"ukelele" poems
Like a character hoarding advises like jewelry
from a story like Fantastic Beasts, what do you think
what are the best life advises you have hoarded so far?
Sharing some of mine before they get stuck
in another schedule in the slaughterhouse inventory:
"Wisest is he that knows he does not know"
"Just live your life"
"Sing in Full Voice, Until Then"
"What are you doing here?"
"What is your plan?"
"Eat first"
Do not worry we have better villains
and heroes now than long time ago, I told my brother.
In turn, he made a song on a ukelele
after his little one cried and hid away the broken
CD collection of her brother. They called it together, the
"Last Supper Constellations".
His child said, "If there was a Creator. I would like to think He or She, like you or mama, would be kind. Would not that be swell?"
My brother shared with us one advise from his favorite collection,
"My friend had a family filled with orphans. Even when they could no longer afford to adopt, they continued to adopt children. I did not understand before, but I also did not forget his story." #
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
You try to play me like a fool...
But, I'm not as dumb as you.
You're too pretentious..
Too hipster.
Stop pretending that you are perfect
You can..
act
sing
**But, I was getting so sick of that god **** ukelele.**
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
It seems as if
I have no time
for time.
I do not make enough time
to read all the books I have bought or
learn something genuinely new on guitar.
my short efforts on learning the ukelele
violin and piano have failed.
Not enough time to study and understand
philosophy, or read
over history
Not enough time to dedicate to both school and art,
Not enough ardency for my job.
I have fallen into mediocrity
I resent it. I resent it so.
My album that I am recording is not good enough.
My reading habits are almost nonexistent
My photos are starting to look the same
I used to be above the rest but
they have caught up and are now excelling pass me.
Where am I then?
Am I just the typical hipster philosopher musician
Who’s greatest work will only be seen through
the narrow window of a tumblr poem?
And oh look, another aggravated, angsty poem
on tumblr, how special.
Frankly, I do not know how to balance it all.
And deep down I know even if I found a way,
I might cease to care.
And however many years from now, even if
my album is on the top charts
I have read dozens of books
And learned and experienced so much
I think I will always believe
That I do not know, or do
enough.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
A little slice of the pie
I try to consume but I
throw it up every time.
Bulimic the scenic
route I take.
No mistake I meant to regurgitate.
Choking down lies, smiling like it taste great.
Get another helping of the American pie plate.
Washed down
with whiskey, strong and brown
like the strong and brown brothers
that scalped heads and used skins for covers.
Good morning, America!
Ignore the hysteria.
Pay attention to the sensations
on the surface area
Cap'n crunch
is more important Captains getting crunched
in a 13 year war we started off a hunch.
If you pay attention to the news
notice they ignore the trues
like the flammable water coming from your hose
or the fact you can't afford your children's clothes
We're buying apps and devices for $1200,maybe,
instead of $20 to buy a real ukelele
You see, we pay companies
to do things
because we're conditioned to be
to lazy when DIY was the real American dream.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
All the policemen, saloonkeepers and efficiency experts in Toledo
knew Bern Dailey; secretary ten years when Whitlock was mayor.
Pickpockets, yeggs, three card men, he knew them all and how they flit
from zone to zone, birds of wind and weather, singers, fighters,
scavengers.
The Washington monument pointed to a new moon for us
and a gang from over the river sang ragtime to a ukelele.
The river mist marched up and down the Potomac, we hunted
the fog-swept Lincoln Memorial, white as a blond woman's arm.
We circled the city of Washington and came back home four o'clock in the morning,
passing a sign: House Where Abraham Lincoln Died, Admission Cents.
I got a letter from him in Sweden and I sent him a postcard from Norway ..
every newspaper from America ran news of "the flu."
The path of a night fog swept up the river to the Lincoln Memorial
when I saw it again and alone at a winter's end, the marble in the mist
white as a blond woman's arm.
1.7k
From the carpet floor of the living room,
I peer down the low-lit hall:
a ukelele and flaming lips song.
On my elbow, I seesaw,
waiting to hear that tiny voice
from the other end of the call.
Father sings to daughter
about the darkness of the world
and Yoshimi, the warrior
who has to be the strongest girl.
She must stand between
paper doll and machine,
to make a better world.
Little girl, you cannot know
all the dangers up ahead--
the mountain with the steepest climb
is your path to tread,
a Kracken under your boat at sea
is your ghost to slay in the end--
so don't look up and don't look down
and make Time a dear, old friend.
Set out when winds catch your sail,
let the land beneath you go.
Cast nets wide, take on the gale,
and when it gets bad, just row.
Row until you can't,
then look to shore
for the lighthouse that you know.
He's been waiting there on the sand;
he never let you go.
Set anchor there and stay a while.
You were fearful or forgot the smile
he saves for you.
But no matter how far you've gotten,
no matter the wrong or right you do,
a father's love is hard and sure--
an anchor to steady, a calm to settle
the storm that chases you.
And when you feel uncertain,
don’t make yourself a ghost.
He is imperfect, and may forget
you’re at the other end of the rope,
and the one that he needs most.
I'll tell you how I know:
if he ever lost his little girl
his heart could never be whole.
She is a part of who he has become,
even when it doesn’t show.
A tiny voice comes through the wire,
singing, chirping, silently mouthing,
like the changing glimmer of fire.
It's not yet quite what it will be
but it is hers and will inspire
with a lightness that comes steadily.
From the carpet floor, elbow-propped,
it could be any other day,
father and daughter making their way.
So I wrote this down just to say:
daughters are stronger than they know;
their hearts break quick in the undertow.
Without preamble or self-defeat,
when it’s your turn to make salt sweet,
the other end of the rope will show,
for a daughter’s love is nestled deep
in the strength she learns from you.
And nothing can strengthen that bond more
than what you’ve both been through.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
They want more of you for less and that's how it swings,
the pretty lady plays me a song, but I don't know the words so
I hum along,
they want to see and never hear, want you begging somewhere at the rear in the penny stalls and it falls into that they don't want you at all.
If I could play the banjo or maybe the ukelele I'd be sweet, I wouldn't have to meet the scowls of howling managers with jowls so slack they look as if they're going when they're really coming back and the pretty lady plays a song,
it's for me,
a little bit of harmony among all this insanity and tomorrow if it comes on time they'll be waiting there all prim and primed to shoot.
Do I give a hoot?
If they want more of me for less of me we'll see how much they get and I bet it won't be much,
I touch wood for luck and **** 'em,
that the way it swings and the pretty lady sings for me,
things are looking up.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
Attributions I cannot give;
ukelele playing,
and unmarked skin.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
When school first started
I was pretty sure I had no one
I was sure I'd be overtaken, put down
And slip d
o
w
n the ranks in class.
But then, she came along.
She gave me new ideas, h o p e
She made me look forward to each and every day
She taught me to tie beautiful knots with ropes.
She introduced me to baking; the wonders of the oven.
Kneading flour, cracking eggs by the dozen
Cakes, biscuits and muffins we'd make
Baked them until our hands ached.
We'd meet up for lunch in the cafeteria daily
Talk about how both of us would like to play the ukelele
About how we'd like to do on a diet
But we'd probably be so hungry; we'd start a riot.
She's there for me whenever I'm down
I'm there for her whenever she frowns.
Together we're an unstoppable tag team
Trying to realise our dreams.
...Is this it?
Have I found her at last?
This sacred thing, person, object,
That they call "a best friend?'
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
always
poking
at the sky,
waiting for the signs,
to change,
crashed through a mile-
stone marker,
foolin' with life,
hands on the wheel of
what is broken down,
dark, dark, dark like area
fifty-one
grams are instant,
you might figure it out,
then again, whenever...
first heard of denver,
rhymes and reasons,
eagles and hawks,
music to my ears,
oh then came the tears,
Road Weary too early
in this Rotten World,
but rw came along,
and laughter filled
this heart,
to over flowing,
until tears
came from every laugh
and ... then...
only the tears.
A r m, there was no
harm, only a heart
for God,
step by step you
brought me closer,
if i stand,
brought
me to my knees,
understanding your love
for the Navajo
nation.
Too hard to be a bard,
all the waves that
sound like me
are hammered flat,
sharply.
Too soon.Wanted to grow
old with all of you
even though we share so little
phil-o-so-phically,
but here it is play
with words,
sun still rises
and watching flights
of birds and
dragonflies
make me pause;
from the shape of the sky
to a colour of the paint
that comes from the sun
in the clouds.
Then walking with ugly
toes with feet and
knees,
older than they should be,
seeing
people on the street,
who
love to hate,
hate to love,
each day is a wrestling
match in an atmospheric cage,
that puts ufc to shame,
seeing way more
than can be put on
parchment,
the will, be tried.
roof over my head
like a hat hanging
on an empty coat
hook
between the ribs
tearing at a heart
that refuses to
stop
beating while
being beat up by voices
that keep coming out
of the dark, dark, dark
shhhhhhhhh
whispers,
wisps
of hope
that knowing
as long as the
sounds of music
from many artists
find the ears
and,
able to feel,
lines of tears
and too
the laughter
echoes,
echoes in the
empty hallway
that swallows
red and white
and clear,
I live to write
another
day.
Take courage
to Play
the ukelele
if may I
by deSign.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
love is strolling through a city at night
love is reading by candlelight
love is paris in the summer
love is the leaves changing color
love is snow falling during the day
love is hearing a ukelele play
love is new york city at chrismas time
love is hearing the sound of a wind chime
love is surfing in the sea
love is iced chai tea
love is being in a room full of laughter
love is a story of happily ever after
love is the smell of petrichor
love is not knowing what's in store
love is hugging someone
love is the rising sun
love is listening to a great song
love is talking all night long
love is counting every star
love is traveling somewhere far
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
so you saw the recruitment poster
and naturally, you thought you’d come
thinking it would come naturally-
being artistic yourself-you came to class
equipped for the jaunt; the saunter in the park
where the sun is bound to shine-
with a new ukelele in a case
like a little hamper with a little rug of hope-
what are you letting yourself in for?
not this assault course, maybe?..
Let me tune you up.
First off, this is not going to be
some slack strung Hawaiian picnic,
where you can catch everything with butter fingers
where fizz sends it straight to your brain,
where you’ll just inhale and exhale music-
no. you’re going to have to jog on the spot;
get your knees up, star jump and listen
and fail and feel musically immune
to anything remotely infectious or
resembling a tune; you’re in the army now
so excuse me while I just whip away
that table cloth of preconception
laid out in your mind;
now
get down
give me twenty
count yourself lucky
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
i wish playing ukelele didn't remind me of you
i wish the beach didn't remind me of you
i wish fireworks didn't remind me of you
i wish you didn't wear that one cologne that everyone wears because it reminds me of you and i smell you in every wannabe prepster boy that passes me on his way to the pencil sharpener
i wish other girls didn't remind me of you because you're always talking to them but not me
i wish holst suites didn't remind me of you, particularly the first
i wish sunrises didn't remind me of you
i wish late nights didn't make me think of you
i wish the ghost of your skin didn't haunt this entire town
until i am seeing tessellations of your silhouette in the brick walls you pressed me against
i wish i weren't afraid to call you
i wish you'd call me first
i wish that song didn't remind me of you
and by that song i mean that entire folder of songs on my computer,
the one entitled whatever because that is all you were supposed to mean to me
but now, you are more, more than a whatever
and whatever did i have to dream of before i kissed you?
i wish i could sleep
but the morning reminds me of how i'll never wake up next to you
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
M) C - G - Am - F
1 ) bridges F - Am - G - F -F - C - G - F - F - Am - G - F
strum pattern 1 - 2 - 1
M) yesterday somebody told me that my poetry
didn’t contribute to my community
so i put it to some lyrics and picked up a ukelele
because apparently nowadays
you’ve gotta get a little bit more crazy
cause you’re not the only one who’s jaded
it’s amazing how we front
1) so i don’t want any more of this beer
and sometimes i still question why i’m here
talking away like it’ll pass the day
but i don’t wanna just give directions, i can steer
M) so **** the world that made me
because i am thirsty and chasing
the spill of all these messy messy messy messy messy messy years,
M) but you can’t clean up your reality
when it’s splattered on the pavement
so maybe i’m just angry,
because my words are the catalyst and
1) everyone saves themselves
i’m just like everybody else
M) so okay, okay
maybe i’ll just finish this forty for my health
just today
M) you should have stuck to dreams
it would’ve been so much easier
you should’ve kept the confessions to yourself,
now they’re hangin from the speakers
1) in this little room full of people
i don’t know you but i’d like to meet ya
have a chat and then perhaps maybe you will realize that
nobodies as bad as you first see them as
M) so hold my hand, and then you’ll understand
we all get sweaty palms after a bit too long
and if you let go, i will understand
because hands are comforting to fall back on
but we, we are all so strong
unconsciously strong
1) and no one needs sympathy
we all live life on our own terms
beliefs and ideologies
respect is the easiest remedy
M) and when you can feel your blind purpose vibrating
in every bone of your body
it’s much harder to hate anyone
cause their emotions are kinda sloppy
cause you get like that too sometimes,
when you cry
so despite the differences, you always
try to empathize
1) ‘cause some people feel alone in packed rooms
and in some way or another they all embody you
you, they are the people who are here right now with
you, and you are them too
M) while you’re singing this song hopefully
some people are humming along
and can stand here with you for a minute
look around with new uninhibition
and you don't think that's a word but
i know it's a concept and at times
it’s hard to tell if anyone ever gets
that at all
M) it’s just so hard to connect
when we’re talking so loud
we can barely
hear ourselves when we fall
there’s not a sound at-
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Ive burned all my bridges
Im stuck on an island
all by myself
the sun goes up
the sun goes down
sometimes birds pass
maybe stop n sing
I pretend they are singing to me
cause Im stuck here with just me
no one to act cool for except a couple trees
they don't care
so I'll just be me
cause only god can judge me
now its just me
i forgot what was normal
i havent had tv
Im stuck on island by myself
Ive burned all my bridges by myself
I can act like an elf
cause Im all by myself
Im not god I cant judge myself
theres no opinions to worry about except myself
Im stuck on island with a ukelele
singing love songs
all to myself
maybe a boat will pass
and I can sing love songs
to people in mass
to the lovers tonight
and the love thats past
and I can play that one song
my dad showed me as a kid
and the birds will sing with me
because
*I can check out anytime I'd like
but I may never leave*
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Listen to the music
inside the Casa Blanca,
did you find it rebellious
without much love,
see their fine dancers,
You'll find yourselves staring.
with the strum of ukelele
you'll see people dancing.
their mystic beauty
dances from dawn to dusk
smile's hidden behind
their cautious masks
Come aboard my friend,
in Casa Blanca let us meet,
where money is the god,
and wine is the spirit
Look in front,
every where's a mad beast.
looking at the mob,
it's a fine fine feast.
Casa Blanca's a place,
of dark hearts and dice,
you can see the sorrow,
mirrored in their sweet eyes.
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 9:03 AM UTC
She is unfinished stories and dog-eared adventure books. She is adorned with string lights and stray cat toys, an overflowing junk drawer and a perfectly loud laugh. She is kind brown eyes and witty comments. She is first.
He is pastel tears and bird feathers. He is Twenty One Pilots' lyrics and faded polaroids. He speaks in hushed tones and drinks mint tea. He will hold and let himself be held. He is empathy.
She is firey spirit and winged eyeliner. Glitter and badassery. She is scarred and beautiful. She protects and yells. Cries and laughs. She is ***** jokes and black clothes. She is who I am too timid to be.
He is a lone flame and endless darkness all at once. He is a sharp blade and subdued smile. Strong coffee, pop-tarts, and ripped jeans. Tae kwon do and boy scouts. He is too often forgotten.
She is buck teeth and Greatest Showman lyrics. Stubbornness and freckles. Conceals her self-consciousness with mock confidence. Funny faces and the best dance moves. She hides my things and steals my clothes. She stirs up trouble in the best way.
He is soft smiles and lego armies. He loves cats and make-believe (though video games are his first love). Creates pillow forts and mysteries, art and movie magic. He wears glowstick necklaces and no shirt proudly, as he should. He loves my heart.
She is willow trees and afternoon tea. Gentle rain and improv games. Quirky and polite, she is decorated with her gap-toothed smile and childish style. She hands out stickers and strums her ukelele with affection. She inspires me.
He. Oh God, he. He is summer skies and skateboards. Braces and freckles. He is a shell-collector and songwriter. He loves the stage. Compassion and hand-holding, cheek kisses and free smiles. He is devotion.
They hold me, and I hold them. We cry, we laugh, we hate. We sing and we dance, we talk about our dreams. We depend on each other. We love one another. Many would not be here without me.
And I couldn't be here without them.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
R. T. Rybak (third) Verse:
/
Y'all still follow Rybak, right?/
Isn't it wicked cool/
When he puts those verses out on Facebook to give all of us the scoop!
I still subscribe today/
Always stuff I like to know/
I can't remember them word for word but could probably emulate his flow:
"No parking on that side tonight/
Or surely you'll be towed/
If you're driving on The Southide then I think you oughta know /
On Hennepin south of Lake Street/
You shouldn't park for any time/
From 9 o'clock this morning 'til after six o'clock tonight.
And for this inconvenience/
My friends, you'll never know/
How sorry that I am to say, it's time that I must go"
I hit @Slug, @Prince, and even Master @Yoda himself in the verses! They have their own choruses too but you gotta wait to hear them! I'm recording what I got so far in about an hour or so, so I should have a demo for you this week!
This was the original freestyle in #Uptown on Sunday morning:
http://youtu.be/S1DMSLzji1s
#Minneapolis
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
^+*+^
O
• •
-
/\
--
Cheap love
She walks in the rain
You ?
Still not there
••
Playing yer broken ukulele !
••
Something calling for you
//
But yer in love !
With what ?
With whom ?
Who gives a **** !
••
She walks in the rain
And there you are!
Playing yer broken ukelele !
••
She dies
( " well
It was raining " )
And how you love
Not having to sing
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
My life is full
Of hollow wood
And 4 strings
My ukelele
Is a better cure for depression
Than any drug
You've taught me to sing
You've taught me to laugh
You've taught me to be alone
And not to be lonely
You hear all of my bad thoughts
And hide them away from me
Where they stay
Forever trapped as I play
Every scratch
Every dent
Every broken string
Every note off key
Has changed me
And fixed me
And restrung me
And painted me
Until I'm like new
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
I remember only that
you had the lamp on in
the living room, and I had
crawled into your bed
because you said I couldn't
go without talking to you
for twenty minutes and
I was trying to prove that
I could. You were playing
your ukelele and I swear
I have never had so much
trouble breathing as I did
when I peeked out of the
doorway and you gave me
that slow, lazy smile. God,
who were we then?
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
In those days of "yesteryear"-
those days my memory
holds so dear-
Days that filled my heart with joy-
all I wanted to be,was a ......
"Sing'n Cowboy."
Our hero was a special man,
to reach that level of acclaim
So, if you'll please allow me-
I'll explain.
Our hero, leading a wagon train,
three thousand miles from East to West-
Surviving the elements and indian raids-
his clothes were always freshly washed,
and his pants so neatly pressed.
Our hero always had a horse-
so smart it could pass a college course-
Our hero, tied up, and in a terrible spot,
that horse, with his teeth,
Could untie the Gordian Knot.
All successful heros
had to have a friend-
A trusty, loyal, "sidekick"
that stayed with him to the end.
All the movie "sidekicks,"
as often as they could-
Had a very simple job,
to keep our hero "look'n good,"
They had to have a funny name-
"Fuzzy", "Gabby", and "Ukelele Ike",
names known from coast to coast,
and up and down the pike.
There was one that stood alone-
taller than the others
Often called "The Best of theWest",
none other, than "Lumpy Covers."
So, our hero, with his 'ol guitar-
just kept on a'ride'n, toward the horizon-
as far as the eye could see-
Sing'n, and strum'n,
all in the Key of G.
copyright: richard riddle 07-14-2014
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
how would I film us together?
without making it sappy, ridiculous
because you hate that,
I would make it honest.
I would film
you alone
me alone
a shot of you falling off the bars at track
and me almost catching you
then a shot of us laughing in the car
a shot of me taking your ball
a shot of slapping your ****
a shot of laughing again
a shot of us cuddling together and falling asleep on the couch
a shot of you mumbling into your pillow about our hearts
a shot of you showing me the song
a shot of me learning to play it for you
a shot of it going all wrong
a shot of us dancing together
a shot of me glancing towards you
a shot of us dancing with other people
a shot of your face forlorn
a shot of me breaking my expression
a shot of me dancing alone
a shot of you alone
a shot of me playing the song
someone trying to sing along
and me putting up the ukelele.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
I've been spending most of my time
finding ways to feel fulfilled
but honestly I am twenty-two and life is a cycle,
monotonous,
i sleep more than i ever have before
and i avoid responsibility like
the plague.
to be worthy of someone's time would be great
but i am in a constant tug-of-war
with my standpoint on relationships.
yeah, having a partner could be fun
'cause i could belong to someone
and i guess now that i think of it,
that sounds exhausting.
i should go back to bed.
i stay up until 3:00 am,
listening to the same songs on repeat
tweeting my thoughts like a lost prophet
serving a sermon to her open palms
i'm hopeful you will think i'm clever
i want your attention,
not your surrender.
my mom tells me to be careful every time i leave the house
i shrug and say "yeah okay" but promise nothing else
we drink beer in basements and watch kids sing their hearts out,
only alive when it's dark out,
i end up on some foreign couch with two beards and a ukelele
you couldn't thrill me if you paid me.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC