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while my guitar gently weeps
by Jared Fladelandrock stolen absence of a creative passion
forces me towards that box of wood
with steel strings stretched across in the proper tension
to allow for an E. A. D. G. B. E.
And sometimes other tunings, when I'm searching for a sound outside the box.
pressing down behind cold steel frets
awakens the senses
with the sounds of simple pickings.
I want explicitives
and noisy clatter:
soft jingles
and poetic verses sung by tenors.
Can anyone hear my heart beating?
It beats to the sounds of beethoven. 12/19/2006 Author's Note: The title is stolen from a beatles song. this is filled with puns.
Posted on 12/20/2006
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Katerina T Nix on 12/21/06 at 05:32 AM Great work here, Jared. I really enjoyed reading this piece, and the puns are great. I know that beethoven feeling :) Well done. Kat xoxo |
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