"dobro" poems - Hello Poetry

STROLLING OUT OF TUNE When the wind blows round it swirls and sweeps memories of what was once there, thoughts of an old song take longer and longer to repair Began toe tapping almost adding in the clapping but would rather arise maybe explore to find a new prize Stuck in a cerebral gap this tune may take a map,keeping digging in try to place that gorgeous groove Set off out the door to not be a bore, soon found myself pacing in time to some hidden rhyme ,waiting for it to arise Birds and buses beginning to chirp and hum adding their part, as I try to pick up more clues Taking it in stride feeling this may be a long stroll,that unknown elegy will be a nice surprise Rambling again, smooth echoes entering my mind hopefully helping to harmonize my next muse Making the next strut to remove muzak from that rut, picking it up a key or two will surely bring brightness to my eyes Lost lyrics lingering ,slowly letting go of that ********* guitar maybe a banjo or dobro waiting with a new lick to diffuse Back to the trail humming along listening to the sky's to drop that song,so will this shuffle bring a new ruffle or just be for the exercise Again set to travel as the sonnets unravel, hoping that bebop will be part of the hop desiring the dancing, breaking into upbeat prancing finally finding that new melody will be the best news. R..C.

0

Jul 23, 2018

Jul 23, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC

wichitarick

STROLLING OUT OF TUNE

STROLLING OUT OF TUNE When the wind blows round it swirls and sweeps memories of what was once there, thoughts of an old song take longer and longer to repair Began toe tapping almost adding in the clapping but would rather arise maybe explore to find a new prize Stuck in a cerebral gap this tune may take a map,keeping digging in try to place that gorgeous groove Set off out the door to not be a bore, soon found myself pacing in time to some hidden rhyme ,waiting for it to arise Birds and buses beginning to chirp and hum adding their part, as I try to pick up more clues Taking it in stride feeling this may be a long stroll,that unknown elegy will be a nice surprise Rambling again, smooth echoes entering my mind hopefully helping to harmonize my next muse Making the next strut to remove muzak from that rut, picking it up a key or two will surely bring brightness to my eyes Lost lyrics lingering ,slowly letting go of that ********* guitar maybe a banjo or dobro waiting with a new lick to diffuse Back to the trail humming along listening to the sky's to drop that song,so will this shuffle bring a new ruffle or just be for the exercise Again set to travel as the sonnets unravel, hoping that bebop will be part of the hop desiring the dancing, breaking into upbeat prancing finally finding that new melody will be the best news. R..C.

12

My grandfather is the reason for my interest in guitar. I once strummed the strings of one of his many collector acoustics and electrics, even a dobro, and loved every moment. Grandpa Al taught me the G chord, and from then on I was hooked. He signed me up for classes with a bluegrass instructor in my early teens, and I went to a few sessions, but I had rock n roll at heart. I stole my grandfather’s 12-string acoustic guitar in my mid-teens, on a journey to Seattle to be rebellious and to get drunk freely and spare for change on the side of the road. It was a big mistake. I broke several strings of the guitar on the hitchhiking part of the expedition. In a small suburb just outside of Seattle, a man walked up to me, and asked me if I could play. I tried my best with what I had, and he took me into the guitar shop across the street to spend fifty dollars on refurbishing my grandfather’s guitar. I played the guitar on the streets of Seattle for drug and alcohol money. I was offered a record deal with some people I met on the street and I was too ****** up to play. They passed me up. I slept near the harbor one night, and made a terrible mistake. I smashed the guitar and left it on the top of a trash can downtown the following morning. That day, I hitched back to Olympia. When I got back to my home town, I snuck over to my grandmother’s house and crept into the guest room door in the courtyard. I had been gone for just short of a week. She heard me come in and came knocking on the door angrily, which I had locked. She became afraid and called the cops. Knowing this, I tried to jet out of there and ran into a nearby police vehicle that immediately pulled me over, arrested and booked me. I got out several days later, and never told my grandparents the truth about what happened to the guitar. They asked several times.

0

May 16, 2016

May 16, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC

cameron-stoker

Grandpa Al's Guitar

My grandfather is the reason for my interest in guitar. I once strummed the strings of one of his many collector acoustics and electrics, even a dobro, and loved every moment. Grandpa Al taught me the G chord, and from then on I was hooked. He signed me up for classes with a bluegrass instructor in my early teens, and I went to a few sessions, but I had rock n roll at heart. I stole my grandfather’s 12-string acoustic guitar in my mid-teens, on a journey to Seattle to be rebellious and to get drunk freely and spare for change on the side of the road. It was a big mistake. I broke several strings of the guitar on the hitchhiking part of the expedition. In a small suburb just outside of Seattle, a man walked up to me, and asked me if I could play. I tried my best with what I had, and he took me into the guitar shop across the street to spend fifty dollars on refurbishing my grandfather’s guitar. I played the guitar on the streets of Seattle for drug and alcohol money. I was offered a record deal with some people I met on the street and I was too ****** up to play. They passed me up. I slept near the harbor one night, and made a terrible mistake. I smashed the guitar and left it on the top of a trash can downtown the following morning. That day, I hitched back to Olympia. When I got back to my home town, I snuck over to my grandmother’s house and crept into the guest room door in the courtyard. I had been gone for just short of a week. She heard me come in and came knocking on the door angrily, which I had locked. She became afraid and called the cops. Knowing this, I tried to jet out of there and ran into a nearby police vehicle that immediately pulled me over, arrested and booked me. I got out several days later, and never told my grandparents the truth about what happened to the guitar. They asked several times.

4

bio jednom siloviti brlja prvo seje pa ga onda drlja od onih je bio to se dobro zna nije im’o pokrete kao ti i ja gleda on u jednog mladića gleda a bale mu idu i za njega zidao bi piramidu u banku mu tri kredita dali al’ stropsa mu kalabaster

0

Jun 30, 2014

Jun 30, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC

lovke

siloviti brlja

bio jednom siloviti brlja prvo seje pa ga onda drlja od onih je bio to se dobro zna nije im’o pokrete kao ti i ja gleda on u jednog mladića gleda a bale mu idu i za njega zidao bi piramidu u banku mu tri kredita dali al’ stropsa mu kalabaster

11

Your kindness has killed me. It wasn't too sweet, not saccharine, you came with a hint of lemon-sharp smiles and mischievous eyes, cheek slipping off your tongue to fall on my skin like a bluntly barbed-caress, each laugh a knife that cuts me to remember. I barely knew you but even so, I think it was enough to slip into loving him who I perceived you to be.

0

Mar 8, 2015

Mar 8, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC

ella-gwen

Nisam Dobro.

Your kindness has killed me. It wasn't too sweet, not saccharine, you came with a hint of lemon-sharp smiles and mischievous eyes, cheek slipping off your tongue to fall on my skin like a bluntly barbed-caress, each laugh a knife that cuts me to remember. I barely knew you but even so, I think it was enough to slip into loving him who I perceived you to be.

8

udari me već jednom zrakom svojim svilenim sunce ne snalazim se dobro kao što vidiš u snovima

0

Apr 27, 2015

Apr 27, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC

lovke

molba

udari me već jednom zrakom svojim svilenim sunce ne snalazim se dobro kao što vidiš u snovima

5