Writing is the hardest thing I do. It's unfortunate that it's how I make my living.
On a more positive note. Tomorrow starts National Poetry Month. Check Mommy's Nintendo's challenge at The Itsy Bitsy Monkey. Even if you don't take her up on it, it's well worth watching her do it. I followed her last year through the whole month and quite frankly was amazed.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Piano Bar Blues
(1)
I'm just a man
like anyone else. I can
command
respect when I place
myself at the keyboard, face
bathed in blue light.
I do alright.
Not like Mary.
Fell in love with a fairy
used to come in all the time.
His name was Harry.
He'd sit here at the piano making eyes
at all the guys.
Mary never got wise.
(2)
You know
one thing I know
is you
can’t kiss away the blues.
Not the real blues.
Not the hollow note
deep in your throat
kind of blues
that wake you in the middle of the night
because the silence gets so loud
you can hear starlight
fall.
(3)
It's a job.
last week some slob
laid fifty bucks beside me.
Forget what you see,
he said. I'm not here.
My wife wouldn't understand.
All I did was hold her hand,
not like I planned
it or anything. So I fanned
his fantasy for a while,
played My Funny Valentine and with style
closed my eyes tight.
I said, I don't see nobody tonight.
They go away.
Next day
my wife,
who's best friends with his old lady May,
asks how'd it go.
Real slow,
I say.
Didn't see a soul I know.
(4)
I tell people who come in all the time
you can’t kiss away the blues,
not those lonely in a crowd blues.
Those caged bird
wicker domed
watching from a swinging perch
blues.
The kind that weigh
you down even when the door is open
because you get so hungry
not even love
can fill you up.
(5)
You know when I saw you two come in
I felt sick
like I was watching someone commit
sin.
A no win
situation,
like when you begin
a set
and get
an undeniable urge to piss.
Maybe I shouldn't say this.
After all I see a lot of dirt.
I’ve watched a lot of men chase a skirt.
Jesus, I don't mean that.
It's just when you've sat
where I've sat,
you get tired
of watching friends choose
the place you gotta be to play the blues.
(6)
No,
There’s no way.
You can try,
but you’re gonna loose
because there’s no way
you can kiss away
those blues.
Originally published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.
© copyright 2004, 2009 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.
All rights reserved.
I'm just a man
like anyone else. I can
command
respect when I place
myself at the keyboard, face
bathed in blue light.
I do alright.
Not like Mary.
Fell in love with a fairy
used to come in all the time.
His name was Harry.
He'd sit here at the piano making eyes
at all the guys.
Mary never got wise.
(2)
You know
one thing I know
is you
can’t kiss away the blues.
Not the real blues.
Not the hollow note
deep in your throat
kind of blues
that wake you in the middle of the night
because the silence gets so loud
you can hear starlight
fall.
(3)
It's a job.
last week some slob
laid fifty bucks beside me.
Forget what you see,
he said. I'm not here.
My wife wouldn't understand.
All I did was hold her hand,
not like I planned
it or anything. So I fanned
his fantasy for a while,
played My Funny Valentine and with style
closed my eyes tight.
I said, I don't see nobody tonight.
They go away.
Next day
my wife,
who's best friends with his old lady May,
asks how'd it go.
Real slow,
I say.
Didn't see a soul I know.
(4)
I tell people who come in all the time
you can’t kiss away the blues,
not those lonely in a crowd blues.
Those caged bird
wicker domed
watching from a swinging perch
blues.
The kind that weigh
you down even when the door is open
because you get so hungry
not even love
can fill you up.
(5)
You know when I saw you two come in
I felt sick
like I was watching someone commit
sin.
A no win
situation,
like when you begin
a set
and get
an undeniable urge to piss.
Maybe I shouldn't say this.
After all I see a lot of dirt.
I’ve watched a lot of men chase a skirt.
Jesus, I don't mean that.
It's just when you've sat
where I've sat,
you get tired
of watching friends choose
the place you gotta be to play the blues.
(6)
No,
There’s no way.
You can try,
but you’re gonna loose
because there’s no way
you can kiss away
those blues.
Originally published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.
© copyright 2004, 2009 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.
All rights reserved.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Song of the Cuckoo
Listen to the cuckoo coming after the doves,
Mocking their cooing, mocking their cooing
With its strange double note.
Listen to the cuckoo mocking the cooing doves
While the owl turns her head
And the hawk falls on its prey
And the gull sails above the ash.
The cuckoo is a clown
That sings of love
Gone foul.
Cuckoo, cuckoo.
And the owl
Turns her head,
And the doves fly away,
But the cuckoo has found
A place to stay.
No other birds sing quite the same;
No other birds claim,
Cuckoo, cuckoo.
Who?
Says the owl.
Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
Originally published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.
© copyright 2004, 2009 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.
All rights reserved.
Mocking their cooing, mocking their cooing
With its strange double note.
Listen to the cuckoo mocking the cooing doves
While the owl turns her head
And the hawk falls on its prey
And the gull sails above the ash.
The cuckoo is a clown
That sings of love
Gone foul.
Cuckoo, cuckoo.
And the owl
Turns her head,
And the doves fly away,
But the cuckoo has found
A place to stay.
No other birds sing quite the same;
No other birds claim,
Cuckoo, cuckoo.
Who?
Says the owl.
Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
Originally published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.
© copyright 2004, 2009 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.
All rights reserved.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
I don't know why anyone would want to do this
Well, maybe I do. (But pay attention to the warning!)
The one I really wanted to post was how to open a beer bottle with your teeth. Alas the embeding code was disabled.
Gee it's good to be back on the blog, even if it is only temporary still.
The one I really wanted to post was how to open a beer bottle with your teeth. Alas the embeding code was disabled.
Gee it's good to be back on the blog, even if it is only temporary still.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Get well, Braja
If you haven't heard, Braja from Lost and Found in India along with her husband and a taxi driver were seriously injured in a head on collision between the taxi she and her husband were riding in and a truck. The accident happened this past Thursday. You can find more details at Lady Fi's blog and regular updates here.
Braja is a beauiful presence on the blogosphere and has becomne a good friend to many of us. I know I go to her blog to read what she writes for its wit, wisdom, warmth, charm, and most important, its humanity. She sets a pefect example of how to be a friend for all of us. Please send her, her husband, and the driver your most positive thoughts. I know this is a difficult time for her. And I also know she would do no less for any of us.
Braja is a beauiful presence on the blogosphere and has becomne a good friend to many of us. I know I go to her blog to read what she writes for its wit, wisdom, warmth, charm, and most important, its humanity. She sets a pefect example of how to be a friend for all of us. Please send her, her husband, and the driver your most positive thoughts. I know this is a difficult time for her. And I also know she would do no less for any of us.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Another sign of the times
Saw this today on a church marquee in Atlanta:
Road rage?
How would Jesus drive?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)