Long Trane Poems
Long Trane Poems. Below are the most popular long Trane by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trane poems by poem length and keyword.
The bridge/ Hear that?/ Snap it pop it / Not the one of stone and steel, holding cars and trains aloft/ This bridge hums/ It vibrates/ yellin’, mo’ funk and groove please woven into the boss horns strung with a bassline thick as smoke and Clyde Stubblefield holding down the fat beat/
Acid Jazz snap pop snap de beat/ tradition on one side, diggin’ for the now, for the new/ Jazz, ancient and revered, but dust collecting on the shelf, needed a spark, a jolt, a psychedelic brother a sister like no other/ Acid Jazz, the answer/
A handshake and a high five between jazz straight ahead and a synthesizer’s jazz fusion swing/
A knowing nod to Coltrane remixed into becoming the nu Acid Jazz king/Trane is way dope now to a whole new listening audience/
skillfully crafted club bangin’ acid jazz lick and samples/ the veins of hip-hop, throbbing hard and raw as DJs scratched the beats deeply rooted in the arrangements of funk jazz numerology/
Did deep house feel its pulse, its rhythmic pull/ Broken beat, fractured and funky, did it recognize its kin, polyrhymatics and the turntables… Oh, the turntables sang a different song/ a revolution spun on vinyl, a rebellion built on rhythm, Jazz and Soul/ Rap, HipHop and acid jazz as a Voice for Rebellion and Social Change / DJ Kool Herc, a sonic architect, laying foundations in the park and party basements/ Grandmaster Flash, a surgeon of sound, slicing and dicing the beat/ Afrika Bambaataa, a global sound system, uniting tribes with groove/
yo bruh, reality check/ They weren’t just playing records, they were playing the instrument/Scratching, back spinning, beat juggling – a symphony of skill/ Mix masters, beat captains, electronic alchemists, wizards behind the wheel of Hip Hop fortune/ They birthed a new language, a dialect of dance, a history rewritten in the hiss and crackle of vinyl on a HiFi Stereo/ Acid Jazz… Modern Jazz… Trip hop, Latin Tech House/ The DJ Culture… Rap, Hip-Hop, a family born from a shared rebellion, Formidable, Definitive/ Each is a testament to the power of sound, to the bridge built on a bassline, drum sample/
a thump, a bump on a low rider jam/ to the future forged in the fire of the beat/ The voyage is not over/ I have a fear of standing still…like I’m outta of here/
Yo. From a whisper, barely a breath, to a front-page roar/ EAST COAST JAZZ in the fifties, sixties/
Not just blowing trumpets, but blowing up the jazz scene jazz/
LPs stacked high vinyl spinnin’, cracklin' truth in every hip-to-be way. Jazz LPs, popin'’ the Truth, etched in black and white/ modern Jazz on the HIFI/
Jazz woke the airwaves up and made the radio take notice; everything felt right. Radio turned on, folks got wise and understood, and Jazz got the blood pumpin' in the mean streets day or night/
If you wanted to be hip to the now, the real, the raw, Late-night clubbing and listening was law, absolute law/
Ornette Coleman, man, a wild, horn-blowin’ free-to-be jazz king machine/ Free jazz founder/ hear his freedom RING!/
Then there's Mingus, righteous anger in his bass, Collective improv, settin' souls ablaze. Lay into "East Coasting," on Bethlehem Records, and let the music soak you down/
Starch your mind with Mingus, that ain't no stereophonic joke! No cover charge here, baby, just pure, unbridled bebop to the cool Miles sound/
A caravan of cats, late-night jams, playin’ something new and bold, Europe callin', TWA Flight 978 ready to take flight/
The Big Apple throbbed, a concrete, jazz-filled hang, Saxophone Colossus, Sonny Rollins, so raw, New York summer Hot Rollins, defying every jazz law/
Moody and quirky, a genius in disguise/ Influencing the young horns, reaching for the skies/
Sonny Rollins, deep in jazz thought on a New York big city day/
Sonny wrote a brand new Jazz Forever heavy page/
The jazz world exploded, on the silver screen, a fifty-cent ticket was your soundtrack to life, a vibrant, vital scene/
"Take Five," baby, the pulse, the driving soul on a jazz beat on stage/
I'm on the Lex Ave Trane, headin' for Groove Street! hold on, hold tight, let Abbey Lincoln sing, while we map our next gig, let’s name our new LP/ the Big Vibe/
Yeah… East Coast jazz… never really dies… spinnin’ vintage jazz LPs to keep my head alive/
ECJ morphs… and lives… in our own soulful eyes. Give me a holler give me a shout I’m talkin’ what’s It all about/ Want to be hip? Want to be in the know? Then listen late at night, and let the jazz sounds flow.
Lobo Little Man, and his boy Teka Maroo
Put them together, and no telling what they might do.
Sweet as pie they are, sporting too many shades of innocence on their face.
Showing off their perfect manors, with their majestic elegance and their
well defined grace.
They will suck you in with this cleaver and convincing disguise.
Watching you the whole time, waiting for opportunity to arise...
They are Master Minds at this game. and you're the next human
taking a ride on their Gravy Trane
Once they have your trust, then their plan is off the ground.
You'll feel the need to give them snacks (they're so cute)
You'll find something for them, somewhere, laying around...
When you come back, they'll be long gone, off to hit the town.
You'll stand there holding pieces of last night's left over steak,
Realizing that they somehow managed to unlatch and open the front gate.
By then, you will have done been played, by this time, it's too late.
There will be nothing you can do, but worry, wonder and sit and wait.
They must have thumbs, you will think...
How else could they have unlatched and went out through the gate?
They'll have gotten blocks away, and you can bet they're laughing about it too.
Care and concern thrown to the wind, there's just so much for them to do
They'll be gone all night, and they'll stay gone the next day, maybe even two.
And don't think for a moment that they are the least bit concerned about
what you may be going through.
They're far too busy with so much to do.
They planned it the whole time. They out and out snow balled you.
Eventually the phone will ring and a chipper voice will say these words to you:
Hello. Ahhhh, this is so and so, and, ahhh, I live in Tim-buck-Tooo
(Which is going to be at least 20 or so miles away from you) The voice will say:
Just callin’ to let you know that I sorta found some dogs (then they will spit)
that maybe, might, (spit again) just belong to you.
They came right up to me, as if I were somebody they actually knew. Whew Doggie!
Continued in Lobo Little Man and His Boy Teka Long Tounge Maroo Part 2
In Hip City/Tony Adamo
where rhythms collide, and no jive is spoken/
Guru laid down the truth, a fusion of jazz and rap/ no holds barred streetwise rap talk/ Just as Herbie’s touch on keys/ his Headhunters laid down their stretching rhythm with Mike Clark, drums, and Paul Jackson bass, (God Made Me Funky)
echoing all over the ears in the streets/
Digable Planets breathed life
into conversations, with their subgenres into rap, jazz and hip hop/
The DP’s spoken word rap jazz hit the airwaves with their debut album (A New Refutation of Time and Space)/
Brooklyn NY was the Digable Planets home base in 1993/
Donald Byrd’s trumpet bustin' out/while the Black Byrds jazz funk blows your mind sky high/ Groove Collective stirred the soul pot with afro-pop/ Latin jazz funk/and old skool hip hop till ya drop/
while Jazzhole’s sick sound wrapped us in rapid-fire bop rap jazz-a- lot dialogue
of funky bass lines and drum machine hot grooves/
Drums beat, turning our feet to the dance floor/
turntables double scratchin’ in time/
congas and the horn section called out with their sweaty beat in funky time/
we jammed under urban lights/ and held each other tight/
where the echoes of legends lingered/ into the hot New York night/
Miles, Wynton, Diz, Trane, and the Bird/ their spirit souls
and massive tones bustin’ out a thousand-fold/
we are the new jazz of today/ with new sounds and a new way to play and listen to what’s being said in our life and political ways/ Ya dig?
I've always been a mellow
type of fellow
Laidback like dem seats
in that Cadillac
Yeah! Real chill like that
sleek '73 Deville
Even as a little boy
the jukebox was my toy
Sweet rhythms of life
abating all ills and strife
A manchild in a candy store
Robust bass, lovely strings, classy keys,
Harmonic horns...need I say more?
No worries! I will continue
so vast, so deep, so true
Riding that old country road
just shaking off the load
Hip-Hopping to the urban ghetto
Tupac and Biggie fo sho'
Miles and Miles of Trane
jazzing through the sun and rain
Blues up, blues down, blues all around
Willie Dixon and that Chess Record sound
Feeling it deep in my spirit and heart
The voice of Mahalia Jackson I can't depart
Luther Vandross to Bob Marley
Bob James to Uncle Charlie
Madonna to Marvin Gaye
Earth, Wind & Fire to Cold Play
Jimi Hendrix to Janis Joplin
Stephanie Mills to Phil Collins
Blondie to Muddy Waters
Whitesnake to Crystal Waters
The Beatles to Bobby Bland
Sam Cooke to Duran Duran
Jackie Wilson to Jackson 5
Otis Redding to the Maroon 5
Cassandra Wilson to the Doobie Brothers
Earl Klugh to the Pointer Sisters
Regina Belle to James Brown
Patti LaBelle to Chris Brown
(Pause)
Man! I think I better stop
before I start talking about Prince
and the King of Pop
But I have a confession to make
Please hear me out; it's not fake
I can't help it; I'm a melophile
Now, excuse me while I go tune
in for awhile
Comrade
Tie rollerskates to pólice
Horses hoofs
Piss on the grim parade
From the roof
Of the dept store
Slip a fortune cookie note
That reads
´give me liberty or death
Or chicken chow mein ´
In the pocket of a
Passing pope
Arm the homeless
With pitchforks
& direct them to the
Castle on the hill
Bite the earlobes
Of the palace guards
But not too hard
Just enough to let
Them know
We means bizness
Free the geese & turkeys
From their Christmas cages
Bring back the cat
& the white rhino too
Buddy Bolden´s trumpet
Audible from a mile
& a century away
Will be our huntsman´s cry
Tally Ho!
Tough time to be a
Fox in ermine
That day
Chase the elusive Trane
Down 52nd street
Bring down a plane
With the third eye
Laser
Crash landing with
Ray gun sparks
Beneath
Balls to convention
Let´s nudge
Michelangelo’s
Elbow
Shout theatre in a
Crowded fire
Squirt soda water
In destiny´s face
I´m mad as hell but
Then hell is mad
Let´s push Larkin´s
Work toad under
The 39 bus
& give all
The blessed angels
Something to sing
About
Let them fear
King Ludd
& kabouters
Slack men in
Boiler rooms
Reading yesterday´s
Paper
Comrades
Fellow travelers
Come & let´s dance
On the green
But first take off
Your shoes
& throw them
Into the
Machine
THE GROOVE IS MIGHTY HIGH/ LET’S THROW DOWN AND FLY UP TO THE SKY/
KEROUAC BLOWIN’WORD JAZZ WITH STRINGS/MILES AT THE BLACK KAWK, MAN WHAT A SCENE/ JACK AND MILES WALKED THE WALK AND TALKED THE JAZZ TALK/ NO BLUE NOTES HERE/JUST HIGH NOTES OF BE-BOP KOOL/ MAN I’M INTO THIS JAZZ SCENE/SAY BABY WHATCHA SAY? SHE’S INTO MILES ALL THE WAY/ SO WHAT MILES SAYS/ MAN I GOTTA FLY TO A LATE NITE JAM WITH MONK, DIZ, AND TRANE / WILL SOMEBODY CALL ME A CAB? LIKE I’M OUTTA HERE/
(GUITAR SOLO)
TOP DOWN RIDE/DEX’S BLASTIN’ FROM THE CAR RADIO/THE COAST HIGHWAY LEADS THE WAY/MILES REMAINS HIP TO THIS DAY/BEAT POETS DIGGIN’ DEEP INTO THE NU BE-BOP SOUNDS/ THEIR WORDS FLOWING HIGH/LIKE A CIRCUS ACT FIFTY FEET HIGH/ KEROUAC EVEN GOT BOOKED AT THE VANGUARD NYC/READING HIS BEAT POETRY WITH JAZZ CATS BACKING HIM/ AND SCATTING NOTE FOR NOTE ON A MIES HORN SOLO/ SO WHAT MILES SAYS/ MAN I GOTTA FLY TO A LATE NITE JAM WITH KENNY CLARK, HERBIE, AND DAVE HOLLAND BY BY/( ORGAN SOLO)
MAN THE GROOVE IS MIGHTY HIGH/ LET’S TALK ABOUT BIRD FLYIN’ UP TO THE SKY/KEROUAC BLOWIN’ HIS WORDS ON STEVE ALLEN’S TV SHOW/ MILES AT THE BLACK HAWK/MAN WHAT A JAZZ SCENE ON THE GOGO/SO WHAT MILES SAYS I GOTTA BLOW TO DIG ON A RECORDING SESSION IN NEW YORK’S SO HO/ MY CAB’S HERE I’M OUT THE DOOR
The Jazz poem brothers, so hip and so way cool,
With their smooth jazz talk, they never play the street fool/
They snap their fingers and dance to the bass conga beat/
Their rhythm and rhyme are hip in time/man, they are kicking the verse and breaking it down/
They paint a mind collage with each word they say, Man, it just lays me out / What can I say/
Taking us on a word poem journey, in their special soul jazz spoken word way/
Get down to their word flow/ a slaughterhouse of jazz words/poetry from the jazz edge/let's go/
The brothers transport us to a place where the bebop Buddha shows his face/
Yo listen up tight, to what their jazz word orchestra has to say/
Let their words guide you to the jazz planet in the Milky Way/
The Jazz poem brothers know how to groove high/to the spoken word poetry/ in the simmering jazz Zen sky/
Their poetry word jazz will lift you/Man, it's a swingin' affair/ Miles, Trane, and Diz/ horn blowing word jazz and a gin fizz/The jazz poem brothers/in search of the new word vibe/Tossing a snow storm of words into the crowd as they wave by by/
Hurry! Hurry!
All aboard the Cosmic Trane
Where the mind runs free and
the soul feels no pain
A location for the elevation of
humanness to the existential
realm of salvation
Galactic spiritual religiosity in the
form of rhythmic sounds
Free. Free. Running freely into
dimensions away from the third
A ride. A glorious ride of
harmonic bliss
A kiss, a sweet kiss...
So fasten and secure your headphones
and be sure not to miss
Because this is sure to be a ride
of epic proportions
Away. Far away from the chaos and
distortions
My God!
Jones will be thudding
With Tyner tinkling the keys
Oh yes, Garrison will be a 'bassing'
And Coltrane blowing like a breeze
A ride. A celestial ride out of
this world
To places and spaces where all
dreams and hopes are unfurled
O' Wise One in the sleeper for a
Song of Praise
And Afro Blue reflects on Africa
Giant Steps in the coming days
Blues Minor to Sweet Naima
I have my ticket, so you know this
means I can not stay
I just pressed play, and now I'm coasting
and floating away
Melodic music
depths me
in deep thought…
and as it is
with such thoughts
about our creator
what we think
and hope for
can’t be divorced
from place and time
in history
culture and ourstory…
Our reality here
is not of heaven
but of this
bi-polar earth
and our freedom
and liberation
must be sought
in this reality…
Check it out…
heaven is beyond time
and earth-bound stories
but as earthly beings
we are fixed here
in definite time
stories and culture
and we can not divorce
ourselves from such realities…
Just think about it…
our liberation has never
been nor should ever
be a mere fusing
of concepts
rather our liberation is
and has always been
a strategized perceived
process…
So just go and sit down
on the dock of time
and don’t worry
about a thing
for everything
is going to be
alright
for we are recipients
of an almighty healing
amazing grace
and it has our backs
in life’s “Trane-like” race…