On day of the dead Daddy hired the guitarists four
to liven up November first a tiny bit more
they came to our house and sat on our couch
one of them complained of comfort yelling out “ouch!”
I know what you mean, I said. I hate that spring too.
They played me a song – “Rapsody Day of the Dead blue”
My mother told me to stop making fun of her furniture though.
By the November second, they had returned down below.
Oh, I turned seventeen
burning my dreams into a smoke-stained hue.
I miss that life without screams,
a life made only of soft, gentle dreams.
Once, colourful ponies wandered and flew,
kissing the moon with sparkles beneath them.
How I ache for that world to return
but time does not remould,
it only burns bridges.
Now the dreams are black,
colours and joy misplaced somewhere
in the endless search for “something better.”
The ponies have turned into bears,
and laughter has dissolved into silent tears.
Yet still, I would choose that bear,
draped in a sparkly dress to shield my skin,
guarding myself from demons
that once looked like angels
the ones I once invited into my dreams.
Now the dreams lie buried somewhere
under piles of books.
The writers have lost their words,
the dancers their movement,
the guitarists their strings,
the singers have swallowed their voices.
They tell us to stay numb
because we dream too much.
Then they tell us to dream more.
But who will tell them—
it’s not that we stopped dreaming,
it’s that the dreams
have turned into nightmares.
Hot off the heels of Back in Black
A face melting 10 track
From the opening with cannon blast and more
It went to number one, Back in Black only number four
What? You question and rightly so
How did Back in Black peak so low?
Not sure, but none are out done
All AC/DC albums are number one
Even Powerage (the anti-disco disc)
And Flick of the Switch
Will scratch where you itch
(don't scratch the vinyl)
Or Fly on the Wall some say
Doesn't fly the AC/DC way
Hey it's all AC/DC when tracks are laid down
So put it in the 8-track, cassette or CD
into the player and rock your hometown
So when I listen to AC/DC my neighbors do too
All the way through (the mists of time):
For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)
(P.S. Thank you Daniel Mannix for the history of the Coliseum in Rome
AC/DC wouldn't have had the inspiration without reading your tome)
(P.S.S. AC/DC music has spawned more air guitarists
Than any other group or suzerainty or boxcarists)
I tell you my secrets through the hums
Of buzzing, stringed bees
The rumblings of my thumb
I pretend to play it all with ease
My memories seem to wane
But my fingers know their place
A screech, a murmur, a twang
Suffocating, sweet, in our airy space
What words I cannot find,
What I cannot seem to say,
Are the things I hope remind
Us of the songs that make us sway
Mahogany and copper speak
In softer languages than I ever could
So I’ll strum until my wrist is weak
Until we’ve both been understood
all other musicians held an instrument
Karla's only instrument was her voice
would it be enough?
she knew it was when the audience went silent
and the guitarists stopped playing
He was born on a cotton plantation in Itta Bena, Mississippi.
Among rhythm and blues guitarists, he was the best there could be.
Riley B. King came into the world in 1925.
Entertaining as an R & B guitarist, his career would thrive.
While working at a radio station in Memphis, Tennessee,
he earned the nickname "Blues Boy", which was shortened to "BB".
Playing his Gibson guitar named "Lucille", he earned his reputation.
Coming his way were many an award and commendation.
Yes, he was a talented big name entertainer in his day.
Sadly, in 2015 at the age of eighty-nine, he passed away.
I thank wikipedia.org for valuable information I obtained to write this poem
We're nearing the end of another year
But this one feels different than before
As we mourn our heroines and hero's
Hearts of family and friends are sore
There's Eddy, Pete and Peter Green
They're guitarists in their own way
Lost to the Great Gig in the Sky
Amidst those twenty twenty days
Barbara Martin, Reddy and Tonka
Whom have played to many a crowd
Caressing our ears with their talents
Whether guitaring, or voiced out-loud
Heavens Gate where the Gig is staged
Where Neal and Lee continue their beats
Enjoy life until you're here, engaged!
It's where everyone will have a seat
There was I in my early twenties
sitting bored on a Sunday afternoon
mu mum suggested, get a hobby
but being a loner was well out of tune
My mind was blank till mum said
learn guitar, my son, well maybe
so I bought an acoustic guitar
then got lessons to learn my key
As I started learning some real tunes
it seemed I should've begun while a teen
but some progress I was actually making
after a year thought what might have been
So gave it up, wonder why?
probably not dedicated far enough
but now really appreciate class
guitarists playing real splendid stuff
My experiences make one appreciate
the skilful play of these in master class
like Bream, Williams, Romero and the like
inspiration they do bring, pray not to pass
(I recall here my early 20s and making effort to learn guitar which was not to be but learn to appreciate those who could especially in the classical field.)
Great guitarists talents last a whole life long
But that's not sufficient to describe Stevie Ray Vaughan
In my estimation
No other generation
Produced such a talented guitarist, too early he's gone
Frogs, toads, crickets
lizards, cockroaches
rats, owls assembled
in the thick of the night,
with half Angry Moon
as the Choir Master
A thousand melodies,
and a thousand guitarists
but no music came out!
I sit, from Canal to 209 and back
watching the doors open and close.
I see glimpses of Times Square's neon lights, West 4th's man-made green, Columbus Circle's arrows to the park
as the doors open and close.
I hear music, Mexican guitarists, a cappella, a breakdancer's stereo
entering and exiting through the doors. Open and close.
I hear plans for the night, for the next day, for the next week, for later
and the doors open and close.
And I sit, from Canal to 209 and back,
in the city and not,
On a seat that does not question my empty pockets
as my eyes open and close.
Spanish guitarists...
Highest evolution, OR
Proof of the divine?
At dawn stood a maiden quite fair
Crown adorned with Apollo's hair
Bright sunshine
Golden rays paint black silhouettes
While guitarists caress their frets
At sunset
She's trapped herself in these towers
Heart wading in yellow flowers
Sunshowers
Dance across cerulean blue
These orbs oft obscuring the view
Dark sunspots
Bath in potassium rich waves
Shriveling shells that lotion saves
Sour sunlight
----------------------
Lately I've been trying out different forms of poetry.
This is called a Compound Word Verse. You can find out more about it by visiting
Shadow Poetry's site, I'm not sure what PS's policy is on links.
Harps play of their own accord.
The harpists sit serenly bored.
Guitars gently weep.
The guitarists have all fallen asleep.
Drums boom out in the silence.
Snare and bass burst in violence.
Sing out loud with all your might.
And incite all you meet to fight.
Heavens Gate the crowd to be
Blues-ed and Rocked
Lures me
Forgotten cream
Of our Music past
Down on Earth
It will always last
Hendrix, Kossoff guitarists so
Bon Scott, leader we all know
Phil Lynott bassist past
Cozy Powell their memories last
What these guys have left behind
Future players they will find
Its our right what we must do
Portray their sounds to me and you
What they have done
Is the reason why
They now are
The Great Gig in the Sky.
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