Free Verse Music Poems | Examples
These Free Verse Music poems are examples of poetry about Free Verse Music. These are the best examples of Music Free Verse poems written by international poets.
Today I met Elvis
Not one who have left the building
The apple sometimes fall far from the tree
But he played to the crowd
Hands on to the ladies
My left foot kept the time
And he was older than 42
I open behind the curtains
To let in the most beautiful ultra light
You who knows this heart better than anyone else
A soul calls out singing enchantingly
In flash your blinding
brings salt to the eyes
crystal pearls flashing diamond silver
Mixed with golden sunlight
paints a rainbow of colours
laced with angel rays shines out with love
The brightest blinding treasure truly a warm gift
Left slack at the edge of the violin,
an afterthought of gut and wire,
waiting for the bow that never descends.
Every note passes overhead
like birds stitching the sky.
The hollow body drinks their chorus,
yet no song grows inside this wood.
Ears open in the varnish,
dark mouths swallowing everything unfinished—
a concerto of failures,
a catalogue of unsung hours.
Different, always different,
not melody but margin,
not hand but handle.
Still the silence hums,
a taut ghost trembling
whenever others are touched.
What music it might have been
clings like rosin to the air,
faint, impossible,
vanishing before it begins.
Double-dutch ropes slap the sidewalk -
snap - snap - snap -
braids whip air,
girls jump in, counting
uno, dos, three,
feet flick like drumsticks.
The ice cream truck jingles off-key,
icy lady shakes paper cups,
piragua man shaves ice into snow -
his knife scraping the block awake.
Pastelillos pop in hot oil -
spit, sizzle -
plastic cups clink with rum and cola,
congas crack, maracas shake salt in the air,
horns blare like chisme in heat.
Heels click-clack over concrete -
punctuating each spin,
each swirl of hips.
Whistles split the air -
one from the lifeguard at Jefferson,
two from the men on the corner,
three from abuela
when the coals are hot.
Somebody throws meat on the grill -
ssszzzz -
smoke climbs windows,
neighbors bring foil trays -
yellow rice, ribs, roasted corn -
each dish a downbeat.
Kids yell cannonball,
water smacks back,
lifeguard’s whistle cuts through splash.
Old heads tap dominoes on tabletops -
crack, slap, smack -
hands older than the stoops they sit on.
The block fills itself
the way music fills a drum -
the street hums under bare feet.
Tonight,
the moon will smell like charcoal
and sweet ice.
~ The weather has many faces ~ whistling in the headwind ~ quote by poet
Natural and repetitive elements
in the sound of the wind slow down restless thoughts
Observe the thoughts without judging or interpret
avoid depressive rumination just let go
A breath of wind touched your cheek so gently
Happiness is fleeting not a cliché
a lovely feeling, dancing as a whirlwind
The constant wind which makes the strings tinkle
It blows wherever it wants, strong or weak
The gentle wind reminds me of relaxing
pan flute music, sensitively without words
Indigenous music did not die out
it is carried by the wind all over the globe
Can neither be controlled, planned nor ordered
With invisible bows the wind carries away
Progress require you to loosen the moorings
The wind ruffles your hair and the waves sing
It's wonderful to feel the forces of nature
Listen carefully – it's full of presence
the staircase stops mid-air
cobwebs choke in dust
down, down critters skitter
down invisible rails
waters swirl
up springs Hope
without a cue card
violins carry it off
I joyfully beat out my word syllables
as if I am a professional drummer
thumping my way into the Amazon
Love, a melody
your heart sings to me as mine
joins in harmony.
I use a tv set as if it were a radio
listening while I do other things
my childhood through the sixties trained me well
while I listen to my dramas, I play word games
write poetry, draw pictures and cartoons and paint
when I do look up, the drone of the tv coaxes me into a nap
I love listening to a tv
it is almost as great as listening to a radio
On weekday nights when it grew
too quiet
Alex the angry barman
would strut towards the machine, somehow
disable its need for money, and
select a batch of Elvis songs
And when the first one came on, he'd be scanning
the few customers for signs of disrespect
'There, that's proper music, none of
your punk rock nonsense'
Segments
draw attention
sequentially~
named and not named
and perhaps one such
names the whole
or the whole remains
unnamed~
separation speaks~~
Music is a little piece of foil at the bottom of the oven.
Got torn off and burnt.
Cooking things like fish and vegetables.
Music is like a tray of food.
A tray of toast and a napkin too.
Is good enough to chew.
Music is a tasty numbness.
Yummy asparagus, and clam chowder.
Clamoring and smiling.
Music is a messy tray with crumbs and spills.
Music is whatever is making me crave chocolate.
Music is a spell that makes me feel like an apple with a bite in it.
Music is having a buffet of indiscernible sludge.
It’s all delicious.
Messy, crumbs, and falling apart biscuits.
Maybe I’m just hungry sometimes.
Music.
Last night’s casserole.
We don’t know much about these things.
But sometimes they taste nice.
On 2025.04.04, in "Music and relationship".
I wrote
"The thing was, I supposed to find a song,
Not to be given from someone.
This was the first time,
It was strange and I wonder if it would happen again."
Well, it has not happened again,
And properly it would never be.
I had been playing Brahm lullaby
Ever since, but without singing it along,
And without JC heard the lyrics of the song.
Four months and four days later, 2025.08.08,
As requested, I was playing a song,
And as I played on, I felt the lyrics,
Suited for me to describe our relationship,
As I always do in the past to others,
I messaged JC about this,
Knowing him never received or read it.
"Hello, was it me you looking for?
I could see it in your eyes,
I could see it in your smiles.
You were all I ever wanted to help me,
To write my poems and sing my songs,
To travel around Victoria country towns,
Then Sydney icons' places,
And finally Australia and may be Overseas...
I know you never read this message.
Nevertheless, I write to confide
As I still remember you."
Thank you Mr. Manigone
for the joy you brought us
with your flugelhorn.
We who remember
will never forget
you and your music
especially the song
"Feels So Good".
four wild looking guys with guitars are on tv
wearing pants that are way too tight and too short
jumping around the stage
shouting words that I do not understand but loudly
the audience is screaming happily
people have their hands high in the air
doing some kind of weird wave thing
this is a reminder why I do not go to live concerts