I'm nobody that you'd know -
maybe you can call me Joe.
Walking down MacDougal Street,
I had no one to meet.
A New York night without a friend,
I dropped into The Bitter End
to escape the cold and think,
and to have myself a drink.
My troubled mind caught G-sharp.
A kid there played a fine mouth harp.
From an unknown nasal voice,
words grabbed me - I had no choice.
Poetry poured down in my hole
and reached into my soul.
How lucky can a poor boy be -
Bob Dylan will make history.
~ an anonymous patron of a folk music club in Greenwich Village, 1961
Categories:
mouth harp, history, music,
Form: Rhyme
Just a single footlight
Just a single chair
A solitary figure
Sitting comfortably there,
Right ankle resting
On his left thigh
Guitar resting
Comfortably high
Mouth harp held
In its neck stand
Strings being plucked
By his right hand.
And he blasted out the blues
Rocking the night along
Some standard covers
And a self penned song.
Bringing all into his world
As he held us captive there
Power emanating from that
Single solitary chair.
The music stops, the figure smiles
Thanks all for their applause
And quietly and calmly
The Bluesman withdraws.
There’s just left behind
A single empty chair
A single footlight beam
Focused on it there
Roy Leo Lyons, local
blues singer/writer
and bird photographer
extraordinaire
Categories:
mouth harp, appreciation, music, tribute,
Form: Rhyme
Listening to the Blues
Slouched almost supine
Next to special person,
Her hand clasped in mine:
Mississippi picking,
Bottle neck used as a slide
St James Infirmary playing,
End of a long Blues ride.
Now a mouth harp break
Exhilaratingly raw,
Finger picking guitar
Carrying the music before.
House rent music that
Spread the world around.
Borrowed, refined, adapted
Into a multitude of sounds.
Music to relax to that
Seeps slowly, and with style,
Down into the soul
Satisfying all the while.
Voices of gravel,
Voices that moan and wail
But voices of power to tell
Some of life's varied tales.
At times when I'm stressed,
Or at times of despair,
At times of great joy
The Blues are always there.
I first listened as a child,
A period so long gone,
But still my favored listen
As my life speeds along.
Now almost in my dotage,
Slouched almost supine,
Still listening to the Blues with
A very special friend of mine.
Categories:
mouth harp, feelings, memory, music,
Form: Rhyme
My harmonica cries,
in tones of silver sighs and golden tears;
wailing bittersweet joy.
Sound of sadness; sound of laughter;
it’s in the wailing that color blooms.
Mouth-harp memories fill many family albums.
Circle of breath, circle of life;
winding in and out; among the reeds.
As we all wind down life’s road.
Diatonic monotones blending with
chromatic colors of sharps and flats;
my harmonica sings the music of diversity;
notes in keys of primary colors and unending shades.
12-8-19
Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
Categories:
mouth harp, music, poems, poetry, sound,
Form: Free verse
My harmonica cries,
in tones of silver sighs and golden tears;
wailing bittersweet joy.
Sound of sadness; sound of laughter;
it’s in the wailing that color blooms.
Mouth-harp memories fill many family albums.
Circle of breath, circle of life;
winding in and out; among the reeds.
As we all wind down life’s road.
Diatonic monotones blending with
chromatic colors of sharps and flats;
my harmonica sings the music of diversity;
notes in keys of primary colors and unending shades.
Categories:
mouth harp, appreciation, music, poems, poetry,
Form: Free verse
A
Dragon
Cannot play
Harmonica
Trying one melted
His own mouth harp
To liquid
Metal
Pool.
Categories:
mouth harp, animal, fun, funny, image,
Form: Ninette
Ashes waft over the meadow
a jet stream of sorrow,
beckoning the widow to the
edge, down to the river.
Contented epoch, at the
creek where the wolves run,
he lived and laughed.
We watched the bright blue
stars foxtrot across the milky
way, a midnight indigo quilt
shivering with light.
Mountain men whose
toughened hands cradle their
violin and mouth harp. Music
soared amidst craggy
chiseled countenance.
We listened to the chaste
screech of a hawk, the forlorn
cry of a mountain cat,
soft snuffling of a bear,
watery splash of a fish.
You and I waltzed in the
meadow; no music needed
other than the love song that
pulsed in our hearts.
Can I have this dance for
the rest of my life?
Together it seemed so…
right,
wrong,
simple,
eternal,
joyful,
lonely,
sad…
...happily ever after?
No.
Time enough for us to love,
laugh, share, be silly, fight,
forgive, and cry?
To seethe and despair?
Yes.
Trisha Sugarek from
Butterflies and Bullets
Categories:
mouth harp, grief, loneliness, longing, lost
Form: Free verse
pluck the gentilities
got sined sensiblities
a quiet cacophony
rhythms at timing
resemblin' the melody
on repertoire
schwaaaa - aaaah
hear the sizzle of cymbals
the soul of her body
her sippin' hot toddy
- damn that jazz!
sheets o' music flyin'
mouth harp a cryin'
chords hit the floor diein'
to move a'wrigglin' rear
RISE UP! GET DOWN!
fade to bridge - then reappear
- now that's jazzin'
© Goode Guy 2013-04-17
Categories:
mouth harp, muse, music,
Form: Rhyme
I think I'd like to go to the moon,
In fact, I kind'a hope to do it soon,
Looks nice and bright up there,
Should disperse my shadows of despair,
I'll bring my mouth harp, and my tap shoe,
So I can dance in a crater, while playing too,
Then it would be my big chance,
To really do that real Moondance,
I hope there are no weird little critters,
They'd likely give me the jitters,
They may not approve of my Moondance,
And maybe they'd take their chance,
To pull down my underpants.........
Categories:
mouth harp, adventure, funny, imagination, parody,
Form: Burlesque
The band was on a beer break
When old Doug got up onto the stage
In a hotel down on Main street
He was playing that old song
On a battered old mouth harp that spit
Then he started into singing off key as ever
Then the rest of us wanted to split
He was holding his own
Though the crowd was beginning to rend
They all knew they’d better be good
And not get us mad cos altho he was bad
That old man also our friend
Then he started again
On an encore of sorts
So four of us each took a limb
And as we took him outside
The crowd cheering and clapping us on
He was certain that night they loved him
Categories:
mouth harp, funny, life, nostalgia, old,
Form: Bio