Long Oboe Poems
Long Oboe Poems. Below are the most popular long Oboe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oboe poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: December 04, 2023
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Desensitizing me—destroying my delusion.
Snapping sight of the kaleidoscopic illusion.
Delving into eternity of utopian ecstasy
Shimmering in an ethereal golden fantasy
Drifting inwards—yielding inner space.
Flamboyant with a nectarous embrace
Playing an intricate oboe of tenderness.
Drumming along to the tune of gentleness
Invigorating my soul—infusing my barren cup
Embraced me wholeheartedly the wassail up.
Sitting on grass, smelling delicious lavender.
Gulped divine ambrosia, wild or scavenger
Syncing wires up to my celestial essence
A haven where my bosom can quiescence
A tranquil haven where my spirit can soar.
A tranquil haven that my heart can't deplore.
A sanctuary where my soul can find peace.
Somewhere, my soul may relax and release.
Nothing can be concealed in my quiet spirit.
The whole day, one can both sense and hear it.
THE WHOLE TOWN QUERY
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April 9, 2018 Volume VIIIII section V
Reported by
Ababa Asphirst
Ah dew chi, si? Ah she say ah via! Do cho chi, ah vo coo: del chai si ah co!liken to de new see do. a speak chi, say ah. alband do see ah say she do: aye vi dew chi ah. Best to best, love to love. de aye si, de aye si, love de amore' si pasa. Ababa, query oboe(ist)! whoompa, lumpa boom!
ah, ye si, say love? " no, Mr. Asphirst, si say uh,huh? You know,mi? love si,beso, beso Mr. Asphirst. Alucktwit he Asphirt? No mi spoke in Guboga. "Bad-Bad" Rhinecarte, si, he Asphirst. He Mr. Asseakant, You Asphirst? si! si! She Aslast? I Asphirst! You Nuna lufa, no, no, I Asphirst!
You know Asphirst, You Aseacant.heard mi bucko, you Asseacant!
she Asphirt! So, him explain, You Beso Asphirt, No,no !I Aseacaunt, Beso Asphirst!
Ababa Asphirst
The Town Query
you scared caused that b$tch
might wanna set your ass up
invite you in and
then get all corrupt
say one thing then do the other
act like she wanna do thangs
then start acting like
something other
sh$t!
why ya'll acting like that
why ya'll gather up like that
making me strange and unreal
said he did it before
to get people to understand
how you feel
meet her at the oboe store
she was buying an oboe
said she was starting a band
said she aint had no kids, no car
said she aint have no man.
told me she was hungry
and wanted something to eat
said she was tired from working out
and told me she didn't eat meat
wine sounded good
but I hadn't asked her out
she made plans before even started talking
I didn't get a word out my mouth
she gotta man
and know it
looking at that phat juicy thang
why she wearing that diamond for
why she twisting that thing
giggy gotta man
and I know
this chick running game
trying helm a brudda up
tryin to make a brudda strange
Giggy gotta man and I know
why she actin like that
shaking that rump in front of me
showing me she phat
Form:
In an atenpmt to make his ex
stop narrating his work(s)
he wrote song about asking a woman to
buy the steaks at dinner
the lyrics spoke of her buying him
new drawels
told her to find him
a date
so that he could be happy
and to pay the tip
when they are engaged.
jealous of my new
hammond 3
said the oboe was bent
talking about my success
where my money's spent
skipping out on rehearsal
changing the tempo of the groove
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Such insecurity out flanks
her willingness to kind
it's a social comparison
acting like all is fine
often used to deflect attention
from the flaws she possess
it's a contentious mechanism
what apparatus fixes us
non is to be found
Can't say I don't love
this woman
just stop treating me
like a clown
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you can't get over
lossing me
now that I'm with someone else
I lefted you with the one
you love
cause you only seem to love yourself
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Paradise lost
We danced with thieves with murderous intent
The laughter and fun were screams of utter depravity
Did God assassinate the angels as semen ran
From fruitless loins.
Blood dripped as rain from heaven’s elaborate steps
Paradise is lost. Adam molested his sons.
Eleven daughters produced twenty new life a settlement
Began the first in human history
While Eve had a tempestuous affair with the snake of lust.
When Adam got old someone stole his honesty
He had wanted to play the oboe.
From this immoral beginning, animals in the jungle cried
The obscene humans were unstoppable
And now, and now, we wait for the nuclear war to commence
Drink the water of mountain brook
Sweet and clear, it fills you with joy
Try it once, very soon you’re hooked
Much like ale, in thirst, to enjoy
Ancient music, from ages gone by
Is like stream, crystal clear ’n light
Stays as friend of my soul and ally
Simple sounds are total delight
Flute and oboe, old fiddle and harp
Horns and pipes, much forgotten today
Notes of centuries past ringing sharp
Viol and lyre shall take you away
Timeworn ballads of baroque guitar
Songs by lute so unlike of this age
Did forefathers, their times afar
Stood in awe, so enthralled and engaged?
Lucid tones, those of Handel and Bach
Strings Vivaldi bequests to eons
Their gifts outliving the clock
Olden music is still marching on
Plain sounds that go to the heart
Cleanse and soothe in perpetual stream
It survives the time, what an art
Shall live on, by not being extreme
© 2022
If I could play the violin
I'd write a melody
euphonious to draw you in
and play my rhapsody
to bring a smile to your dear face
and calm the storm within
if I could play the violin
If I could play the saxophone
with timbre silvery
I'd paint a poem of pure tone
to laud your alchemy
for you turn iron into gold
and granite to gemstone
if I could play the saxophone
If I could coax an oboe's tone
a dulcet sound divine
to craft a raft for you to own -
a musical lifeline
when waves have knocked you off your course
when winter winds have blown
I'd play a soothing oboe tone
If I could sing a heaven-sent
anthem or hymn profound
I wouldn't need an instrument
when you feel nearly drowned
I'd whisper arias of hope
my mouthpiece, bow, and strings
are prayers for God to heal your wings
and soar beside as heaven sings.
Six titles,
Twelve number one
Contenders..
Best out four falls
If there is a draw
A ten minute finale
Will deside the winner
Four barrels(oak)
Filled with sand
At the bottom a
Title belt and contract
For a title match.
The tagtitles will be
Seperated in two barrels
The team that wins
Will flip coins to
Deside the order
Of the barrel turning.
Auditing firms will
Represent the interest
Of each grappler.
A sercurity detail asppointed
By the company and
The auditing firms.
Those firms interested
In representation can do so
By call Ziconia Prawn
At Oboe and Sunshine
555-555-5555
Or message
@$$$.Ringstarr.com
It has it history from the rye farms
Of Scotlan
A tradition carried to the colonies s.
They'd put a womans name on parchment
And put it the rye at the bottim of
The barrel. The winner of the match
Would win a date.
It was held at the autumn festivals.
Disclaimer, the two men who draws the tagtitle belts will
Meet the tagcchamps as number one contenders.
The w
World title bout will be sactiined by both the united auditing firms
And the parent comoany.( no rubber match)
The American Nation Championship will allow a rubber match
Witg the current champions Position in consideratiin.
( he has the ability to name the type of match)
The Talus Championship champion will be
Named number one contender to the World Championship
The Independant World Championship will be
Defended in Canada under Northwood rules
The International Championship is slated to unitl
His title with the World Championship and Independant championship
At "Get out the Business" in
Las Vegas"Keeping teamwork in mind to focus on your seffishness"
She rubbed him up the right way,
made him moo like an oboe,
piped him up high like a piccolo.
She was finger food for his body.
Post the passion dance
his heart began to tick like a time-bomb.
His blood tangoed in the dark,
looped the loop like a bi-plane.
Then he went off
in the middle of the night, alone.
Called her in the morning, hands shaking
from after-tremors:
Begged her to do that thing
that she did to him, that move
that made his libido tremolo like a fat lady.
Her voice was cool, distant,
she complained that her bed had collapsed,
that her cat was clinging to the ceiling
and would not come down,
so he could just keep
his 'big bang' to himself.
Later he went nuclear.
i've composed a dream, which i would like to share with you
i am at the royal opera house in Covent Garden, and
i have front row seats for The Barber of Seville
in which i am stacked up behind the conductor
i can smell the shampoo and the warmth of the body
i wink at the oboe player, as we wait for the rapid-fire
overture that will blow our socks off, as i pop an extra strong mint into my face
and whisper to Jericho, "this will strike a chord."
and we're off. the velvet curtain looks delicious, i want to eat it,
i want to smear it on my face like jam while the baton waves around hysterically,
a frantic metronome having a seizure,
and i can’t read a single dot on the page,
but the timbre of the oboe cuts through and the trombone bellows
and the lute plucks at something deep in my gut
and i’m watching all of this on a four-inch smartphone screen
because the best time of the day is nighttime, it is the best time of the day,
pouring boiling water into rubber hot water bottles for my wife,
my bitesize opera treats before slumbering,
a stolen hit of high culture in the quiet dark.
i want a Puccinian curiosity, but i don't know what that means
interval. dissonance. consonance.
my colleague, the music teacher, he explains the basics to me
he reduces three hundred years of Italian heartbreak to four words,
his mouth shaping the syllables with the precision of
a perfectly articulated staccato, in the voice of Bugs Bunny: “crap story, good music.”
i saw Madame Butterfly, i told him i needed to sit down and talk to someone,
all these memories flood back now, i want my opera house. i want the real one.
ringing the church bell from the steeple,
screaming that the church remains closed, locked up tight, until this town,
this stupid town, gets its opera house.
the overture ends and the applause breaks out. after it dies,
i lean forward, towards the conductor's right ear and say,
"brilliant, boy."