"vocalist" poems
I wish I had a life's moments eraser
To erase all the bad moments from others memories
But I would like to keep them in mine
They give me humility
They give me the charm and qualities I have now
I wish I were beautiful
So that I could not be so nervous when I talk to people
I wish I were a better writer
So that I could be famous for it
I wish I were a better vocalist and that I were musically talented
I can sing already I just want to be better
But I'm the exact opposite
I can't erase my bad moments
I'm not beautiful
And I'm an alright writer, I'm just not the best of them
I can sing good, but I'm just not great
But I wish most of all to be able to have children someday
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
spartan kick the fat *****
with their freshman album
hallucinogenic state of paranoia
a ******** screamo band
I will be the lead vocalist
I will take a hit of acid before each show and scream poetry while guitarist etc. play brutal ******* downtuned music behind it.
throw rager ******* shows
be like a cult band
get ******* famous
live ******* life
do drugs and be successful
stay classy kids
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
1) 12 thousand tweets and none of them are substantial. They're becoming less and less about you though. Maybe that's what is substantial about them.
2) Something in the way you wrap sin in worship.
3) I'm an arson waiting to happen, is the funeral pyre really necessary?
4) Writing about you angrily isn't doing it anymore. I want to smash bricks through windshields that used to hold flowers I bought you.
5) Looks like you're not at the bottom of this one either. ****
6) My love has always been leprosy.
7) You're the interlude, not the chorus. But, that's okay I'm a terrible vocalist anyway.
8) She wants to date boys that are self aware and boy did she hit the jackpot.
9) You smile with the grace of grandmothers and I'm a bad boy like your grandpa after the War.
10) Can I cut out your grin and put in on the wall next to my framed poster of Bob Dylan and Charles Bukowski?
11) Trace my outline in chalk when I finally drink myself to sleep. I'm euthanizing the pieces of me that belong to you.
12) If I find you in Heaven won't you be in his arms? If I find you in Hell won't you be my torment?
13) You make me feel as insignificant as God does and I think that says something about prayer.
14) I quit paying my phone bill so I'd quit dialing your number like a suicide hotline.
15) My teeth are rotten like the lies that spill out of my teeth. You find me beautiful and I've never been more self-conscious.
16) Your silence fills my abdomen like daggers and words clot where crimson should flow.
17) Loving you is ************
18) My heart is at a crossroads and you're drowning in dust in the rearview mirror.
19) You prefer the subtle burns. The flames so hot they sever nerve endings when they lick your fingers the way I imagine I would.
20) She sings the body electric and I'm forced to worship her through computer screens and the scratch of needle on vinyl.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
All my friends are fictional. Anyone who can come close to understanding me is black ink on paper...or, I suppose, a screen. The words seem to be extracted from my own mind, and in some sense, they are, or at least the meaning I've given to them. I think the author and I would get along, but of course, I'll never know. Provoke the melancholy, poke the sleeping bear. Look up into the air and wonder "Why?". "Why everything? Why anything? Why do I keep asking why? Why do I waste my time with empty questions?". Some of my friends are sound waves. I think I would get along with the vocalist, or even, the guitarist. Not the drummer though. Never got along with drummers too well. I listen, as they speak to me in a foreign, yet, familiar language. A sort of tounges, a melodic pig-latin. A nearly dying, or, freshly dead language. A corpse comprised of chords. I think, "They must be just like me. They understand how asinine of an existence us humans have". But, I'll never really know. A painting or a picture that I often let my eyes visit is my longest, dearest, friend. With strokes and lines in colors that surround me and embrace me with their vivid visual prowess as a sort of pet. A silent friend. A friend whose company alone is enough to warm me. And I think, "Wow, I wish I could make things like that. I wish I could speak without words and without fear". And then I meet the artist, or at least, read his or her statement, and realize that the speech intended to be delivered was something else entirely, and usually not achieved without enduring his or her own self-projected labrynth filled with pits of fear and dead-ends. And I realize that I can make things like that, that ultimately. I just did. By creating the meaning that I thought was their intention, I drew my own maze, all that's missing, is the courage to endure it. And I think, "Wow, what a lonely sad soul that artist must be. No one will understand what they are trying to say the first time around. They will constantly be frustrated with the mundane experience of incessantly repeating themselves. They will make enemies out of the very things they once loved. They will isolate themselves from those who may have given them everything they wanted."
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
I argue the point and take a stand. How is eating food and sliding a fork in and out of your mouth so much different than a kiss? It is a sensational thing to be fully present for either but if I cannot be kissed I will eat like it is my ***
A hard chair. Sit upright. Dress right..or undress just right.Heels of course. No Tv. NO PC. Silence or the Cocteau Twins Treasure.
Treasure is the third studio album by Scottish alternative rock band Cocteau Twins. It was released on 1 November 1984, through record label 4AD. With this album, the band settled on what would, from then on, be their primary lineup: vocalist Elizabeth Fraser, guitarist Robin Guthrie and bass guitarist Simon Raymonde.
The album reached number 29 on the UK Albums Chart, becoming the band's first UK Top 40 album, and charted for 8 weeks.[9] It also became one of the band's most critically successful releases, although the band themselves have expressed dismay at it. Know your ******* music!
Sit proper and nice. Make a nice table setting-IMPRESS YOURSELF!!!! I mean **** who is in your mouth?? You have more sensations all over than you use..I might spank you if you do not do a nice setting and snap a photo..you know I want to sea green IT!!!
Now take the time to feel the complexity of the flavors built, skill involved-maybe a ******* KILT!
Feel the sliding of the FORK IN AND OUT..little strokes in your pout.
Let is slide so slowly out..feel the edges..nice and smooth..let it slide feel that tine groove.
Chew so succulent and slow..feel the textures and LET THOUGHTS GO
Feel the flow, taste everything within it sink below.
Belly warm, food is desire..imagination and being present is all that is required~
The best way to treat myself is some fine dining. Living watercress & Italian parsley- balsamic vinegar salad on the side of a tempting dish of white beans with sun dried tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, celery, cilantro,orange peppers and some garlic and chili paste with a lemon slice I ate right away and dashed the whole thing with a drizzle of balsamic. I did not taste test anything. I know what a good balance is. My meal was a 5 star worthy dish. I ate everything on my plate.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Sometimes the world is white,
Colorless and on flight
With a million, billion tiny stars,
Who really aren't so tiny after all.
Who really chose blue for the sky, anyways?
Some painter's eye,
Not satisfied with conventional things,
Like butterflies.
Or kings with their wings-
They flap around too high for him.
Kings' men too low-
Like the children found in the crowd of a well loved show.
The vocalist vomits words-
They mop it up, loved verses
Shouted at the tips of their tongues,
Out at sea.
Or was it see?
I can't really remember,
Everything is so confused these days;
Who really chose blue for the sky, anyways?
Yellow is a much more fine color.
More satisfactory to feel.
Mellow yellow.
Blue is feeling blue-
And maybe that's why the world is so sad.
Maybe the sky would be red if the world more mad-
But let's be honest, the world is already full of red.
The blood in our veins,
The dead laid to rest underground.
Ever stopped to wonder if their minds are still breathing?
I do, too.
But they're stuck with a decaying body.
And we're stuck with blue.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
They baptized all us children
At that old country church
They saved this wild young crazy man
From going bad to worse
That old preacher took my hand there
And he walked me to the creek
When he dipped me in the water
He knew who I would meet...
I'LL ALWAYS LOVE
OLD SWEETWATER CHURCH
THEY TAUGHT ME I SHOULD LOVE THE LORD
AND PUT MY NEIGHBOR FIRST
IF YOU EVER DRINK THE WATER
IT SURE WILL EASE YOUR THIRST
I'LL ALWAYS LOVE
OLD SWEETWATER CHURCH
When we sung Amazing Grace
We sung it from the heart
The words from that old preacher man
They always hit their mark
We could feel that spirit move us
Up there on our front row seat
That good old time religion lives
In that chapel by the creek
CHORUS
Bridge:
Now sometimes when I wander
Too far from the truth
I look back and remember
The lessons of my youth.....
CHORUS
From a song with vocalist Jeff Allen
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 11:47 AM UTC
"It's good to have a schedule, 'cause then you'll have at least pseudo-legitimate excuses not to do things you want to do even less than what's scheduled. It can also be nice to have a regular rhythm in Life other than your heartbeat and breathing, which, if you're like me, go overlooked enough as it is."
"If I need more rhythm in my life, I play drums."
"You fancy yourself a percussionist too, eh?
Well, for a fellow clock, you're pretty **** sharp!
What the hell you talkin' to me for? You got it already."
"Just finish tuning that guitar already. 'Open Z minor,' right?"
"It's 'drop go-fuck-yourself,' actually. Your mom's favorite."
"Funny, your mom loves it when I bang with my eyes closed."
"Alright, both of you: shut it before I leave both of your moms beggin' for more. After last time, they sure as **** know we bassists go deeper."
"As the frontman and vocalist, all I have to say is that worthy ladies appreciate the guys who are confident and good with their mouths, so y'alls gotta be sure to get in on those backup vocals! Also, before I forget: please ask your moms about my Funkadelic records. When things have gotten a little too freaky, I tend to be in a hurry. Whips, latex, chains, ******* ball-gags, belts, oils, sandpaper, rubbing alcohol, vinyl, blowtorches, candles, wine.. you know how it is: it can be hard to remember everything you leave in the locker at the end of a long day at the gym!"
"Hah, I'm sure. But, like I was saying.. we need to schedule more gigs."
"I already scheduled some more with your m-"
"I know. She told me."
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Time is,
Venus that winks flirtatiously at night,
sunflowers that constantly chase the sun,
roses that bloom so fastastically,
an ancient tree that sways like the vicissitudes of life,
magic of wind and frost,
alternation of summer heat and cold wave,
meditative bell in a quiet secluded temple,
a sublime painting by a skilled artist,
ripples on a hometown river,
a journey across a strange vast desert,
candles of lovesickness,
tinkling spinning baby mobiles,
rolling plains of grasses,
little drawings on a cold window pane,
rotation of the globe of a tellurion,
attention-getting paper airplane in the air,
a vocalist waving a pen in his hand,
familiar places in the rearview mirror,
sailing of a dream around the clock,
light bulbs in Einsteins’ head,
a love poem hiding in a textbook,
time is,
changes in appearances,
refined life experiences,
firm tempered eyes,
wisdom that shines,
so brightly.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
Cosmic dust,
run around the cloudless sky.
Angelic voices,
Sublime with the silent night.
Oleic vocalist of Ibredeic origin,
spin macho skulls like some bottles of dry gin.
Lanky keyboardist of jeremic extraction,
blends those notes to audience satisfaction.
Bees buzz in their budding hive,
preparing to fly away some sunny night.
Trapped in a summer,
no space to run further.
loosing those strings,
built by camp stings.
Drowns those feelings,
in the ocean of friendship.
Don't run to a stranger,
Just to have a taste of life outside the manger.
Don't forget years of shared hopes and strives,
Just for the promise of a ride
or nuptial flight.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
My sentences are forming on the remaining rusting hinges of over exersion
Awake - if my open eyes and rote memory skills constitute my presence than I was with you guys for the last 14 hours
Please go now
Too many people in my room
Conversations strangling the beauty of a human voice
No wonder we like a talented vocalist so much
One person discovering the pinnacle of their unique interpretation of sound with emotion
Such a delicate process to find the balance that other people can escape into
Tonight there is nowhere to escape to
Instruments and a quiet place I can write- a rich palette to draw from -
interpret -
I really do hope this something I believe in is worthy
- I'm not sure I will ever be a mother but I have projects manifesting inside me-
their slow birth and evolution is fulfilling
Although ...
tomorrow.... I won't remember writing this, but ill sweat the subliminal loneliness that comes with a practical and self sufficient artist's patience.
Surly and divided
decidedly sweet,
you'll see the smiling me rush through the hallways
Are you spinning yourself in the echoes of many girls with high heels on?
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
Walking a little bit sideways
While on the wrong side of the road
several weeks flow into days
and every prince is just a toad
though the nothings are a something
'cause the world is viewed through eyes
of a vocalist that cannot sing
and fancy men without a tie
cause suicide is just another way to die
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 4:27 AM UTC
Is that a black mote I espy,
Or a still, simpering fly?
Breathing the words of our king,
So soft the susurations ring
That I must strain to hear
And still it come not clear?
Must I sit and wonder
Of I've lived asunder
When the tiny, dark vocalist
Rests calmly from Life's cold jest
On the white wall adjacent
To me? Oh! If only I knew what it meant
When he lay glassy and grey
In the receding light of day -
I bet, dare I say,
He doesn't matter in the fall -
He doesn't! No...
Not at all.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
I hope that when Love comes into my life, he knocks.
That he is warm and smells like hay, like wet earth and roses, like my father.
that he is the same in every light, every angle, in black and white and color. That his daddy taught him how to fix things, and a Phillips looks good on him. When he says my name, I'll hear Texas, North Carolina and Oklahoma, long hot drives and a dust filled cab.
When he sees my shelves are crooked, he pulls nails
out of his pockets, he has pistols in his glove compartment, *****
jeans but cleans up nice, that when I say that I love Jesus he
reaches for my hair and says of course you do.
When Love comes, I hope he waits at the door because I take a while to get ready. I've been perfecting my heart for ages, softening my
soul to room temperature, polishing the pottery and brushing my hair back. I've been searching for the perfect shade of lipstick, one that
reminds him of a dream, an old brick building where he once
found me, where we broke bread and communed and
when he woke up, he left this old life and
came in search of something new
someone, new, me.
That when love comes, he's neither relieved or overwhelmed. He might
breathe a sigh of joy over I didn't know when it was gonna happen, but here we are. And Everything we've done up until that point is
an instrumental, everyone else a backing vocalist singing
harmonies to the way we laugh. When Love comes he'll
probably know. We'll probably glow brighter.
we'll probably glow brighter.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
if a person is famous
they name a bridge after you or
a street
at least a rest stop
on the turnpike
greatness
however
is a different matter ...
melodious percussion
the guitar player
in dark sunglasses
wearing a fedora hat
the brim pulled down
the vocalist
with a voice
like rain
you find greatness
in the strangest of places
a pint of bourbon
a poem
or
at
a strip mall on rt. 9
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 11:36 AM UTC
sure I'd **** you
if you want to
but conditions apply
there's a list of reasons why
you may deny my acceptance
1. turn off the lights
I feel safer under the shelter
of a night sky illusion
where your hands are guides
to the lines of my body
and you're too distracted to draw conclusions
about the fact that i gained ten pounds
it sounds like I want to hide from you
but in truth it's not you
it's the curves of my stomach
the stretch marks on my legs
only the light can reveal my disfigured shape
2. don't leave hickey's on my neck
my skin is a blank canvas
yet to be burdened with bruises
so there are no excuses
for leaving them where eyes roam
you don't have to be gentle
I don't mind coming home
and seeing your art work
but I don't want to have to explain
it will **** the beauty
when everyone can see
what somebody else could do to me
3. don't make promises you won't keep
don't decide to hold me
and tell me you love me
I accept your arms around my shoulders
I will not listen to your words
murmurs of nothing mean nothing to me
and I find it hard to believe
another girl won't fill the space
in the bed I'd once been
if it isn't forever
then let's not pretend
i'd much rather love you
and say you're a friend
4. play records in the back
I don't want to hear silence
or the sound of our movement
anything but nothing
would be an improvement
the whine of a vocalist hitting my ears
is the only thing that may keep me sane
I can never think straight
this strain on my brain can only be tamed
by the gentle noise
of Arabella in my head
If I can only hear your labored breaths
i will never feel relaxed
when I'm in your bed
5. don't do it again
I know the game
I'm willing to play
but I will not succumb twice
my heart may break the next day
when I realize your phone call
got lost in the mail
so I have to cut ties
because I'm not dumb
I mean nothing more
than any girl you had before
you see I do not pretend
that you love me
I know that tomorrow is the end
so do not ask me to come back
because I will
don't attack my heart with hope
when none remains
agree and i'll **** you
if you still desire
true it seems strange
what I ask is required
I don't think it's too needy
just five simple tasks
but if it's too much
forget that I asked
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
Be, from whatever party you represent?
It's hard to please everyone, when you're in government.
Especially if you're the president.
The voices of negativism loves to speak.
Except many complainers afraid to run for offices of government.
But quick to say, who's the worst president.
Churches seems to be the most vocalist.
Because your views represent things according to them against scriptures.
But they can't accept some truth that's emerging about Jesus.
Besides, if you say they should pay taxes.
Then you see various uproars.
But many quick to say, who's the worst president?
And those celebrities that feels they were done wrong.
Cause the president agenda doesn't line up against their opinions.
All those historians love to address this subject too.
Then in all honesty , its just their views.
The best president is considered by some the worst president too.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
lively music breaks out
from the stage
a friend of mine (Daniel)
his band is playing
the night is hot
to spite the frigid weather
from start of the next set
the crowd's a wreck
many rode hard
now wet with sweat
a female vocalist lit up the scene
with a sonic scream
bodies were flailing around
she kept wailing out
the war rages on
until early morn
everyone screaming and jumping
all passengers caught up in storm
having been transported now
[to a land far away]
for most of the night
i'm feeling ragged
[worn out]
but still pretty high
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
Huge shame this morning
to hear the legend
Keith Flint the rave vocalist
of The Prodigy pass through
to the other side.
Brought tears to my eyes.
been a fan since I was 13
brought all the cd's,
brought a smile
fuelled my desire to dance.
His band The Prodigy's music
radiates pure energy in a fast cycle of
beats per minute,
taking you to another place,
a new high,
so addictive.
It makes you want
to dance in the club,
makes you want a mosh
in one of their concerts;
makes you want to get your body
moving in every way
even exercise in the gym
you can not resist the beats
making you move your feet,
the rhythm makes you want to
move fast, oh how much
you want that sensation to last.
Keith Flint's vocal's
blast out into fire,
the vocal growls
makes your hair stand on end,
the video trippy
full of sounds and
bright bold colours,
exploring an whole
another world.
whole new universe dimension
Amazing vocalist, amazing band
such a shame to lose and too soon,
I never got a chance to
see you mate at one of your gigs
and meet you in person
RIP Keith Flint hope you
have you an amazing
flight to the dance floor
in the sky.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 2:05 PM UTC
I once sat here on my balcony
-around this time I think-
Writing songs out
Phonetically for you all to read..
Eventually I decided to just set
Paper and crayons
On fire while surrounded by
Those three dead bees my mother killed
With my chancleta earlier...
**** was brutal because she was
Yelling while killing them...
And I remember that I couldn't help
But laugh at her and her distraught!
I imagined her as a ******** vocalist for my band..
I think she'd suit a straight-edge band though..
Maybe some Christcore..
But she hates my music and we've grown apart.
But just as I was sitting here melting
And burning stuff, and writing stuff amongst the dead,
I was sitting with them, the bees,
For those past few days when they were alive..
I even took pictures and videos..
I can imagine myself saying "I didn't want them to die"
Because perhaps I didn't want them to die.
"Go **** them! Death to bees! Take this broom! It's on the net!"
But I didn't do it.
I once sat here on my balcony
Around this particular time and
Wrote a similar poem..
I once, but in intervals, did twice
The movement of a single brisk breeze
For double the time of a considerable
Moment amongst the living.
It was deafening.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
i know i was sent away for boy problems
exactly 13,750 kilometres away from all the raw joy pain tears frustration infatuation
those sloppy kisses
you slipped through my lips and whispers of promises
as i cried out in pain when you said everything will be okay
never will i forget
you took the effort to squeeze through the sweaty foggy crowd
heineken in hand
you stuttered as you tried to shout over the vocalist.
dark hair and equally dark eyes.
i should've noticed the telltale
signs
of stay away.
miss you like how a girl addicted to heels would.
getting blisters and before they heal can't wait to get back into them again.
and repeat.
you left the sheet stained.
crimson in red.
you left for the shower
and before long i left for good.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
You are one of the most loving people
I have ever met
Maybe closer to an angel than a human being
Thank you for listening to me
With such understanding
A vocalist, musician, therapist, professor
And soon to be mom too
Is there anything you can't do?
Well,
It is a great joy to spend time with you
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
It started with the statesmen
Then here came the media
Telling us lies, fed by the noble class
But what do we have to say?
After our long wearing day
Just sit and give them our ears
While they are relaxed gulping beers
We will live by the lies
Continue to be blind, in our mind
Thoughtless beyond our eyes
Now we have the vocalist
Surrounding us with their playlist
Giving us what we would like to hear
Nobody wants to be sincere
We will live by the lies
Continue to be blind, in our mind
Thoughtless beyond our eyes
We won’t feel the change
Unless we reason more
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Two petite pretties
pranced before me
paragons of the
impoverished society
that values surface
over depth
The dancing debutantes
Dangled their dangerous
And dubious dispositions
Directly in front of me
Enter stage bad boy
Blustering buffoon
With a silver spoon
So far up his ***
He spewed silver polish
On his nice Polish pants
Cash in hand
He passed around
His affluences
Like it was influenza
Vomiting vague
Platitudes with
So much attitude
As if he had
Anything valid to say
But this crowd was rapt
With the vapid vocalist
He drank expensive ****
To prove he was valid
No valor just vain vagaries
On display to frustrate me
Greatly
They celebrated the success of a
Failing millionaire who was premade
By the fortune that his father made
To bail him out of all of his mistakes
As he played society like a broken violin
I was trying to bring talented art back in
But society placed me in the trash bin
Before I could even begin
To purge the poison
The incurably incurious
Perpetuators of
Shallowness
So I bow out of this
Cause I thought
We were working together
To make each other’s life better
But it turns out I was
Running a race
I did not even know about
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Raw is superior to polish.
Better is worse than before.
Spent a night on the rusted pier,
ain't nobody come here no more.
So, we've gone equals.
We've no settled score.
We've settled down in our hometown,
living life full of galore.
Glamor shots and tequila cops.
Ain't a single night spent alone.
A fistful of whiskey neat,
eyes full of buzzing,
and bonfires made of bone down on the shore.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC