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Masters of Rock
by Chris Sorrenti
Skirting down the highway
July morning - plenty sun
We’re off to the next town
To listen to the music
Where the Masters of Rock
Make their home
Stumbled upon it when just a kid
Saw Elvis Presley swing his pelvis
In front of Sergeant Pepper
While Bob Dylan read a copy of Rolling Stone
They got guitars there
By the thousands
See the synthesizer skyscrapers
Rising in the distance
To that heavy beat
Pointed at the sun
Where the Masters of Rock
Make their home
There every night’s a street dance
Musicians bop while others jam
Getting new ideas for lyrics and music
Planning new fortunes to be made
And the best part about it is
Anyone can become a star
If they believe with their heart
Skirting down the highway
July morning - plenty sun
We’re off to the next town
To listen to the music
Where the Masters of Rock
Make their home
So won’t you come along with me
For a spin down that golden highway
Let the notes blow through our hair
As we listen to the music
Getting louder - getting closer all the time
Where the Masters of Rock
Make their home
© 1983
1,490 hits as of September 2026
03/09/2015 Posted on 03/09/2015
Copyright © 2026 Chris Sorrenti
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/12/15 at 04:15 PM Making music is timeless, as is this poem. Our public broadcasting TV station has been playing a lot of specials about the various groups from the past during their fund raising month of March. Looking at those enthralled teens listening to Paul Anka, Neil Sedaka, Del Shannon. Fun stuff. Just read that John Greenspoon died (from 3 Dog Night). And the beat goes on. Thanks, Chris. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 03/13/15 at 08:04 PM A delightful ride down rock and roll memory lane. |
| Posted by Leah Laiben on 03/17/15 at 07:40 AM Nostalgic. |
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