Short Tambourine Poems
Short Tambourine Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Tambourine by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Tambourine by length and keyword.
when
time is made of
grains of sand
then
we are
trapped in
the
hourglass
the
soul of man
each time
the
cosmos bets
her
tambourine
"Mr. Tambourine Man"
FUSIONS
Hey Mr Tambourine Man
your words made me a fan
Song- just-a-jingle-jangle
yet reflect the 60's angle
Tom played the tambourine
It was a spectacular scene
He danced as he played
The dreadful noise that he made
Caused the people that passed him to scream
turquoise tambourine tingling around
a sassy scintillating silvery sexy sound
jaunty jubilant dancer leaping from the ground
queen of the jazz festival, she is quickly crowned
So you think you can heal
all the wrongs in the world,
then just play your song,
give it a harsh, biting tune,
make it sting as you sing,
tambourine-playing man!
Form:
frightened trees
cannon balls fly
where teardrops fall
10.17.16
Title of the songs for each line used
Mr. Tambourine Man
Blowing In the Wind
Where Teardrops Fall
Play on jubilant tambourine.
Your silvery zills quaking,
quicken rockstones from such slumbers.
Shake, zealous with the spirit,
punctuating hallelujah,
ringing fresh as a new year.
Rain poured the night before
Reviving cobblestone
Ribbons round tambourine
Rollick, she kept ringing
Response of the peasants
Remarkable impact.
Ray of blush on her face
9/2/2023
Learn to Fandango
castanet in your hand
Tambourine calling
its bells to command
Dance every Tango
before it’s too late
Death in the offing
— the wolf at the gate
(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)
I woke in a cheer toned embrace.
Enthused by the bubbly hold,
I wished to spread its hugging sound.
Joyful feel emotively
played jolly, jingling, jangling notes
on a gleeful tambourine.
Kevorkian played the fiddle of death.
Fauci (mask on) mouths an alto sax.
Putin taps away on nuclear keys.
Xi bangs away on a drum of disease.
Lap dog Jong taps a tiny tambourine.
While Bunny Biden lip-syncs to an audience of 1.
Room to shake my tambourine
That’s all I ask, and a space to dance
And twirl my scarves and entice you to pay
A corner to read your palm and collect silver
A tiny nook to park tarot and runes
Most of all a place to shake my bracelets
can shivering in pain be heard,
taut timbre ~ now memories...
the sound is real ~ pain forgotten
yet heard like iced limbs shaken
and crash where summer thunder reigned
~ now fall in icy silence...
Written Jan 29 for Nette's "Connect the Dots" contest
a musical trio
livening up the prairie
enthusiastic beatnik dog on bongo drums
terrifically talented tambourine-playing Tomcat
Romanian beauty with flashing eyes with a ukulele
people arrive to sing along and dance
it feels like the seventies
Woodstock sixty years later
he's a treadmill
living palindromic days
real time
which doesn't help
neither does his lawyer
but victimaholic attitudes
those aches and pains
in dust filled boxes
aspiring to move away
unfortunately for him
his shadow
and his tambourine
are just where
he likes them
Santa uses a sleigh
A race car!
A sled!
A tambourine!
How do you use a tambourine?
He drummed out a beat.
We mean to get around
To travel
Oh, that’s easy.
He has a limousine.
We are in ready-to-punch-each-other mode now
Just then Santa flies by under a helium balloon
But soft, what light from yonder window breaks?
Is the east, why did I think it was hark?
The soft part, I mean. Iambically pent
tambourine? Am now off of iambic
But diggin the idea, am just waltzing
please don't take too much offense
'cause that would suck royally,
don'tcha think?
Form:
Queen of Soul
Blessed is thy hand
Play the tambourine
Master the harp and the strings
Golden is thy breath
Play the trumpet
Grand is thy voice
Sing hymns
With joy and presence
Darling, bless your heart
And give him thanks
Amen
Marckincia Jean
Free verse
06/26/19
A banjo on her knee
A phrase that makes me smile
I have never seen this myself
But I have played a tambourine
Not in church like two of the regulars,
But in my house, and outside, in my forest.
It makes worship ever jazzier,
In both a church and the woods.
Brings congregation and songbirds alive,
Competition on.
In the empty room loneliness sets
the rules in shades of darkest blue;
blue the color of regrets,
and haze of countless cigarettes
through which the past is dimly seen
as phantoms lost in-between
the projector and the screen,
where relays of surreal dreams,
and jingle of the mind's tambourine,
repeats and beats life's lost vignettes.
My nephew
has severe autism
He has a tough time in
this world
I've taught him to sing snatches
of Nat Kind Cole's "NatureBoy" and the
Lemon Piper's "Green Tambourine"
We all love this kid
It would break his mother's heart
If he wound up in a group home
So have a kind thought
for Gabriel
"We must love one another or die"
Anytime I rhyme, I climb, ascending higher and higher
It clarifies life, it fuels my fire
Words constantly cycling through my head
Some I made up, most have already been said
Like: feather, wall, brick, or tambourine
Question! How much for that submarine?
Back to el point; writing, specifically in rhymes, purifies my mind
It centers my soul, bringing me closer to the divine
You play me for stupid.
You strum me with lust
across the brass bed,
all the words lying in the dust
of an old refrain.
You play me for stupid
while your smiles suck,
fluttering eyelashes duck
down to cover this
pain in here.
The slithering stealth
of your seductions
no longer intrigues.
I play my deductions,
subtraction reaction
as you disappear
with your tambourine.
tequila worm faces dabble in Dali.
I depart for deeper woods,
take matches
to a snoozing clown—
watch moonbeams become the vortex of a raw swarm.
I must wait for pesky dawn roulette angels
to spin into black pockets,
try to hold these blurred poses of planet plentiful
as the sound of seventh son's tambourine
drifts from the hysterical sea
where Van Gogh's ear is a conch shell.
If I had a guitar and a ukelele
I would be singing songs from eight to three
perfect runs would cascade out into the atmosphere
every one of my notes would be crisp and crystal clear
If I had a tambourine, I would jingle jangle that too
too bad my musical talents would fit in a drop of dew
I cannot even clap on rhythm, but neither can Willie
And he’s made a fortune being country and silly