Long Syncopation Poems
Long Syncopation Poems. Below are the most popular long Syncopation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Syncopation poems by poem length and keyword.
I want to go to Virginia
With a girl named Virginia.
Feel the sullen breeze cross my face,
Surf over the knobby contour of my nose,
Then whiz past my ear as I hold Virginia close.
Her honeysuckle shampoo
Permeating my brain.
Both sets of our eyes gaze riverward,
Wondering if the dream had started
Or is this the magical reality
We forever wished for.
With my phaser on stun clipped at my side
We kept on along the water’s edge
Hand-in-hand. Our skin dry, warm,
And glowing, with our heads full of
Miracles and our hearts
In serene syncopation.
Joy, empathy, compassion
On an upward arc
An effervescence eternal
Causes bliss ignition to start.
Octaves of Love 5-15-26
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`````
Octaves of Love
Between the lines and staves
Touching the finger of eternity’s sacrifice
Pure sounds blend
As the breath of bubbling joy
Vibrates
With clear notes
In unison.
Clad with compassion
And trembling in frequencies of empathy
A new identity surges
In untarnished affinity
Into auras of flames and winter moons
And shared sunsets
Not trapped but breathing
In this fluttering portal.
Ascending scales sound
Stretch from one rhapsody to the next
Reaching into
A hollow between hallowed resonance
And the space where breath births
Rising in chromatic intervals
Toward consummation
In grace notes and evolving hues
Of perfect fifths.
Molten moonbeams
And swirling wind stars
Refine the motifs of the ageless composer
That coax the vagabond
Into harmonious vibrations
From a seed of irritation
Into a pearl
Of sheer transcendent transformation
Andante released
Into eternity’s resolution, delicate syncopation.
Celestial Zodiac Jazz
In the constellation of sound, Where Miles Davis breathes celestial blue/
A Gemini's whim dances through the air/His notes like shooting stars
Twisting notes like a lover’s embrace/ His horn whispers secrets of the universe/
Ella Fitzgerald, a Taurus, Grounded in the lush, rich earth, Her voice a tapestry of jazz scat gold, Singing truths that resonate, I don’t want to sing anything that doesn’t come real, A declaration, a manifesto, a love letter to authenticity/
So dig John Coltrane, the Libra sage, Balancing melodies on the scales into the night, Fifth House echoes through Jazz radio play, Astrological rhythms align, Jazz numerology speaks in syncopation, Every note, every chord a constellation/ a harmonic convergence into the jazz Horoscope being/ the huge vastness of cosmic music and the individual brilliance of the Universe’s soul jazz soul/
Horace Silver, the prophet of the zodiac, Riffing on astrological charts/ Tarot readings in a smoky bar/ Horace-Scope, the map of our souls, In his music, we find our destinies/
Capricorn Rising with Pullen and Rivers, A cosmic journey,
From the depths of the earth to the Zodiac heavens/ Are you hip to the jazz flow/
The jazz scene has many secrets and a lot untold/ Standard time meets the twist of the hipster's jazz meter, where rhythms collide and are as explosive as Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers balancing act in their artistry/
A $1,000 horn in a $5000 car, Driving fifty miles for a $50 gig/ man, what a flipped-out ride/ This is the Jazz life, the pulse, the passion/ the highs and lows of should I stay or go/ club owners who take months to pay you for a gig you did weeks ago/ Yo, It’s Passion over profit, Artistry takes hold— Say, bro, are you into the jazz scene no mater what unfolds/
Never play anything the same way twice, For in improvisation, we find our freedom Jazz dance/ In the spontaneous spark of creation, We are all stardust, Floating on the notes of our existence the way it ought to be/
In the grand ever-changing nature of our mighty universe, Where jazz meets the heavens not by chance/
Jazz piano scale skip quick notes implore me
Siphon symphony verve blurred by saxophone sass
Floated lilly pad leap frog spring legged surety
Splats on brass buttoned soldiers dedicated amass
Bulbous glass swirl burgundy grape stem bitter
Absorbs oak barrel sentiment, forested persuasion
Ace praise expires, a swiftly swallowed splinter
Comical dive antics of cork fragmenting abrasion
Dissolving Elizabeth, shabbily written character
Simmered limply submissive, a nouveau improvisation
Vat of pursuit poured by Stu picks a passenger
Chords hover mahogany piano cascade syncopation
Composition three minute summit misconstrue
Violins textured crescendo vibrates bow tight strings
Apron strewn, Libby leaves her rolling pin askew
Butter heart hails harmony a true companion brings
22nd January
Stu calls me Jasmine
Take this compliment,
It is for the Jazz in you.
So much the pleasure it gives me
To know you.
Every time a countless shout I make
I know I make it
For the Jazz in you.
You could work your way
To unmatched originality, all
For the Jazz in you.
Your lifestyle and your propensity
Recalls syncopation
For the Jazz in you.
Take the life how hard it is
But with subtlety,
Treat the people how harsh they be
For the Jazz in you.
So, I extend my compliments
A thousand times to you
For not wanting to be
Like anybody else, before or since,
All for the Jazz in you.
So keep it up, the Jazz in you.
To make you to achieve Milestone.
You create excitement in one,
Like syncopation and counterpoint,
While you remain very natural
For the Jazz in you.
A cat sniffs the crooked brown dough of the sullen moon;
The tempting smell of warm bread seems held by a glass sky
Old age, carefully steps on the glass, always ready to cry
Like they`d learn again to walk,holding an invisible balloon.
With glassy eyes looking at the strange baked moon,
The large dynasty of the unemployed and ex-miners,
Ecologists and readers of Bible, embarrassed beginners
Cannot "hear at a little distance", in the brown afternoon;
But a short-sighted misanthropist, observed while acting
As a conductor of the strike`s syncopation turned in syncope:
“Even the doctor with infinite awkwardness used his stethoscope;
I think, -because, no one can communicate only through feelings”
The brown cat in the street, shining eyes round about;
All cars seem gathered in the same frozen town;
The only birch tree from the hill was cut down;
Mourning neighbors live in their permanent doubt
To protest against solitude, and so many noisy cars;
And obviously, too many accidents in the town;
“Wait on the zebra…Don`t cross Mr. Brown!”
Lonely crowds, picture of still life with cellulars…
Seasons buried the face in tired brown fountains,
Long dirty brown drifts of snow and brown sensations
Step with ugly brown clay, and let traces for generations,
Because, cyanide used to pull gold from Red Mountains;
Everybody is in such a brown hurry towards nowhere.
Halt!Mr. Brown looks for his cat; the firemen help him to sit.
The cat climbed the moon, ready in a hurry to taste it;
Winter and cat stay with claws out;silence and the brown vault.
Laston Simuzingili linkedin with this American
maverick freelancing writing scout,
(and word maven par excellence
Matthew Scott Harris always ha sellout),
thru Spoken Word route, a popular global
Facebook poetry forum prodded me to venture,
without shadow of a doubt, and try my hand
to craft, this rhyme for that reason tout
ting expertise (mine) forging metrical
syncopation, which electronically soundless shout,
though tribalism within Lusaka, Zambia beyond
my literary purview hence any objection
i.e. cerebral workout, sans the following
amateurishly wrought gobbledygook by devout atheist
please do not be shy to call me out,
or send strongarm lance of the law if I
unwittingly commit any faux pas, this author,
who took mini crash (course) test dummy
about said convoluted titled topic unbeknownst
to him as little as Trout
Fishing in America,
cuz he gets this hooked Semitic Schnozzle snout
stuck, while groveling, ferreting, expanding
his knowledge base no matter he doth spout -
whale visiting unfamiliar leviathan African bailiwick
may deliver just deserved desserts fallout.
According to the following Google url search result,
I reddit at whatsapp
http://www.qfmzambia.com/2018/10/07/
tribalism-has-no-place-in-zambia-
First Republican President
Kenneth Kaunda opened
potential Pandora box trap
expressing honest opinion, and observed
discrimination predicated on snap
judgement, or based on tribe equally
unfair methodology to foster, and rocket rap
pore, and ethnic background as well
owns no place in Zambia, cuz smeared pap
(as conk curd by ghost of Milton Shapp),
You know what to do
it's all up to you
if you really want
what your saying
It aint shameful you see
if you wanna be with me
it's part of your lovers
obligation
run your mouth if
you want: stand out
in front
this will keep you
sacred
an unwavering commitment
based on mutaul trust
aint no whats in it for me
it's whats in it for us.
we set bounderies
talk things through
it the kind of validation
that keeps a love new
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"Un mariage sacré est préservé dans son intégrité.'
A sacred marriageUn mariage sacré est préservé dans son intégrité. is kept whole through mutual respect, unwavering commitment, and intentional boundaries "Les aspects inattendus d'une mesure"
Syncopation: Deliberately placing rhythmic emphasis on the "off-beats" or unexpected parts of the measure rather than the strong downbeat."Cette chanson parle d'un homme qui voulait mettre sa femme enceinte ; mais comme c'était un fanfaron, elle lui a dit qu'elle accepterait à condition qu'ils utilisent un gode — « pour voir si tu oseras te vanter de ça !"
THE EURIDITE MONK
(Apropos Thelonious)
The misunderstood rhapsody
of the ebony-ivory union
reflects a oneness of time
and space fathomed
but to the freed ears
picking up the syncopation
of mind body and soul
of the sellers and the sold;
While gyrating auction block
crescendos split crazy melodies
shoveling shattered shackles sliding
sliding between the mosaic beauty
of the whining keys echoing echoes of echoes.
Let your ears blink
and it all slips sleekly by
and the uninformed cannot comprehend
the beat of rhythmic thoughts meandering
a melodious mind leaving mental footprints
tap dancing on seasoned tympanums
vibrating blue notes between bebop bars:
harmonious inertia movements
challenging a decrescendo fading
of the monk’s mosaic mastery.
An Echo Through Time
An echo through time follows all now in kind;
It’s the moment when poets find their rhyme!
Past-Present events give us a mirror to see from,
Of what Present Perfect events have now become.
Poets must write to truth what surely they mean;
With such wondrous verses the reader shall glean!
Writing with tone, tenor and syncopation is grand,
Giving poets that mellifluous effect desired by plan.
The echo quality of a great poem bespeaks its passion,
Whilst its literary panache shall always be in fashion!
An echo reflects a poem’s true resonance by intention;
Ensuring one’s mind shifts to an intellectual dimension.
Poets’ rendezvous with this echo through time is divine;
It helps us enshrine our thoughts now in continuous time!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 27, 2015 (Rhymed Couplet)