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Dead Rose One Mar 2018
nobody gets the cancer twice.  
(a blues guitar riff)

blood in the stool
ain’t nobody’s fool,
whent to high school
did not graduate,
but know it wasn’t no thing I ate

scale greets me friendly like,
long lost buddy from yesterday morn,
‘let get right down to it,
let’s see how much less of you borne
leftover alive from the prior day’

spirit spit blood from my gums,
got me a woman, she’s way over town,
woman said I’m brushing with
too hard a brush, alright, alright,
make no fuss, she’s good to me

nobody’s fool whent to school,
though I did not graduate,
a mean riff is better than a
slow moving woman blues cry,
got the strings to do my screaming

doctor is a fan, name is Jimmy,
played music like last time round,
Jimmy-jamming, dancing in the waiting room,
“that cancer got kick, it’s gonna get ya,
think I told ya that about hunner times before”

‘nobody gets the cancer twice,’
an old wives tale for unlucky po’ somofabitches,
do you some tests, tell ya the specifics,
right now, lay, lay down them new tracks,
no quitting time less the good lord comes a-calling’

blues guitar makes a man
cry shiver scream and shake,
progressions licks and tricks,
so you can’t tell what’s making
a grownup man cry and laugh louder

bring me my medicine
bring me my guitar
all I know is how it makes me feel,
oh baby once a night it’s true,
nobody gets the cancer twice
Debbie Brindley Jun 2018
Immerse me in your music
Let your melody
dance upon my skin
Surround me
in the notes you play
seducing me from within
Let the music take over
My body starts to sway
Emotion flows from your guitar
It's rhythm taking me away
On a journey
to where there is nothing
but your music surrounding me
Encasing my body
in the beauty of its melody
My husband was a fabulous guitarist. I miss hearing him play
Bryce Jun 2018
And when I met that girl in San Francisco
Off a dusty little pier
with rotting wood
and squawking seals
And screaming bayside wind

She caught me off-tropics
and danced with the grace
of a palm tree
lines between the quaked
off telegraph avenue
On an obscuring Sunday morning

and no
she didn't go
to church or any silly thing
like a temple or synagogue
She said those were no places
for god

God was the trees

We smoked cigarettes and got off to each other's
carcinogenic practices
oxidizing a little faster in conjunction with hopeful
Deriding the formalities
of small talk and trivialities

She liked her guitars with nickel-wound strings
I with nylon
But I couldn't play songs
that sounded any good with them
while she could
and did.

and girl did it ever sound good

She'd laugh at the contests on the radio
while we drove on a half-moon
to half-moon
full and whole of ourselves
We'd stopped in the lobby of a cheap motel
And waltzed to background
wacked out of our minds
Sniffing in deep huffs of subliminal
that mind-numbing

Who ever really listened to that?

And then she left
at the end of one fine winter day
in a cloudless sky I waved
watched her plane
skip off
towards the edge of a pale blue horizon
back south
to warmer climes
to wherever she truly stayed
The tugging on my heartstrings
chimed grotesque in
D minor.
sara May 2014
it's cold and dark and calm outside
so you make sure that i'm tucked up tight
but i need fresh air so the window is open ajar
whilst there in the corner lays a battered guitar

i'm high as hell so you carried me home
and wrapped me up into a bed of your own
you throw a lumpy mattress by the guitar on your floor
and apologise in advance for the fact that you snore

because i can't even remember my name
may give the green light to most, to see me as 'fair game'
my hair is a mess and my clothes are askew
but that doesn't seem to matter to you

i'm taken aback as you toss me a shirt
you try to stifle your laugh but i catch you smirk
as i try to escape from the clutch of my dress
i hear a laugh which you fail to suppress

i wrestle your shirt with my limbs in a tangle
you yank it over my head, for which i am thankful
i wriggle free from the blanket and sit up cross legged
as you fling yourself down at the foot of your bed

you tell me you've just got a text from my mother
who says she trusts me with you and no other
and that you are under very strict instructions
to keep me away from all teenage destruction

it's 1.30am and my thoughts are cotton wool
but our bottle of ***** is still three quarters full
my eyes spy the battered guitar in the room
and i beg you to play me my favourite tune

an undeniably slow start as you mess up the chords
and ramble on about how i'm probably bored
but my eyes fix on yours with an encouraging grin
and as you continue to play, goosebumps rise on my skin

and as you place the battered guitar back down
you sarcastically ask whether i'm happy now
the buzz of my body and the smile on my face
shows that here, happiness is truly the case
2018 edit and I’m still finding guitarists cute um
Outside Words Oct 2018
Strolling through the park
With humans, dogs, and birds,
Pink leaves make their mark
As they hover down in thirds.

Drifting along lazy airwaves,
An amplified guitar echoes
As a band soulfully misbehaves
For all nearby bedfellows.

Apartments loom over trees,
From a place of urban gray
As blue air works to appease
Spaces between dusk and day.

Sturdy street lights rusted and old
Accompanying a worn path ignite,
One by one flashing dark to gold
On a normal Wednesday night.
Listen to this while you read:

© Outside Words
Just a crack in the brick wall
A red rubber ball
The last time you can't remember
When you stood tall

The monotonous hologram
The seaside hotdog stand
The regrets piled higher
than any mountain can

Four stringed guitar
Home in an abandoned  car
Courage in a bottle
Wishing still on the first star

Still he caresses the neck
Presses down the frets
Sings three octave blues
On life's reef of wrecks

He's free lost in the chords
The music opens doors
The pathway is as bleak as sin
While inside he reaches for more

He goes off to sleep
He has his dreams deep
About a paradise for losers
And a five string guitar
Äŧül Feb 2016
Their voice so harmonious,
Silent when no strings attached,
All the curves so very ****,
Smooth is their texture,
Admiring their beauty with fingers,
You seat them on your lap,
Putting their arms around your shoulder.

Tickle them hard to make them peck,
They touch your heart with their sound,
Nibbling your ears in between,
The motion generates friction,
Friction generates heat,
So icy sweet is her music,
All over, you script success.

I talk of my guitar here.
I now possess 2 guitars.

My HP Poem #1022
©Atul Kaushal
treat me like your guitar
bring me to your chest
cradle me in your arms
protect me from falling
sing to me
Marla Jun 25
Guitarra divina,
Con sus cuerdas finas,
Ahórcame con su lasso
Y dame otra vida.
He walked the streets a begger
they buried him like a king
he played a six string guitar
he wore no golden ring

She had the voice of angels
survived a valley called death
then fearing no evil
she passed every test

They wrote the songs with sunsets
they walked the line together
they stood in a ring of fire
in love they burned forever
Tribute to Johnny Cash and June Carter
Roselyn Mar 19
────────────────╔╝    it ­ ╚╗────────────────
────────────────╬  calls     ╬──────────────── ───────────────╬     to me╬───────────────
────────────────╬     this   ╬────────────────
────────────────╚╗   s    ╔╝────▐▀──────────
─────────────────╚╗i  ╔╝─────▐───────────­
──────────────────║x ║──────▐───────────
──────────────────║s ║─────██───────────
──────────────────║t ║──────────────────
──────────────────║r ║──────────────────
──────────────────║i ║──────────────────
─────────────╔═╝beauty.       ­╚═╗─────────────
────▐▀▀▀▌───╔╝            calluses      ╚╗──────­──────
────▐───▌───║    collide as i               ║────────────
────▐───▌───╚╗        fret                  ╔╝─────­───────
───██─▐█▌────╚╗     over this      ╔╝─────────────
──────────────║   tune               ║──────────────
─────────────╔╝        notes         ╚╗─────────────
────────────╔╝ are found              ╚╗────────────
───────────╔╝ fingers overlapping   ╚╗───────────
──────────╔╝           music unfolding    ╚╗─────▐▀───
──────────║          lyrics closing                 ║─────▐────
──────────║                         as this old       ║─────▐────
──────────╚╗              guitar goes          ╔╝────██────
───────────╚╗     back to                    ╔╝───────────
────────────╚═╗    rest      ­          ╔═╝────────────
i tried **** (doesn't work on mobile btw)
Lazhar Bouazzi Dec 2016
Autumn leaves
would do
for remembrance,
more than words,
or a  plaintive air
Of a yellow guitar;
a rain,
a wine-dark wind  
spraying last summer's
Ah! Your absence!

Your white,
present, absence 
my metaphor!

© LazharBouazzi, December 7, 2016
Sam Hawkins Jun 2018
I'm feeling a giddy laughing all about!

100 trillion cells of me leading choruses,
mostly in my gut?

I shout it out, so all the world may hear!

I’m in love relationship!
Ha yah!

When’s the last time a significant other
kept you up, nearly all night?

Last night, this happened to me
and my dear.

She’d only come into my life yesterday
and man did we sing it up last night,
she and I!

Me and my stunning-to-the-T
Canadian La Patrie Classical Guitar.

I so love
sweet-song her!
Justan Rahming Sep 2018
Silent guitar on the wall
voice of passion and stories of the heart.
You are the tool of my youth,
the path to the hearts
of loves once passed

You know my hands better than I,
every motion, my grace, my limits.
You feel the beating of my heart
and the pain of my growth.

But now the notes have faded and the songs forgotten,
all memories replaced by others.
The sounds have subsided to only
tinkering of frustration.

Leading to you to become
The silent guitar on the wall
Traveler Sep 17
My use to knows
Are somewhere lost
In nothingness
I blindly navigate
Using mussel memory
In syntactical frenzy
Sampling residue of
Forgotten stale grey matter
Until finally
A rogue cluster of poetical
Muse cells submerge
Fingers form familiar patterns
Hands grips tight the neck
The cords surface in mind
And matter of fact
Magnetically draws
The remaining missing piece
Into the healing soul
    Of the guitarist.....

Poetry and Music
Are my saving grace
  Thank you Universe!!!

Pardon me my feelings are showing...
Traveler Tim
Carter Ginter Sep 2018
I can barely stand certain music now
Each song holds a memory locked into it
Multi-Love for instance
It's fitting that I'm burning incense right now
Because this song brings me back to December
You were into ****** at that point
The sweet and smoky scents danced around us
As your sonos speakers
Cascaded those guitar riffs into our ears
I thought you were ecstasy
But you became an addiction
And like that smoke in my lungs
You burned me instead
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