Music of the porcupine musician
I wanted so much
to stroke his face
that he can see
how the music of the day
sparkle in freshwater
and as the notes
splash and plop
it would contain
the best melodies
but would I
be able to
do that now
that his words
are godless here
scorning lemonade
on trays
organ and accordion
he rattles
and rises
threatening
I know music
it's white and black
ringed pins it is
aardvark holes and tunnels
bark and bulbs
fruits and tubers it is
the flute's breath run out
the guitar's day tunes weary
the violin ceased to play
long before the day
could argue with the night
he started rattling his quills
rising heavy metal without guitar
will he ever know how notes
sparkle in soft water
once the loose long pins
of his comrades start
shooting randomly?
Related quotes
As long as its music
Please play me a symphony
Make a simple cheerful harmony
Please play me a chord from a guitar
For me, it does not matter
If I’m the only audience of your theatre
Give me some instrumental vibes
All rhythms and tunes are musically ripe
There is no need to take precaution
While playing the Banjo or flamenco percussion
As long as its music
We can all heal
As long as its music
We can all feel
We can sing out our hearts and soul
We can let this music take control
Please play me the drums
We can sing or we can hum
Please play me a CD or a hit record
We could sing to the tunes of an ipod
With the sounds of music we can compose a song
Maybe sing to the town’s bells chiming ding-dong
Please play me the sweet keys of a piano
Hit a sweet note that is a major or minor
As long as its music
We can all heal or cry
As long as its music
We can all feel or fly high
And I will be lost in your voice and eyes
Holding on to each minute that flies
Whatever sounds or instruments
I shall feel good in the moment
Please play me a note from a flute
Those peaceful sounds tend to soothe
I want to hear sweet, sweet music
Choose your lyrics, take your pick
My heart will dance, till she is weak
Get out that guitar, acoustic or electric
Please play me the violins of an orchestra night
String me some melodies in broad daylight
And we can rap to melodious sense or crap
While our feet’s playfully tap, tap and tap
As long as its music
We can dance along the shore
As long as its music
We can all take to the dance floor
And I say once more, once more!
As long as its music, I will only ask for more
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flautist For M lady Erenestine
The soft sweet notes flow from the flute,
played by a busker old and gray
He chooses melodies to suit
The folks he knows will pass this way.
His old cloth cap lies at his feet,
already holds a coin or two.
His lilting music bitter sweet
ensures that I will add one too.
The old man breathes new life into
forgotten tunes from long ago
and turns them into something new.
He seems instinctively to know
what kind of music he must play
to fill his hat with coins today
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Guitar
With burdens bearing heavy down a road that's hard and long
My body's bent and weary so I'm reaching for a song;
My sorrows flicker - fading..., faint... - beneath the morning star,
While worried fingers seethe across the strings of my guitar.
Though seagulls fly forever, streaking, striving for the strand,
My troubles ebb, evaporate, with my guitar in hand;
Their turbulency's writhing neath the notes within the air -
And hunted by the haunting beat, they're vanquished everywhere.
With melodies erupting, bursting, splashing night with dawn,
The drifting dancing demons die, as time goes swirling on;
Guitars are roaming randomly across the rusty skies,
While cares have vanished, draped in dust of distant lullabies.
poem by Terry O'Leary
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me and His Guitar
I am his guitar
I brought him music
He tuned me up
Followed whatever
he wanted me to play
He got me high
and got me low
He brought me into a nice shelter
So that I was kept safe!
He cried to me
when he's in deep pain
He loved me tight when
all he had was joy
Now I'm cracked
my skin is crumpled
My edges are broken
And my strings are cut
Strike through them up and down
hear from me my broken sound
I am his guitar
I am lost
Have forgotten the notes...
I play no song anymore
What is music to me after all?
poem by Luningning Minguez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of the waterfalls
As I hold this guitar of mine
while looking up the waterfalls,
I noticed
that the splashing water to the lichened stones
were attuned to the melodic lore
like I never heard before.
As the air moved slowly
and as the tune grew gradually,
my keen ear noticed something
which in effect fascinating.
The water jumped like notes
filled with gladness.
Slowly, gently and eagerly
my fingers pluck the strings
of my guitar and followed the tunes.
Those were melodies of love,
those were sent by the heaven above,
to conquer your heart
for a brand new start.
poem by Winston Soldevilla
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My angel has a voice like velvet
My angel has a voice like velvet
which makes notes lie soft on the ear
and I want no other music.
My angel has a voice like velvet
when her fingers play with a guitar
and stroke magic sounds from it.
My angel has a voice like velvet,
which makes notes lie soft on the ear.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Guitar And Pen
You're alone above the street somewhere
Wondering how you'll ever count out there
You can walk, you can talk, you can fight
But inside you've got something to write
In your hand you hold your only pen
Never spend your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
When you take up a pencil and sharpen it up
When you're kicking the fence and still nothing will budge
When the words are immobile until you sit down
Never feel they're worth keeping, they're not easily found
Then you know in some strange unexplainable way
You must really have something
Jumping, thumping, fighting, hiding away
Important to say
When you sing through the verse and you end in a scream
And you swear and you curse cos the rhyming ain't clean
But it suddenly comes after years of delay
You pick up your guitar and you can suddenly play
When your fingers are bleeding and your knuckles are white
Then you can be sure, you can open the door
Get up of the floor tonight
You have something to write
When you wanna complain there's no one can stop you
But when your music proclaims there's no one can top you
You are wearing your heart on your jumping feet
You've got a head start away from the street
But is that what you want, to be rich and be gone
Could be there's just one thing left in the end
Your guitar and your pen
When you sing to your Mum and you hum and you croon
And she says that she'd like it with more of a tune
And you smash your guitar at the end of the bed
Then you stick it together and start writing again
And you know that it won't be too long till your back -
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Music Is My Life
MUSIC IS MY LIFE
I am just sitting here,
Making love to my guitar
Strumming out music,
My love doesn’t stray too far.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Hugs and kisses come easy,
From the strings that I caress.
There is nothing more pretty,
Than my guitar in full dress.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
I am carried into ecstasy
With each note that floats out
Feel the music within me,
It’s busting its way out.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Play the music with me,
Sing and raise your voice.
You will feel the love of Music,
Your heart will have no choice.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Life cannot deny me love,
Or the music that’s inside me
The melodies are my heart and soul,
And it will always be my decree.
REB (FEB 2012) Dedicated to Twig Sullivan, because music is her life
poem by Rik Bertrand
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music
The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute.
From my bed I can hear him,
And the round notes flutter and tap about the room,
And hit against each other,
Blurring to unexpected chords.
It is very beautiful,
With the little flute-notes all about me,
In the darkness.
In the daytime,
The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand
And copies music with the other.
He is fat and has a bald head,
So I do not look at him,
But run quickly past his window.
There is always the sky to look at,
Or the water in the well!
But when night comes and he plays his flute,
I think of him as a young man,
With gold seals hanging from his watch,
And a blue coat with silver buttons.
As I lie in my bed
The flute-notes push against my ears and lips,
And I go to sleep, dreaming.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music Is My Life
I am just sitting here,
Making love to my guitar
Strumming out music,
My love doesn't stray too far.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Hugs and kisses come easy,
From the strings that I caress.
There is nothing more pretty,
Than my guitar in full dress.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
I am carried into ecstasy
With each note that floats out
Feel the music within me,
It's busting its way out.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Play the music with me,
Sing and raise your voice.
You will feel the love of Music,
Your heart will have no choice.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Life cannot deny me love,
Or the music that's inside me
The melodies are my heart and soul,
And it will always be my decree.
REB (FEB 2012) Dedicated to Twig Sullivan, because music is her life
poem by Rik Bertrand
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cocosuma
This is music for painful eyes And numb arms Trickles of
Electric guitar Flowing Cascading And then Caught By a flute
At the bottom A basin And both Join together In unexpected Harmony
The voice Of a beautiful Girl singing In between Mixing
intertwiningAs I take all the notes In my hands And wash All the music
In my face Like a Face towel
i am refreshed, Holy God, i am refreshed, i am feeling that
The pain Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Music Eternal Is Divine!
Trumpet and drum music denote military band;
Guitar and piano music denote melodious score;
Clarinet and flute music denote pastoral melody;
Violin and all organ music denote symphony fine;
Jazz, maestro and symphony musics make all high!
Music acts as background for joy, sorrow and war;
Music makes all moods for man to move on in life;
Music creates a world of love, dream and fantasy;
Music as love has no beginning and end in influence;
Music whether East or West is divine as Nature is!
Confluence of Nature, music and dance is divine beauty
That elevates human spirit to divine spirit eternally!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Chanteuse
The chanteuse chased melodies-
Her voice rubbed elbows -
With a guitar with broken frets-
In-sync with the Clubs Bass-
She sang-
She sang to the guitar-
Raising her voice to higher notes-
Of Life:
Lived-
Long-
Loudly she resonated-
Lyrically harmonic-
Listening for an off key-
Lending an ear to-
Lungs in full breath-A
Libretto in the making...
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Caribbean Night
Tropical night, starlit, if I recall rightly; there was
sliver of a golden moon also. We drank beer too,
the sea is an enormous waste bin, plop, plop.
Someone brought guitar, nights like this ought to
have music, the gentle murmour of voices stilled.
The guitar player wasn't any good, but for awhile
we sat politely listening to his pathetic attempts.
His friend got up, threw the instrument overboard.
We drank more beer, listened to our own dreams;
mine was about a guitar playing dolphin.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fate of a Musician
Every day I pick up my guitar and just play
I write my own songs with the help of friends
We design music and lyrics we start new trends
Acoustic guitar, electric guitar or 12 strings
These instruments have played my songs and I have grown wings
Soaring and flying watching my creations grow
As the music expands the lyrics just flow
The more I create the more passionate I become
The more I play the more fun we have
Music gives me something to do
Each song I write I will be sure to see through
When I am up on stage standing in the spotlight
I spread my wings, start playing, and take flight!
When the crowd cheers you get a feeling of inspiration
After the gig you’re sitting home alone
You pull out your guitar stick in the headphones
You start strumming, creating your own beat
You sit there all night tapping your feet
The history of music and the sound you create
Brings friends closer together I reckon its more then fate.
Benjamin A. Green
poem by Benjamin Andrew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Musical Identity Crisis
It was a fine guitar.
My dearest possession.
The tool to escape my life,
The life without any prominence or distinction;
The life, a mere proof of an existing biological function.
The only sense was from the music I understood.
The sounds created by those strings over the wood.
The notes would drown me to that world of imagination.
This was all I had for a fascination.
But it was not long that I lost my only passion.
The afternoon still survives in my memory,
The door bangs open, my uncle standing with a face
That gave away his fury,
His red eyes, the smell of his presence
Corroborated our doubts of his untimely alcoholic indulgence.
My mother screamed out Vociferous,
But the guitar did not stop.
I still don’t know-
If the attempt was prosperous
Or the musical protest was a flop?
The reek came closer,
The fingers played louder and faster.
The dipsomaniac spoke-
My price was settled by the dealer.
Enough to meet the addict’s expenditure.
The Music stopped for the last time.
The guitar was snatched and there ended
The play of notes, so sublime.
My mother would not let me go.
The dirty hands pushed her on the floor.
The sight made the anger in me grow
The addict had to be thrown out of the door.
He walked to my mother and kicked her to cry.
I lifted my guitar to give it a different try.
The guitar played a sound again
But this time it was for no musical gain.
The smash to his head made him fall on my feet.
The blood on the floor did not make me feel guilty any bit.
The Music had ended long back,
Now me and my guitar searched the identity rack.
It was not a weapon to kill,
But an instrument to feel.
And I was teased by everybody as Dumb Bill.
But not a boy of murderous skill.
poem by Saptarshi Banerjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peter Gunn's Gun
by Michael Leonard, Bobby Weinstein & Jon Stroll
Throw a penny from the window, watch an old man play a song
On a twenty-dollar violin he bought before the war,
Though he screeches and he scratches and the notes are always wrong,
But he plays like he's in concert on the street outside my door.
Tunes to suit your fancy,
Are there any requests?
I'll play them for a penny,
(Play them penny music, play them for a penny)
And not a penny less.
He's the local virtuoso, it's his only way of life,
Plays ninety-seven overtures and goes home to his wife,
In the quiet of the evening while his frozen fingers bleed,
He counts pennies on a blanket to supply his meager need.
Tunes to suit your fancy,
Are there any requests?
I'll play them for a penny,
(Play them penny music, play them for a penny)
And not a penny less.
When there's frost upon the pumpkin in the weakness of the sun,
People stand there in the cold until his symphony is done,
In the early gray of morning, he's sure to come around,
You can hear him through the window when the pennies hit the ground.
Tunes to suit your fancy,
Are there any requests?
I'll play them for a penny,
(Play them penny music, play them for a penny)
And not a penny less.
They're playing penny music,
Playing penny music,
They're playing penny music,
Playing penny music,
Playing penny music.
fade out...
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guitar Man
(words & music by hubbard)
Well, I quit my job down at the car wash,
Left my mama a goodbye note,
By sundown Id left kingston,
With my guitar under my coat,
I hitchhiked all the way down to memphis,
Got a room at the ymca,
For the next three weeks I went huntin them nights,
Just lookin for a place to play,
Well, I thought my pickin would set em on fire,
But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man.
Well, I nearly bout starved to death down in memphis,
I run outta money and luck,
So I bought me a ride down to macon, georgia,
On a overloaded poultry truck,
I thumbed on down to panama city,
Started pickin out some o them all night bars,
Hopin I could make myself a dollar,
Makin music on my guitar,
I got the same old story at them all night piers,
There aint no room around here for a guitar man
We dont need a guitar man, son
So I slept in the hobo jungles,
Roamed a thousand miles of track,
Till I found myself in mobile alabama,
At a club they call big jacks,
A little four-piece band was jammin,
So I took my guitar and I sat in,
I showed em what a band would sound like,
With a swingin little guitar man.
Show em, son
If you ever take a trip down to the ocean,
Find yourself down around mobile,
Make it on out to a club called jacks,
If you got a little time to kill,
Just follow that crowd of people,
Youll wind up out on his dance floor,
Diggin the finest little five-piece group,
Up and down the gulf of mexico,
Guess whos leadin that five-piece band,
Well, wouldnt ya know, its that swingin little guitar man.
The tv-special verse:
Well, I came a long way from the carwash,
Got to where I said Id get
Now that Im here I know for sure
I really aint got there yet
Think Ill start all over
Swing my guitar over my back
Im gonna get myself back on the track
Ill never, never ever look back
Ill never be more than what I am
Wouldnt you know
I m a swinging little guitar man
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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