When all the strings of my life will be tuned, my Master, then at every touch of thine will come out the music of love.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Turn Your Radio On
Come and listen in to a radio station
Where the mighty hosts of heaven sing
Turn your radio on, turn your radio on
If you want to feel those good vibrations
Coming from the joy that His love can bring
Turn you radio on, turn your radio on.
Turn your radio on
And listen to the music in the air
Turn your radio on and glory share
Turn your lights down low
And listen to the Master's radio
Get in touch with God, and turn your radio on.
--- Instrumental ---
Everybody has a radio receiver
All you got to do is listen for the call
Turn your radio on, turn your radio on
If you listen in you will be a believer
Leanin' on the truths that'll never fall
Get in touch with God, turn the radio on.
Turn your radio on
And listen to the music in the air
Turn your radio on and glory share
Turn your lights down low
And listen to the Master's radio
Get in touch with God, turn your radio on.
Turn your radio on
And listen to the music in the air
Turn your radio on and glory share
Turn your lights down low
And listen to the Master's radio
Get in touch with God, turn your radio on.
Turn your lights down low
And listen to the Master's radio
Get in touch with God, turn your radio on...
song performed by by Randy Travis
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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The Rosary
Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings
Shall all men praise the Master of all song.
Our life is brief, one saith, and art is long;
And skilled must be the laureates of kings.
Silent, O lips that utter foolish things!
Rest, awkward fingers striking all notes wrong!
How from your toil shall issue, white and strong,
Music like that God's chosen poet sings?
There is one harp that any hand can play,
And from its strings what harmonies arise!
There is one song that any mouth can say, --
A song that lingers when all singing dies.
When on their beads our Mother's children pray
Immortal music charms the grateful skies.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Master-Player
AN old worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Joy, Hate and Fear, each one essayed,
To play. But each in turn had found
No sweet responsiveness of sound
Then Love the Master-Player came
With heaving breast and eyes aflame;
The harp he took all undismayed,
Smote on its strings, still strange to song,
And brought forth music sweet and strong.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strings in the Earth and Air
Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.
All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.
poem by James Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Take Me, O Master, Into Thine Vineyard
0 Master, take me into Thine vineyard;
Thou give me any duty as Thou please;
And when I've finish'd show me Thine backyard;
Enroll me vassal, when free of disease.
0 Master fair, Thou give me a job soon;
Thou may pay me anything in return;
To be Thine servant, humblest is a boon;
For then, I can't ever go to Hell and burn.
0 Master kind, any job will suffice;
My precious time, I've wasted for quite long;
Thou give me food, enough to do work nice;
Thou give me work before ceases Thine song.
How lucky 'tis to be in Thine vineyard!
A servant's lucky more in Thine backyard.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Puppeteer
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
It is still the cost is on our shoulders.
Leader of nothing.
With words of speeches that have no meaning.
They fell for it hook line and sinker.
Now it is time to pull off the shroud.
Show them the monster I really am.
Satan aint got sh! * on him.
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
They say we love him.
But it was his false claims and ideas.
Given up as soon as he got in.
A solution to a problem we created.
How come now we feel so jaded.
We were once again manipulated.
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
Promise broken, dreams stolen.
All by this man who rides in on a white horse.
He looks promising lets keep him for another term.
Oh where do we sign.
He says there on the dotted lines.
He claims he's the ender of all suffering.
And I say I haven't seen this yet.
I feel so abandon by this master.
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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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Soundtrack
It brings back those great years
Sounds of 'Perfidia' on strings
Sheer magic to listening ears
A great time for sweet remembering.
Just sleek music from those guitars
Will never fail to make my day
But the best one I have heard so far
Was Mark Knopfler, I must say.
It takes great skill, sharp precision
And a sensitive ear tuned to the beat
What they had was a consuming passion
Their music was more than just a treat!
So I rest the night with 'Sleepwalk'
Perhaps wake-up to the beat of 'Apache'
I'm happy to be one of the old folks
And guitar music's really best for me!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Play On The Music
Play on the music
Drop by drop
The strings divine
The nature at its eloquence
From heavens to earth
Stretch the string
Play on the music
Drop by drop
Beethoven’s symphony
Chopin’s piano
Santana’s guitar
Or the cuckoos song
Play on the music
Drop by drop
In the heat of the night
In cold surroundings
The story of my love
My illusions great
I construct heavens
Play on the music
Drop by drop
For the moments rare
It’s only for those
The discerning here
The enchanted being
Play on the music
Drop by drop
Don’t leave me alone
O soul you fly
The body shivers
With the thought
Of death and destruction
O soul we were friends
Thou fly to eternity
Play on the music
Drop by drop
Your place is heaven
I want to be heard
A slave to a master
So ungrateful
Your beauty in this world
I hath been
You decorated me
With ornaments rare
Play on the music
Drop by drop
For this is your fate
O carrier of soul
The life’s going by
Take your share
O body of the soul
Freedom anew
In the world here
Play on the music
Drop by drop
For I am the real
The being and the nothing
The beloved and the rival
The saki and the wine
Play on the music
Drop by drop
In the deep longing
Of the night long
The strings so stretched
From the heavens to earth
Sing songs of love, O beloved mine
Reveal thy face, in my imaginations wild
Torn is my being, between real and unreal
Play on the music
Drop by drop
In the middle of the night
The rain drops falling
From the clouds high
Is telling me this story
Khayyam’s disciple
Sings a song
Play on the music
Drop by drop
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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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Simple needs
What do I need?
I need the words the most I think
I need some touch as well to live
I need a music around
I need some special climate
I need love, I think
Love in words
Love in touch
Love in the music
Love in the air
Love in your eyes as well
Love in many simple ways
You can give me your self
Love in the gesture
Love in your clothes
Love in your naked body and soul
Love in your favourites
Specialite de la maison
Love in your work
Love in your smile
Love in the way you speak
About everything around
Love in your mind
Love in your shopping tour
And I love to be in love with you
I love to share my life
With such a guy as you are
I love to give my self to you
I love to make love too
I love to do everything I do
And I love to live this way
With you.
poem by Anna Cellmer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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String Between Cups
It was those strings between those cups
Carrying conversations no satellite could pick up
It was that easy laid-back living'
Undisturbed by the bad news on the television
It was those simple words of love, passed through the strings between us
Undisturbed by society's lust for a pleasure that seems to be all touch
Yes, it's those undisturbed words
We had both previously heard
Before… But once more…
We knew we had never really felt
But what we had was enough, there was no need to bluff
We both played well with the cards we were dealt
Those strings between those cups
Reverberated from the talks between us
The ones that I like to recall most
And we never had fancy things or long strings
So we always stayed close
For undisturbed conversation, About the steps we had taken
And it was those undisturbed words
We had both previously heard
But we never really felt were real
Because touch was a word associated with feel
Until true passion had made us whole
Now feel is a word associated with soul
Some things aren't always as they seem to be
And we never had any magazines to see
How we should make love or how we should dress
That's advice on this life that never left us impressed
And those strings between those cups carried conversation best
Carrying in them all the words we had once heard before
But between us those words seemed to mean so much more
poem by Johnathan Stokes
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The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give to Love
Love came knocking on thy door
With you in sight to love and adore
But thine did give
All that thou have and
need to live?
You gave thine lips for love to speak
You gave thine heart for love's heart's weak
You gave thine face, to love to trace
its tears across thee a sorrowful place
thou give to thy loss when it comes to love!
You gave thine soul to love's control
You gave love thy hand to hold
You gave thy feet for love to kiss
You gave thy happiness to love's bliss
You gave thy breast for love to touch
You gave thine body for love to clutch.
But what did love give thee?
Love took and took and left thee with nothing!
With nothing now you are at peace, thou art free!
This is what love did to me!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unstrung
My skies were blue, and my sun was bright,
And, with fingers tender and strong and light,
He woke up the music that slept before—
Echoing, echoing evermore!
By-and-by, my skies grew grey;—
No master-touch on the harp-strings lay,—
Dead silence cradled the notes divine:
His soul had wander'd away from mine.
Idly, o'er strange harps swept his hand,
Seeking for music more wild and grand.
He wearied at last of his fruitless quest,
And he came again to my harp for rest.
But the dust lay thick on the golden wires,
And they would not thrill to the old desires.
The chords, so broken and jarred with pain,
Could never be tender and sweet again.
poem by Ada Cambridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Invisible Strings
(ian hunter)
One, two, three
Well I woke up this morning - theres a girl in my bed.
How did she get there? was it something I said?
I dont understand it but somehow it seems
She visits me in invisible dreams.
Over and over I try to explain
How did that girl get into my veins?
Did somebody send her - was it my velvet wings?
And how does she touch my invisible strings?
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Ill still be playing my invisible strings
Well maybe she dont have a world of her own
Maybe shes using me just like a phone
And sometimes shes cool and sometimes she stings
And Im all tangled up in invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing those invisible strings
Well she never leaves - Im never alone
I aint in the book but shes still calling home
I tried to lose her - watch the tv
But that womans always picking on me
Well, theres strings round my body, strings round my heart
Id like to know where the string-pulling starts
Id give anything to meet the angel who sends
Invisible ink to my invisible pen
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
Oh yeah
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lady That Hast my Heart
LADY that hast my heart within thy hand,
Thou heed'st me not; and if thou turn thine ear
Unto the wise, thou shalt not understand--
Behold the fault is thine, our words were clear.
For all the tumult in my drunken brain
Praise God! who trieth not His slave in vain;
Nor this world nor the next shall make me fear!
My weary heart eternal silence keeps--
I know not who has slipped into my heart;
Though I am silent, one within me weeps.
My soul shall rend the painted veil apart.
Where art thou, Minstrel! touch thy saddest strings
Till clothed in music such as sorrow sings,
My mournful story from thy zither sweeps.
Lo, not at any time I lent mine ear
To hearken to the glories of the earth;
Only thy beauty to mine eyes was dear.
Sleep has forsaken me, and from the birth
Of night till day I weave bright dreams of thee;
Drunk with a hundred nights of revelry,
Where is the tavern that sets forth such cheer!
My heart, sad hermit, stains the cloister floor
With drops of blood, the sweat of anguish dire;
Ah, wash me clean, and o'er my body pour
Love's generous wine! the worshippers of fire
Have bowed them down and magnified my name,
For in my heart there burns a living flame,
Transpiercing Death's impenetrable door.
What instrument through last night's silence rang?
My life into his lay the minstrel wove,
And filled my brain with the sweet song he sang.
It was the proclamation of thy love
That shook the strings of Life's most secret lyre,
And still my breast heaves with last night's desire,
For countless echoes from that music sprang.
And ever, since the time that Hafiz heard
His Lady's voice, as from a rocky hill
Reverberates the softly spoken word,
So echoes of desire his bosom fill.
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Puppet On A String
A puppet on a string is all that you are,
And all that you ever will be
Your told what to hear and what to say
And you're even told what you can believe.
You are not free as you were once before
As you gave that and your dignity away
Now you are told where to go and what to wear
And you were even told to change your name.
Your watched and not trusted wherever you go
And you must ask permission to leave
And that is the life that you chose for yourself
Now for you there is only shame and pity.
You're a puppet on the string as that is you
Your puppeteer tells you how to act
He tells you what to cook and when to sleep
And when to bed him and how to react,
But what can you do, as you have nowhere to go
Everyone knows of your lying and your ways
Your own daughters are confused because of you
Now they will be like you in their own adult days.
You changed your hair and you changed your name
Because your master commanded you to
To make him happy is what you want to do best
But sadly this situation for you isn't new.
You're a puppet on the string that's all that I hear
Wherever you might go or what you might say
You walk in the footsteps your master placed for you
And you will walk them until your dying days.
Your strings are pulled and then you will walk
Your strings are pulled and then you will obey
Your strings are pulled and then you will answer
And that's how you will be from day unto day.
No truth or loyally does your master have for you
Not even a vow to GOD or a wedding ring
But you never expect or accepted them anyway
As all that you are, is but a puppet on a string.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Music Is Life
Music is life
Music is love
Music is joyful
Music is peaceful
Music is a journal
Music has feelings
Music has emotion
Music tells stories
Music is unpredictable
Music is exciting
Music holds memories
Music is life
poem by Person You Don't Know
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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