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all for you Jul 2017
​i love you
but you'll never look at me
like you look at her
or your guitar
or your nephew
but i will learn to love myself
like i've done before
and look at myself
the way i wanted you to
George Anthony Jul 2017
my hands are always shaking
but never when i play my guitar,
fingers always trembling
unless they're tapping frets and bars

always have the shivers
'cept when my baby's on my knee.
i've always been unstable;
she's the only love that makes me steady
Scarlet Niamh Jun 2017
Wrap your arms around me
and trace circles
along my spine
with the soft skin
on your strumming hand.
~~ Peace, at last. ~~
William Lee Jun 2017
In the corner
rarely used  
these days,

Once was my
strongest crutch.
Rounded wooden box,

A hole beneath
the metal strings
capture their vibration.

Though struggles  
staying in tune,
when it does...

Beautiful, harmonic
whispers flow,
timid and sweet.

Waiting patiently,
I should use
the wisdom offered.

A name of
a company  
once respected,

Long forgotten.
Like my father,
what remains:

The proud letters
unaware of time,
humble origins.

So I pick up
again and play.
Fingers find

Old homes.
Just tourists at
childhood streets.
  
Nostalgia  dances
on the sidewalk,
somber tease.

Youth played
with a vigor,
assertive​ and strong.

Now each note
stutters of hesitation,
fearing mistakes.

I've been better.
I started worse.
Nostalgia smiles regardless.

Sounds of wood
and metal continue
resonating in me.

I don’t remember  
every scale.
Still, I'll always

Know the major
lessons and minor
chords; ingrained.

He seems to be
proud of that.
proud of me.
shakti iyer Jun 2017
~Wanna watch you play
your guitar,

so so mellifluous.

stare at your lips singing
for me.

sitting on the floor with
my hands on my knees

the sense of moment
so ineffable

and then,
I forget oblivion.~
hello, i wrote this out of imagination one morning.
i wanna make this  to reality.
Sally A Bayan Jun 2017
Once upon a time,
i had a book i read nightly....without fail.
t'was a compendium of impossible dreams,
big plans, summaries of late night talks
on "long-shots-but-worth-a-try," stuff,
...our very own fairy tales, where we
wished for magic wands and wings,
written on nights when sleep was elusive,
when bottles of cold beer had lost their effect.
talks were long...my fingers grew tired, for,
my guitar wept with sad songs....t'was then
i learned to pour martini...into my coffee.

::::::::::::::::::
lost my guitar one day, got busted....but, life's
many notes and tunes, played on with time.
eclipses shaded the already dimmed horizon,
floods ruined boxes of souvenirs...stamped,
handwritten...with ribbons of silver and gold...
people died, some left...some fell out of love,
moved near the mountains, others left their
preferred milieus...for uncomfortable zones...

the moon, looking down from mountaintops,
was a witness to tears...of sufferings,
.....realization, and of acceptance.

when nights refused to end,
when the howling of distant dogs, echoed
and shattered the stillness of the night,
i question marked our tales with suspended
endings...tore off  unfulfilled, hopeless pages,
i crossed out those with "no forever afters,"
only a few pages were left......so, i began
creating new plots......and new settings
i added new characters, and new twists,
all written in the midst of unholy hours
.......til a new dawn....proclaimed itself...
:::::
to this day,
i write my own fairy tales, with no beer, definitely
i still have my night coffee...though sans martini
......it could be black, or with its mating cream,
....and all the dark curves and swirls, in between...
:::::
"a long shot, but worth a try," it may seem,
...yet, i do wish, i could put some sugar and cream
......upon everyone's dark, and bitter coffee...
:::::

Sally

Copyright June 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(This is the shortest I could make of
   this poem...i apologize....)
Àŧùl Jun 2017
I* remember the ultimate terror,
Bunch of killer bees attacking me,
Assailed I was by a shifting pack,
Not a single cadet left behind,
Each of them stinging me royally,
Z**apping through to make death metal!
I am planning to get one Ibanez electric guitar.
My HP Poem #1571
©Atul Kaushal
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2017
.
Hour glass body
Excited— fingers fondling
Love my blue guitar

.
Lemonade May 2017
Your guitar speaks a lot about you.
Through the songs you sing,
and the tunes you play.
Aidan A May 2017
https://soundcloud.com/theaidanazhar/sets/aidan-a-prefinals

I'm sorry, for this isn't a poem
I apologise for the lack of beauty
My words, the justice I owe them
Is now replaced simply
Musically
I set my soul free
I'd love to share the voice
I found
In letting myself
Become me
Shameless marketing, I'm very excited that my music is slowly approaching the prefinal stages before my EP is released. Please have a listen and your critique as poets is highly appreciated.

You'll notice that some of the lyrics are actually poems I've posted before.

Thank you for listening!
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