Tuesday, November 20, 2018

The Lonely Guitar

Sitting alone in an empty house
a lonely guitar and smoky voice
takes my hand and leads me down forbidden paths,
shows me an album of memories
pulled out of yesterday into today,
it’s no dream, it’s a real as the goosebumps on my skin,
and it’s hot, your touch commanding,
I’m enslaved to this moment,
to these visions neither time nor distance can eradicate.


  1. Amazing visual your prose (and talent) creates, once again. Have a terrific weekend Ms. V

  2. Music is a blessing for and from the Soul ~ lovely photography and post ~

    Happy Thanksgiving to you,
    A ShutterBug Explores,
    aka (A Creative Harbor)

  3. I have 2 lonely guitars (6 string and 12 string) gathering dust in my house, friend Shadow and 3 lonely flutes doing the same (c and b and transverse)… Haven't touched them in 34 years after Jenny's death I turned silent/ violently tearful … which ever comes first ... Son Paul is my reincarnation … You promised to send your son's musical aspirations … Am patiently waiting … smiles … Much love, cat.

  4. When one has that album of memories, every touch can be hot and commanding.

    This brings back my memories, too.

  5. Charlee: "We could sing along with you!"
    Chaplin: "We don't have smoky voices, though."
    Charlee: "Maybe you don't, but Dada says I have kind of a raspy voice."
    Chaplin: "Like Demi Meower?"
    Charlee: "Who?"
    Chaplin: "Never mind."

  6. those are some really lovely and painful words. The pain of longing is very well described :)