This is a rewrite of an oldie of mine…also inspired by Blackie (see the previous post).
I NEED A GUITAR RIGHT NOW (OR SOMETHING LIKE IT)
I know guitar playing
eats time I should reserve
for writing about world peace
or the nape of your neck. But
when it comes down to it,
I have grown to depend
on the pain in my thumb
I feel after two hours of picking.
I love playing this guitar
the way I love
the trouble you’ve been.
Everyone has their crutch —
some drink,
some vote Libertarian.
Mine is having the blues for you
in Open D.
Guitars are too frequently described
in womanly terms
by horny singers who get to personifying
those curves on lonely nights.
Maybe that’s why I sing of Handsome Molly
instead of kissing
the nape of your neck. It’s easier
to speak of her without choking up.
I can pretend the story is an old Kentucky song,
or something from an obscure rock opera
written by a singer who died tragically
on the Isle of Wight in ’72.
When I’m in love with someone,
I need a guitar to prove it. I slip on
my steady hand and rock between bass line
and melody; it’s just you and me
from here on in, for at least
three minutes and a half, more
if the mood takes us; and then
if nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen,
it won’t be from lack of telling.
Maybe all they can hear is you in the song.
Maybe
I’m finally getting it right.
Dark Matter 
February 20th, 2004 at 8:59 am
I’m blushing here.
February 20th, 2004 at 8:14 am
cuz i think we are all still young…
until we finish that last poem…
have a good weekend,
o.b.
http://www.geminipoet.blogspot.com/
Young Poets by Nicanor Parra
Write as you will
In whatever style you like
Too much blood has run under the bridge
To go on believing
That only one road is right.
In poetry everything is permitted.
With only this condition of course,
You have to improve the blank page.
February 19th, 2004 at 10:18 pm
Re: Heh!
there is a used gibson round shoulder, tobacco burst from the ’60’s at the guitar center out here. i’ve played it twice. it’s like going to the library and checking out a book only you can’t take it home with you. as long as i can handle these things every so often i can get it out of my system. the same thing happened about 7 years ago when an electric guitar became an absolute compulsion. i settled on a sun burst stratocaster. sometimes i still stare at it thinking, man, if i only had this when i was 19. ultimately, acoustic guitars are so much more personal, a real extension of the human behind it. effortlessly shifting from percussive to persuasive. oh yeah. toys and tools. keep playing. it’s good for the soul.
February 19th, 2004 at 9:57 pm
Dear Mr. Brown;
We feel you should know the Truth: She is not looking at the guitar right now, as she is looking at you.
Sincerely,
the Management
February 19th, 2004 at 7:27 pm
Heh!
Ain’t that the truth! Taylors aren’t sexy to me; Martin OOO, OO, and OM are, but Martin Dreads are not.
All Gibsons are sexy, with the possible exception of the Dove.
After that, it’s a case by case basis.
In this case, the only guitar I use for slide is the one mentioned in the previous poem: a 1920s era Chicago parlor 12-fret, possibly a Regal, with a tobacco sunburst finish and a real herringbone inlaid binding. The single greatest slide instrument I have ever played.
By the way…your guitar posts of late are really moving me to play more…
February 19th, 2004 at 3:04 pm
what guitar do you play? some are sexier than others.