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
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Related quotes
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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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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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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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.
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
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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
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
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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
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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 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
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When I got my first guitar my fingers wouldn't go to the sixth string so I took off the big E and played with just five strings. I was only 6 or 7.
Ghost In His Guitar
Down the drain pipe cross the yard and through the fence
I risked a whoopin' every time I went
'Cause white boys weren't allowed
On the colored side of town
But I was proud to call
That old black man my friend
He had a pillow by the bed he used to pray on
And a beat up old guitar he let me play on
I knew where my fingers went
From his greasy fingerprints
Yeah, he was passin' on
What was handed down to him
(Chorus)
And it soaked up all the blood and sweat and teardrops
And the beers he missed in smokey little bars
And sometimes that old man he comes alive in my hands
I feel the beating of his sad old broken heart
Just like there's a ghost in this guitar
A ghost in this guitar
Well, the night before he died he made me take it
He said, "You play it now, 'cause I gotta go"
And I can feel him in my fingers when I play it
'Cause sometimes I'm in control
And sometimes I just sit back
And let him go
Sit back and let him go
(Repeat Chorus)
Take a listen to the ghost in this guitar
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where All It Started
tribute to an old man
who sings all night long
picking words from unknown
plucking his guitar to tune
melody created, his very own
i listen until i fall asleep
when i wake up i'm on my bed
dreaming of notes in my head
i was sailing one day in hawaii
i heard same guitar; same songs
words from unknown; unending
running poems with native twist
i hum those words i know
now i write them for you
poem by Manonton Dalan
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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
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Yellow Guitar
It’s nothing but me now and these strings
There’s nothing holding me in between
I bought this yellow guitar
And now its stole my heart
There’s nothing but your voice echoing in my head
And nothing to complain to
Yeah I bought this yellow guitar
To sing to you
Cause I got all these words circling my mind
Got to many nights I stayed awake to cry
There’s nothing but these strings now to prove who we are
Im left holding this yellow guitar
Cupids arrow has struck me hard
Surprised how much I am in love
With this yellow guitar
poem by Christy Harris
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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
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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
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Guitar In A Stand
My guitar sits in a stand
rosewood neck
and maple bridge
chrome pegs
and stainless steel frets
six steel & brass strings
silent now
and no songs
for my fingers she longs
without regrets
upon her strings
a part of my heart
but she gives feelings in me wings
But there she sits silently
just an inanimate thing
that comes to life somehow
when I feel alone
and overfilled with the sadness
that life seems to bring
she makes me somehow
want to play and sing
through tears and everything
and in the end she says it's OK
somehow she understands
and now I look at her there
in her stand
and get up and walk across the room
to hold her in my hand
and play a little Bell Bottm Blues
and Little Wing
she allows this weary heart to sing
as if it meant something
I think when I'm dead and gone
this guitar will carry on
the memory of my feelings
and the memory of my hands
to another player
who has a similar feeling
and who understands
and listens to each note that rings
and makes them think of love and things
Or maybe it will have meaning to someone
or sit in a case or upon a wall
I wonder about it all
but me I hear something
between each note
as I bend the string and listen
a blue note
reminds me of you
and how your smokey eyes appear to glisten
and of your soft kind way
and from far away
my heart hesitates
and skips a beat
and dreams
and listens
and makes it's way to you
© James T. Adair
poem by James T. Adair
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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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