Long Poppin Poems
Long Poppin Poems. Below are the most popular long Poppin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poppin poems by poem length and keyword.
JOE HENDERSON’S PROLIFIC OUTPUT AS EITHER A SIDEMAN OR LEADER/
IS SHEAR SONIC VELOCITY OF MUSIC COMING FROM HIS TENOR THINKIN' MIND/
NO HALF-STEPPIN HERE BRO/JOE’S INSIDE-OUTSIDE APPROACH GOT YOUR BACK TO EVERY SIDE HE PLAYED ON/
TO THE LIVE SHOWS WE DUG HIM AT/
HE BLEW HIS TENOR HORN UP TO AND LET HIS PLAYING SPILL OVER INTO HARD BOP/
HENDERSON WAS ALWAYS DIGGIN' INTO THE HOT-N-KOOL VOCABULARY OF JAZZ TO COME UP WITH
NOTES THAT AREN’T ALWAYS OBVIOUS BUT ALWAYS FIT/
HE WAS A BRILLIANT COMPOSER AND ATMOSPHERICAL MASTER CREATING THE SPACE FOR THE
LISTENER TO DRIFT INTO AND CREATE THEIR OWN SOMETHIN ELSE WORLD OF MUSIC IN DIGGIN HENDERSON’S JAZZ CHOPS/
JUST COOK-N-BURN BABY/ ALWAYS STICKING TO HIS UNDILUTED APPROACH TO HIS TENOR HORN PLAYIN'
FROM FIRST POPPIN ON THE JAZZ RECORDING SCENE WITH HORACE SILVER, LEE MORGAN, AND McCoy TYNER/
JOE EVENTUALLY CAME TO SIT ON ONE OF THE PRESTIGE RECORDING CHAIRS AT BLUE NOTE RECORDS/
AS A TALENTED WELL TRAVELED AND VALUABLE NU HIP VOICE AS A BLUENOTE SIDEMAN TO THE MANY BLUENOTE RECORDING STARS OF THE DAY/
JOE’S PHRASING AND MODULATION
ARE FLAWLESS/
HIS FLOATING THOUGHT PROVOKING SOUND’S THAT WERE AT THE TIME’S HARD LIQUOR JAZZ MIXED WITH
MAD SEX MUSIC/
SET THE STAGE FOR THE JAZZ AFICIONADOS TO DIG THE DEEP GROOVE IN JOE’S RHYTHMIC TEXTURED
LAYERING ON HIS SPEED RUNNING TO HIS FLAME-THROWING ICE-HOT SCALES THAT BURNED THROUGH THE ORGANIC JAZZ ORCHESTRATION IN HIS SOUND ARCHITECTURE/
THAT HYPED UP THE NATURAL THINKIN' IN HOOKIN UP THE HIGH VOLTAGE IN HIS HORN TO FRACTURE YOUR HIPSTER THINKIN' TO NO END/
JOE HENDERSON
BLUE BOSSA
LUSH LIFE
BLACK NARCISSUS
POPSICLE STICK
JOE’S SCATING HIS VOCALIZE
TO HIS SOUNCLOUD JAZZMIX
Some love the sound of them shots poppin off
especially when they're the one that's pulling the trigger
I hate this because in the black community
it seems like Willie Lynch theory is looking
more like a script that was written
Yesterday those shots brought tears to my eyes
because I'm sick and tired of this plague
called black on black violence
and it's looking more like an eternal sickness
it doesn't bring tears to my eyes because I'm terrified
For my own life but because we as a people
have aborted and terminated the seeds we sow
for a lil bit of doe, accepted a nickname
high off pride not knowing to society
You too are just a john doe with an expiration date.
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/
Poppin is my teddy bear
button eyes of grey
black and white his furry hair
thats just a bit afray
He's been a friend
for such a time
each lonely hour we sat
together contemplating life
and where it is we're at
We clowned around and played a bit
and slept together too
when I was a bit depressed
he was a shade of blue
The earth was ours together
upon us shone the sky
rain did often soak his hair
and got wet so did I
A vicarious companion
he was the only one
neighbors were so far away
much to far to come
He'll always have a place with us
a spot that we can share
He's come of age and so have I
and now he's losing hair
Entwined we share the wisdom
of childhood days gone by
and draw upon the comfort
as our journey draws to nigh
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
WRITTEN IN 1982
Spoken warriors, with rhythm words as their sound swords/
A poetry slam where words and body language put the audience in a sweaty heap/
the spectrum of a creative sound off between spoken word poetry rappers and new time jazz hipsters
has the club bustin' to the rafters/ expressive improvised creative pace and volume on the spot word dance/
man, like a spontaneous mind flow composition
of rap talkin' men and women cookin' up a stream of a consciousness groove/ yeah/ like I feel mile high now/
iconic on-stage impulses of slant rhyme life spoken word poetry/ back-n-forth they go/ words in high gear/ pedal to the metal/ on race, racial slurs, sex, who's doin' who, drive Bys, and TV shows/
like words driving' at a hundred MPH/
becoming telephone poles wizin' by/
high voltage sparks fly when spoken word funk meets uptown nu jazz poetry/
African American poets along with Native American spoken word artists come together to duel it out in a Poetry slam/
it helps to feel the natural flow of high energy words in this performance poetry slam jam/
No reading from pages, just memory’s embrace/
save the date bro It's live with no rewind/
this slam is somethin' else man/
you be reelin' in the feelin' when this Poetry jam becomes a fusion of rhythm word speak on struggles, courage, dreams, love, hip hop rap, and using voice beat drum licks in between word spit speak/
a landscape of uninhibited words with body drum chest thumps/ yo, do you see and feel what i'm sayin'
the dynamic instrument of a voice workin the mic to the crowd with MCs shouting back at ya while you be poppin your performance skills on stage/
the interplay between the mind and free spirit WTF thoughts be burnin the house down/
who's gonna wear the slam crown?
they be back flipping' and word trippin' these slam poets/
trying to outdo each other in a face off/
word lyricism with scat rap concepts/
diggin' deep into emceeing the joint/
keepin' the flow and staying on the beat
Some love the sound of them shots
poppin off especially when they're
the one that's pulling the trigger, I
hate this because in the black
community it seems like Willie Lynch
theory is looking more like a script
that was written. Yesterday those
shots brought tears to my eyes
because I'm sick and tired of this
plague called black on black
violence and it's looking more like
an eternal sickness, it doesn't bring
tears to my eyes because I'm
terrified for my own life but
because we as a people have
aborted and terminated the seeds
we sow for a lil bit of doe, accepted
a nickname, high off pride not
knowing to society you too are just a
john doe with an expiration date.
This groups heart is really poppin
From love that is never stoppin
We are spreading care and kindness
Overcoming all the blindness
That's been passed around too long
We are making others strong
Telling our stories as we
Try to bring some unity
To others who have been struggling
With heartache that has been tugging
At them for days months and years
Only crying painful tears
But now they are not alone
By the words and posts that's grown
On our site, its getting bigger
We are pulling on the trigger
Of bullying violence and hate
Shooting it so far away
From victims of these attacks
We always have each others backs
Day or night it doesn't matter
We're all here to make the pain scatter
In the sixties I went to university
where I experienced much diversity
For example, among fraternities
mine went from ‘Kegs-a-Tappin’
to ‘Pills-a-Poppin’
~ LSD, we were a-droppin’
Athletics were a big deal too
freshman year we were football champs
senior year, listened to Led Zeppelin’s mega-amps
Then there was good old politickin’
After Kent State life was great
Semester cancelled, May 14 the date…
To let us work for our 'favorite candidate'
Mine wore 6-inch heels, raised my pulse rate…
Oh, I learned a whole lot in school
~ mostly, how to break the rules
Written By: D. Collins 9/14/21
Back in the days, the Elders weren't lying.
Sometimes I get up and hear cracks 4 or 5 times.
The hip gets to hurting with any sudden moves.
Walk slow up the stairs, and hold the rail, fool.
Whenever feeling the urge, just slow your roll.
When shooting basketball hurts, you know you're old.
After doing some things we have to sit a little longer.
Forgetting we can't do things we did when we were younger.
I hear things Crackin' and Poppin' every time I move.
From the back of my neck to the top of my shoes.
Behind the kneecap, including hamstring and groin.
When I raise up, it's often in major slow motion.
Not only does your hair tend to get Moses gray.
The body tends to follow. Maybe off by a day.
Then!!! To top that off, women go through heat flashes.
Just stay in your lane, and keep Poppin' and Crackin'.
I went a searchen for da green eyed monster
Yet da big fella was nowhere in site
They'd said he was really quite fearsum
He'd often appear on a saderday night
I went out wit my little woman
That sweet gal o mine lookin so fine
If ya asked me to give er a ratin
She'd be a ten or at least a nine
Da more dat I got inta ma drinkin
Ma senses dey became super fine
I noticed sum good lookin fella
Eyen dat special woman o mine
The vessels in ma neck started poppin
My eyes began glowin a sickly green
I got up frum ma chair started screamin
Dats right I started makin a scene
Ma little woman she was sum embarrassed
That yung fella smashed me in da face
Tank goodness she came to ma rescue
It's a good ting she had a can a mace
It seems I'd been mad about nutin
Dat young fella had been on a date
Ma wife told me dat I'd bin right silly
She was quite sure dat his date's name was Nate
Tankfully dos green eyes dey turned back ta blue
Da colour now is gone wit out a trace
except for da red and da black an blue
dat now is coverin dis here old face
For Verlena Walker's Green Eyed Monster contest