Vocal Poems - Poems about Vocal

In referance to SATB I didn't know that music lovers often tell the story from the arrangements and pairings to what the composer is sharing he combination of instruments don't get along like the piccolo and tuba they don't jive when there together and the muted celesta and xylophone they don't get along whats a song the sounds for many comparable and gitty composed to love or...

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Written By: Traducir Al Spaniel' A.K.A El Alborotado ----------------------------------- To support all of this emotion to take everything in stride to up lift to and to encourage put all that doubt and envy aside how can go on saying when so many want me o fail hold my head up and keep on stibing hoping one day I would prevail Keep me grooving to the music gone darling...

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Big Karl, with a vengeance so dire, For his brother, set hearts all afire. John's chain, a tight squeeze, Then Powell, with ease, Sent him down, with a bullet's swift choir. ©bfa032225 (Alexander Godunov in Die Hard) ...

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Fingers so sore from learning the chords, Getting the rhytme without knowing the words. It all sounds so good here in my head, Blood from my fingers turning the fret board red. But I've got to keep trying, just carry on, Or the thoughts that inspired me will be lost and all gone. I've got to decide on the ideal...

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The great Elvis Presley stole the show When it came to music, fast and slow Patsy Cline could sing so sweet and fine Without a doubt, her voice would shine Hank Williams had a son with his name Like father, like son – they claimed fame Ray Charles played despite being blind His listeners knew he was one of a kind Aretha Franklin...

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I am lost, my eyes wide, and my heart quivering. My legs are paralyzed, and I have no memory. I stroll silently, my consciousness wandering. I am alone inside an unexplored territory. I would wish the room to be cold and inviting. I envy our heat vitality to come from within, trusting that it won't be an errorless meeting. I simply wish...

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while being vocal we found point which was focal of a local yocal...

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I love you lady, singing velvet night sky, singing azure violet wounded woolen stitch. I love your lady quavering haunting cry, intoning shades of purple in fevered pitch. I love you lady, even trilling, scraping in torment, your voice straining oppressed about strange fruit. I love you lady dear star teaching your malcontent, piping broken lyrics, imparting pain so acute. I love...

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As if a child should understand an adult’s muddle, putrid oil slick puddle, the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring. Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure, whatever spark remains in tiny rosebud coloured cheeks, before their prime. Those innocents should never have to wrap, their nascent minds around the wanton desecration, of intertidal lakeland wetness...

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The vocal coach will help my voice, He’ll help me sing, it was my choice. I turned up there with just myself, He politely enquired about my health. He asked if I could sing a note, I obliged once I’d cleared my throat. He looked and said ‘you cannot sing, Next time you’re voice you’ll need to bring,’ I told him that was...

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Butterfly box In your throat a box of sound To your human being bound Take a breath and spark a chord So your beings’ needs emplored Of a mind filled with thought Lips are a net with which they’re caught Resonating in space with boundless meaning What are senses perceiving, without speaking? In a mindless jabber, remember this thing Like wind formed from a butterflies...

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the me-too movement was started by young black women lacking social opportunity...the media turned that into 'sex between the stars'...now, while there is quite lewd and gross modern music, the blind fish in the tank are lobbying against old style vocal-poetry to take it off the radio: (try to write poetry that sounds like this) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMHS6D8tFvE you're not sick you're just...

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stoic calm tragic- brief cries from the shadows of patient silence: a lament- a definitive mirror into the smothered recesses of the mind...

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When my chest splits out come the crows Where they land nobody will know I ripped my heart out the scars will show Where they pitch is all in fate Life for me is far too late Observe the crows as they claw and peck their way out Cover your ears to ignore my shout Or sit and watch my blood erupt...

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Accusatory high-pitched voices singing in the masculine reign Humiliated pride getting drenched by doubtful, male chauvinist disdain Emotional double octave level of pain, bitter ... bitter — Sad and angry Enough to drive a decent woman insane Violated women groping for the right testosterone words that might make reasonable, tone-deaf men hear Devastated women fondling their own estrogen silence for too...

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