Wednesday, October 16, 2013

My Guitar--By Terry O'Leary--France

My Guitar

With burdens bearing heavy down a road that’s hard and long
My body’s bent and weary so I’m reaching for a song;
My sorrows flicker – fading ..., faint ... - beneath the morning star,
While worried fingers seethe across the strings of my guitar.

Though seagulls fly forever, streaking, striving for the strand,
My troubles ebb, evaporate, with my guitar in hand;
Their turbulence’s writhing neath the notes within the air -
And hunted by the haunting beat, they’re vanquished everywhere.

With melodies erupting, bursting, splashing night with dawn,
The drifting dancing demons die, as time goes swirling on;
Guitars are roaming randomly across the rusty skies,
While cares have vanished, draped in dust of distant lullabies.

Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".

18 comments:

  1. Dear Terry,

    Thank you for your kind comment today and for sharing your wonderful poem. I really appreciate having you a part of Whispers. Keep on being the positive voice you are in the writing community.

    Blessings,
    Karen

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  2. Dearest Terry -

    I almost missed this - horrors if I had. I love ..... My sorrows flicker – fading ..., faint ....
    I'm gonna git me a guitar and rip (or rif).

    love you,
    Kathy

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    1. Thank you Kathy... rippin' or riffin', both would be great... love, Terry

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  3. Great reading - telling us all how to lose ourselves in something we love. I myself do that many times with my writing - and you know what - the world always comes about looking a bit brighter - doesn't it? Well done...

    Rhoda Galgiani

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    1. Thank you, Rhoda... and you're right (about looking a bit brighter)... Terry

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  4. this poem strikes the blue note in me. i enjoyed the rythmn you have managed to create, i'm swaying along! ralph.

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    1. Thank you, Ralph... glad to have 'swayed' you... Terry

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  5. Thank you, Celine Rose Mariotti, for the following comment--

    Dear Terry, I loved reading your poem about playing the guitar. I have played the guitar since I was nine years old and I always love to sit and play. I like to arrange the songs, and even dabble in a little songwriting. I play the acoustic guitar, the electric guitar, the bass guitar, the classical guitar and the banjo. Keep playing! Keep writing!

    Celine Rose Mariotti

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    1. Wow, Celine... the multiple wonders you must bring to your household... I'm jealous... Terry

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  6. Terry,
    A great message, all in rhyme too! Did you have any education in the United States or is English your second language? Either way well done, I was born in the United States and still can't rhyme as well!
    Sincerely,
    David Fox

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  7. Thank you, David... Yes, though I now live in France (no rhyme or reason), I was brought up in the US (Hollywood)... Terry

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  8. Dear Terry,

    Thank you for all the comments you left for other writers. It's encouraging people like you that make Whispers possible. Blessings to you.

    Karen

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  9. Dear Terry,

    Wow! I really love how you wrote this and I'm quickly becoming a fan of your poetry. Thank you for sharing this with us all and thank you kindly for your comment.

    Sandra Stefanowich

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  10. Thank you, Suzanne Clement, for the following comment--

    Yes, indeed Terry, music can be a very soothing part of life.

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  11. Thank you, Robert Dufresne, for the following comment--

    Fantastic description of what playing this instrument will do for one when all else is uncertain or negative for whatever reason. Does the same for me my friend. You have done so well with this poem in the flow of the feelings. Thank you for sharing it.

    Bob D

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  12. Thank you, Richard Sponaugle, for the following comment--

    Very engrossing, especially the "guitar" parts. This would have been great even without the rhymes, but the rhymes are very clever.

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  13. Wow! This is so beautiful it's amazing. This is exactly how I feel about creating my poetry. It makes me want to play a guitar. I've never been blessed with the ability to create music on an instrument, until now through this poem.

    Pam

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