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
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Music of the Stars
(to Johnny Alegre)
I heard you first as I walked by
Abelardo Hall
The faint strains of a lead guitar
I just could not ignore
Quietly I entered
the large dim-lit hall
Soon I sat there feeling
What I've never felt before
It was the sound of longing
through the strings of your guitar
A man surrendering his heart
A traveller soul-searching
reaching for the stars
A prayer from the heart
You didn't know me back then
But I can tell you now
The music that possessed you
Took me in its power
For on that day a wayward flame
Touched my very soul
And to this day it haunts me still
A song from long ago
It was the sound of longing
though the strings of your guitar
That echoed the longing in my heart
I know I won't forget
That mystical guitar
That song of timeless distant stars
poem by Sonya Florentino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bitter Sweet
(dedicated to the unknown singer)
Your voice becomes the sound
A bitter sweet one,
The sound vibrates in self
Bitter sweetly,
Your guitar is tearing that sound
And your fingers seem to say
A story of their rescue
A bitter sweet one,
Being known only by them.
Sometimes,
Your voice beats the vibration of the guitar
And the guitar grasps
The vibration of the voice
To convert it into tears,
Giving birth to the melody.
A bitter sweet one.
The song disappears
Somewhere
Toward the Saturn.
The souls entwine.
From the stellar symphony
Something detaches and fall off
Deeply inside of us.
Your voice becomes a signal
Of life and death.
The sound becomes the motion
And vice versa.
I listen to the inaudible symphony of your fingers,
In touch.
Something is born in us irreversibly
And lasts until the end of the time.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
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
Vote! | Copy!
My Guitar And A Penutbutter Jar
I sit and play my guitar all day
as my fingers lay on the strings so tight
strumming it lightly
make sounds of pain
my fingers are bleeding but i dont care
the pain i feel inside is much stronger
why am i still alive?
can i take this any longer?
his voice tells me to keep playing on
my hearts want to die after my last song
i reach for the jar of penutbutter
they say there is happyness at the bottom
but they lie
the only thing i have left
is my guitar and an empty penutbutter jar
scrapping at the bottom as it keeps me busy
my hearts are screaming PICK UP THE BLADE! !
dont put it down because its the only happeness you will ever know
its hard to stop some times i give in and do it
the blood flowing from my wrist to my guitar
my tears mixing in
so maybe there is hapyness in
my self mutilation, my guitar
and at the end of an empty penutbutter jar
poem by Sandy Vanity
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Rocking With My Guitar
I'M JUST SITING HERE STRUMMING
WITH MY GUITAR IN HAND
FEELING SO RELAX
WITH EVERY CHORD I TOUCH MAN
AND ROCKING AWAY
FROM WHAT THE GREAT ONES WROTE
BY FOLLOWING EACH MUSIC NOTE
AND PICTURING ME IN THERE BAND
ASK TO DO A SOLO ON MY GUITAR
AND FEELING LIKE A BRIEF SUPER STAR
IF FRONT OF THE CROWD
CHEERING AND JEERING FOR ME
WHEN I JUMP IN THE AIR
WITH MY GUITAR IN HAND
READY TO DO ANOTHER CLASSIC SONG
AND STILL THERE SCREAMING
CLAPPING ALONG
UNTIL I COME BACK TO EARTH
PUTTING MY GUITAR GENTLY IN IT'S STAND
NEXT TO MY READING LIGHT
AND QUIETLY CALL IT A RIGHT
poem by Bruce Martone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Mateo
Mateo sat on a rusty bench
outside his local bar
and polished his old guitar
with a crumpled up tissue
he’d pulled from the pocket
of his faded jeans
while Sophie watched
through the balcony rails
as he breathed
his whisky haws
onto the scratched wood
shining it
until his reflection
shook them by the throat
and his fingers
started to pluck and weave
their life through the strings
The music played off key
but his arthritic hands
were too tired and sore
to tune the old guitar
like her
he felt a comfort
in the imperfection
of the sounds
and the grainy melody
that filled the spaces
in the day’s drizzle
Mateo didn’t see her
but she knew he felt her
in his pulse
and he played her
in his strings
and she tried to run from clichés
but she couldn’t
her heart bled
poem by Sheila Knowles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!