Fingers
I see your fingers
touching tenderly,
reaching out in love
and with great care
plucking at strings and chords
strumming with great skill
and sometimes setting fire
to a tune on your guitar
floating over the piano keys
touching here and there
like a butterfly drifting in the air
tapping keys on the computer keyboard
writing poetry, sometimes songs
singing them along
brushing strokes on a canvass or board
mixing colours to the exact hue
painting images from your head
spreading emotions from the depth of you
magically giving life
dancing along with a rhythm of their own.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
THEY ARE POETS TOO, You are a poet!
THEY ARE POETS TOO, You are a poet!
THOSE who misspell
And those who are still coping up
With their metaphors
The techniques
Of rhyme & beat
Those who think
They do not
Know how to
Write poetry
And those
Who fear
What to say
What to write
What the others say
About their poetry
And those that doubt
Their writing
Abilities
Their thoughts
Their feelings
Their feelings
Their feelings
Yes
Yes
Their feelings
Or those who simply
Fear that they may only
Be displeasing
And disappointing
And those whose
Sense of confidence
About this thing
This poetry
This poem thing
Those that still
Hide what they
Feel to what they
Think
Is prose
Those who think that
Their life
Is not worth
Sharing in the
The beat and
Rhyme of poetry
Behold
The mere thought
About life
About a beating heart
The pulse
The eyes that blink
The fingers fidgety
That type the words
Of feelings
Of feelings
Yes
Yes
About feelings
It is all about feelings
The genuine feelings
Of your life
You type them
Each word
To another word
A chain of words
A long chain of words
Like playing the music
To the piano keys
Like strumming
The strings of a
Flamenco guitar
A certain music
A certain beat
To the sound
Of your computer keys
Hear the beat
And the rhyme
Of your computer keys
Each word
To another word
To a chain of words
To a longer chain of words
You are running a chain of feelings
You are chasing a chain of feelings long chained in your hearts wanting to be free
To be free
To be free
Yes
Yes
You, feeling to be free to run free to be all free
Like you were scattering red rose petals to this pedestal
Like you were sprinkling waters to this garden
Like you were splashing waters in the sea
Like you were bathing playing dancing in the rain
Like you were humming a tune to a trek on a hill
Like you were making love with your beloved the whole night
Behold
A poet in you is born
Behold
You are typing
A poem
You are
Feeling
And you are
By all means
Now a poet
I hereby baptize you
With that name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rose lies on the piano keys....
Rose lies on the piano keys.
It still hears the sounds of music.
Hopelessly dump it lies,
Echoes of love songs arise.
Glowing petals fade by the past shade,
With the yesterday’s love groan.
Black and white keys played
To the only one and his own.
Memories of the fingers remained.
They were beautiful love skill,
A shrill cries of love and pain.
Rose lies on the piano keys…
It’s a memory of the old follies
And the fairies giving the dowries.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
January 30th,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strumming The Strings Of My Heart
I watch you play,
Making a beautiful tune
The strings of the guitar shaking
As you sit in the light of the moon
Your plucking the strings
With great ease
Making a flowing melody
A pretty song, just for me
I continue to watch
You playing your guitar
Making me love you
While your strumming the strings of my heart
These strings will never be touched
By anyone but you
You go where no one else can
Leaving a mark, like a tattoo,
Saying I LOVE YOU
poem by Katniss Everdeen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Keep On Strumming The Guitar Strings
my dear
keep on strumming the guitar strings
on this lonely night
where are the stars
are dead and gone
keep on strumming and let me simply
hum a tune for you
keep on strumming until your fingers
bleed until i stop singing until
the two of us become one
breathing soul
in our chosen spot
of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am Rhythm
When I write I feel me moved like emotions of the heart
Ligaments infused as a pen, when I walk on this chart
I am rhythm I potray the movement of dance
Poetry being music rhythm being ink and a pen
I've found dance partners in these metaphors
Similies being our choreographer, can't wait to see what they have instore
As I move to words on this paper following a routine to a show
Avalanche of rhymes break dance like snow
I am rhythm
I deliver these words like cha cha
Sensual sultry movement coming together like a salsa
Keeping you intoxicated as you long for the warmth of a lover
I keep you moved like the beats of drum
Colourful inuendos, knowing spring has sprung
Harmonical expression through the strings of a guitar
Being able to open any door with the keys of a keyboard
I am rhythm but in essence I'm poetry
and as I become poetry
I redefine rhythm
poem by Kgagamatso Chimelwane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The piano chords
You play the piano chords
In this sonata as well as
In the music of Prokofiev,
Emphatically catching the music's mood.
Fingers seem to stick the keys
And the keys seem to direct the fingers,
When the thumbs move under them.
You both look like a single being,
In together.
The piano seemingly breaks the sounds.
They penetrate my soul,
Searching for the necessary words.
I understand the story of your feelings.
Dedicated to Richard Clayderman
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Same Old Tunes
I sat at my piano tinkering with the keys
and the same old tunes came back to me.
Melodies I had written long ago
that seem to haunt my soul.
It was the rhythm of my life
as the scales moved up and down.
After years of writing ever-haunting melodies
like my life, they drifted away from me.
The comparisons were striking
with the events of life’s ups and downs
and for a few minutes,
I found myself trying to capture
what once had been.
There were no lyrics in my head
to fit to a happy tune.
Only the black and white keys
that lay beneath my fingertips,
playing out the same old tunes
I had written in life and song
all those distant years ago.
13 November 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Selling the Guitar
The old strings of this guitar
they argue with my fingers
Perhaps the E string
with its proud tone
has better things to do
Maybe one night
this guitar
chose to become a piano
or speak other languages
Someone put the words
Out of tune
It no longer understands me
Now the songs refuse to be heard
Now things don't sound the same
And this guitar, I'm selling-
Perhaps has something against my fingers.
poem by Elvis Lantan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Larger World
The tapping of metal to plastic balls
Tells me he’s out practicing his golf
Swings and strokes;
Seems he’s completely stoked over
The re-discovery of an old love.
The clickety-click of my keys tells him
I am renewing an old love of my own;
Writing poetry, visiting hidden worlds
Inside my office computer; attending to
Neglected interests from younger days.
In pursuit of old loves,
Like an artist applies paint to canvas
And creates new landscapes,
Our world is suddenly
Becoming larger.
poem by Carolyn Brunelle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strings Of My Heart
On the keys of a piano,
your fingers play upon the strings of my heart.
Such music fills my soul,
with your sweet notes.
You are the central 'essence' of me,
although we are, so far apart.
Your love vibrates with clarity,
as if a great concerto, is playing, in some vast auditorium.
A symphony floats within my head,
and I hear this 'love' of yours,
it plays my tunes,
and resounds around my 'staccato' afternoons.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A silly poem about keys
Keys can open doors
they can lock you in
keys on a piano
but not on a Violin.
Keys to a safe
inside a vault
keys lost again
well that's your fault.
Keys on an old typewriter
and on a modern laptop
keys stolen by a thief
to break into a shop.
Keys hang on a keyring
or on a fancy chain
but how on earth can you
dropp them down a drain?
Keys for this and that
a key lying under the mat
having to rush to the Vet
it's been swallowed by the cat.
So I'll end this poem now
and try and get my key
I dropped it down a drain
oh stupid and silly me!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Day the Piano Came
His fingers caressed the new, shiny keys, pulling out the strings
of Chopin melodies and chords that tugged at the heart.
We had never heard anything so beautiful as the gentle notes
that rolled into my ears, soft and warm. I shivered
in this warmth. It was too beautiful. This man
was a genius, bringing us this new and beautiful happiness.
That night, while everyone slept, I crept downstairs
and sat at the new piano. The smooth white glistened
under my curious fingertips. They itched to play.
This was a real piano.
I had never seen such an elegantly monstrous instrument,
and it was right here, in my house, under my fingers.
I was wrapped in bliss that night, and in the years
that followed, that silent piano brought me peace.
poem by Zoe Guillory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Enrich My Heart
Play me a great symphony to enrich my heart,
Perform a concerto, to entrance me, please,
This music, so uplifting, always make it a big part
Of your life. Embrace the melody with ease.
Listen with depth to the harmony, which it brings,
Such rhythm will always weave around your day.
The volume of sound, in your mind, forever sings,
And the orchestration bears your cares away.
Dream slowly along, with those gentle tunes, which float,
Soothing your intense and trying world,
Drifting so softly, relaxing down with every note,
Thus letting your very essence, become unfurled.
Play me a great symphony to enrich my heart,
Perform a concerto, to entrance me, please,
Then I'll feel forever, the refrain within me start,
When I hear the euphony exuding from piano keys.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Touching
Touching are words expressed,
When hearts are filled with such emptiness.
Touching is that lost contact,
We long to hold and feel against our chests.
Touching are the flow of memories,
Coming when someone has left.
So touching we are when those times arrive.
And touching we wish,
To be done when the end comes.
As tears are cried.
And those with touching emotions,
Felt with sighs...
Inside.
Rising to surface...
Are not found to be at their best.
When wept!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writing?
What is he writing? Listen to the sounds
Of the keys, how swiftly his fingers move!
The eager and loveliest minute is a thought above,
It is in that touch, the moving touch of sweetness.
Abhorrent and unlucky are some strokes,
A pen sufficed but now the keys happen.
Putting the quick aside, he breathes and sighs
To see the palaces of gold, and the grand towers
That he is writing.
What is he writing? A message of fresh beauty
Has arisen, to wet the mind and everybody’s spirit.
In the temples of thought is recorded a lesson,
That thoughts are written, and their nature is solid.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Drums
I tried to teach her guitar
wrote down tabs, chords
but we didn’t go very far.
She hated the red of her fingers,
the strumming of the string,
and most of all the plucking.
I hate guitars she blurted,
my eyes were bloodshot red
doesn’t she know they’re worth it?
I rolled my eyes, told her to leave
shaking my head
my sister was starting to be a peeve.
She wasn’t having fun,
I understood and sighed,
she did say all she wanted were drums.
poem by Janine Alyssa Navarro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Guitar And A Penutbutter Jar
I sit and play my guitar all day
as my fingers lay on the strings so tight
strumming it lightly
make sounds of pain
my fingers are bleeding but i dont care
the pain i feel inside is much stronger
why am i still alive?
can i take this any longer?
his voice tells me to keep playing on
my hearts want to die after my last song
i reach for the jar of penutbutter
they say there is happyness at the bottom
but they lie
the only thing i have left
is my guitar and an empty penutbutter jar
scrapping at the bottom as it keeps me busy
my hearts are screaming PICK UP THE BLADE! !
dont put it down because its the only happeness you will ever know
its hard to stop some times i give in and do it
the blood flowing from my wrist to my guitar
my tears mixing in
so maybe there is hapyness in
my self mutilation, my guitar
and at the end of an empty penutbutter jar
poem by Sandy Vanity
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beneath Keys Of My Keyboard
what crumbs dwell yonder lie beneath keys of my keyboard?
a delicate art timing precise necessary to keep keyboard keys clean
but alas spilt coffee sugar sweetened is danger ant invitation
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Swing Song
The blatant horns blare strident sound;
Delighted, you laugh and seize
My passive arm, but I have found
Content in the harmonies.
They sound, are silent; please or annoy,
Are not clever, cruel, or coy
Like human qualities.
See agile fingers in frantic flight
Along the smoking row
Of piano keys cut from ebony night
And from the sullied snow
Of the city. Look love, listen love, tell me--
Where does the music come from really,
Where does it really go?
Planets are tensed to a single chord
Of absolute harmony
Sounding from a cosmic keyboard,
Unheard by you and me;
Yet we re attuned; who understands
That can see the judgment-hands
Poised above the keys.
poem by John Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Wonder
Conducted by a cool gentle breeze,
like silent bells, the flower heads swing.
So many giving out songs unsung.
Oh, how their voices need to ring.
Hues in accord are all around us,
each one harmonizing with ease.
I wonder what music we would hear,
if colours met on piano keys.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!