"halen" poems
Slashers Defined
In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.
Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm
Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but, what could have been
Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot
Steve Howe – Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –
Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo
Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure
Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman
Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock
Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen
Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow
Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)
Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz
Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock
Goerge Benson – Jazz
Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock
Marc Farner - Grand Funk Railroad
Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo
Joe Satriani - New age – solo
Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo
Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo
Chet Atkins – jazz, country
John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo
Neal Schon – Journey
Steve Lukather – Toto
Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo
Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo
Leslie West - Mountain, West Bruce & Laing
Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)
Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's
Phil Keaggy – New age Christian
Robin Trower – Procul Harem
Brian May – Queen
Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan
Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues
Carlos Santana – Santana
Ronnie Montrose – Montrose
Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion
Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
Legalize it
Sitting down jamming to Van Halen,
maybe flying, but more like sailing.
Smoked, maybe just a little bud,
whatever it was, certainly not a dud.
This visuals are out of sight,
best thing that happened, all **** night.
Lose yourself in a guitar solo,
nobody leads, we all just follow.
In own house, forget where you are,
this journey has gone a bit to far.
Air guitar is losing its touch,
maybe smoked a bit to much.
Also had a bit to drink,
hard now to even think.
Just legalize it already,
no more cutting corners like Freddy.
Tax the the living hell of of it,
soon after, no more deficit.
Side effects include, fun and joy,
brain cells get a temporary destroy.
Cotton mouth and the munchies,
no more wars in foreign countries.
Laziness and blood shot eye,
but at no time will you die.
Some drowsiness and falling asleep,
but to ****** to remember how many sheep.
May lead to other drugs,
or even getting naked hugs.
When legalized, I'd be first in line,
only then will life fully shine.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
My God, he could never understand why she watched so many music documentaries, listened to so many eclectic songs, so many symphonies and just be flooded with emotions. He never got it. He never got her. He got bits and pieces of her, yet the rest was a mystery. She was his paradox. He'd sit and watch her get lost in a sonata, a Van Halen guitar solo, or simply a musician along Music Row. He never could understand how she did it. How, even though she was so different and foreign, that she could feel so much like home to him. So close to what he needed forever. She was his beautiful, mysterious, paradox.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
When he was born his father was drunk,
his mother was doped up.
He was born three months early with double pneumonia,
but he lived.
Growing up, his father would put down the bottle
only to hit him and his mother.
For some reason, he wasn't sure, his sister and brother were spared.
His father died when he was eleven.
His father killed himself with the same pistol he killed two Japanese men with. His mother remarried, with no job, experience, or even a drivers license, she had to remarry quick.
His stepfather put down the bottle only long enough to hit him and his mother. This time, his sister and brother were not spared.
Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, he learned to play while my guitar gently weeps on a third hand guitar his stepfather had spent a fifth of his monthly salary buying.
He made money playing guitar. He wasn't the best, no Eddie Van Halen, no Eric Clapton. He did without the flashy showmanship. He had something called dependability. He was never late for an audition, he never ****** up an audition, he never fought with his band mates.
Driving home from a gig thirteen days after his twenty second birthday, a drunk teenager in a pickup truck plowed into him at an intersection.
He spent 5 weeks in the hospital. Doped up the whole time. When they let him leave, he left with a plate in his head and a monkey on his back.
For three years he lived on the streets. He'd play his guitar on the corner by the CBGBs for change. He'd take that change and buy ****** After three years, exactly three years of this, he realized he could play guitar better sober. He stopped using.
He got an associates degree in English, a concentration in teaching.
He taught English and Beginning Guitar at the same high school he hid his bruises at years earlier. He had favorite students, how could he not? They were always hiding bruises.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
.
When you’re not here
nothing seems real
I’m lost and alone
this is how I feel
Broken and twisted
like barbed wire candy
Pinched like the pliers
I used to keep handy
Scratched on the surface
with sandpaper swinging
Cursing a hornet
my arms it is stinging
Caught in a nightmare
with someone named Freddy
Dreaming of Turtles,
of Flo and of Eddie
Stuck in the past,
well maybe tomorrow
Calling a neighbor
in hopes I can borrow
Something of value
they’re no longer needing
Maybe a band aid
to help with this bleeding
Unable to rock
to a song by Van Halen
Hot for (the) teacher
and spellin I’m failen
Hung out to dry
with a shirt on the line
Writing a poem
I just cannot rhyme
But so soon I know
Everything will be right
When you return home
later tonight
Then we will dance
neath the moon up above
Happy together, (Imagine me and you and you and me)
forever in love
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Take me to that summer shade
Where destinations call
Listen as we’ve got it made
Get drunk until we fall
Pass the margarita mix
I’ve got a slice of lime
Sammy Hagar salted licks
Swim on Cabo time
Fill that bucket to the brim
Shave the sparkling ice
I’m about to dive on in
It’s now my paradise
Jimmy Buffet would be proud
This burgers’ ripe with cheese
Slap some coral ****** loud
Bring me to my knees
Set’em up, I’ve got a card
Who cares if it’s not mine
I found it out in Joe’s backyard
Come on, it’s drinking time
Crank Van Halen through the roof
I’m ready now to dance
Pour a shot of 80 proof
And then we’ll talk romance
Why’s that window now a cat
Neon lights all spin
I can’t remember where I’m at
But you can come on in
Have a seat here at the bar
I’ll lie on the floor
I don’t think it is very far
I’ve been there once before
Find me when a sunset breeze
Looks like a whiskey sour
And wake this old boy if you please
I can’t miss happy hour
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
My brother told me
that if I keep dressing the way I do
and cutting my hair short
I'm going to look like a man.
I hope so.
Maybe, if people think I'm a man,
no one will tell me I can't
listen to Van Halen because
"it's guy music".
Maybe, if people think I'm a man,
they won't think I'm the antichrist
when I kiss my girlfriend.
Maybe if people think I'm a man,
they won't expect me to shave my legs
and arms
and every other area with
"unsightly hair".
Maybe if people think I'm a man,
my teacher will not tell me
to make sure I marry someone
who can support my family
and will start telling me
how to ******* support my family.
Maybe if people think I'm a man
they won't get angry at me
when I refuse to send
pornographic photos of
my body.
Maybe if people think I'm a man
I will be able to walk home
at night without pepper spray
on my keychain in case
I look too "provocative".
Maybe if people think I'm a man
I will finally get treated
with some *******
respect.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Ik wil mooie, hoopvolle woorden neerpennen
Mijn geluk uiten in elk gedicht
Als nieuwe kleurrijke melodieën
Die dansen op mijn blad
En aanstekelijke vreugde zaaien
Maar ik kan enkel en alleen verdrinken in mijn duisternis
En inspiratie halen uit de verknipte hoeken van mijn gedachten
Elke letter gedrenkt in pijn
Iedere beweging van mijn spreekwoordelijke pen een wonde verwoord op papier
Dus schrijf ik donkere, scherpe teksten
Of hopeloze, onbereikbare fantasieën
Die slechts mijn eenzaamheid bevestigen
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 2:41 PM UTC
Dine fødder,
der bruger en str. 46 i sko
trådte på mig
ydmyget
med halen mellem benene
flygtede jeg
men jeg kunne aldrig slippe væk
fra dig
du er forevigt i mine tanker
gemt væk i de hjørner
der gør ondt
når man kommer til at nærme sig dem
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
I still cry over you.
I still mourn the love we had.
As pure as it was.
I never thought we'd be here.
Though another love has graced me,
I miss your unique touch
And the way you appreciated me.
Mistakes make us.
And break us.
I don't blame you.
I never did.
I can't listen to Van Halen
Or watch more of the shows we binged
Or even eat popcorn
Without thinking of you and everything we had.
Nostalgia plagues me
And keeps me feeling
Even though I shouldn't.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 12:46 PM UTC
Lieve mama,
Je hebt mijn grafrede geschreven. Vol overtuiging heb je de pen op het papier gezet en de woorden laten vloeien.
Zonder enige twijfel kon jij zo je speech schrijven. Je deed het in het ziekenhuis, terwijl ik nietsvermoedend naast je zat. Je liet het me niet lezen, ik heb zelf je boekje gepakt. Nadat jij zo vaak mijn pijn op het papier heb kunnen lezen, leek het me niet meer dan eerlijk om te zien waar jij al zo lang mee zat. Uit je woorden kon ik opmaken dat je al een lange tijd aan het rouwen bent. Ik ben nog niet dood, maar je weet dat het eraan zit te komen. De constante schaduw van de suïcidale aanvallen hebben de monsters in je hoofd als een wild vuur aangewakkerd. Je gelooft niet meer in mijn leven. Het is een droom die ieder moment kan stoppen. Je weet dat je daarna nooit meer zult dromen en klampt je krampachtig vast aan de laatste beelden die je voor je **** halen. We hebben de laatste tijd niet meer dan ruzie gehad. We voelen de dood beide zo hard in ons nek hijgen dat we elkaar nauwelijks aan kunnen kijken. Het komt door mij. Wat zou het nu nog uitmaken of ik dood ga of niet. Ik heb je al zoveel pijn en verdriet gekost, dit kan zo niet verder mam. Ik wil je geen pijn meer doen. Je hebt mijn grafrede geschreven, verdomme mam. Je hebt het voor mij definitief gemaakt. Ik dacht dat ik er niet mee zou zitten, ik dacht dat ik mijn gevoel weer weg kon stoppen, maar mam je hebt het definitief gemaakt. Ik geef je nergens de schuld van. Ik had nooit dat boekje moeten pakken, maar mam je bent zo afgesloten. Ik wil weer met je zijn, samen kunnen lachen en huilen. Tegenwoordig kunnen we elkaar niet uitstaan. Ik voel de band niet meer. Ik begin mezelf weer langzaam terug te trekken en als het eenmaal zo ver is, zal het weer fout gaan. Het is voor mij, net als voor jou, een tikkende tijdbom. Ik sta op springen mam, ik kan niet meer. Ik vocht voor jou, maar jij hebt me al opgegeven. Jij bent al aan het rouwen voor een kind dat nog niet dood is.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 2:12 PM UTC
*vluchtende mensen
grijpend
naar een pilletje
medicijnen
voor balans, tegen het kwijnen
een fles wijn
gewoon
om, voor de verandering,
eens met jezelf te zijn
het heil zoekend
in een grote groep vrienden
even niet bepalen
laat anderen de beslissing maken
een joint misschien?
zelfconfrontatie gaat me raken
piekeren
ik gok liever voor tien
een kameraad vierentwintigzeven
om mijn innerlijke stem te ontwaken
God zeg me, wie ik ben, waar ik sta
stop het nou maar onder het laken
ik zelf heb al vaak genoeg geprobeerd
het te weten, te weten waar ik ga
op de langertermijn
nog steeds niet in balans
gek he?
als we blijven vluchten van onze dans
het hoofd bieden aan een eigen kans
ver weg in het duister
nog wel
en dan
*** voel jij je weer licht?
ben je dan ook werkelijk in
evenwicht?
of houd je het masker voor
om meer te krijgen
iets van gehoor
met alle prikkels en falen
vrijheid en eenzaamheid
toppen en dalen
laat mij
het allemaal lekker zelf bepalen
zodat ik kan zeggen
dit ben ik
zonder die ergens anders te halen
arme mensen, voor de verandering
kom op de proppen
met eigen verhalen*
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 10:34 AM UTC
I aged a small number of hours,
none the worse
since posting about Daylight Savings Time,
a radiant playful verse
teasingly succeeded against being terse,
a cogent tangential thread,
where passage of "time"
ranks front and center
this central theme constitutes cultish obsession
with vibrant youthfulness
as if senescence a crime imposed
(at birth) on every purse
son, thus a healthy and prominant grow wing
(nee bursting out all over)
market and cottage industries didst swing
into high gear (make that overdrive)
addressing telomeres shortcomings
justifies tamper ring
with chromosomal genes
to sustain bug eyed sales figures,
asper amazing grace full spy king
scales into the stratosphere,
with cosmetic surgeons *** ping
where, (particularly among
baby boomer generation)
appear younger looking than offspring
(albeit, whereat either gender undergoing
bust ting bosoms and tightening tushies)
to foster said tune, where billions of dollars
come into play, I haint joe king
this feeding frenzy removing without a trace
(of surgeon's needle) unsightly wrinkles,
stretch marks, blemishes, et cetera
(over a life time) fulfilling vanity
in the name of eternal quest to dupe biology
paying mega bucks postponing twilight/ evening
years not yielding to depredations when dotage
a stark reminder what natural aging doth bring
superficial (skin deep) transformations,
which cannot reboot major organs
allowing elderly to rock with van
halen again, since primary maximal apex
i.e. post adolescence/
early adulthood marked urban
boisterous antics, the tacitly accepted behavior,
that would appear down right foolish
as if elders played kick the can
if chronologically old geezers let Mother Nature
rightfully round up steering committee
gently rowing rickety ship of lovely bones
dutifully paying (chump change) to the bargeman.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
what I haven't been trying to say is that I love you but, but... BUT
but I see my parents in us and a life as an addict out of love just doesn't appeal to me after having to live it for as long as I have lived it and i don't ever want to relive that or the anger that arose when the high was gone and couldn't get got or the feeling of inferiority to the inspiration from inhalations or the rust on the prison cell steel or the carpet petting your cheek or the sound of three girls finally wearing big girl ******* and their daddies Guns N Roses and Van Halen and Eagles tees and yellow bangs and dark curls and strawberry blonde strands down to their knees wondering why mommy won't wake up on the living room sofa or what caused the ****** noses of the "pill ****** down the street" I don't want dangerous dealers, the downers or the rush or the teen riding to dallas alone on a bus
these are things I've seen and don't care to re-see
so what i'm trying to say is i love you but i see my parents in us
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
get all the rows in a line
like the mirror at a Van Halen concert
trade beers for a sign
from god or a sombrero
take a long nap in questioning
society all but my own
destination, a burrito full
of angst swallow myself
take the next girl who smiles
at me for a long ride
on my magic carpet
the next dude for a few beers
the next *** for a meal
the next jew for a Christening
the next Christ to see Allah
the next hobgoblin for Xmas dinner
see true the next patriot
coming back from the war has
been through hell, was just a tool
to build a monopoly
the girl on the corner probably
had it rough as a kid,
and just give her twenty
with nothing asked of her
but then heaven is not here
so what is this, Hell?
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
Hi I am a hooligan who loves to play heavy metal really loud
And as I play it I blast out anyone who ever bullied me
In my life
You see I am a hooligan who is playing cool for the family people as I listen to me heavy metal music I go heh heh heh to anyone who teases me
Because nobody messes with me but when I say I am a hooligan I mean I party and I enjoy life and with a bottle of coke I will celebrate life
You see coke adds life ya see
Ya see at the moment I am listening to van Halen and they want to dedicate their song tonight to anyone in love
You see my toes are itchy
Full of tinnea and I hear onion cracking between the toes
But as I said I am a hooligan who believes in partying to
Rock and roll
I will party to rock and roll all night
As I sit there watching it
I go heh heh heh to my former bully because he probably prefers to muck with the adults treating me like a hooligan to a tease people but I am a family hooligan
Heh heh sir under me family bully and i told van Halen I was very cool, dudes
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
Play me the good stuff
Van Halen
girl you really got me now
my bad mood instantly lifting
A smile replacing my frown
Not caring that I look like a fool
As I dance in my chair at work
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Via leven, ene van de velen,
monden, stemmen, kelen
door elkaar te weven
in een wirwar boel Berlijn
en wenen, dankzij diegenen
die nog altijd zijn,
nog altijd lachen, stralen
daar blijf ik het geven halen.
Da's waardoor en om
ik 's ochtends uit mijn bedje kom,
gedreven, mijn pantoffels kus
met jus d'orange en bonjour zeg,
goedemorgen in het Frans.
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 6:40 AM UTC
Op de stoep staan dozen,
in de post niks om van te blozen,
aan de deur een kast en
in de verkeerde kamer
een zetel die niet past.
Snel volgen de mannen,
gewapend met een hamer,
om de latten weg te halen en
mijn huisje te verbannen
naar ongehoorde zaagverhalen.
Ik zal dan moeten werken,
ik zal veel moeten tellen,
ik zal mezelf dan merken
en nooit meer dezelfde zijn.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC
Your Eyelashes
once
we fought for so long
we fell alseep on
the same train bed
and once
i woke up
i couldn't
wind down
again
telly tubby bedsheets
shifted with my sighs
squirrels raced across the rooftop
scatter, slide and
scratch
at the door
because halen wanted in
but that ancient cat could wait
for i was drawn to trace
the milkweed bangs
and cheerio lips
choo-chooing there beside me
and when i did
kissing your cheek
felt like
smoothing a
butterfly band-aid
over where i
shoved you earlier
felt like
kissing a peach
no spice and shouts and
shhhh
i learned to count
past twenty that way
it'll cool off the rage
mama used to say
just take deep breaths and
count four handfuls worth of digits
so
in through my nose
out through my mouth
in the
nite-lite angel's glow
i numbered
the precious fringe
of tiny golden rainbows
archways to the world
swimming in your irises
in your dreams
and on my
fingers
i had to start
all over
each time your
eyelids
fluttered
you stirred
i learned
to call you
beautiful
in a special whispered way
beneath your
soft little arm
i tucked the lavender bunny
that had been our
tug of war
you can have it all,
buddy
just drift back to sleep
so maybe come morning
i'll know how
to count to thirty
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
The sun in my eyes and the wind in my hair,
The open road ahead of us bringing us anywhere and nowhere,
We are driving without a destination,
For once, not searching to be at a location,
The radio is blasting Van Halen,
Bringing us back to the days when,
We didn't have a care in the world because we weren't yet older,
And the sun placed gentle kisses on our shoulders,
And the best part is that we are together,
In hard times and times like these,
We are together,
We will always be togther,
Because you are my best friends, my family,
And that will never change.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC