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The Suck!™
Self-deprecation is worth its weight in smoldering phoenix-ashes and baby unicorn tears.
Rebecca:
or; a poem.
Published on May 7, 2007 By
SanChonino
In
Poetry
My eyes seem trapped
in the swirling, spinning vortexes -
captured by the smooth curving lines,
alternating dark and light,
hidden messages in a visual braille -
virtual Morse code -
evoking images of songs unsung.
The curling pictures, cutting through the dark red rosewood,
begging the caress of my worn, tired hands.
I feel the stiff grain of the sitka,
slowly absorbing the finish,
shining through in a paradoxically dull light.
My hands move.
The callouses cry out in agony and ecstasy,
bringing forth bellowing melodies -
soaring highs,
guttural lows,
a song that turns my emotions to a heady soup -
concealing, coalescing into another ode,
giving birth to another minuet,
changing pace through another sonata.
I am nothing of myself.
She is inert without me.
Together, we create.
© 2007 Braeden Jones
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For those of you who wonder what may be going on here, read it
here
,
Article Tags
poetry
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Comments
1
SanChonino
on May 07, 2007
I figured people would understand that it was a guitar, but this is about one specific guitar - Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farms, my most splendid, beautiful guitar.
I'm glad you liked it, whip.
2
BlueDev
on May 07, 2007
Interesting. A little creepy
, but interesting.
3
BlueDev
on May 07, 2007
Aren't all obsessions?
You bet they are.
4
SanChonino
on May 07, 2007
But BlueDev . . . have you
seen
this guitar? It's deserving every accolade and obsession it gets . . .
5
Shovelheat
on May 07, 2007
Too cool, SC...
6
Buddah Moskowitz
on May 08, 2007
I thought it was about a tortured love affair; when I learned it was a guitar, it made sense, especially since I've had a tortured love affair with my guitar for 30 years.
Nicely done,
Moskowitz
7
dynamaso
on May 09, 2007
Ah, now I completely understand this, having been in love with my guitar(s) for many years (I guess this would make me a... polyguitaramist). Well done, mate.
She is inert without me.
Together, we create.
Beautiful...
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