How I Play Guitar Poem by Mark R Slaughter

Lost
I struggle through to
Find a weary gin

Her taste, her fumes and I
Just love it at the bottom

Smoky leaves
Hummin’ in the mind –
Well worn
With well-worn strings

I change
Loosen under
Coffee-black

And after noon
I come to terms with life
In quaint ephemera –
Never did I find the now –
 
The tone-wood structure
Greets me in the corner

She sits upon the stand
Like the ever-patient mutt
Waits for dinner

Anti-war folk-blues
Call the palate
Rasping in the grey creams
That constitute our
Smokey haze

I lift her
Love the feel
She slots in hands gentle-rough
Antiphony breaching harmony
That balances out the off-key
Rough-shod blues

And on, I take the chord
Growl the feel

Age of nothing
Takes control
And all I do is I take the strain
Finger harshly
Under pain

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2014