Chick Magnet
Don’t play the cello if you want
to be a magnet for the chicks,
a guy who on guitar strings picks
is thought be far more gallant.
I learnt this fact from Yo-Yo Ma,
who probably believes that poets
have also far more luck with coeds
than cellists. Maybe many are,
but I am not, unfortunate
with poems as he is with cello.
I wish I were a magnet fellow,
and made the chicks importunate,
first for my poems, then my bod,
but since I don’t play the guitar,
my life is black as café noir,
and I am lonelier than God.
Charlie Rose on December 3,2008 interviewed Yo-Yo Ma, who accompanied on his cello the singer and songwriter from North Carolina, James Taylor, who also plays the guitar. Yo Yo explained that he has played the cello since the age of three, and that this has not made him a chick magnet. James Taylor started off by playing the cello but gave it up for the guitar, which Yo-Yo considers a wise decision.
12/4/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Related quotes
Interlude narrative verse for M lady Ernestine
The silent cello waits in vain.
Her owner can no longer play,
her twisted joints in so much pain
Arthritis has now won the day.
Those hands which once caressed the strings
are gnarled and twisted dreadfully
Though in her mind the cello sings,
its silent in reality.
The music stored within its soul
longs for release impatiently.
Its destiny to play a role
assisting some child prodigy.
The owner cannot bear to part
with her treasured instrument.
She holds a dream deep in her heart.
Some one will come who’s one intent
to learn to play the cello well.
Prepared to suffer for their art,
beglamoured by the subtle spell
this cherished cello can impart.
Her children show no interest,
no musical ability.
Perhaps, she thinks it’s for the best
The cello waits impatiently.
One day her grandchild comes to call
A pretty child who’s not yet five.
She exhibits no fear at all
her fingers bring the strings alive.
The cello knows this is the one.
The child it has been waiting for.
and grandma knows she has passed on.
The love she felt so long before.
Before she learnt to play a note.
She knew it was her destiny
that music was the antidote
to soothe her sensitivity..
The chills is lost in wonderment
and strokes the cello lovingly.
This could not be an accident.
It was her grandma’s legacy.
She seemed to know instinctively
Just as her grandmother had done
That music was her destiny.
The cello knew that it had won
In course of time the girl surpassed
The skill her grandma had possessed.
It was the spell the cello cast
She always said that made her best.
When grandma died she died content
Her well loved cello sang again.
Now her grand daughter’s instrument
Their patient wait was not in vain..
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Quick One While Hes Away
I. her mans been gone
Her mans been gone
For nearly a year
He was due home yesterday
But he aint here
Her mans been gone
For nigh on a year
He was due home yesterday
But he aint here
Ii. crying town
Down your street your crying is a well-known sound
Your street is very well known, right here in town
Your town is very famous for the little girl
Whose cries can be heard all around the world
Iii. we have a remedy
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
We have a remedy
Youll appreciate
No need to be so sad
Hes only late
Well bring you flowers and things
Help pass your time
Well give him eagles wings
Then he can fly to you
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
(spoken)
We have a remedy.
We have!
Little girl, why dont you stop your crying?
Im gonna make you feel all right
Iv. ivor the engine driver
My name is ivor
Im an engine driver
I know him well
I know why you feel blue
Just cause hes late
Dont mean hell never get through
He told me he loves you
He aint no liar, I aint either
So lets have a smile for an old engine driver
So lets have a smile for an old engine driver
Please take a sweet
Come take a walk with me
Well sort it out
Back at my place, maybe
Itll come right
You aint no fool, I aint either
So why not be nice to an old engine driver?
Better be nice to an old engine driver
Better be nice to an old engine driver
V. soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Come on, old horse
Soon be home
Soon be home
Soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Well soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Well soon be home
Soon be home ...
Vi. you are forgiven
Dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
I cant believe it
Do my eyes deceive me?
Am I back in your arms?
Away from all harm?
Its like a dream to be with you again
Cant believe that Im with you again
I missed you and I must admit
I kissed a few and once did sit
On ivor the engine drivers lap
And later with him, had a nap
You are forgiven, you are forgiven, you are forgiven ... (ad lib)
You are forgiven
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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But you have to give your whole life to a cello. When I realized that, I went back to the guitar and just turned the volume up a bit louder.
quote by Ritchie Blackmore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can Play (Lyrics) :
He didn't give himself up to fear.
And his voice had a life of its own.
He didn't give himself up for broke.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar', 'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
He didn't give himself up to drinking beer.
His voice still had a life of its own.
And he didn't give himself up for smoke.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
He didn't give himself up to curcumstance.
Always tried to make it alone.
He didn't give himself up to telling lies.
His honesty was already shown.
Always kept himself up to par.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'...
Rock Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Singer/Songwriter (Leddra Chapman)
(This poem was inspired by the singer/songwriter, Leddra Chapman.)
This singer songwriter, of only nineteen years of age,
Is met by warm applause, as she takes to the stage.
She acknowledges her fans and bids them a cheery ‘hello.’
This evening, she’s accompanied by keyboard and cello.
As she stands on stage, tuning her guitar,
She still can’t believe that she has come this far.
She soon launches into her first song.
Her fans join in and joyously sing along.
With her audience, she happily interacts.
Fans, into every venue, she manages to pack.
She is able to light up an entire room,
When, all around us is doom and gloom.
Her outfit gives her a slightly hippie appearance,
Which, with her long blonde hair, gives her endearance.
Her manner is easy and light.
Her smile always beams so bright.
She often plays at small, intimate venues,
But quite a few festivals, she’s played at to.
She’s still studying at music school,
But, already, her music is considered really cool.
Her first album has already been released.
Soon, there’ll be a second. Another musical feast!
Her songs have often been played on Radio Two,
And she’s also been on TV, singing and doing interviews.
This young lady who’s still up and coming,
Stands with her guitar, her fingers gently strumming.
At the end of her set, she and her band take their bows.
The applause from the audience is extremely loud.
After finishing one of her wonderful shows,
She’s happy to sign autographs and pose for photos.
She’s one singer, who will never grow too big for her boots,
As she stays down to earth and remembers her humble roots.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Write A Song
This is a song
And I'm holding a guitar
I'm pouring out my long
And lonely heart
Now I know why Taylor said
What she said about teardrops
On her guitar
Every time I'm hurting I
Turn Taylor on
I pick up my guitar
And write a song
I say I'm not over you
But I think I'm moving on
I'm wandering in this desert
Going on and on and on
Now I know why Taylor said
What she said about teardrops
On her guitar
Every time I'm hurting I
Turn Taylor on
I pick up my guitar
And write a song
Drew didn't hurt me
But I still feel the pain
Every time I think of you
Hugging me on that very last day
Now I know why Taylor said
What she said about teardrops
On her guitar
Every time I'm hurting I
Turn Taylor on
I pick up my guitar
And write a song
poem by Nicki Luvetti
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
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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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Keep That Beat Just Heated
You keep that conga beat strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed to stir up a good mood.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
You keep that conga beat strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
You keep that conga beat...
Strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
You keep that conga beat...
Strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Keep that beat just heated.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Guitar Man
They call me the guitar man.
Cause I can really bend those strings.
I no longer play in a band,
But I can make my guitar sing.
There ain't nothing I can't play,
I carry music in my soul.
I play better than yesterday,
I can play some solid gold.
My acoustic Alvarez,
Can either sing or cry.
I thank the Lord, that he has blessed,
My guitar and me from on high.
If you're ever down in Texas,
Come and see this guitar man.
I don't look at all like Elvis,
But I do the best I can.
Ask around and you will see.
That I am not so hard to find.
If you hear music, thats where I'll be,
So come on down, if your'e inclined.
9/5/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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
Bury Me In My Shades
In a pad with no heat, up on Sullivan Street,
The last of the hipsters lay dyin'.
Wearin' his shades, so like no one could tell
Like whether or not he was cryin'.
All the junkies and loners
An' coffee shop owners
Were all gathered 'round his bed.
He took one last puff
Of some imported stuff
And this are the last words he said.
He said, 'Send my sandals home to Mom,
Hang my T-shirt away.
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar',
'Cause I never learned how to play.
Give my pad
To some needy lad
And tell him the rent is all paid.
Keep my cash,
An' my stash,
An' my hash,
But bury me in my shades.
Bury me in my shades, boys,
Bury me in my shades.
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar',
But bury me in my shades.'
He said, 'Give my Brooklyn chicks away
To anyone who needs 'em.
Give all of my poems away
To anyone who'll read 'em.
Dig me a grave 'neath the coffeeshop,
And let a sad folksong be played.
Get everyone high
On the moment I die,
Bury me in my shades.
Bury me in my shades, boys,
Bury me in my shades.
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar',
But bury me in my shades.'
We threw his sandals out in the hall,
We left his T-shirt lay.
We sold his guitar
At the corner bar
To someone who knew how to play.
We smoked all his stash,
And spent all his cash,
And threw all his poems away.
And Bob got his records,
And Ed got his books,
And I got the poor beatnik shades.
'Bury me in my shades, boys,' he said,
'Bury me in my shades.
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar',
But bury me in my shades.'
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Melody of a Shattered Soul!
If you give him one of these instruments?
Guitar, Bass, Violin
Mandolin,
Viola, Cello, Banjo
Lute, Bouzouki
Ukulele and more!
His fingers could touch every string
And he sings the deep sorrow
Deeper than an Ocean.
There's no stage for him in this cruel World
And he strums his broken Ukulele
in a dark street corner under a starry night.
You can hear the melody of a shattered soul!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I played cello in my high school orchestra.
quote by Eberhard Weber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cello
There was music
around her;
notes playing
in the silver air;
she exhales
close to my
upturned face.
Her shape,
a fine
brown cello,
her low voice
singing
each word-note
coming
in a whispering moan.
My bow string
draws out her chords
harmonizing,
flowing into to me.
siren-like.
Arpeggio
hair braids
trail away;
clef note eyes
glow
with the white heat
which rises
in the sparkle dust
of her melodies singing.
She bends toward me
cascading,
double breasted
notes;
her arms
flower petals
unfolding from side to side;
mouth parting slightly
breathing warm air.
She sang
to my soul,
cello style.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Musician
I don't like to brag,
And I never will.
But I play the guitar,
Like moonshiners play a still.
There really is nothing to it.
I'm just a guitar man.
I was born to play the six string,
And I've got a lot of fans.
You will never know me,
Because I am a lot of men.
Many names are in my pedigree,
A dozen men I've been.
I only play now, for my friends,
And for my family.
There is a sorrow that begins,
Inside my memory.
I have seen death, take my best friend,
I have been thrown in jail.
But I didn't want to let it end,
I did not want to fail.
But I finally threw it all away,
When I had reached the top.
I now live to loath the day,
I had to give it up.
It's just that I love my guitar,
On her I never learned to cheat.
And I never did stray very far,
And she made this guitar man complete.
She is gone now, twas my wrath,
And my son now loves her so.
And he is following my path,
His star is on the go.
10/13/10 vodka360 Alton Texas 9: 21 pm The musician signing off.
poem by Juan Olivarez
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.
Blue Guitar
I once knew a man
Showed me the slight of hand
In the blink of an eye, he danced across the strings
Played a song I'd never heard
Poignant and absurd
To this day it leaves me wondering
How I wish tomorrow I were fishin'
Boy I've got a mission
Shake it, rattle and roll
Ah, now, just use your intuition
You'll get less competition
From the clock up on the wall
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
A simple masquerade
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
'Cause we'll all make believe
Someone to deceive
Time is just a folly we can't see
You only know one song
Play it right or wrong
The truth is always somewhere in between
You and I, we can't change the weather
And we're all in this together
So let the strong winds blow
Ah, now things will be much better
If you don't become a prisoner
To the reason you should know
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
A simple masquerade
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
How I wish tomorrow I were fishin'
Boy I've got a mission
Shake it, rattle and roll
Ah, now, just use you intuition
You'll get less competition
From the clock up on the wall
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
A simple masquerade
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
Red wine or lemonade
Play on your Bl
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I play piano and guitar. Acoustic guitar. I tried studying classical guitar when I was 16 but it got really hard. I could never play a lead to save my life.
quote by Kip Winger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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