music used in a scence.The human error problem can be viewed in two ways: the person approach and the system approach. Each has its model of error causation. fun isn't alway to create comedic or thought-provoking moments. Often time the details and instructions that detail the safety of all involved, is enough to support the comedic does and don't in the business of entertainment. Mean spiritedness has no place in the scope of production.
Roll out the Barrel and being in the barrel are two separate and distinctive things. The terms are separate and would need further defining to be clear.
Roll out the barrel would detail bring the barrel out it's time to unwind and have fun: being in the barrel means being In an unpleasant or dangerous situation.
The Executive producer did say" The attire of the evening needs only the models approval: but due to the fact of there saftey the show was called off!"
Rainbow Dreams
In a rainbow dream
I saw colours pleasant
and their dimensions many,
and saw me on the throne
a mighty king with bright crown.
There is my palace, the nobles
And the wise grace my court,
I shall deliver justice,
Punish the guilty, reward the virtue.
Musicians shall sing, dancers dance
Poets shall write in praise of me,
More of my victory, nothing of loss
Warriors in bright dress shall wait
To take orders loud and clear.
Alas, I woke up and my dream went dry;
The dream never comes back, how hard I try.
SAKTHI RAVICHANDRAN
Stan was a conductor of a band,
Stan thought he was very grand.
In the park most summer days,
From the bandstand, Stanley plays.
With his bandleaders uniform on,
He ceremoniously raises his baton.
The musicians all look dignified,
As they picked up their instruments with pride.
Looking very serious indeed,
They all start to proceed.
By this time, they have an audience sitting in chairs,
More people are waiting at the fence as the band prepares.
To start a session of marches and old songs, for folk to listen and
Some to sing along.
First, some Sousa marches,
They always raise a cheer.
Then "Underneath the arches" and other old songs,
That sometimes bring a tear.
Stirring military marches and softer mellow sounds,
Pour from this magnificent band.
People singing, tapping their feet,
Happiness abounds.
With an OOM PAH PAH and a TOOT TOOT TOOT,
Crash of CYMBALS, ROLL of DRUMS,
Sun smiling down, People milling around,
Stanley's band was full of fun.
Sad to say, most bandstands did not stay.
A loss to everyone.
The Party
Everyone is festive
All the ladies in pretty dresses
Champagne in flutes
Flirts in Armani suits
Waiters and penguins
Serving wine and cheeses
Musicians playing tango delights
Diplomats avoiding land mines and devastated sites
I toast them, one and all
Vodka and Russians can not dance
I can drink you all, under and over
Tossing empty bottles over me shoulder
Pretty ladies and purple purses
Drunken observations as the poet muses
Who would bed me now?
So drunk and wise with broken fuses
No one, can see the poetic disguise
Of the lonely man seeking only lies
The tenderness of the Spanish kiss
Hold me, dear dream, caress me inside
The floor is full of empty plates
The party is over, so it seems is my fate
I fall asleep under a street lit lamp
The richest of bums in an old cul du sac
If only before that fateful day
I could suckle upon the breast once more
We are all infants no matter the shore
Love should never have parted out that door
Sanity was broken and tossed away like lore
I mumbled the petty desires of the broken man
I tore out my heart, bloody and beating in my hands
Laid it bare upon the sands
Coupled with crabs
The universe re-created
Eaten raw, love was consumed
New beasts shall roam
Sunken eyes and empty chest
I, am the one who is no more
Tall tails and party hats
The forgotten are never fancy cats
Until one day you meet the maker
Of your story, cooked by the baker
Ovens shall burn and choirs sing
The devil you see, had the last ring
On the window feeder,
Gray and black birds, feathered families,
Playful and perky, frolicking
Like the music beneath their down,
Plumes rich as a caress, stirring joy,
Wonders, shadowed by the pastel noon,
Dreamy hearted wings, graceful
As the moment before lips widen
Into a smile, reflecting all the magic,
Fairy-tale laughter, chirping,
Songs written by the moon and stars,
Silent as the heart, unspoken,
Beyond broken – thoughts soaring,
As the hand releases the seed,
To be devoured by nature’s flock,
Hesitant, nearly weeping,
Reflected on the dew, dripping,
Washing away the dust, the silence,
With a hesitant gaze into yesterday,
Where the prayer, understood,
Weighed the heart, the soul…
On the window feeder,
Standing patient and persistent,
Twittering eagerly, waiting
For the seeds, the kernels, fare
Meant to host the musicians,
Choirs of winged artists,
Stunning performers who calm,
Hush the darkness of a forest,
With their reticence,
Quiet kindness stirring apart,
Trembling leaves,
Breathless oaks, pines,
Memories designed to invite…
Beautiful to the light,
Wonderful to the night,
Magnificent, so glistening, bright.
On the window feeder,
Standing, curious…
Motionless, yet ready to soar,
Rising into the azure skies,
In one fluid motion,
Willowy and wistful, elegant
Nearly as enthusiastic as a star
Glitter from the heavens,
Revealing the treasure of the choir,
Music, praising, ever praising…
From the feeder, where they play,
Follow the leader – a waltz,
Danced perchance, on the winds,
Where hope once promised
Winged blessings, extoled – worship,
Like a lullaby, soft and gentle –
Always remembered!
I heard it again.
The music I enjoyed
kept me at it
reading studying
rhythm and throb
and melody for company.
Associations tingled back:
my social life
emotions pulsing
carried from bar to bar
as I lived it afresh
enthused once more
fully attending.
This time I also saw it
performed:
the intricacies of the instruments
beautifully crafted
the coming together
of musicians intensed
with the soloist
orchestrated.
The conductor calling each
drawing me in
focused to feel part
of a new performance
thrilling how I felt
all those years ago
listening to those spools of tape
as I struggled to learn and to grow.
A lost part of me
in that half hour awoke.