I mean, the sound of an amplified guitar in a room full of people was so hypnotic and addictive to me, that I could cross any kind of border to get on there.
quote by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Guitarist
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
Sealed in its case
Taking up space
I use a pick to play
The guitar, everyday
Playing a chord
Only when I'm bored
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
Its base is wood
Its strings are not
When you cannot play
There is nothing to flaunt
Before you play
Tune the sound
Strum on and on
Until a rhythm is found
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
I
I have nothing to say
No light to use
No music to play
I'm idle
For I have
No guitar to play
poem by Pete Rivera
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hangdog Hotel Room
I go in for singing, I do it for my pay
But the kind of gig I can really dig is swiggin at the break of day
With a few good friends and neighbors into playin the nighttime tunes
So pass the jar and that old guitar in this hangdog hotel room
I believe in magic, a little monkeyshines
But the kind of row I can really hoe is playin in tune on time
With rhythms all around us were like weavers at the loom
So pass the jar and that old guitar in this hangdog hotel room
Oh lord it feels so good to play a nighttime tune
So pass the jar and that old guitar in this hangdog hotel room
When it comes to mornin and goin out at night
Well the kind of test that I like the best is rubbin the wrong girl right
And a few good friends and neighbors in to playin the nighttime tunes
So pass the jar and that old guitar in this hangdog hotel room
Oh lord it feels so good to play a nighttime tune
So pass the jar and that old guitar in this hangdog hotel room
With rhythms all around us were like weavers at the loom
So pass the jar and that old guitar in this hangdog hotel room
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't understand why some people will only accept a guitar if it has an instantly recognizable guitar sound. Finding ways to use the same guitar people have been using for 50 years to make sounds that no one has heard before is truly what gets me off.
quote by Jeff Beck
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hypnotic
Baby come over here
And taste me
Won't you feel my lips
And take me deeper into your arms
Mesmerising
Way you got my Venus rising
Visualising your skin melting into mine
Open up, I'm coming in
Explore original sin
Open up, I'm coming in
Lie back
It's getting so hypnotic
I'm coming up on it
Your love's hypnotic
It's a beautiful way to fly
Surrender your mind
And lose yourself as we rise
Hypnotic
Time is locked into the pulse inside us
In a place they'll never us
Naked, sacred and pure
Hearts racing (racing)
Rhythm so intoxicating (cating)
Letting go and we're free falling
Going, going, gone
Open up, I'm coming in
Explore original sin
Open up, I'm coming in
Lie back
It's getting so hypnotic
I'm coming up on it
Your love's hypnotic
It's a beautiful way to fly
Surrender your mind
And lose yourself as we rise
Hypnotic
Hypnotic, so hypnotic
Open up, I'm coming in
Open up, I'm coming in
So hypnotic
Coming up on it
So hypnotic
So hypnotic
I'm coming up on it
Your love's hypnotic
It's a beautiful way to fly
Surrender your mind
And lose yourself as we rise
Hypnotic
So hypnotic
I'm coming up on it
Your love's hypnotic
It's a beautiful way to fly
Surrender your mind
And lose yourself as we rise
Hypnotic
song performed by by Holly Valance
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fame is addictive. Money is addictive. Attention is addictive. But golf is second to none.
quote by Marc Anthony
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Art of Border
It could be a shield, it could be a cage
The safety sealant, the tying trap
The filter line, the block wall
Border, border, border
The sacred culture, the love crossing
The moral limit, the emotion frame
The rule control, the life permission
Border, border, border
The friction fight, the freedom cut
The bond mark, the fence crack
The counter side, the edge of touch
Border, border, border
Can you keep it as promise
Can you bridge it by hope
The song from deserted corner
Border, border, border
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Guitar.
my guitar has six strings,
it gets lonely when nobody sings,
musical and magical,
my pick makes my guitar sound so magical,
and no matter were i go shes right there,
when i play my guitar people always stare,
we sound so good together,
i hope my guitar will stay with me forever,
my guitar has six strings.
but it gets lonely when no one sings,
my guitar is never out of tune,
it doesnt matter who i play it too,
wether you're happy, mad or feeling blue,
just remember my guitar will help you get thru.
1/11/2009
Copyright ©2009 Jose Murguia
poem by Jose Murguia
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Play For Me My Beloved Guitar
Play for me my beloved guitar
A Love Song for my Dearest whose heart is filled with hurt;
With your strings of gold
Pluck out all her troubles from old
Play for me my beloved guitar
A Ballad for my Son whose life is full of uncertainties;
With your tunes so mellow
To a straight path let him follow
Play for me my beloved guitar
A Lullaby for my Daughter whose life is full of struggles;
With your sound so sweet
Into life's hurdles let her succeed
Play for me my beloved guitar
A Sonnet for my Brothers whose lives seem to be so hard;
With your timbre so soft
Into difficulties let them keep up
Play for me my beloved guitar
A Gospel for the World full of hatred and war;
With your resonance so pleasant
Chaos and crimes be gone
Play for me my beloved guitar
An Ode for My Soul full of burdens of the above;
With your lovely tunes and my dexterous fingers
Healing, inspiring, uplifting, motivating and peaceful songs, we will play together.
10/16/10(17: 27) -GYO Iraq
Monitored or Not It Just Becomes Hypnotic
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.
Toxic.
Toxic.
And nothing exotic will make this erotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And people who want what they want wont stop!
Like the hands of a clock that ticks with a tock!
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Or the chopping heard of meat on a butcher's block!
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop!
People like their beef stewed nice and hot!
And nothing exotic will make this erotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And people who want what they want wont stop!
Like the hands of a clock that ticks with a tock!
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.
Toxic.
Toxic.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.
Toxic.
Toxic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Like people wishing happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit.
Just sit.
And all they have to do is just wait for it!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life-death border
Raining raining and raining
Everywhere there is forest
There is mountain and rain and rain
Forest is full of trees
Mountains and mountains full of
Stones trees and stones stones
Here is a stream here there is water
And it is the border we must cross
Lion and lion tiger and tiger
Here there is a river come and
Come till completion of over
Over of time age birth death
Come my dear friend we are all
Here to make merry to get pleasure
And to cross life death border.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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American Tragedy, Channel 36
with hollow faces
and vomited lips,
they turn on the stage
as the people gawk...
enamored with their lies...
both hypnotic and addictive,
they sell an American tragedy
complete with commercials.
the circus wheel turns,
and the roar of the beat
deafens all hearts to the truth.
while out on the street
human mouths bleed,
and the memory of the living
falls back into the shadows....
as great owls swoop the night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Learning To Live Alone And Be Happy
in my little Bisayan town
the guitar strings are loose
and the sound
becomes musically challenged
i will be having a hard time
with my lyrics
and choice of pitch
because of this faulty guitar
and this
hardheaded guitarman
one day i decided to sing alone
less the guitar
and the guitarist
and then i learned to live
and sing
without so much fuss
without
any need for a guitar
or any accompaniment
surprisingly
i can sing alone and yet
still be in tune
without things
without so many people
yes, it is this solitude
and the rest becomes mere surplusage
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Purpose of the seed
How about closing my eyes. Imagining things in any size. Tears are coming between my eye lie. Yell i see my heart here not being fit. Stretching guitar telling me your not belong here. Earth too small, seven skies is up there. Sound of guitar in my gloomy space. Parting my heart to pieces in this place. Here is me imagining the red light. Telling me to stand up for your true right. Sound of stretching guitar in my room. Taking me so above right on top of the doom. Dance splashing out of my restless body. All this burning years thats all i study. Now doesnt matter what i want or i need. Just like to talk, talk about the purpose of the seed. 25/09/06 birmingham.
poem by Hamid Arzesh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I came from an era when we didn't use electronic instruments. The bass wasn't even amplified. The sound was the sound you got.
This Guitar
He keeps his sercrets
Under his shirt sleeve
And hides his face
In his black hair
It hangs in his eyes
And all the girls think he's so cute
Why can't they see it?
Sometimes
He hides behind the school
And plays his guitar
It's so beautiful;
The rhythm he plays
No one notices what he does when he goes home
Because his mom's always drunk
And his dad's abusing her
And the boy tries to step in
To stop his mother from getting hit anymore
But it doesn't work
His father hits him instead
And he goes to his room
And cuts with his knife
Under his shirt sleeve
So no one sees it
And he hides in his room
And plays his guitar
This guitar
He says
Is keeping me alive
If I didn't have this guitar
I would've killed myslef already
Him
And his guitar
poem by Alyssa Ray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What kind of Man is this?
What kind of Man is this?
To embrace this world with a kiss
and show to us the love of God.
What kind of Man is this?
What kind of man is this?
That betrayed You with a kiss
the Son of Man he sent to die.
What kind of man is this?
How can a man do this?
To betray You with a kiss
and sell his soul for silver coins.
What kind of man is this?
What kind of world is mine?
That condemns this Man so fine
and nails Him to a cross of wood.
What kind of world is mine?
What kind of Man is He?
Who gave His life for me
upon that cross of Calvary.
What kind of Man is He?
What kind of man are you?
To do the things you do
and turn your back upon His love.
What kind of man are you?
What kind of man am I?
That I could watch Him die
and remain unmoved by His cry.
What kind of man am I?
Oh Lord I now can see
that You have died for me
and gave Your life a sacrifice
on the Cross of Calvary.
My Lord may I tell you this?
That I've been moved by Your kiss
and come to kneel before Your cross.
My Lord may I tell you this?
Forgive me Lord I cry
that for me You had to die.
It was the only way to save
such a sinful wretch as I.
Cross border
Cross border dispute
Always incessant
Southwind has no used.
people here with everything
In thier possession
Looked sad and helpless.
People struggle for survival
No way out.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Palimpsest For Peace
Cross words cross across crossed wires.
Cross-purposes cross reconciliation off the list
As, crosswise, clockwise and counter-clockwise
Fight for costly cross-border dominance.
Cross voices cross between cross and crescent.
Quiescent sense lessens strength and ends
In senselessness as curses crush courtesy.
Cross-eyed viewpoints squint crossly
As cross-cultural conferences collapse.
Yet, crucially, crossed-fingers aloft,
If antagonists acquiesced in crossing over
To foster lost respect and tolerance,
We could cross off the past of bitterness,
Gross antipathy and once-crossed swords,
As cross-cooperation is consummated
As effortlessly as simply casting away
An anachronistic acrostic cryptic crossword.
poem by C. Richard Miles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All gut strings. That's just the first kind of guitar I played, it was a nylon string guitar. And to me, it's the purest form of guitar making, and I just enjoy doing it.
Guitar Man
(words & music by hubbard)
Well, I quit my job down at the car wash,
Left my mama a goodbye note,
By sundown Id left kingston,
With my guitar under my coat,
I hitchhiked all the way down to memphis,
Got a room at the ymca,
For the next three weeks I went huntin them nights,
Just lookin for a place to play,
Well, I thought my pickin would set em on fire,
But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man.
Well, I nearly bout starved to death down in memphis,
I run outta money and luck,
So I bought me a ride down to macon, georgia,
On a overloaded poultry truck,
I thumbed on down to panama city,
Started pickin out some o them all night bars,
Hopin I could make myself a dollar,
Makin music on my guitar,
I got the same old story at them all night piers,
There aint no room around here for a guitar man
We dont need a guitar man, son
So I slept in the hobo jungles,
Roamed a thousand miles of track,
Till I found myself in mobile alabama,
At a club they call big jacks,
A little four-piece band was jammin,
So I took my guitar and I sat in,
I showed em what a band would sound like,
With a swingin little guitar man.
Show em, son
If you ever take a trip down to the ocean,
Find yourself down around mobile,
Make it on out to a club called jacks,
If you got a little time to kill,
Just follow that crowd of people,
Youll wind up out on his dance floor,
Diggin the finest little five-piece group,
Up and down the gulf of mexico,
Guess whos leadin that five-piece band,
Well, wouldnt ya know, its that swingin little guitar man.
The tv-special verse:
Well, I came a long way from the carwash,
Got to where I said Id get
Now that Im here I know for sure
I really aint got there yet
Think Ill start all over
Swing my guitar over my back
Im gonna get myself back on the track
Ill never, never ever look back
Ill never be more than what I am
Wouldnt you know
I m a swinging little guitar man
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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