"bassline" poems
My dearest love,
If I were to explain the music in my ears,
It’d be an algorithm of lovely ardor,
Fervent beats and emotional rhythms,
Pursue a possibly tangible idea,
Shining lights and keyboards,
Coffee colored electric energy,
Pulsing in amber jelly motion,
A metaphorical knife is ****** into the solar plexus,
Stimulating the tear sacs,
Which then open and shed a bassline,
Which repeats in nonexistent space,
Maybe…
Just maybe…
It stretches into eternity.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Groovy brown skinned brothas
hip hop to the smooth jazzy
beats across the starlight scene,
exhilarating eyes light up
the uptown extravagance,
as they bust a move in the
drumbeating room, rotating
and vibrating, grinding and
bending, breathing in the
singing saxophones and
trombones.
Flashy lights shine bright
and vivid in crystal clears,
as young sweet caramel
girls sway to the high
hypnotizing sounds,
spinning hips lost in the
night, gliding on waves,
shaking in the serene
breeze like swinging trees,
soaring endlessly
across the rings of Saturn.
Heavy adrenaline rises
inside the upbeat and
sassy melanin sistas,
stomping stilettos,
show-stopping arms
and thighs harmonizing
to the midnight rhymes,
while hard bassline sounds
sifts inside various dimensions
of extreme delight.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
In an unfamiliar place,
his lips bare familiar taste.
Reminiscent of a school crush or puppy love, though, I am having urges that are not fit for a child.
My heart is both playful and serious.
The bassline draws me in.
Pulls me closer.
I don't know where I'm going,
but I know that I will like it there.
Swaying.
Uncontrollably shaking,
yet floating,
as a feather.
My heart pounding.
The bassline forcing the blood to pump through me.
As I push forward,
the crowd begins to part.
My eyes are closed, but I feel the rhythm drag me between them.
I'm shy and want to run the other direction, but my body doesn't allow it.
I'm getting closer.
The butterflies dance inside of me.
Along with the bassline.
The heat is unbearable and I can't stand to hold my eyes shut anymore.
I open them.
The music fades.
I see him.
Inches from my face.
The familiar taste has left my lips.
I begin to realize that there is no music.
The bassline, indeed, is my heartbeat.
I haven't been dancing or floating.
People are brushing past us all around.
The crowd had not parted.
It was him that pulled me in.
I have barely moved.
The butterflies remained.
I let out a sigh and feel as though I'm falling.
It was but a kiss that spun my world.
This isn't puppy love at all.
This is passion.
The bassline is inside of me from my head to my toes.
The urges are real and not fit for a child.
I am ready.
I am in love.
-kd
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
I'd never ask anything of you
or expect you to love me at all.
Cheat as many times as you like,
I'd suffer in silence.
Want me until you become incontinent,
Incompetent in bed and as fat as your father.
Want me like some kid on MDMA
wants water and a bassline to cry to.
Never let me sleep alone
maybe love me a little but never tell me,
and if your feelings get too strong and potent
go **** your ex girlfriend.
Just don't ever stop wanting me.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
i exist somewhere between the kick drum and the snare
i am the blood thundering in our veins
i am the rhythm that gives us life
i am the 375 nanometers of ultraviolet light shining down on you
i am the space between the notes and the silence before the drop
i am oscillation, reverberation, undulation of bassline
i am rattling ribcage from excess decibels
i am titinnitus waiting to strike.
3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methylamphetamine, Lysergic acid diethylamide, tetrahydrocannabinol, ethanol, benzoylmethylecgonine; choose your poison so that you may enjoy me better
i am the sweat that slicks our skin and keeps us cool
i am the longing look that leaps from eye to eye
i am mellifluous melody, motivator of movement, master of mind.
i am the sea of strangers you find yourself lost in, minimally clad bodies moving in ways you didn't know were possible.
i am the fire-poi spinner, the LED hula-hooper, the melbourne-shuffling madman, the obnoxious bro, the ancient hippie, the obviously underage girl, the idiot overdosing in the corner, and the person wearing more pony beads than clothes.
i am the rave.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
when i was young, i knew
(with more belief than i had in my own name)
that i would dance ballet
and i danced ballet, attempting
each spin, each hopeful leap
gaining slivers in my knees each time i fell
and keeping them there, proof
that i had flown
but i fell more often than i flew
and one day, i just knew
(with no tears, only a firm nod of the head)
that someone out there would always fly higher
than i ever could
so i just turned the music up
and let my fingers tap out the rhythm
and to this day i close my eyes
and let the neurons dance inside me
electric current, steady pulse of a bassline
mirroring my heartbeat
inside my head, my feet are light
even to metal, or to some quiet, hollow guitar
i don't touch the ground
and now, still young
i know
(with more belief than i have in any concrete thing)
that in this silly metaphor
we can dance to choreography
or just make it up as we go
and me?
i let the music show me
where to step
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
This is the beat
for the future.
Slow.
Continuous.
Quick in paces.
Slow in the right
places.
The bassline of the future
should be love.
Let's make it as slow and continuous as our ideals have said it would be.
In the last moments
of the world
let every man kiss every man
every woman kiss every woman
every love see love.
Fuhreal,
let's take love
to a whole new level.
Let's make it so beautiful
that we stop killing cockroaches
and poaching
the god's green broaches of branches
full of howler monkeys
howling for conservation against the parasitism
that man has become accustomed to.
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 6:55 PM UTC
Neuroeconomic
Amalgam
Uninitiated
But prescient
Drumming to remember
All last September
Kernels
Nuggets
Mirroring
Neurons
Can take down
Neocons
\|/
Signals
/|\
Subtle infrequent
Lullabies flow into
A numinous bassline
Reverberating Ohm
Indivisible
Mitosis
Becoming us
As the egg aspires
Divine feminine
Holding space
For the new
Phoenix rising
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
my eye lids are heavier
than canvas shopping bags
after a particular gratitious shop
(fret not, i bought your biscuits)
and my heart is full of jangly
indie twee pop with a stomping bassline
that makes me want to dance with
tears in my eyes at times,
happy ones,
the kind that makes old(er) people in
old or stereotypical things proclaim
'turn off that infernal racket'
'what is that god awful noise'
etcetera but less circuituously
look at me world, i'm happy
look at this ******* smile
look at it
look at my yellowed teeth and tell me that i'm not a woman
look at my hair and tell me that i wasn't born with it
look at my face and pretend you've never seen anything so confusing
wait the last one didn't work did it
let me try again
give me the key to the city and i'll give you the key to my heart
okay the last one was a lie but
you get or can hopefully at least begin to grasp the point,
I can recommend some secondary reading if you're interested in reading around the topic.
but yes, where was i?
ah yes,
i'm on the crest of a sugar high
and i think i can see my house from here
i can see the ruins and the new developments going up
and from up here, as always,
everything is pretty ******* beautiful
there's so little air
no wait
another lie, sorry,
there's empty space with nothing in it
not even gas particles
only me and my feelings and
so little room to move in this tiny car
but i'm safe and i'm well
and i'm strapped in tight
and i can see my house from here.
honestly, it's that one right there.
i can see myself at the window,
eating a bagel with margarine
and wondering how the hell
I ever got so high off the ground.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Your labyrinth of kinetic chemistry ignites
desire inside my soul, shimmering brown
eyes a wave of passion seducing my flesh,
honey brown cheeks a hypnotic place of
brilliant dreams, enticing kingdoms, soft
lips a maze of escapes burning my body,
as I run my hands through your smooth
thick dreads. A lover's harmonic melody
sifts inside my mind, timeless highs
and moonlight skies, mega beats and super
bassline drums sparking my veins. I want
to embrace the rhythm of your **** inside
of me, sweet sounds and emotions rising
all over me, fire building and boiling with
lust, secrets unlocked, jazzy glow, neon
lights under the beautify sky, while I
lay in your arms and feel the ocean of
poetry soar inside my heart.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
Bowing and strumming,
The notes came out a-humming,
Running with most frenzied pace;
Fine musical lace.
Taut strings tremolo,
How oft does sound recollect?
Said solo, "It comes
So oft that we feel neglect.
Our voluptuous curves and
Deep, dark swarthy shades
Are attention never paid,
Praise the other band."
And sang the lonely
Bassline, the cello and sax,
"They think our deep notes empty,
And our playing lax."
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 11:15 PM UTC
I like driving at night
indigo nights in the odd hours of the morning
my tired eyes adjust to the rhythm of the traffic
a slow fluid, tempo, melting into soft orange lights
cars slip in and out of my consciousness
the street illuminated in artificial glows
and manufactured air fills my lungs
forming goosebumps on my skin
my eyes are growing weary
the radio static, constant
tuned to 91.3
plays liquid jazz
dewdrops on my weary mind
and my pulse fills the empty spaces in the bassline
the music melts into the rhythm
the soft lull of the engine humming
the crescendo and decrescendo of tires on pavement
a lullaby
the reflectors twinkle on street
like artificial stars
and the highway-- a tangle of progress
unravels before me
my eyes slip into a dream
I like driving at night
but one day I won't
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC
discipline keeps the mind focussed
a sick laughing in the background
rivers of knowledge, psychology
i got your back if you got mine
ancestors stole my land, my brain
existence revolves around dollars
you don't know the voices in my head
they are trying to control me, kid
how can they spot my very location?
i was born in a dump, my father a drunk
my momma died during my birth; my fault?
let me blow up all the golden buildings
my mind be the place where i make plans
people told me that "slang" was "horrible"
nobody has to like that, you feel me?
my skin color is black and white, you know?
don't let them get into my head, **** voices
can i walk the streets freely? who trusts me?
golden opportunities all over the place
don't ask a nameless what his name is
he will never tell you but shoot someone
it's simply not wise, we want justice
when your heart is turning ice cold
hour of the ******* hour of the sucker
the bassline trembles, i'm shivering
females are entering my safe house
armed with prejudices and dishonor
i'm already dead, words chocked me
too much poetry, nowhere to go
**** this end, i will come back!
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 11:48 PM UTC
It happens quickly.
I'll be rushing down the highway, my mind in a thousand different places, and it happens.
I could be angry with you, or myself, or our circumstances, or not angry at all, but it happens.
It happens quickly.
All it takes is the name of your city.
All it takes is a kid in a uniform,
a song by that one band you like so much,
a stone angel worshipping a god you no longer believe in.
It happens quickly.
All it takes is
that infernal set of railroad tracks we crossed a hundred times,
a glance at my battered, water-damaged watch,
putting gas in my tank and wondering if this is the day that I won't stop driving, the day that I just drive until I can see you and make sure you know that I care, and I always will.
All it takes is one of those little reminders,
those memorial elements, and
I'm gone.
I'm back in that moment that was empty and quiet
but heartwrenchingly vital.
There was nothing but the rise of your chest from slow steady breaths, the sound of your heartbeat pounding like my favorite bassline,
the glimmering stars we couldn't see,
the smell of smoke and wet grass and contentment.
The enveloping feeling that the world will survive if we escaped for an hour,
that regrets are nonexistent,
that for once in my life my inadequacies are not so painfully obvious and I feel loved.
It happens quickly.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
I want to walk
on your wavelength
submerge my mind
into the low frequency
Feel our bodies vibrate
to the rhythm
Of the bassline
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♫♪♪♪♫
I: Lyric Line of Flight
Cavern Club / black leather / German rockers / proto-youth culture groped its way from Liverpool / TV slowly sped up / modernity invented / flown in planes / swallowed in pills / I watch the second Kennedy funeral on the screen in shades of gray rain / warming to mid-60’s hues / into the stratosphere / a lysergic surge / retinal after-images / intensities of nostalgic color / that British courtesy in understatement / Paul’s voice a bassline / George a guru of six-armed confusion / tasteful: now a meaningless word / it was Apollonian-Dionysiac / my childhood’s soundtrack
II: Poem
They grooved—as our world became another
up from caverns to psychedelic flight.
They look so young in melancholic light
harmonizing black and white to color.
So distant—yet within our life’s short span
they grow apart as the hair grows longer
(The West’s resolve to expire grew stronger.)
Quadruplex visage: young god sold to man.
I crack up beholding the mid-Sixties
lost in late-night YouTubes, I start to break.
time past: removed from the complexities
Recalling every song, the beat, the shake…
They sang the primrose path to confusion
nostalgia replacing resolution.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Gimme a funky bassline
Slap that thing like it stole your money
Bring in the sax just right
Get on the floor and bring a honey
Cause we got
Music flowin'
******* blowin,
Everybodies vibin
With the love they're showin
Take your hats off to the band
and give them the respect to dance
When you hear that funky music
Cause It might be your last chance
So get up, down,
round and round
Make a noise complaint out of this town
So get up, down
round and round,
got kick drums by the pound,
So get up, down,
Round and round
Rock this place, to the ground!
Oh, let me give it to ya
Guitars soundin' real real clean,
Good God almighty, it's a party scene
I couldn't find this in my dreams
Let's rip this house down at the seams!
So get up, down,
round and round
Make a noise complaint out of this town
So get up, down
round and round,
got kick drums by the pound,
So get up, down,
Round and round
Rock this place, to the ground!
Oh, let me give it to ya
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
I can't hear your bassline
and i can't hear you clap in time
I tried to understand your rhythm
but someone deleted the rhyme
You have blank ink
and your hair is a mess
you'd never look at me,
i'd never see you undress
i'd hear all your silences
and intepret them in my dreams
Then i'd get it so wrong
and we'd unravel at the seams
I'm not the one
that you want back like you want more
i'm not the one
the thing you are searching for
I see you smilin
and it blows my ambitious mind
all is erased and i laugh,
and all my seams unravel and wind
you shouted through a snowstorm
and i caught your words on my tongue
but alas alack dear you
i am not the one
i read you with affection
i draw your heart on my sleeve
and that i watch as it melts slowly
and the ink begins to grieve
you see what i cannot
i think in colours and words
you think in bubble wrapped clingfilm
and sing silently as a bird
your flight is in rapture
you carry a weightless air
i stop looking for the moment
because you are not here nor there
my mind is colours awash
with thoughts of what is an illusion
its not the rhyme but the rhythm
that gives me this confusion
I am on the gravel
my toes drag behind in the dust
i see what you think you want
its not true love its lust
A bountiful treasure, you told me
this is what i am and are
but i saw your kind once
and you are no shooting star
your eyes look upon me
like you think you know somethin of my mind
but i got fed up with your waiting
your too cruel to be kind
a labyrinth of a maze
is what you seem to be
a mystique within a riddle
i can't figure you out, you see
i thought you were a rainbow
i thought you were the wind
it turns out i was blind
it was me that had sinned
and in all of this whirlwind
this wizard of oz daydream
i pick at my stitches
and unravel at the seam
i thought you were a diamond
but you were just cut glass
a thing of beauty once
now just a piece of ***
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
I sit to write—
no, wait—where was I?
Oh right, the page, the pen, the—
oh, did I feed the dog this morning?
I can’t remember,
but I remember that song I heard last week,
the one with the bassline that sounded like footsteps
on a quiet street at dusk.
I should look it up,
but not now. Not now. Focus.
I try to corral the scatter,
wrestle it into something linear,
but my thoughts sprint off track,
like wild horses too proud to be tamed,
hoofbeats echoing against
the thin walls of my mind.
I hear a whisper of focus,
a fragile, fleeting thing,
but then...
did I pay that bill?
Or was that last week?
The thought derails me,
and suddenly I’m plunging
into twenty different tunnels,
each one darker than the last.
I try to speak,
but the words trip over themselves.
Half a sentence here,
a dangling thought there,
and I wonder if people see
the tangled mess beneath my skin,
if they hear the static,
feel the weight
of a world
moving too fast to grasp.
But sometimes,
in the chaos,
there is brilliance.
A spark, a flicker,
a thread of gold in the storm.
It’s in the moments when my mind leaps,
connecting dots no one else sees—
a kaleidoscope of half-thoughts
somehow finding form.
Still,
the struggle doesn’t end.
It’s hard to explain
what it’s like to live
with a brain that never stops moving,
that stumbles off the rails
just when you need it to stay steady.
But here I am,
sitting again,
lost and found all at once.
I will finish this poem,
or maybe I won’t—
oh, I should clean my desk.
Where was I?
Right.
I sit to write.
Aug 26, 2025
Aug 26, 2025 at 10:29 PM UTC
Needle poised, quiet stakes its claim—
groove’s canyon hums our throat’s refrain.
Hips align to revolutions’ frame,
stylus thirsts for our track unnamed.
Crackle swells like held-breath air,
pulsing bassline where silences pair.
Bridge unwinds—our bodies dare
to etch new music spinning there.
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 10:14 AM UTC
Tonight I saw her for the first time in a long time.
I haven't wanted someone so badly in years
and it was beyond any physical yearning.
It was this visceral knowledge that she
was everything I needed to chase away
the bleakness that I've come to call life.
I hate that about her.
I hate that I've dive-bombed into this
******* pit of depression and anxiety
that has ****** away any self-respect
I may have ever held on to and replaced
it with this archaic notion that I can't be
happy on my own.
I hate it because it's true.
I am validated in the eyes of others
and when there's no one around to see
me I don't know who to be.
I don't know how to be.
I sip and I smoke and I pop
and try to fill the vacancy with
any and everything my body will allow.
I've only come to suicide once and it was so
many years back it feels more like the plot
of a ****** soap opera than a chapter of
my life story.
Clearly I failed and by some miracle
not a soul knows that I ever even tried.
They just thought I was sick.
Well the doctors are long gone but the
sickness still pulses through my veins like
a vapid bassline in a song no one
bothers to learn the words to.
And why should they when it's my song to
sing and I can't even come up with the melody
on my own?
I saw her tonight for the first time in a long time
and the only thing I could bring myself to think
was how much happier she would be talking to
anyone else in this world besides me.
She owns parts of my soul that have no value
because they were pried from a shell that housed no worth.
Everything she means to me serves as a poignant
reminder that I'll only ever be as good as the person
that loves me.
And to her I never meant a thing.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
loser loser loser tired dawn bleary eyed hand curled on flowers
scraping shoe across pavement worn soles kneesocks mr rogers backdrop sky
dialogue written character fake animals fake trees fake streets
nonexistent breeze haze geometry in the sky
pale skin human flaws marks scratches heavy bassline no lyrics
cross legged cold parking lot top of the world where are you
i am here i'm waiting i'm just a loser loser loser
eighties buildings sharp architechture human invention
empty tennis court cracked follow the lines loser loser
shifting not really here just driving urban deterioration
no existentialism just close your eyes you'll be here tomorrow
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC
Walking on a windy, late night crooked street. I call to my city,
To play that soft bassline beat. The one that captures,
The red shade from cheeks. Tonight, I step with ease.
Fresh oiled springs,
Bring a bounce, back into my knees.
Full moons are a flourish for the freaks.
Yet in this dark veil, only loneliness presents a hand,
To dance with me.
I bow at the honor. Emptiness is just the face I need, to imagine,
A smile that never takes its leave. In this heartbeat of a dream,
Moments mirage, and recreate my most cherished scene, from
Our midnight movie marriage, when the space between,
Was only the frills of your dress and,
The stitching on my jeans.
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 4:22 PM UTC
the city we are obligated to call home:
'it's pulsing, like a heartbeat'
really
i
just
want
to
feel
yours. a steady bassline to keep track of,
tap my foot to in this unsteady place called love.
'that? that's just gases rising and light being hit in the right way'
from where your arms are cold around my waist, it seizes my attention that the
moon is nowhere to be found.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 5:13 PM UTC