concerts
Learn more about other poetry terms
RARE isn’t just another adjective,
So let me tell you now.
He writes his pain into beautiful melodies
And the way every word falls out of his mouth
I sucked it in through my breath
and it sunk through my skin
It expanded through my lungs
and seeped into my blood stream
the bumping of the bass
the crowed room
the dimming of the lights
the chanting
the silhouette of the performer
the rush of adrenaline that hits you
there is no other feeling in the world
I guess the question is one thing I can't live without,
however there are many.
You see,
life is based on essentials and bare necessity.
Oxygen, food and water,
but these are mundane.
A concert: a safe haven for the fluorescent adolescents who need music like blood that flows through lyrical shaped veins
fueling a pumping heart, fingertips, a voice box.
Smooth and soothing.
The air is sharp with winter anticipationComets with tails blazing: stage lightsHit upon the crowd, wondrousHis hair is Spanish moss thatHangs heavy from the oaks,festooned in beads and baubles
Semisweet sounds fill the robust emporium
Sarcastically, kids mimic the beauty of the melodies
Soulful tones melt over every seat; molding the auditorium
T
There are some things I will never forget.
Ten years from now,
your smile as we walked through the park
is all that I'll have left.
I am grateful for the potency of these images,
Have you noticed me yet?
The little burst of purple in that crowd,
the one with her arms stretched high over her head.
The one playing back directly whatever command the band gives.
Music,
The notes fall off the page
You listen to the beat
The melody that flows
Tap your foot
That’s the groove that you love to listen to
Batcha
The drums go
The sweeping sounds cascade out of the stage
Bouncing around the room,
Mixing with the cushioned chairs
And the old-people smell.
The brass blasts out a baleful melody
When in all despair, I go there
Waiting in the wings
Where heart will soar and spirit fly
Waiting in the wings
All goes dark on the scheduled mark
Waiting in the wings
The theatre is all I know and love.
I pour my pain into a role, hoping it will cease.
But it never does.
It's a curse to be an actor.
It's not glamorous. It's not happy.
It's not fame. It's not money.
It was a tale of two
She was Hip
He was Hop
They met in a frequency
That no other knew of
At a pace so fast
That they left others behind
Since that moment
They stood hand in hand
Music is my life
Some would say it is my wife
I will attend school for music education
To get out of my current situation
Music is a little seed
That is now easy to read
It's that aching feeling
That rush
That spark in your pupils.
As you look up, you see that man.
He's commanding every soul in the room.
How though? How can it be.
