Poems about Music
#music
Poems about music, including a diverse range of different genres. Here you'll find poetry about playing an instrument, listening to music and memories triggered by songs and music.
jazz fan
within range,
that music
loud,
bragging,
infectious,
sometimes
laughing
with
high pitched
communication,
infatuating
my senses
drifting high,
low,
smiling
while
coming off
the stage.
that music
loud,
bragging,
infectious,
sometimes
laughing
with
high pitched
communication,
infatuating
my senses
drifting high,
low,
smiling
while
coming off
the stage.
#identity
#music
#freedom
#culture
#tradition
50 reads
6 Comments
Red River Willie
Red River Willie
Red River blues
sung by bearded prophet
of western visions
whose cigarette voice
rolls with muddy water
on course for father of waters
while soothsayer of song
plays the harmonica
for crickets chirping
on the banks by the railroad tracks
where old men dream
of days sifted into silt
where the whippoorwill fades
in a dusky hollow
© 2024 by John Hindle
Red River blues
sung by bearded prophet
of western visions
whose cigarette voice
rolls with muddy water
on course for father of waters
while soothsayer of song
plays the harmonica
for crickets chirping
on the banks by the railroad tracks
where old men dream
of days sifted into silt
where the whippoorwill fades
in a dusky hollow
© 2024 by John Hindle
#countryside
#river
#music #tobacco
#music #tobacco
44 reads
0 Comments
Broken Record
I've been singing the same song for years
in different tunes and to different people.
I've watched the faces light up
one by one,
become their anthem,
and as the days went on,
the words changed
ever so slightly
for each and every one
until I was serenading them-
toasting to their hands,
to their teeth,
to their shoulders.
Celebrating every little piece of them,
because they'd heard my lonely crooning
and mistaken it for a symphony,
and I,
like most musicians,
foolishly wrote song after song
for the...
in different tunes and to different people.
I've watched the faces light up
one by one,
become their anthem,
and as the days went on,
the words changed
ever so slightly
for each and every one
until I was serenading them-
toasting to their hands,
to their teeth,
to their shoulders.
Celebrating every little piece of them,
because they'd heard my lonely crooning
and mistaken it for a symphony,
and I,
like most musicians,
foolishly wrote song after song
for the...
#music
#bittersweet
77 reads
5 Comments
Metal head until I’m dead
This soul has become demonized
So allow me to externalize
But do not try to rationalize or exorcise
Your eyes will bleed with the blade of one thousand jagged hand written lines
Two became one upon this night of lunacy
Delirious and rabid I don’t need the moon to be
When I attack me
I don’t need eyes to see
Just a pen to release what’s been trapped, buried within me
With the coming of the falling sun
The crowds bow
Knee deep in their own ruin
Await the tempo bring the dead to life
Rhythmic slaughter to their ears...
So allow me to externalize
But do not try to rationalize or exorcise
Your eyes will bleed with the blade of one thousand jagged hand written lines
Two became one upon this night of lunacy
Delirious and rabid I don’t need the moon to be
When I attack me
I don’t need eyes to see
Just a pen to release what’s been trapped, buried within me
With the coming of the falling sun
The crowds bow
Knee deep in their own ruin
Await the tempo bring the dead to life
Rhythmic slaughter to their ears...
#inspirational
#music
66 reads
2 Comments
Jammin'
Bob Marley
had ran out of cornflakes,
so he toasted two slices of bread
then covered them thickly
with strawberry jam,
"A much nicer breakfast!," he said.
🇯🇲🙃🇯🇲
had ran out of cornflakes,
so he toasted two slices of bread
then covered them thickly
with strawberry jam,
"A much nicer breakfast!," he said.
🇯🇲🙃🇯🇲
#music
52 reads
8 Comments
Luce the series~Blink
sixty-nine was so long ago...
my reentry, release date
it is as a second, in the mortal world
when time in, eons have passed
strawberry fields and imagine
doorways of perception...opened then closed
I was born here, as a mortal that year
as an archer, astrology says
waiting for my release date into the Earth
while in another realm, too early, too late
I debated and waited
should I give you my precise location?
revealing my visions has cost us before
imprisoned so long as to hallucinate
...
my reentry, release date
it is as a second, in the mortal world
when time in, eons have passed
strawberry fields and imagine
doorways of perception...opened then closed
I was born here, as a mortal that year
as an archer, astrology says
waiting for my release date into the Earth
while in another realm, too early, too late
I debated and waited
should I give you my precise location?
revealing my visions has cost us before
imprisoned so long as to hallucinate
...
#love
#music
59 reads
0 Comments
8869215
That was my number
The story goes without saying
Absolutely Sweet Marie
To live outside the law you must be honest
Blonde on Blonde
Mr. Bob Dylan
Some say you’re dating yourself
I never let me down
The story goes without saying
Absolutely Sweet Marie
To live outside the law you must be honest
Blonde on Blonde
Mr. Bob Dylan
Some say you’re dating yourself
I never let me down
#music
#lyrics
#TruthOfLife
#art
#philosophical
101 reads
16 Comments
head ache, concert hall
the tones that would normally wash over and clean,
cannot cleanse,
the toxins that are with me today,
every operatic reach and musical swell,
sends sharp pains into my head.
I still can enjoy the music
cannot cleanse,
the toxins that are with me today,
every operatic reach and musical swell,
sends sharp pains into my head.
I still can enjoy the music
#music
#hurt
35 reads
1 Comment
Brixton Snow
1992, Brixton Prison, a golden dreadlock Snowy, plays his position, cooling in his cell and watching some television.
He walks with a limp through the wing, his boat bares a grin, and they say, "Have you got a pebble in your shoe and ting?"
Sporting circle sunglasses just like John Lennon, they cover his mince-pies, he is one fly felon.
He was a ragga MC, and he spat pure Patois. He didn't make generic hip hop, like your average rapper.
Now he is released from the shovel and pick, he's got his eyes on the prize, so he won't miss a trick! ...
He walks with a limp through the wing, his boat bares a grin, and they say, "Have you got a pebble in your shoe and ting?"
Sporting circle sunglasses just like John Lennon, they cover his mince-pies, he is one fly felon.
He was a ragga MC, and he spat pure Patois. He didn't make generic hip hop, like your average rapper.
Now he is released from the shovel and pick, he's got his eyes on the prize, so he won't miss a trick! ...
#city
#music
#prison
88 reads
2 Comments
3 Birds
In the silence of the night,
when the moon rises,
the sounds of the forest come to life,
And the winged creatures awaken,
each with its own unique melody.
The hoot of owl, wise and lonely,
call that echoes through the tall trees,
song of mystery and contemplation
that invites you to explore the unknown.
The macaw, with its vibrant feathers,
shouts to the sky in an explosion of colors.
Voice that resonates like a ray of sunlight,
happy and exuberant, like a carnival.
And the potoo, the ghost of the night, ...
when the moon rises,
the sounds of the forest come to life,
And the winged creatures awaken,
each with its own unique melody.
The hoot of owl, wise and lonely,
call that echoes through the tall trees,
song of mystery and contemplation
that invites you to explore the unknown.
The macaw, with its vibrant feathers,
shouts to the sky in an explosion of colors.
Voice that resonates like a ray of sunlight,
happy and exuberant, like a carnival.
And the potoo, the ghost of the night, ...
#beauty
#birds
#nature
#spiritual
#music
66 reads
5 Comments
No compositions by Vivaldi
I was born in the twilight of centuries,
when the sun, tired from its journey,
sinks into the golden horizon
and the moon emerges shy and silvery.
O nature, wise and ancient,
you owe me the sighs of the trees,
and the murmur of the dancing brook.
The scents of wild flowers.
You owe me the whisper of the wind
that caresses the leaves and hair.
And the embrace of the ground, firm and welcoming,
that supports my uncertain steps.
You owe me the birdsong,
echoing valleys and mountains
and the silence of the...
when the sun, tired from its journey,
sinks into the golden horizon
and the moon emerges shy and silvery.
O nature, wise and ancient,
you owe me the sighs of the trees,
and the murmur of the dancing brook.
The scents of wild flowers.
You owe me the whisper of the wind
that caresses the leaves and hair.
And the embrace of the ground, firm and welcoming,
that supports my uncertain steps.
You owe me the birdsong,
echoing valleys and mountains
and the silence of the...
#summer
#winter
#fall
#spring
#music
64 reads
4 Comments
String Instruments
What's the point of so many rhythmic lines?...
Row, rhyme and rum
They are just waves in the same sea.
Seagull murmurs
like someone singing a fado or two
or it will come to sing much later.
Arrange drawers, sticks and prints
from left to right in an order
almost alphabetical.
Unhinged fairies blessing the sound
of a lute, a guitar and a banjo.
Without wings, without bones, like angels!
Pain descriptive nonconformities
that passes through the brain shamelessly
Bloodlust of a dark predator.
...
Row, rhyme and rum
They are just waves in the same sea.
Seagull murmurs
like someone singing a fado or two
or it will come to sing much later.
Arrange drawers, sticks and prints
from left to right in an order
almost alphabetical.
Unhinged fairies blessing the sound
of a lute, a guitar and a banjo.
Without wings, without bones, like angels!
Pain descriptive nonconformities
that passes through the brain shamelessly
Bloodlust of a dark predator.
...
#music
#rhyming
#lyrics
48 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems about Music