Guitaring poems on Hello Poetry

Sam Hawkins Apr 2023

through the six voices of my fingertips i spoke to you universe

                                              ker-li-qs
                                  round-a-bouting-ness
                                                ! es !
                            six waltz to foxtrot & back again

                                       foxtrot to cha-cha
                                            to five five

word-vibe inspired by my guitar & Pink Full Moon today, 4.5.2023.
First Full Moon of the astrological New Year...

Kyle Hughes May 2014

Alone in a mediocre city

I sat in that disturbingly dark room, with barely a wince of light shining through the thick curtains that were blue originally but now look dinged with yellow from the cigarette smoke.

Hearing the ***** and grungy guitaring with the out of tune and high pitched scratchy voice overbearing the whole thing sounded beautiful to me at the time.

I knew I was depressed at that very moment.

Even some sunny days have clouds that cast a shadow on the fields.

My fields though, were paved concrete that snake through everything.

I was in a relatively large city, heavily populated and concentrated in a small place.
It wasn’t anything like New York, or Atlanta or even Miami, but the thought of being in a big city excited me.

I would have rather be alone in a large city, than this mediocre town of old folk’s homes and schools for the growing children.

I was alone no matter what; I wanted to be alone sometimes.

To get out of the scorching sun and sit in the shade for a while calmed things down a bit.

I was so alone; I just wish I had someone to be alone with.

Àŧùl Oct 2020

Old Ways Beckon

Anterograde amnesia bothers,
But my old memories are fresh.

The old ones are as fresh as hours ago,
And the cold ones are as sharp as thrush.

In my previous life,
I used to be a musician.

Guitaring and fluting my everyday,
Life seemed to sweetly fade away.

My 6th sense failed me on a sunny day,
Collided and off I fell from my bike.

I fell, and I fell even deeper,
Into a comatose state on a sleeper.

A 23-day long coma existed in my story,
The 42 days in the hospital changed my life.

I remember nothing from that stay,
But I carry the vestiges of a battle.

The food-peg on my tummy,
It was incised inches above the navel.

Now even the extra navel,
It becomes smaller as it fades away.

I have no regrets,
Just the memories refuse to fade away.

With her, I am creating beautiful memories,
And the old memories will be overwritten.

Old songs are sweet,
But new ones are perfumed.

Scented with the new romance,
They will thrive and be forever bloomed.

I am happy with her,
And I can only be happier.

Not that I am immortal,
But through my memories,
And through my contribution
To science, to love, literature & poetry,
I Shall Always Survive.

#old #ways #beckon

— The End —