Get Your Premium Membership

Best Guitar Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Guitar poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of guitar poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Guitar poems, articles about Guitar poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Guitar poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New Guitar Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Guitar poems are below this new poems list.

SINGNG GUITAR by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
GUITAR MAN ON THE STRRET by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
GUITAR SOUL by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
While Guitar Sings And Dances by Kiser, M. L.
GUITAR BLUES BROTHER RAP by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Guitar by Sands, Heidi
Guitar Jones by Sanfilippo, Jennifer
Play The New Guitar by Asuncion, Bernard F.
Play The Guitar At Night by Asuncion, Bernard F.
The Man In The Clouds Playing His Guitar by Clark, Susan

View all new Guitar Poems

The Best Guitar Poems

Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Poetry Collection


Hourglass

Sand falls
Through the glass
Love falls
Within the past
Memories dance
They never last
Head in my hands
As I stare overhead
At the hourglass


Falling Down Stairs

Stairs broken
Wheels unspoken
I fell
Grasping for air
Are you there?

Piano Keys

Playing me
Rhythms dancing free
Clouds in air
Notes tossed in despair
Are you there?


Voices

Echoes
Broken wings
Wounded sparrows sing
Clinging to clouds high in sky
Chirping symphonies
Knowing not at all the why
Never loved…
Never loved…
Never hugged
In solitude wonders fly
No one
No one is there



In the Key of Despair

Tap tap
Music in the ear
Flowing freely in the salty air
Beethoven, are you there?
In the breeze, I hear the notes
My mind runs away, it floats
Pain drowned in the river
Limbs frolic on shores of hope
Keys somber in black and white
As I touch them
It conveys the fright


Strings

Choking, not me, but the air
Credenzas and waves
Washing away the realities
Of all your trivialities
Whilst I whither and fade away
Inside a musical symphony
Strangled on lusty desires
Are you
Are you there?


Sleep

Notes hither and floating in the breeze
I look up
The moon
My last breath
My last hope
My last wish
A kiss from the one I never met
The moon hides under cloud
My eyes in tranquility close
The beat no longer in time
No longer there
Where ever I am going
My last thought
Are you there?






Violins and Other Things

Distractions
Deformed from loves inaction
Teardrops falling on time
Rolling down passages
Where darkness does dine
Notes high, notes low
Treble as I grasp the clef
The conductor knows all that is refined
In the end
He shall consume the wine
As I, was consumed by time


Masterpieces

The piano full of dust
Brushes dipped in paints
Now turn to dust
There is a poem over there
In the corner
By the naked painting
Of my Caribbean liver
That cried and wept
Day and night
Night and day
When willows swayed
And the raven landed
On the sill
Of the empty room
For I am no more

Silence whispers
Are you there?


Guitar Strings and Clouds

I caress the strings of discord
Melodies shouting
Displeasure
Credenza’s and interludes
Wine intrudes
The senses squished like sour grapes
Emotions boxed in crates
I caress philosophy
As my garden sadistically does undress
Taunting the desires of my illusions unrest
The rose and the rain drop
Embrace
I cry


Last Act

Once was life
One…… tear…   one tear…… drop
One gasp of fear
Fate licking……………………… deaths ear










Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Stupid questions

It never seems to amaze me
How stupid some people are
Whenever I am out
And take along my guitar.

''Is it a guitar'' people say
''No an ironing board''
I reply with dismay.

''Can you play it?''
''No I just carry it about for fun''
Even though it's a heavy one.

''Are they your dogs''
When out in town
''No'' I reply
''their someone else's
And I'm taking them back to get the ransomed money honey.''
After a while i's an annoyance and not that funny.



Peter Dome.copyright.2015. Oct.


Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2015


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Poetry Soup Recipe

A beggar has got bread from a door
The thread of survival
A slice of sky smiling on a pink petal
And for me
In the void, appears a boundless sea
And the bard is impatient
Till the buzz from his word-paint
Versifies the lyrically human moment

Poetry is fomented by arousal and associations
A graceful process of 
Deconstruction and reconstruction
Of the dancing shadows
A concentrated illumination
Of your reality
With my lamps of desire and imagination 

Wearing a shirt of rustling dry leaves
There stands 
A story of weeping wounds
Shards of tears and trauma
In my nostril a human aroma
Shaping out fond filigree of emotion
Warm and cold
Stroke in the folds

And when you look intense
Craving the chocolate words of my pen
Provoking a tomato like glow 
In my bone marrow
Instantly arrives the bird
And stirred is the light in the gem
A sure poem

Like the meandering river
In the falling leaves
In the painting brush of the sun and cloud
Silent as well as loud
Sit the metaphors
Waiting merrily to be caressed in a poem
Or else
To what end are they born?
Guitar of golden corn 


And when an irresistible leaf
From your trembling window
Falls on my thirsty grass
Alphabets sparkle and spontaneously combine
In valentine
Boats from the river sail in
Into the passionate hemoglobin 

Life is always ready
With stupendous recipes 
For our poetry

Provided the quick chemistry is there
In profound red and sky blue
Between me and you
A crimson brew
____________________________________
21/01/2017






Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Beautiful music - a repost


Beautiful music  


Caress my neck softly
Hold my body close to yours
Tempt these sweet chord progressions
Acoustic desired freestyle 
Finger my frets with delicate touches
Mother of pearl inlays sweat
Bend my vibrating strings
Crank my volume knob high
Sliding capos moan
Play lead in poetic rifts
Soundhole oozes sensual melodies
Gouging pickguard’s scars
Tune me in the key of love
Strum me hard…

Let’s make beautiful music together


From my guitar’s point of view.  : )


Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Cyclothymia and Depression - A collaboration with Darren White:

The parachute just will not open, As I spiraled, free falling to the ground, This nightmare is happening again, Never able to leave this merry-go-round. Another day of struggle and strife, In a throat hold deadly dangerous grip, I’ve lost the concept and meaning of life, Drowned in self-pity waters I do dip. Love can neither rescue or save me, Falling faster than the pouring rain, On this rafter lost on the high sea, I know in my heart I have nothing to gain. They say that misery adores company, In my case, this is neither right nor true, Wishing that I could one day see, And live a life never feeling blue. *** The other side of me is light and free As I'm soaring the skies like an eagle High and jubilant, nothing escapes me On top of the world, a ruler, regal Who does need sleep? I don't, I'm writing Poem after poem, and in between I paint, play guitar, I am thriving The most wonderful person ever seen I am at full speed, creative high tide No one can follow, I love you all All that worried me I now push aside Trying to forget about my next fall... Why can't I have some balance, always! Where I'm creative, and not feel bad Where I can sleep, happiness stays Without knowing that I'll soon be sad.


Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Time and Time Again- song lyrics

v.1 Now time and time again love has come and gone
It always leaves and never stays too long
And time and time again I've had to mend this broken heart
And then I don't know where to start, and I'm alone again
But time will heal all wounds, that's what they say
And loneliness will find it's way
Of makin life much more than I could ever bear
And I need someone to share my life with
And there you were and here we are...

(chorus)
Right here, this is where we belong, tell me it's not wrong
I know that we were somehow meant to be
And here this is where it starts, beginning in the heart
You reached in and ya pulled me from the dark
And now here this is where we belong, and I know it's not wrong...
We'll always be this way

v.2 Now time and time again I try to be
On my own, so young and free
But then i find that there's some hidden memory
Of the loneliness in me, and I feel the tears
Well now time has said it's peace to me
It showed me things that I could never see
And this time I know that love is what I feel
And I know that it's real, cause I love you
There's room for two in this heart...(chorus)

(after 2nd chorus)
I know...I know where we belong
There's a place for us in the heart, where we belong...we belong




Copyright © Chris Hagy | Year Posted 2016


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Practice

Plucking guitar strings
Pruning to make good music
Growing notes of life


Copyright © PoetPrentice Dupins | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Music Man, Music Man

Music man, Music man 
Your loving guitar in hand 
Your music was my downfall 
Taking my heart, taking my all 

I fell in love with your words, 
Grew addicted to your rhythm. 
The sorrow in your burning chords, 
Drew me in with them. 

I felt your music flow through me 
Getting lost, carried away 
In your songs, in your dreams 
As I listened to you play 

Music man, Music man 
Your loving guitar in hand 
Your music was my downfall 
Taking my heart, taking my all 

Music man, Music man 
Your loving guitar in hand 
Your music was my downfall
Taking my heart, taking my all

Alesia Leach © 07/23/2017


Copyright © Alesia Leach | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Poetry and Modernity

My spent colors still speak with my environment Gray frost seeking a golden sun however little Dulcet sounds if any come out of this interaction When words like birds come and take seat in joy From the lattices of thought is born a poetic line The lines seek dance of words in melodic intellect Flashes of suggestion through forms and colours Movement of phrases for an impression of life In a definite language in which the poet lives The lines get together in cohesion to sit in a stanza Whether in rhyme or in prose matters little The stanzas love the light and shade of poetry Even when you say: your touch in the bread Exudes an warmth this morning, sweet heart I’m glad that like the stars you’ve excused me The guitar has to strum in voices of modernity Instead of saying violence now we say swords For love you the modern prefer pink whisper Dream you say is weak and need replacement I look for shapes which have blurred by now As I write this my grandson plays with a blue ball Stripes of sun and starlight raising ripples in air That meets the happy birds flying towards it Leaving the yellow and red mango tree in summer For another taste from another tree in the vicinity However strongly you plead for prose in poems The fact remains that we live in a prosaic world Of cut glass rat race fat loss suicide bombers And for a lemon shadow in a melancholy corner We obviously look for poems and not prose _____________________________________________ 31 May 2017


Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Valley Of The Song

Inspiration.........Heaven knows
Slowly comes.....and quickly goes
Restless nights....forever long
In the valley of the song

Illusive notes....for the refrain
Hide like fireflies...when it rains
While the search goes on and on.....
In the valley of the song.....

The answer whispers...from afar...
Another notch on my guitar
'Struggle bows...to glory's dawn
In the valley of the song


Protected by copyright
All rights reserved





Copyright © Chuck Melugin | Year Posted 2018


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

cause the moon to sing, yet nothing is good enough

can I make you pregnant
so that we can at least
have a daughter or a son
it sounds less tackful
but as we have begun
all the obstacles have gone
and the strains of lust 
has loosened
I thought to be one
as father and mother
might allow us to be
together as a family
like the way we
think things should be.


Copyright © Allan Terry | Year Posted 2018


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Taking It Easy In Retirement

So much for my ideas of slowing down,
Taking it easy just sitting watching TV.
I moved to a peaceful seaside town,
Since then I have found a few things occupy me.

I play bridge at least three times every week,
Read poems with a group on Thursday afternoons,
For extra fun I can find anything I seek
And I can write about it and put it to tunes.

On Tuesday mornings I see my four men
In the U3A song writing group that I run.
They compose their music on my key board and then
I write some words and another song has begun.

The women visit Fridays. We have fun,
Writing rhymes, banging bongos, blow didgeridoos,
Each week there are many things waiting to be done
Bells to shake, guitars to play, so much to choose.

Hairdressers, library, lots of jigsaws to do,
Trips to town, trips to do weekly shopping,
Mah-jong, Scrabble, flower arranging, cooking too,
Tea dances, line dancing from foot to foot hopping.

Each week at the local coffee morning
I get to hear about all that is being planned,
There’s knitting, card making, keep fit and it’s dawning
NO TIME FOR TV I’m too busy, understand!




Copyright © Mavis Jackson | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Both Sides Now humorous satire

To be sung to the tune of Both Sides Now by Judy Collins

Rows and rows of subtrahends
Repeating decimals without end
Regression lines to mark a trend
	I've looked at numbers that way

But now they only add up wrong
Even though I stayed up all night long
Like missing words in someone's song
	Words that seem to say


	chorus
	I've looked at numbers from both sides now
	From left and right and still somehow
	It's numbers' illusions I recall
	I really don't know numbers at all


Secants, tangents, arc-cosines
It seems like just a game sometimes
What's my number, what's my line?
	I've looked at trig that way.

Now all my graphs have gone awry
I've lost the will to find out why
Perhaps they'll make more sense by 'n' by
	But who am I to say?


	chorus
	I've looked at trig from both sides now
	From up and down and still somehow
	It's  trig's illusions I recall
	I really don't know trig at all




Edited 5/9/2016
Written 7/14/1986



Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tablet

teardrops appeared on my tablet
on both sides of the glass
mine on top
hers underneath,
shed from miles away

which was which
who was where
did not matter
any longer

real or virtual,
all merged into one 
- a brook of joy
running through the valley of time
destined for 
unchartered pleasures


Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I'm Giving What I've Got

I'm crazy about living.I'm crazy about love.
I'm crazy about giving.I'm giving what I've got.

What I've got's a little money, and a inexpensive car.
What I've got's a little girl I know..
Who knows how to play guitar.

I'm crazy about living.I'm crazy about love.
I'm crazy about giving.I'm giving what I've got..

And if you give it back to me..
I will give it back to you..

'Cause what I've got's a little money, and a inexpensive car.
What I've got's a little girl I know.
Who knows how to play guitar..

I'm crazy about living.I'm crazy about love.
I'm crazy about giving.I'm giving what I've got.

I'm giving what I've got....

Crazy Song-Lyrics By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1984,2015..ALL rights reserved.


Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2015


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Rock And Roll Ride

We tuned our guitars, we're ready to play our tune.
On a rock & roll ride.Guitar slide to the moon.
Heavy metal, hard rock & roll.
There's enough music to sooth the soul.

We got enough time, to reach the moon.
We got enough time, to play our tune.
Heavy metal, hard rock & roll.
There's enough music to sooth the soul.

Guitar slide, rocket ride in tune.
We built our rocket.We'll fly off to the moon.
Climb on board.No time to stay.It's time to say.
That we tuned our guitars.We're ready to play our tune.

We're off the ground.We'll be on our way real soon.
On a rock & roll ride.Guitar slide to the moon.
Heavy metal, hard rock & roll.
There's enough music to sooth the soul.

We got enough time, to reach the moon.
We got enough time, to play our tune.
On a rock & roll ride.Guitar slide to the moon...

Rock Lyrics By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1983,2015..ALL rights reserved.


Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2015


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Lady Sung the Blues

Anticipation,
faces sparkling,
wrinkles smiling,
memories at the ready.

Friends inter-mingling, while great grandchildren run through the gathering crowd.
Sun streaking through branches, warming joints, and turned up faces seeking the rare appearance of the coastal sun.

The growing color of gray cropped heads blot out the distant green scape as the band arrives one by one.
Blankets spread, picnic baskets, and bottles of wine appear.
  
Drummer man begins testing his skins, while the Blues Brother look-alike adjust his mic.
Bass guitar man plugs into his amps then makes a run through his vibrating strings.

Anticipation,
memories at the ready.
Wrinkles smiling,
audience’s eyes glowing,
puppy dogs running as great grandchildren do cartwheels on the grass.

Almost ready, drummer warms up with a mixed run of sheep skin sounds.
Base man vibrates notes that rock nearby windows and flutter our wrinkled foreheads.

Pretty lady arrives on stage and is welcomed by the band like an old lost friend. She sets her music on a stand and adjust her mic downward.

Anticipation growing, memories at the ready.
Blues Brother laughing, making eyes at the pretty lady.

Puppy dogs running.
Little four year old boy in blue striped shirt plays his air guitar in front of base man who is smiling at the boy’s mimicking accuracy.

Snacks, blankets, and beer,
vibrations fill the air.

It begins _the pretty lady welcomes all.  She announces that we were about to experience a ride back to the sixties, and seventies.

They start _the rhythm of Muddy Waters fills the air.
As pretty lady sings the blues.

Old necks swaying and dancing, hands clapping, as wrinkles smile again.
Eyes connecting with strangers, family and friends.
Old couples grasping their loved-one’s hands _remembering when,
as the lady sings the blues.

Before you know it, it is over.
Good-bye hugs and handshakes.
Mamas and Papas gathering their now sleeping children.

Retired professionals, doctors, lawyers and old artisans with memories now awakened begin to leave, _some older, turn their heads downward, walking in tune with their walkers, and canes as their children help them back to parked cars in handicap zones.

Cars back out, but before moving on _ a few of the elder attendees turn their head back to the park to capture one more moment in time, as they gaze upon their dispersing long lost friends, who just shared a ride back to the sixties, and seventies; when the guitar man strummed, and the lady sung the blues.


Copyright © Gil Garcia | Year Posted 2015


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Ode to a Guitar

Your tempered strings and true, O ancient lyre!
Harp-like, thy graceful template shall resonate
Within the hollow confines of my soul
Not tortoise and beech, but rather the ideal
Purity of your design (here but fully
Realized by half) speaks to me
Now as ever before in my youth
Touches, as it were, my heart-strings
(Not inaptly named!) and stirs forth
From the depths of my being a song.

O! if I could master that song sublime
A tune to capture thy several contradictions
'Twere a song would outlive the race of men
Embodying form and function, earth and air
Female grace in curve and force in line
With woman's waist and hips, yet double-tusked
Shoulders square, slender neck, even a mouth
Teeth of gut, a creature turned inside-out
A half-opened signpost to infinity.


Copyright © Kyle Elsbernd | Year Posted 2016


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

You will find me there - with love, always



When against unjust poets will unite, you will find me there
When people will raise their voice for their rights, you will find me there

When your children will go to war and you will feel lonely at home
Dark nights will enhance – feeling of fright, you will find me there

When the soldiers will be trained to play guitar, instead of gun
When Seeger’s song will be played before fight, you will find me there

When Ram will raise Rahim’s Son and Tim will raise Funom’s daughter
When the word ‘Children’ will make you delight, you will find me there

When the season will change with your mood – deviating a slight
When morn’ dews will say “hello!”  with smiles bright, you will find me there

When the heaven will pour love in your garden, blooms will rejoice
When you will play Ghazal with music light, you will find me there

Bobby is writing his first Ghazal, hope you will join the flight
Torn - you will return home – need a hug tight, you will find me there

15.03.16



Copyright © Anindya Mohan Tagore | Year Posted 2016


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Blue Mood

Sombre, blue mood
Pluck acoustic guitar strings
On the cusp of spring


Copyright © Denise Morgan | Year Posted 2015


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Acoustic guitar

Acoustic Guitar My fingers dance on the slender body I am harmoniously in love with it It's always there to resonate my heart I get drowned in its soft chords Away from the world, in the parterre We both go string labelling With pronounced active pickups It's semitones enter the fathoms of my soul Contest-Music to my soul. Spoñsor-Laura Loo.


Copyright © Rizwana Bhurani | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Loner and His Guitar

A single tear, the relic of his solitude,
to accompany anguish, as steps fade,
between what was and what will be,
left within the old strings of a guitar.

Blank corners of space incite madness,
as his mind succumbs to somber lines,
for the worst is to be – deep emptiness,
when friends turn to kingdoms of fear.

Even shades have walked away,
to resign the story to his fingers,
for when the Loner takes the guitar,
ten thousand voices unite in one cry.

As he hits those wrinkled chords,
hands fall to engrave old songs,
they wail through rusted iron,
to commit sorrow to the world.

~ Nino Kadic © 2015


Copyright © Nino Kadic | Year Posted 2015


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

After all of these years


After all of these years


This is my spot, just outside these green coffee house doors,
my piece of sidewalk, my place in this world
A small square of concrete where I try to bring smiles
to those in a hurry, hustling past, chasing their lives

Opening the case, I bring out my constant companion
I love her feel, smooth and perfect, she fits so nicely in my hands
Her neck like soft butter against my calloused fingers 
A black Takemine cutaway, my favorite guitar, my best friend

There was a time when I would make eye contact,
cast a smile and a thank you at those who would stop and listen
But times have changed, people aren’t as friendly, smiles aren’t 
what they used to be and the frowns just bring me down

Now beyond the brim of my hat all I see are legs and shoes, it amazes me 
the number of different shoes and what they say about a person. Shiny shoes, 
usually nothing, maybe a quarter, nice high heels a dollar or two, sneakers, 
worn and tattered are my best customers, a five will fall most times when they pass

It’s not much, but it is a living at least for me and it’s not really a job
I don’t have to be here, I want to be here…playing music for strangers, for me
It’s kind of like writing poetry, only you listen instead of reading
and the coins and bills finding my case…comments, but better

I start today the same as every other day, with our song,
the one we sang together in school, the song we related too…funny
She was my heart, the one that got away…so what, I never got over her
It’s my deal not yours…I press the strings with my fingers and prepare to play

She was the love of my life, we were meant to be, at least I thought so
but after school we went in different directions, it happens I guess,
that was so many years back…I lost track of her long ago, 
but my mind never did and I suppose my heart didn’t either…I play 

A few coins trickle in…shiny shoes, wingtips…feeling sorry money,
but that’s okay with me, it’s food or a few beers eventually
Then a ten spot hits the felt, gorgeous high heels, those with a red sole
I know my smile is growing as I arrive at my favorite lines 

“You and me, we belong together, just like the breath needs the air” 
When I hear the most melodic voice singing along with me, it is the high heels,
the harmony is perfect and beautiful and…sounds so damn familiar…
I have to look, I lift my head up to see…it is her, after all of these years, it is her…

  


Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Luke The Drifter

Is he here?
Can it be?
Straight from Nashville, Tennessee
Luke the Drifter 
or a mortal shape shifter.
Hank come here
is it really you?
your tearful words helped me through.
Did really write all those songs
about Miss Audrey and the man who done her wrong?
You smell like beer
and your trail leaves behind a single tear.
You look grim and reek of fear.
Your skinny face leaves a trace
of weakness.

I suddenly woke up!




Dedicated To Hank Williams
1923-1953
R.I.P.


Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2016


Details | Guitar Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sonic Youth

Arsenals of axes brought by the crate
Pedals increasing experimental
Trashy dissections of raw cityscapes
NYC rockers gone transcendental
 
Static blasts shredding the off-key high pings
Maracas hit toms to keep structured pace
Drum sticks wedged under alternate tunings
Meted by contrasting booms of the bass
 
Dissonance anteed raises the ceiling
Shaping sound by analog disruption
Searching/defining an urban feeling
Stark layers of beautiful corruption
 
Sweet ballads sung without being pretty
Growls and screams about something gritty


Copyright © andy thomson | Year Posted 2016