"bebop" poems
By Arcassin Burnham
We could play with guns like cowboy bebop,
Slay demons like inyunasha,
The blue lights in Tokyo couldn't be anymore beautiful,
Getting a little sensual with small amounts of ******
That's pretty lame,
Kissing me with purple and pink lipstick,
And for that I'll make you anything kawaii,
You could be the crazy chick on fooly cooly,
It wouldnt be bad if you Could do me.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
A ten foot high
sunflower man
gold capped
tooth in
his mouth but
there ain't no plan
yet him wearing
them knotty
dreadlocks again
walking himself
through
Black Folk's yard
in bebop-style
no doubt
along the
avenue road
smoking himself
some of that
sweet sweet gunga and
him full of himself
rasta man
young rapster
you rapscillion
did you bring
the juice
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 10:05 AM UTC
Waltzing through the chaos that life’s left for today,
Dragging along my battered horn in case she wants to play
‘Scuse me, Ms. Bartender, but I’ve got something to say
Ain’t nobody listening to the radio anyway
I don’t need a soapbox, no suit or microphone
Just a space to spread the truth wherever I may roam
I speak straight from the bottom of a bottle left at home
The night is not much easier when you take it on alone
Hear ye, hear ye, gather round to hear a tale
Of dreaming big, working hard, but destined still to fail
Shredding that loopy little melody,
The craziest cat you ever did see
Make you feel so alive, ladies screaming, “Wow boy!”
I jump and I jive, cuz I’m a bebop cowboy
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
To physiciologicaly love some one
Do you have to talk yourself in to it?
Can you one time open your eyes
From a blink
And realize i dont love this person
I need this person to feel how i want to feel
How i think i should feel
To live directly from the heart
No thought more powerful
Than the systematic thought
Comprised as a future setting
The mind in the motion of
Calamitous decent
Into the distant abyss
A following into sympathy
A brightened bliss
Of a systematic reprograming
Of why do i always think of you
When a star burns out
And a fire does settle
A distinct remeberence of
Hey
This burning in my body
When i let my mind
Drift away from. You
Is not anything but the universe
Humming the wind through my ears
The way things should be
Hearing how under the love you give me
Without even knowing it
I am complete
Even when im. Alone
Snd youre alive
Happy
Even alone
With the figment of imagination
Of other people
Being able to handle you
Why wont any other mind perceive
The distinction between
Me chemically loving you
The way you insist your ways
And dont see my own
Because youre so worried about your body
And i frown but inside smile
Because i am the same way
And. You are far too scared to admit it
I am what you wished for
Because youre body was
Either wishing your mind wasnt
And you always decided
But wait. A minute
I wander into the desert
And all i can think about it my band
Hidden some how from the stars
Not there viability
But their influence
Since their pull has way more vibe
Than we would ever think
and so would other people to you
The way i lose pull of the world
And you notice
But only like it for a second
Untill you grasp back
At the blanket you call time
And the way i make it skip for you
Would you even hear all of this
Read into it in your own respect
Because. I love you and i wish you were but only because spirtually i wanted to fill the pop boop bebop
Biochemical rap once
Response
With the fact that you are the best thing that could happen to me
I have no idea why
But you are all i want baby
This is from the heart
But logically i can not depart
With the fear
That you will never love me
The same way
Sister.
The wind dies down untill i mention
That it is all we have in common
But the embers
Oh the embers
1122
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
STROLLING OUT OF TUNE
When the wind blows round it swirls and sweeps memories of what was once there, thoughts of an old song take longer and longer to repair
Began toe tapping almost adding in the clapping but would rather arise maybe explore to find a new prize
Stuck in a cerebral gap this tune may take a map,keeping digging in try to place that gorgeous groove
Set off out the door to not be a bore, soon found myself pacing in time to some hidden rhyme ,waiting for it to arise
Birds and buses beginning to chirp and hum adding their part, as I try to pick up more clues
Taking it in stride feeling this may be a long stroll,that unknown elegy will be a nice surprise
Rambling again, smooth echoes entering my mind hopefully helping to harmonize my next muse
Making the next strut to remove muzak from that rut, picking it up a key or two will surely bring brightness to my eyes
Lost lyrics lingering ,slowly letting go of that ********* guitar maybe a banjo or dobro waiting with a new lick to diffuse
Back to the trail humming along listening to the sky's to drop that song,so will this shuffle bring a new ruffle or just be for the exercise
Again set to travel as the sonnets unravel, hoping that bebop will be part of the hop desiring the dancing, breaking into upbeat prancing finally finding that new melody will be the best news. R..C.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
Slashers Defined
In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.
Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm
Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but, what could have been
Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot
Steve Howe – Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –
Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo
Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure
Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman
Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock
Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen
Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow
Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)
Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz
Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock
Goerge Benson – Jazz
Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock
Marc Farner - Grand Funk Railroad
Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo
Joe Satriani - New age – solo
Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo
Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo
Chet Atkins – jazz, country
John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo
Neal Schon – Journey
Steve Lukather – Toto
Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo
Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo
Leslie West - Mountain, West Bruce & Laing
Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)
Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's
Phil Keaggy – New age Christian
Robin Trower – Procul Harem
Brian May – Queen
Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan
Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues
Carlos Santana – Santana
Ronnie Montrose – Montrose
Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion
Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
_the mythic Esther notwithstanding_;
the only Jewish Miss America was
Bess Myerson; Miss New York, &
exemplar of classic beauty c.1945
studying German philosophy
living on the upper east side;
surrounded by rich Park Avenue
Jews - spewing Nietzschean
Nihilism causing them to _shudder_
at the thought of relatives dragged
from homes never to be seen
again; they don't want to hear
that **** - my buddy Mingus Jr.
bringing mechanical bebop to
his constructed paintings;
on
the other hand, I'm going on & on
about Heidegger & Schopenhauer,
Brian Eno, David Bowie, Hegel,
****** Goebbels & Riefenstahl;
my paintings are violent; as if
Jack the Ripper & James Whistler
were the same guy; all women are
beautiful by nature, but I would've
done it different - put the snooch
on top, the udders on the bottom,
*** in front, arms & legs splayed
out to the sides; yes, that's better,
Diane Arbus, Ann Frank, Hannah
Arendt, Dori Bernstein, Alison
Linefsky & Eva Hesse are more
beautiful than Lilith & Eve mixed;
I hate being called a antisemitic;
it's a painful reminder that at the
moment I don't have a Jewish gf
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
the Beats high on Benzedrine
wandering the upper west side
before there was an Upper West
Side; following the jazz to the
heat; scouting Times Square [& runaways]
for H & down to the Village; where pale
women w/ accents pick up strange
colored dudes on St. Marks Place,
dancing to hiphop; bobbysoxers
transition from Swing to Rock-and-Roll;
becoming universal Harlem hipsters
from anywhere on the globe; she,
a Japanese painter & body artist;
what bebop was to the beats; hot jazz
& jumping ***** jive, ****** & H,
***** & *** ******* **** drunk;
strung out, hitchhiking; writing poetry
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 12:50 PM UTC
bebop, bebop
sway your hips
tap your foot
tap, tap, tap
Cold November Evening
Cambridge, MA
Scarf, Pea coat, Flannel
Hot mulled Cider
Leaves have turned.
Red, orange, yellow.
They clutter the ground.
Wipe your feet.
sing, sing it loud
dance with her
dance with him
one two three four
Body Heat Insulates
472 Massachusetts Ave
Skinny Jeans, Toms Classics
Chilled Brooklyn Lager
Lights on the stage.
Red, orange, yellow.
They warm the atmosphere.
Play one more song.
Don’t let this night end.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
frozen in time he was quite the spectacle
thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines
projected from kaleidoscope eyes
sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions
caught hot handed
both in expectation and reminisce
so awkwardly present
most nights
he spins fairytales
double-dipping moons in molten watches
skewered with his arms
these wooden poles
stirring the coals buried in ashes
he steps lightly.stomps
dances with the rings of saturn
then rolls like thunder
chasing Zeus's sore words
zig-zagging down to earth
ooohhhh…..
he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop
that bebop
but they break for his habit of
making promises
he who holds time in the cave below his tongue
which now juts left off the reef of his lip
slip into
trip - - - skip
fall.into.this.
go mad for the pitch of his sweat
glaring at the spotlight
Dalí
painting worlds in the moments
between your ears and soul
he is god to their populations
and their hymns excite
rhythms ignite
visions of hard candy
tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones
he does not belong in a gallery
no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig
should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius
he makes bombs from tribal instruments
wigwam concoctions
set to test resting souls for pulses
paradiddle defibrillator
triplet stent for arteries
he is tall
and now thin
pressed against the wall as if under interrogation
splitting breath from its carbon
asphyxiated by the frame
he spells his words with motion
I find him
mute
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
chilly morning wind awakens my skin
her mystical electric blue cat
dances in the daylight
me green fox spirit yogas on the hill
dilly-dallying licking air droplets
dreaming of a sacred light,
the mirror meadow is a sphere of reflection,
A rasta moose and a few gnostic bunnies sit in a drum circle
hashing and workin out a rhythm for the dawn....
Bebop bear bares it's soul in the lapis lake,
meditating on his thankful Mother Nature and her blacklight berry provisions,
Technicolor roses nuzzle together by the water,
velvet vines hug willow trees created of patched fabric
as prink energy embraces the wise tai-chi eagles
atop the ruby mountains.
Serene gardens brush away dirt blankets
fire flowers,
light flowers
lilac compassion illuminate the shade
autumn leaves of time flutter toward sky horizons ......
watercolored wickiups
and spray-paint thipis rest closeby
as the timeline continues to be sewn.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:40 AM UTC
Bossa nova, Barcelona, Box and two weeks over,
Music to get hold of,
Newly weds to Right said Fred,
Calypso spot light sun beams down a twinkle baked shoulder to strike a pose.
Bossa nova, what's on, record it,
Promote It with some guile,
He She who stole it,
With limelight their staged arena owned it,
He She dished out the smiles,
They clapped as the show survives,
They danced to each others beat,
Bebop a lula its jive came unique.
Accapella, Bossa nova, Hosanna from the highest,
Bossa nova, a rock n roller, a ballad till midnight,
Encore if you got through the night in hindsight,
Stage Fright had this moment,
What is going on?
Bingo numbers,
Feathers a house!
Bossa nova it aint over till its over as for a starlight it may strike the board with a star face in the sun.
Now maybe, maybe not that's a Bossa nova!
O'Reily@20082014
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Glorious sight, my soul's seen.
Raindrops drum a bebop beat,
her gaze captures my upbeat,
a melody sharp, serene.
Glorious sight, my soul's seen.
Violin strings trace her form,
curves where water carves and warms,
a rhythm fierce, yet pristine.
Glorious sight, my soul's seen.
Her damp dress clings, whispers low,
silken notes the rain disclose,
each chord awakens a dream.
Glorious sight, my soul's seen.
Lightning strikes, my heart takes flight,
her song drowns the storm’s delight,
my forte rises to come clean
Glorious sight, my soul's seen.
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 12:56 PM UTC
But then, in that instant of plastic smiles and disco rain, I strode away from my first cradle. The air was northern and sliced my lungs open into startling clarity sliced my brain open into startling clarity. And when I looked around, I saw, and when I felt around, I touched. My trunk was slapped into shape, and in a blazing radio tower of language it became un-unique. I fuzzed my skull and rejected the lull and became recognizably human.
And while school strobed by in a prosthetic ferris wheel, I jazzed to a different beat. 'Cause my friends were kids, but neon dashed through my veins; playing saxophone with irrational exuberance. I woke every sunrise with an occupation syncopation: they breathed air while I smelled bass guitar solos in the sultry breeze blowing by the office's oasis. And paper is a flimsy wall for desire, and I never could read a point twelve sized STOP. I spread my arms and heart-orchestrated yearnings in the moon-clouded evening in the mist-drenched night in the raindrop-fresh awakening, but grey can't do but see only grey. And neon doesn't come in that shade.
No food but life no air but life no life but life. That advertisement sky is still looking at me, but I can see with my off-beat eyes that it was never a smile, but a frown of grim satisfaction. I was just looking at it upside-around. But my hair is people-colored, and my breath is derby muted, and no one puts money in my can. And then I looked around and saw, and then I felt around and touched, and then I
Those glass windows melted and gaggled themselves across my tongue, spewing honeyed drops on my flaring trombone soliloquies! My vision spiraled into a black pond of bebop and my lids and lashed fainted: up up and away into the fading light of day.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:08 PM UTC
A runaway
ducking landlords
just back from timbuktu
containing
wild
wild
and some rite of
some protective voodoo
dialing for
d
o
l
l
a
r
s
I don't have
I just gotta get through
Beggars call collect and the alms are anyone's ears,
anyone
will do
The receiver,
eternity's choir
Singing
soggy
sorry
gloom
The preacher man's a liar
Just tell God to let me through
My tongue
becomes
a sublimated jazz singer spitting
my soul impromptu
some
R a p i d f i r e
c o n f e t t i
At a party where everyone is mute
Their silence unsettling
the space between rings, music
I'm going to
lose it
stop
traffic has gone bebop
Outside the booth
While the rain is trying at the blues
But I know that song
and I know me
it's way
out
of
tune
Singing, Hey mama!
I'm so sorry I flew the coop
I should of changed from my pajamas
But I still had some furious flu
So I got
down
with
the
sickness
Because the cure won't
fit in a tablespoon
Even still,
I hope to get through
the kind of hope thats put me
At the
bottom of the
booth
Bi t i n g
ankles
moon
Howling
at the
Giving
up
to
a
gambit.
Who am I even talking to?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Beep.
Beep.
Boop.
Beep.
Beep.
Boop.
Boop.
Beep.
Beep.
Bebop.
Boop.
Beep.
Beep.
Boop.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 8:29 PM UTC
My body
an instrument
out of tune--
sour green apple
notes sliced, brown.
Wound too tight like,
clenching coal
in my fists.
Worried about
doing, not being bebop unwinding red roads
let the wings stretch
every breath honey cloud dusk musk...
jazzzzz buzzzzzzing king bee
s
w
i
n
g
i
n
g
vines wild hair hippie tarzan vibe
sssssinging sssssnake ssssssongs
sssssssshattering sssssimulacrum sssssociety
with a firey
lunar
mane
singing
compassionate christ hymns
of the 3 beating hearts
glowing stardust rhythm
pulsing anahata nova lava drip dropping
third-eye s e e d s s e e i n g i & i
embracing the wholly holy flow
of
it is
we are.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
He pairs kinds of rain with kinds of jazz
like some folks do with wine and cheese.
He says a thunderstorm goes best with bebop
Especially if you can time the record just right
for the drums to explode just as the sky does
He says free jazz is for those unpredictable days,
where the rain keeps coming,
but will ebb and flow at it's own pace
He says a light Sunday drizzle is the perfect time
to pull out Miles Davis' Birth of the Cool,
and sip slowly on the moment
I think he may be a synesthete.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
I didn't have to use the bathroom
I just needed to sit
My feet were kind of hurting
****** arch support
Cute, though
The concert is good
Funky chill
Reminds me of Cowboy Bebop
With all the hats and button downs
"See you, space cowboy"
I'm still just sitting in the bathroom
Trying to play the part
I ran away to write a poem
Better move around a little
I can't focus on the band
I think tonight I figured out
What love feels like, looks like
Agape, the right Latin term I think
So many different definitions
For this four letter word
It's this feeling you get
Looking at someone in love
With their own moment
I feel this certain kind of smile spreading
Everything is warm
When you see people happy
Yeah, you feel joy (I hope)
It's just being human
Happiness, as they say
It's contagious
But it's different
This is different
And I'm trying to figure out
How to describe it
Sitting in this God **** stall
-
It's days later now
From when I ran to the bathroom
Figured I might have a better word
Some heightened vocabulary skills
But I don't
This feeling that I had (have)
The warmth inside my body
Seeing these people slip into space
An outer self, void of anything
That grounds them
I went back to the show
Arch support still **** but
I didn't say why I really left
But I knew I needed to go back
I knew I needed to feel
I left to escape my sadness
It trapped my heels in the ground
But I came back to see their sun
And I watched the people float
Weightless in their universe
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
only the
Lord knows
how them
bluebirds sing
all day long
swooping and slashing
you know
that bebop swing
with them
freckle red
stawberries
hanging on
their wings
Lord Lord
all them bluebird wings
through ocean blue sky
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
While I myself do live myself simply,
I am not simply living for myself.
Living is my most ambitious art-piece to date;
to be the author of my life's story
takes a tedious amount of charging
buffalo stamina & alligator patience.
I'm making sure you've not heard a story like mine
because
countless friends, family, misfits and strangers
have lost the passion for their stories,
instead turning over
*their heartbeat
blood spilled pens
& mind jazz
slamdance typewriters*
to some schmuck to write their story
in a vacuumed & pristine chronologically ordered
paint-by-numbers cookie-cutter drivel.
I live
because
my mother ended
the chapter of her burgeoning artistic career prematurely
thanks to her parents telling her
what can you do with art therapy?
I live
because
there's something about that jazz,
& a candlelight bath.
I live
because
far as I know, my father is learning
lasting relationships of which his charming self
struggled to maintain with an in-absentia momma
that moved around to a new school each year
and father who vamoosed shortly after birth.
I live
because
when the mouth of my love
splits into a smile, her eyes
flash pink lemonade and rosemary bebop
in a way which synchronizes to my heartbeat.
I live
because
clouds, especially at dawn,
soothe and dissolve any anxieties
of the day or weeks or months or whatever.
I live
because
I didn't know the smell of cypress,
let alone cassia or frankincense
until I arrived in Toronto which has me curious
as to what other scents I have yet to experience.
I live
because
I'm not yet finished
laughing.
I live
because
words won't stop wafting and wading
around my being until I swallow then sing
their messages aloud,
on paper,
on a park bench,
in someone's eyes.
I live
because
I live.
I live because,
I live.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
twin gulls at the ready!
resting and fidgeting atop a rock outcropping
sister galactic spaceships from cowboy bebop
ancient cutters of the sky, cloud divers and dividers
efficiency is key, swiveling in crisp circumferences
feathered razorblade acrobats
mother nature’s surplus fish-killers
spend their days as lazy air athletes
never in the sea deeper than their beaks
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
I don't write because I can,
or even sometimes because I want to.
I write because words surround me
in the air; glistening, screaming and needling
into my being--
infecting my crimson and azure paths
with their ( { ( { electric cacophony} ) } ), ( )
vibrating sacred whispers of musical patterns /<+>\
dripping directly into my spirit aglow with creation,
imbuing a certain serenity of past, now and future cuneiform tattoos
unto my mind--
high as a shooting star gliding in midnight moonbeams...
It's like when a fish stops moving it will die.
Every day it is a glorious struggle to keep up with myself,
these words,
so as not to drown in the insanity.
These words once inhaled by ancestors, whales and grass
hurl through space, time and the infinite creation
slamming into me;
a mercurial, rose watery doorway portal conduit transmitter
typing bebop lightning striking your match stick soul,
buzzing and manifesting rainbow jazz steps connecting us!
Dishonor would chew me from the inside out
should I not comply.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC