Long Pete Poems
Long Pete Poems. Below are the most popular long Pete by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pete poems by poem length and keyword.
There once were some Weavers
Who taught many of us to sing.
But it wasn't until much later in life
That their music would be my thing.
I never followed Pete Seeger
As his words with me didn't gel.
It would not be until years later
That others would finally tell.
Peter, Paul, and Mary grabbed my attention
With their skill, their courage, their art.
Of all the groups that I have listened to
They are closest to my heart.
Others garnered my attention
Donovan, Dylan, and Kingston Trio too.
I'd love to listen and sing along
As if every note was new.
Steve Goodman was a true artist
In his words of truth and form.
Folksingers come in every age
Croce's works were not the norm.
How I do love to listen to them singing
Or in some cases just strumming away.
The one regret I have in all of this...
I never learned how to play.
PETE THE PERCUSSIONIST
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a drummer named Pete,
whose rhythm was funky and sweet.
He dreamed of the stage,
a rock star despite his age.
His sticks, though, were clumsier than his feet.
He practiced with pots and with pans,
in hopes of a life with great bands.
With a crash and a boom,
he shook up the room,
Wishing for a gazillion and one fans.
He donned leather pants, shiny and tight,
and shouted, "Tonight, I’ll be outta sight!"
But when he would play,
the crowd ran away,
He understood ‘twas rock star’s plight.
Like, here’s a poem, painting the mood of these vinyl-warmed, jazz-infused Deep House sessions:
Vinyl Illusions
Beneath the needle’s gentle sway, it's big city cool with uptown funk charm/ Grooves awaken dust and dreams, thumpin' for the ladies, at 118 BPA if you please/ the sound as requested by House Radio Miami/ sunrise poppin on a double shot of java brew, AM callin' the funky jazz crew/
Chords drift like fog on a DJ turntable, Jazzo fingers sketching hazy tales, Basslines thick with boom bap rap vinyl, the smell of weed curls through the air like incense trails, tangled in her hair/
We dig on the playlist for breakfast, I be tossin' a snowstorm of thoughts to come up with melodies soaked in 90s underground hip-hop/ J Dilla, DJ Premier, Pete Rock, DJ Muggs, Nas, KRS One, Rakim, The Alchemist, Griselda, MF/ Harmony rising from cracked drum breaks, high hat laced with analog drums/ man, tell bout it/ all the old ghosts and new beats spun/ Tech house, UK garage, classic techno, jungle, breaks, and beyond/ Built for lo-fi radio streams/ Like Mad Hat DJ spinnin' Dark House dance dreams/
East Side stories echo from the car radio, chopped samples with cassette hiss, shuffled piano-driven energy, and classic dancefloor spirit/ man, every loop a memory, every synth a festival of dance attitude/
Let the music linger, as a blunt cools as the sunlight shifts/ so dig this/ groove is the only language here, and today, we speak in dropin' needle riffs/
My nephew had a grey Mousie,
When he was a small boy.
He took it everywhere with him,
His precious mouse soft toy.
If Pete became upset would cry,
I want my Mousie now.
And with his thumb in his mouth,
With Mousie settled down.
This Mousie was a soft grey toy,
Given to nephew Pete.
When he was just a babe in arms,
No other could compete.
Pete loved his Mousie very much,
But due to wear and tear.
Mousie began to disappear,
But Pete he did not care.
And over years poor Mousie lost
His stuffing and was flat.
Yet Pete still carried it around,
A scrap of this and that.
Until the only piece of him,
Was just a little ear.
But to young Pete his Mousie was
His comfort, loved so dear.
Now Pete’s a man, but can recall,
When he was just a boy.
His favourite toy was Mousie,
That gave him so much joy.
Verse 1:
Asked the hangman, “How they hangin’”
He didn’t even crack a smile.
Said, “Boy, the court is not in session.
You’re gonna have to hang around awhile.”
Pre-chorus:
Then there I was walking down the street
Shootin’ the breeze with Pistol Pete
We jumped in a sailboat to take a ride
But we had to jump off ‘cause the wind had died.
Chorus:
Things can change when you build new fences
Things can change when you tear old fences down
Gotta watch out for those consequences
A small mistake can make for shaky ground
Bridge:
Hold your horses, Palamino Joe
you've been to places you shouldn't go
the NSA and the FBI
they've decided you've gotta fry
Repeat Chorus.
The wind is blowing hard
and the willow leaves are falling off
I think the willow has always understood me
And now
It's leaves fall for me
I came here to hug it
to believe in something strong and lasting
I'm resting underneath it now
and watching the wind whip its limbs about
an understanding that it knows what it's like to be caught
in a storm
I think a hurricane
I choose not to remember the storm whenever possible
Instead I sit beneath it.
smelling the pete and the moss and the grass
and the earth.
I lay my hands upon its roots stretching out around me
and I remember how strong the tree is
This tree is hooked
deep into the ground
It's Roots have stretched out far around it
as wide as it's branches
This tree above me understands you have to lock
yourself in so tight into the true depth of this planet
It knows you must be locked in and pulls tight
to be spared being pulled apart by
for the winds that come
I'm grateful for everything this tree teaches me
I lean into its barkiness
and wonder
that he doesn't know my name
He never knew my name
He doesn't know my name
He will never know my name
and all that I did was for someone I do not know
If looked at in the right way is more beautiful than if
he did know me
the person who I fought
for
He does not know my loneliness
I do not need his recognition
I do not need him to know my name
I only need to know
that if our positions were crossed
that he might for me
Have done the same
I did what I did for love
It was my chosen cross to bear
he will never know my name
But still I will have been there
Any time a soldier fights in your name
Please remember they fought and pray you would do the same
This a story about Mr. Pete he's the meanest person that you ever will meet.
He always yells and calls people names everyone thinks he is really insane.
Everyday he'll sit on his stoop looking at people and saying I hates you.
Mr. Pete is lonely and mean and the people who see him start to scream.
So one day a lady so kind and sweet came up and talked to Mr. Pete.
Mr. Pete she started to say you need to learn to change your ways.
Not only for you but for everyone else you dont realize your the hated man in town.
Mr. Pete gets up out of his seat and in his own words he started to speak.
I know I'm not a really nice guy but when I think of my wife I start to cry.
My hate towards people keeps it inside because I know a real man dont cry.
A real man does cry for the ones that he loves and dont ever let anyone tell you its wrong.
The sweet old lady told Mr. Pete you need to start letting your feelings fly free.
For if you dont you'll die alone in this old and rusty home.
Then Mr. Pete wipped his eye and without holding it in he started to cry.
I been so mean for all these years and people hate me and start get scared.
Mr. Pete made a pat that he would always be nice and never be mad.
So now Mr. Pete is no longer mean and everyone loves Mr. Pete
To the ship they row
Pirates Pete and Bo
Sea prowess to show
Sailing!
Argh! They proudly crow
Greeting all they know
With a 'Yo-ho-ho'
Hailing!
Sea terrors, heigh-ho!
Stolen treasures stow
Overboard men throw
Quailing!
Storm winds fiercely blow
Apprehensions grow
Enemy adds woe
Trailing...
Formidable foe
Tragic overthrow
Sad, their ship's death-throe
Failing!
Sloshing to and fro
Amid undertow
Down and down they go
Flailing!
Out the waters flow
Bath-time over, so
Out the pirates go
Wailing!
Another attempt at a Lai poem... still not sure whether I'm getting it right, but either way, it was fun! ;D
Sunshine undulates across verdant plain
casting dark shadows ushering twilight zone
ringing athwart tree trunks
invigorating, joyously kickstarting,
and plenti revitalizing
bountiful nature buzzfeeding
vim, vinegar and *****
caressing, massaging, and palpating with
soundlessness inducing bub bully giddy,
and sudsy spongy schmaltzy
harmonic livingsocial kerplunk
also intoxicating this perk o' late
ting teetotaler, no longer ginger
who doth oft times ale
with melancholic funk,
whereat imbibing nectar
of the Gods with fulfillment
temporarily quicken ends euphoric,
albeit 'pon firm meant soberly drunk.
Ah...nothing more uplifting
than (Anita Bryant raisin eyebrows)
plugging sunkist orange treat,
this sensate being privy,
sans front row seat
agog at orchestral, festival, viz
choral paean courtesy sweet
flora and fauna feat
bequeathed to Mother Earth,
a requiem pulsating with heartbeat
pitch perfect exultation
glorifying spring days soon obsolete
ethereal, ideal, and
sensational tonic to gin
prestidigitation, qua
natural psychological helpmeet
pleasant distraction with intent to read
temporarily placating, needling craving
for Pete sakes daily
fix this news junkie,
trembling when complete
awareness he doth accrete,
where quite glum, how
civilization didst mistreat
planet, hence feeling downbeat,
especially haunting ghosts of
Native Americans drumbeat
signal harbinger debacle
i.e. environmental doomsday
soon fated extinction
sealed and complete
inexorably inching closer to reality
necessitating superman to defeat
global warming rendering vast swaths
uninhabitable as Gaia global
temperature packs tremendous heat!
Yesterday was a beautiful day…
We woke up anticipating how we were going to spend
most of that entire day in the company of a friend.
We picked her up a her house…
she was waiting by the street
then drove to a place called FloridaRAMA
an interactive art museum down in south St. Pete.
The weather on the drive down was beautiful
and listening along the way I must conclude…
When friends get together they love to talk…
and often…it’s about food.
FloridaRAMA was amazing!
There were displays of every kind.
We strolled around the exhibits mesmerized.
It was like walking inside each artist’s mind.
We even signed up for a scavenger hunt…
where we looked for hidden coins along the way…
Yes, there in this immersive art museum….
3 people in their 70’s…let their inner children out to play.
We ate lunch outside at a restaurant…
where this beautiful day resumed…
where we sat and laughed and talked together
long after our dinner was consumed.
On the drive home we talked about the experience
the three of us just amassed…
about food, about family, about life,
and about some of our Christmas’s past.
By the time we returned home…and hugged goodbye
as this adventure came to an end…
we were all reminded of the reasons…
the three of us are friends.
If we’re lucky every day of our life is beautiful…
as we make our daily quest…
and if we’re truly fortunate
some days are more beautiful than the rest.