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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Related quotes
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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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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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
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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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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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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
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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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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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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
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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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Head Room
Ive never been kissed before
Its been on my list before
A flick of the wrist before would do
But when you get down to it
Its got a good sound to it
Dont meddle around with it
cos its far too wet to woo
When mummy and daddy play
They tell me to go away
But by hanging around
I can learn all the rules
Now I got the technique
Im away
Develop a taste for it
A time and a place for it
Although on the face of it, its a crime
Ive nibbled the cheese of it
The birds and the bees of it
Are weak at the knees
>from making honey
Every time
Im throwing my toys away
Im leaving the boys to play
With the boys
Gimme girls
And its time I was breaking away
Just gimme some head room
Just a little bitta head room
I need some leg room
Just a little bitta leg room
I see myself oh lord
I see a mess
Im making a meal of it
Im breaking the seal of it
Im getting the feel of what to do
Its got a good ring to it
Im getting a thing for it
And if theres a sting in it
Ill have met my waterloo
My mummy and daddy said
Youre liable to wind up dead
Oo, theyve been shooting me a line
Maybe it doesnt exist at all
Oo, Ive been towing the line
Now Im hook line and sinkered
Ive never been kissed before
Its been on my list before
A flick of the wrist before would do
But when you get down to it
Its got a good sound to it
Dont meddle around with it
cos its far too wet to woo
Ive thrown all my toys away
Im leaving the boys to play
With the girls that you get
For a dollar a day
When you pull on their strings they say
Just gimme some head room
Just a little bitta head room
I need a ball room
Up against the wall room
I need the rest oh lord
I need the rest
Just gimme some head room
Just a little bitta head room
Take me to your bed-room
Show a little bitta leg room
I need the rest oh lord
I need the rest
Just gimme some head room
Just a little bitta head room
I need some head room
Just a little bitta head room
I need the rest oh lord
I need the rest
Just gimme some head room
Just a little bitta head room
I need some head room
Just a little bitta head room
I need the rest oh lord
I need the rest
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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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
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My Guitar
Oh, my guitar!
You are in a case.
It seems so far
You were not embraced.
Your strings are weak,
Your heart is sick.
But a hope remains,
You’ll overcome the pains.
A master will come,
You won’t strum.
You won’t complain
But will sound again.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
February the 2nd,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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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
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The Sound Of The Strings
I sit and play
To the sound of the strings
They take me to a place
of nothing but peace
As the sound resonates
my body feels free
I play for the angels
that watch over me
Inspired by This Old Guitar (For Juan) by Eric cockrell.
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Strumming The Strings Of My Heart
I watch you play,
Making a beautiful tune
The strings of the guitar shaking
As you sit in the light of the moon
Your plucking the strings
With great ease
Making a flowing melody
A pretty song, just for me
I continue to watch
You playing your guitar
Making me love you
While your strumming the strings of my heart
These strings will never be touched
By anyone but you
You go where no one else can
Leaving a mark, like a tattoo,
Saying I LOVE YOU
poem by Katniss Everdeen
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Guitar Player
in the dusk
of smoke and musk
gathering from floor
a lone player
weaves the room
into his guitar –
a blue light isolates
the stage
shadowing the room
until the world
shrinks into
the mystery of song –
feather light
a voice recalls
its softness on the strings –
listen clear
it’s almost here
the sound that silence sings.
poem by by unknown author
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Staring At Sound/with You
I just don't want them to say,
"oh, it's a beautiful day."
Let's just not talk about the gloom.
Let's all go die in my living-room.
I want to be a movie-star,
And play the part of a man from outer-space.
When we meet, i'll fall in love with you.
And we have sex, but i don't know what to do (what to do).
I want to hear some band play,
A song that sounds just like you look.
And when they play, i'll follow them around,
Cause all i'd do is stare at the sound.
I'd just stare at the sound.
I'd just stare at the sound.
I'd just go.
Come on.
Hey.
What?
All that i know
Is my mind is blown.
When i'm with you.
When i'm with you. x5
When i'm...
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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