The two poems posted below are about a year and a half old now but I read them this morning and found something in them I liked. They both focus on the "songwriter." One is a superficial look, while the other is about the quiet/alone times.
Folksinger
The way I hear it
It’s ok for me to sing off key & weird
‘cause I wear rustic clothes
And have an uncombed long ass beard
I’m a folksinger
‘cause I play acoustic guitar
If I played saxophone
You might call me John Coltrane
I’m a folksinger
Though I don’t sing about folks
I sing about myself
You can call me Walt Whitman
“How do you do?”
********************************
Bedroom Opera
Late at night
When the sun’s asleep
The day has gone
And a singer sings a simple song
He doesn’t have a lot to say
And what he says he says all wrong
The lights are golden
The sound is murky unclear
He imagines an audience but there’s no one near
The afternoon
When the heat is high
He strums out of tune
He knows the darkness will be comin’ soon
Love and glory have passed him by
All he can do now is howl at the moon
The lights are golden
The sound is murky unclear
He imagines an audience but there’s no one near
2 comments:
I liked bedroom opera especially. Nice title, a strong image and juxtaposition of conception. A question, sir: do you ever go back (especially now that you are in a more writerly phase) and take from a song and change it into a new poem?
to answer yr question...yes.
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