Long Strummed Poems

Long Strummed Poems. Below are the most popular long Strummed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strummed poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Strings

Musical renditions
The voice in unison, together we chante
Strings play their story
In harmony fate sings along
The winds blow in from the sea
The sun runs away
We are the band of the night
With whiskey we sing and play
We are young and we are old
The night breeze carries the tunes
I may be fao, and I may be inebriated
Harps and chords, strings to be strummed
I see you stare, would you like a Rum?
You know what you want
So close your eyes
The kiss will be sweet
Tomorrow you may fly away
Tonight the strings they are all in play

String me along
Not for long
All strings fall
Naked is your deception
The strings are all gone


Notes "chante" pronouncec shante, = sing in french
Fao = ugly in Spanish


Superstar

On a dark rainy morn
She wakes with a big yawn
With no time to relax 
She slips into her torn rain mac
Out the door with guitar in hand
A day in the city is her plan
Already half soaked she picks a spot
Her stage was the front of a large shop
Playing her homemade jingles and tunes
Hoping to make a buck or two
Seen as a public disgrace
Police move her to another place
But with her music so sweet
A crowd gathered in the street
With a feeling of overwhelming 
She sang and strummed into the evening
The early dark nights draw in
Forcing her to pack it in
She picks up her Puddle filled cap
Full of coins and cash
And heads to her squat in the poor faction 
With a small feeling of satisfaction 
She practice into the small hours
Hoping to bloom like a flower
Will someone spot her talent filled shoes
So her superstar dreams will come true
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Color of Blue

Through dark of night, with streaks of blue
A profile rich in rhythm's hue
A sweaty brow, in smoke filled rooms
Where eyes must close and hips must sway
No other way to listen...

Lucille is strummed, seducing ears
Through dark of night with streaks of blue
With eyes that shed, from deep inside
Emotion stirred, and feet will glide
No other way to listen...

A king who plays, my sharp-caught breath
Is taken to another place
I swoon to hear the music blend
The night is long, the blues, no end
No other way to listen....


_______________________________________________
Inspired by Raul Moreno's contest...".B.B.King"

Premium Member Ukulele

(A Tribute to  Bruddah Iz: Hawaiian musician, singer, songwriter, and Hawaiian sovereignty activist May 20, 1959 – June 26, 1997) - Wikipedia
 
A soft sweet sound he strummed with glee:
“What a Wonderful World It Is!”
Such songs he sang for you and me.
A soft sweet sound he strummed with glee.
Hawaiian landscapes we could see
on hearing songs of Bruddah Iz.
A soft sweet sound he strummed with glee:
“What a Wonderful World It Is!”

His ukulele Iz still plays,
for he’s where peace and love abide,
and island sunsets are ablaze!
His ukulele Iz still plays.
“Over the Rainbow” he now stays
with angels singing on that side!
His ukulele Iz still plays,
for he’s where peace and love abide.

Nov. 6, 2022 
for Writing Challenge - Unburden a ''U'' Word- Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Form: Triolet

First Steps Funerals and Nanas Hands

First Steps Funerals and Nana's Hands 

By Evelyn Aimarie

2 days after my Nana's funeral
My oldest son took his first steps. 
She was my grandmother on my father's side, but more like a mother to me.
Palms textured like warm overwashed cotton sheets- thin but comfortable, and clothes line, spring sunshine soft.
Pastel blue intricate
barely visible veins whispered life through skin undertoned with shades of the palest tea stains and ochre, 
Broken in tone only by the occasional bruise she swore she couldn't remember where she got. 
Tendons like flower roots danced like the underworkings of piano keys when she wiggled her fingers. 
She always wore a ring with the birthstones of all of her grandchildren on it.  
There was a time before my son. 
Before my Nanas hands were so tired, so delicately tired and weighted by their form from generations of holding hands
Holding babies 
Holding house holds together. 
Holding my heart as it strummed for a mother and she tuned into the song, danced the role beautifully and with ease. 
Wore it like a cloak and draped it around my shoulders in support when I brought my son home from the hospital 
As she proudly exclaimed how beautiful he was with tears in her eyes. 
The time before, when I was small, 
I would reach for those... less tired.. more supple hands. 
With the ring tighter on the finger to the point we once had to use dish soap and string and the sheer force of panic to remove it. When the skin was not as rubbed of its youth. There was a time when I reached for her hands, too, for balance. 
2 days after my Nanas funeral, the same day I inherited her ring with the birthstones of all of her grandchildren on it
The first day I had it on my finger
My oldest son took his first steps into MY outstretched hands. 
I suppose, I'm keeping her cloak warm. 
I suppose, I miss her. 
I suppose, my Nana's hands were on my shoulders behind me that day. 
2 days after my Nana's funeral, 
My oldest son took his first steps
Form:


Premium Member Eurydices Passion and Love

Forevermore, I am your lover, Orfeo…..
My arms wrapped softly about your kness
As you strummed your guitar, Orfeo,
Your love songs, floating in a Brazilian breeze.


Our life and love, was never meant to last.
Yet while we are young and filled with mirth,
Knowing we are doomed by tales from the past.
Let us samba, making love while still on earth.

We shall wake from our silken, sleep my love
Watching a glorious sunrise in Rio.
Your hand warn in mine, like an Angel from above,
Te adoro, mi Amore, Orfeo, mio!



Poem Inspired by the movie, “Black Orpheus”
Based on Greek myholgy…
Regarding  Orpheus and Eurydice.**in the movie 
version, she calls him,”Orfeo.”



4/23/2023
Form: Quatrain

Premium Member In the Mood For Rock:

It's just so good the sound of Rock 'n' Roll,
Add in rhythm and blues it's hard to choose,
The way it moves you touches your soul,
It's great the feeling when you have the blues.

Playing some AC/DC in the night,
Or Muddy Waters and Stevie Ray Vaughan,
Guaranteed it will make you feel alright,
Some prefer to listen to a love song.

Personally, I love guitar music,
Jimi Hendrix is my favourite one,
The way he strummed those strings with his pick,
And I love many songs that he has sung.

So the next time you may be feeling down,
See a live band, have a night on the town.
                        /|\
(Ten syllables per line)
© White Wolf  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Sonnet

Premium Member Corruption of My Lust For Life

Hibiscus rays of light herald 
sun's stretch from night to twilight
in wakening blooms of ravishing red passion—
Oh! how I despise dawn's 
blushing optimism and lust for life
for I am too young to cry   but too old not to

featherlight the dandelion puff 
as zephyrs blew seeds of our fantasies
free to fly the whims and sighs of our summer days
till breezes laid our pixie-dust down
wishes taking root in fast flourish—
pollen-plush dream-weeds grew in fields of gold

champagne flowed voluptuously through our veins
we laughed and pulsed with ambrosia-arousal 
and with every nectarous nip 
we lived as though we would celebrate love 
f  o  r  e  v  e  r

a handful of heartbeats ago
we crystal-gazed into moon’s silver circle 
believing in foretold fortunes of our future
our mythologies shaped in affectionate frescoes 
sculpted softly into plum-dyed skies
constellations born from fireworks in our wooing eyes

—until the heart-twisting dawn-to-dark
when a cloud of angels cradled
sun-gilded harps 
against their white-rose-hearts
teardrops in ecstasies of grief and joy 
strummed celestial strings in virgin blue glissandos
lifting his lustrous soul away from me— lifting him
across the bridge to bliss —somewhere beyond me
and behind snowy veils of virtue

I am anemic
if not nothing now
adulterated
by loss of innocence
dwindling 
in a dreamless star-broken state
unoccupied
but for the lurid loss that fills me—

and my black skies storm with shrieking tears!

Songs By Nightstummers

@..................................................................................................@
                           They sing like Nightstrummers
                   I reminded her of how they could really sing
                      We often could listen to there voices
                      And hear the sincerity in their tones
                   perfection: they rehearsed and performed
                         Beautiful perfect tones, perfection
                               their voices and their songs

           @...........................................................................@


                     then one asked, " way-ward are these nights
                          when are the strummers strummed"
                              who shall sing their background
                             to highlight the words in the song
                                 where are they in standing
                                 I favor to hear their words
                                    that others will wonder
                                      to what I've found
                                        Nightstrummed
                                         word for word
                            @......................................@
Form: Ballad

Acta est fabula, plaudite

What I sing from my chest
Only for ivory keys to hear.
Are the same old words
That cracked lips bear.
That familiar tune that calloused fingers play
Is the one that my own heart aches to say.
 
I have plucked and I have strummed
But when its my own heartstrings 
That are plucked for the masses
Will my soul succumb or burn to ashes?

If a song is played for others to judge
Its worth is no longer for me alone.
My fears replayed as feedback 
And my own tune I have outgrown.

When the keys have cracked 
And guitar strings snapped;
Is the silence left a rest
Or is it forever prolonged?

I have played my part
And sang my chant
My ear worm finally laid to rest.
Yet a few notes linger in the air 
Awaiting the song to begin again.
© Ciara Daly  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Lyric

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