Related quotes: Strum …. Strum the strings...

bloodline ***** LYRIC TO MY BRO AND HIS GUITAR

Strum ….
Strum the strings
Of your brown guitar
Brings with me
To the music star
Lively as you are

Far in the awful nights
In the hour of silence
Plays me a song
With ease and delight

Plays no more
A sad song
Let the people hear
A refrain
Of imperial tune

Strum….
Strum the strings
Of your brown guitar
Brings the world
To the music star
Lively as you are

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

A Lyric to My Son and His Guitar

A Lyric To My Son and His Guitar

strum...
Strum the strings of your brown guitar;
Brings me to the music star lively as you are.

Far in the awful nights in an hour of silence
Plays me a song with ease and delight.

Plays no more a sad song,
Let the people hear only a refrain;
Of the imperial tune.

Strum...
Strum the strings of your brown guitar
Brings the world to the music star lively as you are...

poem by Elvira Marchan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lay Down Your Weary Tune

Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
Struck by the sounds before the sun,
I knew the night had gone.
The morning breeze like a bugle blew
Against the drums of dawn.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The ocean wild like an organ played,
The seaweeds wove its strands.
The crashin waves like cymbals clashed
Against the rocks and sands.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws.
The cryin rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The last of leaves fell from the trees
And clung to a new loves breast.
The branches bare like a banjo played
To the winds that listened best.
I gazed down in the rivers mirror
And watched its winding strum.
The water smooth ran like a hymn
And like a harp did hum.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weeping Guitar

Well I've got this guitar, that usually sings
A couple pills, and some scars
And I gently pluck all the strings
While gazing at the stars

My guitar begins to weep
Each strum echoes my pain
The sharp chords cut so deep
Bitter loneliness is driving me insane

So I strum to free my soul
But not a tune is heard
Unable to fill my empty hole
But I don't say a word

Each strum seems to kill
And I'm living each day with lies
There are too many holes to fill
All I want to do is forever close my eyes.

poem by Chelsea Wallace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strum, Strum Gently and My Heartstrings Sing

Strum, strum gently and my heartstrings sing
A song that comes from deep within
Words that coin their own phrases
And that is how I begin

A terrible ballad of love
I can speak of emotional hiatus
Begin at the beginning and then
Let this song sing about us

Strum gently and let the world fade away
The time I have with you will soon end;
There is a meaning to this interlude,
I have a liftime this heart to mend.

Strum, strum gently, do not pause when
The words do not come;
Thus my heart will continue to beat
And I to this love will succumb.

poem by Rani Turton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Solace From Strings

Tune up your strings.
Keep them tight.
Strum me a song
on this painful night.
Play, play
take my pain away.

Tune up your strings.
Let your fingers slide.
Help me forget
how I have cried.
Play, play
take my pain away.

The sound of your strings
make me weep
and as you strum
I can fall asleep.
Play, play
take my pain away.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You And Me Making Music Together

i am a violin
play me with the gentleness
of your
disposition

you must hear
the sadness of my music

you are my guitar
i will strum your strings

it will not be sad

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Sad Guitar (In Iraq)

When I play...my sad guitar,
With powered chords...of deep emotion.
I strum the strings...with such devotion,
When I play...my...sad...guitar.

When I play...my sad guitar,
In a bunker, built in the sand.
This war torn country, this desert land,
I miss playing...In a rock and roll band.
When I play...my...sad...guitar.

When I play...my sad guitar,
My memories play,
Deep in my mind,
I try to find-
Our... wedding... day!
When I play...my...sad...guitar.

When I play...my sad guitar,
I think of my Harley...My hot-rod car,
Wishing I was home,
With a beer in a bar.
When I play...my...sad...guitar.

poem by Philip Lore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come and Play Your Music Well

When the ghost of disease
cripples my fantasies,
I must strum my guitar
and sing a song of peace.

When bright days are haunted
by dark clouds of pain and fears,
I must harmonize my strings
and play the sweetest melodies.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Lonely Guitar

At a corner my guitar waves her hand
inviting me to pick her up, to strum her
strings, to find out if all her chords
blend in harmony with my fingers.

It is waving her hand before my eyes
as in those birthdays, meetings, teaching,
and parties where her strings were made
busy to play melodies to people around.

Tonight she waves her hand again
calling me to play with her our common
game of songs which others can sing along.
But I just cannot play with my guitar today.

For whatever reason let this lonely night
find out; let me sleep and let sweet melody
sleep with me in my dreams and
let my guitar help me find the right chords
for my lonely song.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New songs

When I pick up my guitar,
my fingers start to strum.
Before too long,
I have a song.
With lyrics,
From my heart.
Yet, in the morning the song is gone,
And the canvas is blanc again.
Free to write another song,
That comforts me like a friend.

poem by Niamh Gold
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Magic Music Box

That music box on Grandpa's wall
Was magic to my eyes
I loved to hold and try to play
that guitar, twice my size

One day, I thought of nothing else
So, when the school bell rang
I was off to Grandpa's house
To strum those strings again

I waded thru two babbling brooks
Loving every step I took
Then paused to smell the sweet incense
Of honeysuckles on the fence

They'll miss me home at suppertime
But I think dad knows he can find
His little girl at Grandpa's house
with that guitar across her lap

Then found a guitar, all her own
Would keep his little girl at home
And Happy too!, for I play well
Tho' years have passed, I love it still.

poem by Nita S. Balma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Music Comes And Goes

by: Tripp

the soothing sounds of a piano to a guitar the sounds they make
the feeling It brings when the piano sings playing the strings of a guitar
the times come and goes as the music grows

in the heart of those who play
thinking of that one thing that brings epiphany to that instrument you play
as you hold and take care playing with hopes and dreams the music slips through
and sings

i can't get enough of what it does to me
when i hear that sound that voice

the music she brings to my heart when I'm with her
her voice is the epiphany to my heart
holding on to her the music keeps playing

my heart keeps beating as the music plays
i keep dreaming dreaming holding on hoping this song will never end
dreaming to fall in love with this instrument forever

she is my instrument

poem by Preston Trip
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Guitar Player

He is just a child, a guitar player
and he hits the strings of his brown guitar quickly
in a lonely kind of song,
as if he is going into the world with it.
He plays for whoever is passing, for the night
where the birds and crickets are suddenly silent
when he picks at strings with a deep sweet kind of hurt
and his hurting music cuts through all things.
Sometimes he feels the cold, the winter wind
that wants to bring him back to reality
and he is being devoured by life
where the stars shine high above him
and he searches through pockets for a marijuana cigarette,
as the last pleasure that is left to him.

[Reference: Die speelman (The playing-man) by N.P. van Wyk Louw.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I can play rhythm guitar. I know how to hold a guitar and strum it.

quote by Jamie Lee Curtis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The poor street singer in a red cap

They call me by the name of stink.
Though I have a primrose in my holey red cap.
I strum my old guitar with few strings.
Passer-by! Please wait for a while
As I have a good news for you.
And I sing with an occasional smile,
If it's not a dream then I'll be a millionaire in few days
As I ought to sign a contract for his new advertisement
Who's a prominent perfume maker in the paradise.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Nice To Hear

it is nice to hear that the blind man
along the city street asking for alms
is not really asking for your coins and
other means of support when he starts
to strum his guitar and sing his song
he is simply telling you about his world
where light exists no more exercising
his freedom of expression and not his
freedom of abode and locomotion.