I was much distressed by next door people who had twin babies and played the violin; but one of the twins died, and the other has eaten the fiddle, so all is peace.
quote by Edward Lear
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Violin
Four strings across the bridge,
Ready to carry me over,
Over the quavers, drunk in the bars,
Out of the realm of the orchestra,
Out of the realm of the orchestra.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Filling me up with the shivers and quivers.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Paganini up on the chimney,
Lord of the dance,
With nero and old nicky.
Whack that devil
Into my fiddlestick!
Give me the banshees for b.v.s,*
Give me the banshees for b.v.s.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-dee.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-diddle-dee-dee!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On that Friday
On that day
Babies were born
Elderly died
Flowers bloomed
Crops grew
Breezes blew
The sun crossed the sky
On that day
Some men cursed
Other men worked
Some women sighed
Children played
Babies cried
People walked the earth
On that day
Birds sang
Insects chirped
Donkey’s brayed
Dogs barked
Fish jumped
Rivers ran to the seas
On that day
People woke
People ate
People spoke
People loved
People slept
The sun rose and set
On that day
Everything was the same
Until He died
So that everything changed
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Vanessa Mae
after the fiddle in the wildest harmonies
of your classical violin
please come to my room and fiddle
the best of all the best songs
the base, the tip of my top, the
giggle of the gigs inside my
underwear, there is this fire
that damns me to an eternal longing
this madness not anymore bound
to a second fiddle. play me, please.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Twos and twins
Twins are not two; they are distinct from two.
Eyes are twins; breasts are twins; so are legs.
Two noses aren’t twins, nor two faces.
Twines are not together nor separate.
By friendship two cannot become twins
Bur sexual relation can make two twins.
Twins are held by a link so hard to split.
Lovers are twins, neither one nor two.
30.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dum Dum Diddle
I can hear how you work, practising hard
Playing night and day, woah-oh
And it sounds better now
Yes, you improve every time you play, woah-oh
But its bad
Youre so sad
And youre only smiling
When you play your violin
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Wish I was, dum-dum-diddle, your darling fiddle
But I think you dont know that I exist
Im the quiet kind, woah-oh
From the day when I first listened to you
Youve been on my mind, woah-oh
You dont care
Its not fair
And youre only smiling
When you play your violin
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Wish I was, dum-dum-diddle, your darling fiddle
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It was really amazing. I mean, he'd never mentioned that he played in the symphony, like serious violin playing, not fiddle playing. And he just blew us away.
At the Railway Station, Upways
'There is not much that I can do,
For I've no money that's quite my own!'
Spoke up the pitying child--
A little boy with a violin
At the station before the train came in,--
'But I can play my fiddle to you,
And a nice one 'tis, and good in tone!'
The man in the handcuffs smiled;
The constable looked, and he smiled too,
As the fiddle began to twang;
And the man in the handcuffs suddenly sang
With grimful glee:
'This life so free
Is the thing for me!'
And the constable smiled, and said no word,
As if unconscious of what he heard;
And so they went on till the train came in--
The convict, and boy with the violin.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Blue Blooded Woman
Blue blooded womans
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
The lady I love loves silk and satin
She was raised uptown with a silver spoon
Well, I was born on a farm just south of jackson
We had an old ford tractor and a country moon
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
Shes saks fifth avenue perfection
Caviar and dignified
Well, I live my life in wal mart fashion
And I like my sushi southern fried
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
Shes a blue blooded woman, Im a redneck man.
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Old Man
This song was first released on the rhymes and reasons album. it is the only album it has been released on.
(these words are incorrect at this time)
My old man had a round of soul
Hed hear an old freight train
Then hed have to go
Said hed been blessed with a gypsy bone
Thats the reason they guessed
Hed been cursed to roam
Came into town back before the war
Didnt even know what it
Was he was looking for
He carried a tattered bag for his violin
It was full of lots of songs
Of places he had been
He talked real easy
Had a smiling way to pass abn^. to you
When his fiddle played
Making people drop their cares and woes
To hum out loud those tunes
That his fiddle howed
Till the people there began to join that sound
And everyone in town was
Laughing, singing, dancing round
Like the fiddlers tune was
All the years that passed
That love would keep them warm
All their lives theyd share
A dream come true
All because she danced while his fiddle tuned
My old man had a round of soul
Hed hear an old freight train
Then hed have to go
All that I recall said when I was young
No one else could really
Sing those songs he sung
Words and music by walker
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Time Fiddle
(Vince Gill / Leslie Satcher)
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Play an old time fiddle song
I might even drink just a little
If you play Little Jolie Blon
If you're lookin' or me
I'm liable to be
In the middle of the ol' dance floor
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
First Chorus:
I wanna throw down on a hoe down
Hanging with the people I know
Hear the sweet sound
Of a breakdown
When you put a little rosin on the bow
Y'all come on over when the sun goes down
Bang on the ol' screen door
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
I miss ol' Herman Stover
Playin' Listen To The Mockingbird
It was Piedmont, Oklahoma
It was the sweetest sound I ever heard
Skinny ol' man in a cowboy band
You could barely get the people in the door
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
Second Chorus:
I wanna throw down on a hoe down
Hanging with the people I know
Hear the sweet sound
Of a breakdown
When you put a little rosin on the bow
Play diggy diggy li
Diggy diggy lo
The a little Cotten-Eyed Joe
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
First chorus:
Y'all come on over when the sun goes down
Bang on the ol' screen door
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore...
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Itching Heels
FU' de peace o' my eachin' heels, set down;
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'.
Don' you see how dat melody stuhs me up
An' baigs me to tek to de flo'?
You knows I's a Christian, good an' strong;
I wusship f'om June to June;
My pra'ahs dey ah loud an' my hymns ah long:
I baig you don' fiddle dat chune.
I's a crick in my back an' a misery hyeah
Whaih de j'ints's gittin' ol' an' stiff,
But hit seems lak you brings me de bref o' my youf;
W'y, I's suttain I noticed a w'iff.
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo', my chile,
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo';
I'll git up an' taih up dis groun' fu' a mile,
An' den I'll be chu'ched fu' it, sho'.
Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo', I say,
An' fiddle it loud an' fas':
I's a youngstah ergin in de mi'st o' my sin;
De p'esent's gone back to de pas'.
I'll dance to dat chune, so des fiddle erway;
I knows how de backslidah feels;
So fiddle it on 'twell de break o' de day
Fu' de sake o' my eachin' heels.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Its What I Am
(john calvert/aaron sain)
I got my first guitar when I was just a boy
I was playing the blues instead of playing with toys
Listening to the opry and dreaming of the neon lights
So it was late to bed and early to rise
I worked the field all day and the crowd all night
My finger on the trigger and nashville in my sights
Im the real thing and I sing songs about real life
And I never heard a fiddle called a violin
Never really worried if I fit in
Country aint what I sing its what I am
This hat aint something I wear for style
These boots have been around a while
Country aint what I sing its what I am
I learned to drive on a dirt road
Cruised the strip on rock and roll
And drove around on miles and miles of texas
And as I grew daddy showed me now
To earn a living by the sweat of my brow
But he never made me follow in his steps
He said work hard and let the good lord do the rest
And I never heard a fiddle called a violin
Never really worried if I fit in
Country aint what I sing its what I am
This truck aint something I drive for style
These boots have been around a while
Country aint what I sing its what I am
And I never heard a fiddle called a violin
Never really worried if I fit in
Country aint what I sing its what I am
This hat aint something I wear for style
These boots have been around a while
Country aint what I sing its what I am
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Pen
Oh, the people would come from far and away,
They'd dance all night 'till the break of day,
When the caller would holler "Do-si-do,"
You knew Uncle Pen was ready to go.
Late in the evening about sun down,
High on the hill and above the town,
Uncle Pen played the fiddle, lord a how it'd ring,
You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing.
Oh, he played an old piece he called Soldier's Joy,
And he had one he called Boston Boy,
The greatest of all was Ginny Lyn,
To me that's where the fiddlin begin.
(chorus)
Oh, I'll never forget that mournful day,
When Uncle Pen was called away,
They hung up his fiddle, they hung up his bow,
You knew it was time for him to go.
(chorus)
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Third Quartet I made the instruments in pairs - Two different pairs - Violin and viola, and violin and cello. They played very different things from each other all through the whole piece.
quote by Elliott Carter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leli
She does not eat 'fufu',
But they do;
He does not ride a bicycle,
But they do;
And now the pot is calling the kelle black,
For sex and drugs have eaten my people in the land of peace!
This world is being eaten up gradually with negativities,
Oh earth, wind and fire! !
But Leli is here to guide me on;
And like love, peace and care in the sweet land of beauty.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Boa Constrictor
Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Fiddle About
Uncle ernie:
Uncle ernie:
Im your wicked uncle ernie
Im your wicked uncle ernie
Im glad you wont see or hear me
Im glad you wont see or hear me
As I fiddle about
As I fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about !
Fiddle about !
Your mother left me here to mind you
Your mother left me here to mind you
Now Im doing what I want to
Now Im doing what I want to
Fiddling about
Fiddling about
Fiddling about
Fiddling about
Fiddle about!
Fiddle about!
Down with the bedclothes
Down with the bedclothes
Up with the nightshirt!
Up with the nightshirt!
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about !
Fiddle about !
You wont shout as I fiddle about
You wont shout as I fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about !
Fiddle about !
Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle.
Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle.
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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French
(Dedicated to Victor French who died of cancer on June 15,1989)
You starred on Highway to heaven, Carter country and even on Little house on the prairie.
It's sad to know that you are dead and buried.
One moment everything seemed to be fine.
But then we lost you in June of 1989.
Sometimes you had a beard and other times you only had a mustache.
You made a great contribution to TV in the past.
You had a career that shined bright.
But you died at fifty-four and that wasn't right.
When you guest starred on Gunsmoke, you played the bad guy.
People cared about you and hated to see you die.
When you played as the heavy, you never flinched.
Rest in peace, Victor French.
poem by Randy Johnson
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I was playing violin for a long time, about 6 years. It takes a while. You need very patient people in your house when you have a violin.
quote by Kevin Eubanks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Father, With His Arthritic Hands
My father, with his arthritic hands
Closes his door, picks up the bow
Tucks the bit under his chin
Tunes it real low
My father can compete with the world's best bands
My father plays the violin.
His eyes are dim but the notes are clear
His hearing is faulty but we can hear
The songs that pour out from within
People outside stop to listen
When my father plays the violin.
He opens up another world
Far from stress and pain
I become a child again
As without a word
He picks up the bow, tunes it real low
My father plays the violin.
My father with his arthritic hands
Holds a magnifying glass to his eyes to read
He sits out there under the clear blue skies
Now that he can hardly walk
(Luckily my sisters are there when he needs to talk) .
And when its dusk and he enters within
Then with his arthritic hands
Father picks up his violin.
poem by Rani Turton
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