I Got the Blues for You
Pelican blues, jay walking on velvet souls
Somber and detach, mayhem
Pickering the night of pre dawn
The choir of your anger, screaming
In tune to the decaying sounds
Of the strings Silverado
Ascending in D Minor
Descending in G Major
Flavor never a waiver
Impacts……….heart raptures
“Come and sway with me, ” the voices say
“Absorb my tone, within the tone,
You’ll hear the grumble mumble”
Sudden death and numb
The rhythm retires
The blues in dire
What come next will be your desperados
Attach the strings to your yester hellos
Soulful revival
My guitar humbles
The plucking and strumming
Erode…….to your gravely swing
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Related quotes
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
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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
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The Weary Blues
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway ....
He did a lazy sway ....
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--
"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied--
I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.
poem by Langston Hughes
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The Blues Come Around
Once I was happy as I could be but I let a gal make a fool of me
And ever since she let me down the blues come around when the sun comes down
Oh the blues come around oh the blues come around
Lard the blues come around every evenin' when the sun goes down
[ guitar ]
As the sun is in the sky those doggone blues never make me cry
But ever since she left this town the blues come around when the sun goes down
Oh the blues come around...
[ fiddle ]
I've built my castle very high and then she went and said goodbye
Ever since she poured 'em down the blues come around when the sun goes down
Oh the blues come around...
[ steel ]
Once she called me all her own but now she's gone and I'm alone
And every evenin' I'm sorrow bound
Cause the blues come around when the sun goes down
Oh the blues come around...
[ guitar ]
Oh the blues come around...
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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The Blues
The blues of my life
play through my mind
as I strum my guitar
to the beat of my heart
The notes are the years
the strings are the falls
the songs are the faces
the tears are the places
We've seen it all
these blues and me
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Tired
I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.
And I feel as I sit here thinking,
That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings,
And is drawing them up in tune.
I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go –
You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely –
I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
But they have not the same old tone.
I am tired; and that old sorrow
Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might suddenly break
Away from a dam’s control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
A wreck with a snow-white sail,
And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away,
But they only respond with a wail.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Minor Breathing
If only you could see.
What lies behind these fragile eyes.
The knowledge of these tears.
The reason I seem malign.
See, I was never prideful.
And forever, I felt scorned.
One's silence may seem frightful.
When he bows his head forlorn.
Knowing I've never fully triumphed.
Any chaos I have fought.
I cracked my blade in battle.
A repair that can't be bought.
Not pessimistic, nor of naught.
I just see things as they are.
That's probably why I can't believe.
How I've made it this far.
For, every path I trot.
I hear that wretched lonely tone.
And every breath exhaled.
I hear that solemn minor tone.
If only you could feel.
This fixated and tender heart.
These weakening hands still claw.
At it's reflective, fallen shards.
And in my somber dreams.
A cacophony of screams.
This madness, I can take.
Until that melody awakes.
For every move I make.
I hear that wretched lonely tone.
And every vein that pumps.
I hear that solemn minor tone.
That savage, painful tone.
Embedded in my flesh and bone.
The melodic burden drones.
My soul echoes it's metronome.
poem by Aaron Lynn
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Away From My Moody Attitudes
The strumming of strings,
Heard on...
Your guitar,
Expands my mind with your melodies...
No matter if I'm moody.
Or...
Hard to please.
The strumming of strings,
Heard on...
Your guitar,
Expands my mind with your melodies...
No matter if I'm moody.
Or...
Hard to please.
To witness the dew with mist lifting,
In the early morning dawn...
Comes to deliver a fresh acceptance,
With...
A feeling I can't miss,
To let drift away or go on with a need in me...
Internally I ssek to feed as if feasting.
The strumming of strings heard on your guitar,
Delivers a fresh acceptance with...
A feeling I just can't let,
Escape away.
I am not promised a repeating of these unique days.
The strumming of strings heard on your guitar,
Delivers a fresh acceptance with...
A feeling I just can't let,
Escape away.
Only you can move me,
In the way you do...
Away from my moody attitudes.
Only you can move me,
Away from my moody attitudes.
Only you can move me,
In the way you do...
Away from my moody attitudes.
Only you can move me,
In the way you do.
To give me what's overdue.
Only you can move me,
In the way you do.
To give me what's overdue.
Away from my moody attitudes.
And...
Only you can move me,
To give me what's overdue.
Away from my moody attitudes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Get Rhythm
(johnny cash)
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Hey, get rhythm when you get the blues
Get a rock n roll feelin in your bones
Get taps on your toes and just get gone
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Little shoeshine boy never gets low down
But hes got the dirtiest job in town
Bendin low at the peoples feet
On the windy corner of the dirty street
Well, I asked him while he shined my shoes
Howd he keep from gettin the blues
He grinned as he shook his little head
Popped a shoeshine rag and then he said
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Hey, get rhythm when you get the blues
It only costs a dime, just a nickel a shoe
Does a million dollars worth of good for you
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Well, I started to listen to the shoeshine boy
And I thought I was gonna jump for joy
Slapped on the shoe polish left and right
He took a shoeshine rag and he held it tight
He stopped once to wipe the sweat away
I said youre a mighty little boy to be a-workin that way
He said I like it, with a big wide grin
And he kept on poppin and he said again
Hey, get rhythm when you get the blues
Hey, get rhythm when you get the blues
Yes a jumpy rhythm makes you feel so fine
It shakes all the trouble from your worried mind
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Get rhythm when you get the blues
Get a rock n roll feelin in your bones
Get taps on your toes and get gone
Get rhythm when you get the blues
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strings Of Freedom
walk with me..
you and me, not separate
our poem is totality
and our poetry,
is all months,
from january..
to december.
walk with me..
where to decide
the strings of poetry
mixed with both,
the guitar's strings
and the strings..
of all seasons.
walk with me..
it's me, who guides
to all strings,
which said no
and refused to sleep
but refused not..
to dream.
walk with me..
i'm still to wait
for all strings,
walking in time
and resisting,
being jailed..
in the guitar.
poem by Ahmed Khaled
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The Blues Line
Hear blues arrived from Southern starlight,
like musical blackbirds in flight.
Originally with negro spiritual flow,
underlined with the hard blues glow.
Moving across mason dixie line,
discovering Chicago rhythm and rhyme.
Where going electric was the thing,
man did you hear the sounds ring.
The howling wolf amongst others,
Muddy Waters, BB-King were brothers.
Creating chess musical legends anew,
whose fiery blues sound rang true.
Across the Atlantic ocean way,
the Chicago blues found a new day.
A new British scene was born,
another blues voice found form.
Blues stars like the great John Mayall,
created a new sound to set sail.
The Yardbirds and The Cream,
set fire to the blues guitar dream.
Blues music lets us feel,
allowed us to often heal.
Gives rise to higher emotion,
lets us share some sweet devotion.
2012 has blues musicians anew,
sons and daughters take musical cue.
Play those twelve bar song blues,
man have you heard the news.
The blues sound remains forever,
blues cats will forsake never.
As long as sunlight shall shine,
rhythm song beat shall rhyme.
poem by Wayne Falconer
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She's Got The Rhythm ( And I Got The Blues)
Spoken: Ya'll got the rhythm in here tonight?
Crowd noisethenAw Yea,
Old bar stool's feelin' higher
I've started sinkin' lower
The minute that she waltzed right through that door
Not long ago I held her, like a fool I went and left her
Now she's with somebody new out on that floor.
And she's got the rhythm and I got the blues
And she's showin' me how much I had to lose
With her every little move she's tellin' me I'm over you
She's got the rhythm and I've got the blues.
Yee Haw.
--- Instrumental ---
That music's gettin' louder
As my heart keeps beatin' faster
As she spells out regret in perfect time
Well, I thought I wanted freedom but that ball and chain I need 'em
'Cause when you choose sometimes you lose the prize.
'Cause she's got the rhythm and I got the blues
She's showin' me how much I had to lose
With her every little move she's tellin' me I'm over you
She's got the rhythm and I've got the blues.
--- Instrumental ---
Yeah, she's got the rhythm and I got the blues
She's showin' me how much I had to lose
With her every little move she's tellin' me I'm over you
She's got the rhythm and I've got the blues.
Yeah, with her every little move she's tellin' me I'm over you
She's got the rhythm and I got the blues...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Human weakness
Through the breath of death
and sickening blight.
I hear the strings of frailty
The comments of arrogance
The comments of cruelty
I hear the strings of hypocrisy
through the splash of blood
and squish of gore
I hear death all around me
the sun runneth away
the dark has come to stay
I hear infernal laughter all around me
Blood runs over me
runs from my neck
I feel despair inside of me
vision fading swiftly
thoughts rapidly decaying
I hear fallen laughter
as death gives way to slaughter
And the strings of mortality
poem by Matt Daffern
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My Guitar Is Silent Now
My guitar is silent now.
Because you've gone away...
And there's,
No strings attached!
And no song can be matched to that.
And...
My guitar is silent now.
Gone from me is a need to tune up...
A humming done we did.
With happiness,
We celebrated.
And...
My guitar is silent now!
I have a need to sing the blues,
But...
Who would want to believe,
I'm as sad-as-I-can-be.
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
Baby, baby can't you see me deep grieving?
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
My heart is broken into pieces in me!
My guitar is silent now.
Because you've gone away...
And there's,
No strings attached!
And no song can be matched to that.
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
Baby, baby can't you see me deep grieving?
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
My heart is broken into pieces in me!
My guitar is silent now.
Gone from me is a need to tune up...
A humming done we did.
With happiness,
We celebrated.
And...
My guitar is silent now!
I have a need to sing the blues,
But...
Who would want to believe,
I'm as sad-as-I can be.
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
Baby, baby can't you see me deep grieving?
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
My heart is broken into pieces in me!
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
Baby, baby can't you see me deep grieving?
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
My heart is broken into pieces in me!
Woe no no no...woe, no!
My heart is broken into pieces in me!
And...
My guitar,
Is silent now.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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Blues Of The Months
The blues of January,
The blues of February,
The blues of March,
The blues of April,
The blues of May,
The blues of June,
The blues of July,
The blues of August,
The blues of September,
The blues of October,
The blues of November,
The blues of December,
Meet me there if you can!
And like Glory-Land and Merry-land;
But my home will always accept in your sweet blues.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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
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Harp of Heavens Plucked a String
Harp of heavens plucked a string,
Vibrate its metal and iron rings
And the melody so pure, crafted fingers could play
Or is it master's art put into the fine tunes
Magician's spell of the silent night
Flee so pure in the heart of rhythm
My delight
Echoes the land, echoes the skies
And the night and day grey in dawn of a new era
Where a heart is born
The soulful music of harp, laughter of my friend
Puts to tune my rusty strings...
poem by Lama Abbas
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Eulogy of a Blues Master
No music,
not reggae, not punk and certainly not rap,
is more hip, more with it,
than the blues
And no blues musician
was more profound
than John Lee Hooker
Born long, long ago
way down in the state
of Mississippi
He grew up poor
on the Big Muddy
on the delta
amongst other poor negros
amongst poor white folks
amongst segregation, amongst racism
amongst hatred
But he and his guitar
would rise above
to play the rhythm
of an oppressed people
And brother, could he jam!
He dug
Big Legs, Tight Skirts
He drank
One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer
He'd
Boom Boom, Greg Corso music
all night long
And as for his
guitar pickin', huh
He was the Hendrix of the blues
Ain't nobody better'n Johnny Lee!
The King of the Blues!
And even though maybe
you can't hear it,
Somewhere,
Somewhere,
John Lee is still playin' that boogie
poem by Paul the Lion
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