En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Lover's Melody or And from the Oboe Came a Pretty Sound

And from the oboe came a pretty sound
The crescendo called love
From the bell that was his lover's heart
More beautiful than anything
Vivaldi could compose
True, she was an oboe
Alone, in an orchestra of drums, saxophones, and pianos
But she met a guitar
A beautifully carved acoustic instrument
That made a sound like no other
She'd ever heard

Together they made sweet, sweet music
The love-struck oboe wanted to stay
With the guitar, cut a deal, and
Make some records
But, alas, the guitar
Was completely unaware
Of the melody the oboe was playing

From the oboe came a pretty sound
And the guitar, he sung back
Of the returned love
The oboe was looking for,
It was a tune of lament—sad and slow
For he knew he could not give her
What she desired
So he set himself on fire
And from the guitar came a descend

When the oboe found her lover she
picked up what was left of he
and put it in a box of oak
and sailed it off to sea

the oboe knew no sad songs
but she wanted to sing him a tune
so on the beautiful sunset on June
she hummed him what she knew…

…and from the oboe came a pretty sound

poem by Alecia Carroll
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music begins to be 'manipulated' the moment it is interpreted by a conductor or a soloist and played by an orchestra in a hall with a specific acoustic. All these factors 'manipulate' music and so does the fact that I ask the oboe please to play more piano. And you are manipulating the orchestra for one reason only: to get the sound you want. In the recording studio you are using the equipment at hand for exactly the same reason.

quote by Herbert von Karajan
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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One other hobby of mine has been playing the oboe but I have not kept this up after 1969.

quote by Kenneth G. Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orchestrated

Time signature kept,
With a rhythmic tempo...
Coming to rest between beats.
Half steps met and seething sexiness,
Paced and sensual.
And an oboe flows,
Teased by chords of piano keys.
Keeping our tune melodic...
Sweet and orchestrated,
To bait a repeated chorus of love!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I would if I could I’d make a poem

Auditions

I would if I could I’d make a poem
the best you have ever seen
Then you’d see me as I see you
when I see your heart in me

I know I’ll need all the right words
and all in their proper places
I may also need a miracle, If
I’m to capture your embraces

I arranged to hold auditions
but so many words applied
‘big ones pushing to the front
the small ones knocked aside

Piled high in the wings together
all contending for position
Each one claiming a special
gift, an emotion or a mission

Some claimed subtleties of meanings
beyond their usage or their years
Others claimed ‘lyrical syncopation’
like some lexiconic engineers

One insisted – it could offer
Rhythm, Rhyme and alliteration
And simile and harmony
and a yet more syncopation

Those that failed were outraged
making war on the chosen few
in the end my poem collapsed
when they tore the thing in two

As I walked out at the end of the day
with my dreams of love deflated
I saw you with them in a bar nearby
singing a song that they’d created…..

…………………….My piccolo is a big oboe
…………………….beside your synthesizer
…………………….so bang my drum
…………………….and I’ll bite your bum
…………………….and we’ll have fun for hours

What do you mean?
The hell you were?
What, you were auditioning me?
What's he got that I don't?

…………………….My piccolo is a big oboe
…………………….beside your synthesizer
…………………….so bang my drum
…………………….and I’ll bite your bum
…………………….and we’ll have fun for hours

poem by Sean Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I remember once, when I started writing for the alto saxophone, a saxophonist told me to think of it as being like a cross between an oboe and a viola, but louder.

quote by Gavin Bryars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nice To Be Here

Nice to be here hope you agree
Lying in the sun
Lovely weather, must climb a tree
The show has just begun
All the leaves start swaying
To the breeze thats playing
On a thousand violins
And the bees are humming
To a frog sat strumming
On a guitar with only one string
I can see them they cant see me
I feel out of sight
I can see them they cant see me
Much to my delight
And it seems worth noting
Water rats were boating
As a lark began to sing
The sounds kept coming
With jack rabbit loudly drumming
On the side of a biscuit tin
I can see them they cant see me
I feel out of sight
I can see them they cant see me
Much to my delight
Silver minnows were devising
Water ballet so surprising
A mouse played a daffodil
A mole came up blinking
Underneath an owl whos thinking
How he came to be sat on a hill
I can see them they cant see me
I feel out of sight
I can see them they cant see me
Much to my delight
I know you wont believe me
But Im certain that I did see
A mouse playing daffodil
All the band was really jumping
With jack rabbit in there thumping
I found that I couldnt sit still
I just had to make it with them
Cause they played my kind of rhythm
And the bees hummed in harmony
And the owl played his oboe
Then the frogs guitar solo
It was all just too much for me
I know you wont believe me
But Im certain that I did see
A mouse playing daffodil
All the band was really jumping
With jack rabbit in there thumping
I found that I couldnt sit still
...

song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now, guitar was pretty cool. Everybody knew something on the guitar. So I wanted to play guitar, but I told my dad if he wanted me to keep studying something, I'd like to study piano.

quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside Of My Guitar

INSIDE OF MY GUITAR
Melvin Banggollay

When I saw my guitar hanging on the wall
It reminds me that once I do sung with joy
as I passionately air a melody one can enjoy
while my guitar hummed songs I can't recall.

Come inside of my guitar
There's a garden full of star
Shinning to tingle your desire
To hear me even you're afar
For the wind will surely whisper
deep in your hear to remember
my love to thee will be forever.

But now my guitar solemnly rest in the wall
with no sweet tune to hum one can enjoy
For my heart could no longer feel the joy
to air tender melody I love to sing and recall.

I buried my desire to sing forever
For you are no longer here to hear
the love songs I used to proudly offer
whenever we are enjoying together
Sharing melody with my old guitar
that one can even hear from afar
as the wind loved to share its nectar.

poem by Melvin Banggollay
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Music To My Ears

The merry music of a colourful carousel.
The joyous ringing out of church wedding bells.
A bird singing its heart out, high up in a tree.
The waves crashing down upon the salty sea.

The skin of a snare drum, being played with brushes.
A waterfall - the dramatic way that the water rushes.
The audience's excited chatter prior to a show.
The melodious sound of the bassoon or the oboe.

The call of geese - their loud, trumpeting sound.
A music box, as its pretty ballerina dances around.
I adore some accents: some are really top-notch:
I love listening to the Geordies and to the Scotch.

The jangling bells and cracking sticks of Morris Men.
The loud, hourly chiming of London's iconic Big Ben.
The tinkling of wind-chimes, blowing this way and that.
The rhythmic and resonant purring of a contented cat.

These are among the sounds which I love to hear:
Towards these sounds, my feet are often steered.
These sounds always put a smile upon my face:
Towards these sounds, my two feet will often race.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Oboe Me Over

Strings of violins,
Can mean so many things.
To a heart,
Missing...
The kissing,
Of a touch dipped in romance.

Strings of violins,
Gently bowed by those who know...
The missing,
And touch that's kissed,
By one who seeks romance.

Oboe me over,
With French horns caressing my need.
Sweeping me up into ecstasy.
Enthralled am I,
And timpanied.

Oboe me over,
With French horns caressing my need.
Sweeping me up into ecstasy.
Enthralled am I,
And timpanied.
Captured I am in your rhapsody.

Those strings of violins,
Can mean so many things.
To a heart,
Missing...
The kissing,
Of a touch dipped in romance.

Strings of violins,
Played over and over again.
Will never for me end...
My quest to be romanced.

Ooohhh,
Bowl me over,
With French horns caressing my need.
Sweeping me up into ecstasy.
Enthralled am I,
And timpanied.

And,
Captured I am...
In your rhapsody.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Guitar

(one, two, three, four)
Found myself out on a limb
But i'm happier than i've ever been
But this guitar can't keep from crying
Learned to get up when i fall
Can even climb rolling stone walls
But this guitar can't keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
Can't understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
I though by now you knew the score
But you missed the point just like before
And this guitar can't keep from crying
(this) guitar, it can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
It can't understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
While you attack, create offence
I'll put it down to your ignorance
But this guitar it can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Guitar (Can't Keep From Crying)

(one, two, three, four)
Found myself out on a limb
But Im happier than Ive ever been
But this guitar cant keep from crying
Learned to get up when I fall
Can even climb rolling stone walls
But this guitar cant keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
Cant understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
I though by now you knew the score
But you missed the point just like before
And this guitar cant keep from crying
(this) guitar, it cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
It cant understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
While you attack, create offence
Ill put it down to your ignorance
But this guitar it cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Correspondences

Nature is a temple whose living colonnades
Breathe forth a mystic speech in fitful sighs;
Man wanders among symbols in those glades
Where all things watch him with familiar eyes.

Like dwindling echoes gathered far away
Into a deep and thronging unison
Huge as the night or as the light of day,
All scents and sounds and colors meet as one.

Perfumes there are as sweet as the oboe's sound,
Green as the prairies, fresh as a child's caress,
- And there are others, rich, corrupt, profound

And of an infinite pervasiveness,
Like myrrh, or musk, or amber, the excite
The ecstasies of sense, the soul's delight.

poem by Charles Baudelaire
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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
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Grave Face

This cloth tends to be simple,
Simpler virtues predict a gathering
When the coming fairly gives in.
The fair comment abolishes the summer
Yesterday, as tomorrow witnesses colours
Confounding me, speaking distressed.

Mighty hazards read me as I quell the verdict,
Judges madden me with their murders,
Kissing the fishermen and colliding with flesh,
The doctor does not give this opinion, though.

Just outside a frown is cast
On the oboe of dread, a fair shine
Of sound so concentrated in sins,
Then this sinning weighs on us like the
Grave features of a face.

poem by Naveed Akram
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My Guitar Hummmmmmssssss Anew

MY GUITAR HUMMMMMMSSSSSS ANEW

melvin Banggollay

My old guitar had been hanging on the wall

for so long since the time I lost my balls

to sing the passion of my loving heart

as I did before my sorrows deeply starts

When I used to sing the sweetest melody

my tender hearts loved to emit and play

while my dear love hummed besides

with loveliness I thought never supsides.

Yes, dust of pains embroidered my guitar

when I had not sung with it like a superstar

and his strings can't even echo a sound

as dust so thick stuck by decades round

but now when I behold a new love's glare

upon a poets charm full of wisdom's clear

I begun to strum my old guitar's to renew

my ardent desire to love someone new.

poem by Melvin Banggollay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fastest Guitar Alive

Orbison/dees
Hey here I go a lucky so and so
Happy cos I know Ive got my fast guitar
Singing pretty songs, knowing I belong
I am first and last, and always a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Rattling strings like a gattling gun
Shaped like a lovely woman
Stay right where you are
My guitar is a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Im rolling on like a rolling stone
Gathering no moss, I play a boss guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Strumming like a battling soldiers drum
Shaped like a lovely woman
Stay right where you are
My guitar is a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Hey here I go a lucky so and so
Happy cos I know Ive got my fast guitar
The fastest guitar
The fastest guitar
The fastest guitar alive

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Beloved Guitar

The long solid neck,
With flowing, refinded strings.
A base of cherry; finished wood.
Defined in figure, exquisite;
Among other things.
Shaped with a curve,
Set down in my lap.
I picked up my guitar,
And made my fingers tap.
A symphony from,
Those melodic strings.
Part of my hearts amour.
My fingers graze along,
This coppery and bronze decor.
A roughness they slide.
Along the ends;
Roughness on my fingertips.
A sliding; an arry of refreshing sounds.
One that echos into the bottem,
And emerges to astound.
My arm embraces the frame work,
A base of refined finished wood.
Tuned to a sound,
Like a guitar should.
My fingers cradle those melodic stings.
The light strum of my hand,
Makes music;
The guitar sings.
From the mouth of a speaker.
Out comes a tune.
With a cadence strum.
Fingers pressed down,
Out the music comes.
A symphony from,
This rhythmic harmony.
A tone in my soul.
A note that's always been apart of me.
A feeling I once knew.
I recall, a sound in the distance.
A beauty that plays so smooth.
Shaped with a curve,
Set down in my lap;
I picked up my guitar.
It slowly starts to come back.
That feeling, I'll never forget.
I recall, a sound not so far.
I recall, the feeling that day;
The day I picked up my beloved guitar.

poem by Jessie Jett
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Let There Be Rock

In the beginning
Back in nineteen fifty-five
Man didnt know about a rock n roll show
And all that jive
The white man had the smoltz
The black man had the blues
No one knew what they was gonna do
But tchaikovsky had the news
He said -
Let there be light, and there was light
Let there be sound, and there was sound
Let there be drums, and there was drums
Let there be guitar, and there was guitar
Let there be rock
And it came to pass
That rock n roll was born
All across the land every rockin band
Was blowing up a storm
The guitarman got famous
The businessman got rich
And in every bar there was a super star
With a seven year itch
There were fifteen million fingers
Learning how to play
And you could hear the fingers picking
And this is what they had to say
Let there be light
Sound
Drums
Guitar
Let there be rock
One night in a club called 'the shaking hand
There was a ninety-two decibel rocking band
The music was good and the music was loud
And the singer turned and he said to the crowd -
Let there be rock

song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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