Week 3 songwriting prompt. This is a rough draft. I suppose you could call it not fully fried (oil or air).
Tuesday, August 23, 2022
Monday, August 22, 2022
Full title is Woke up this morning feeling like Bob Dylan. Song #2 of my write a song a week challenge. I used two writing prompts from friends: Woke up this morning -- and -- Living like Bob Dylan, which I misread as feeling like Bob Dylan. Not a professional recording. Not a professional song. But I had fun writing it.
Saturday, August 20, 2022
Listening to live music and heard the line "never give up. " I'm not sure I agree with that as a blanket statement.
Never give up.
I don’t agree.
Sometimes it’s better to cut your losses
and walk away.
That’s not giving up on yourself,
It’s giving up on the situation,
It’s giving up on the person or people
who are holding you down,
It’s being smart.
It’s taking care of yourself.
It’s giving yourself a chance
It’s giving yourself a chance
Listening to live music and thinking
I could do this,
just as well, maybe better.
“I could be you, you could be me,”
she just sang.
I was once told that my lyrics
were too straight forward and trite,
not enough imagery and metaphor.
Compared to what I’m listening to,
my lyrics were interesting and had a hook.
But, that’s okay.
It’s good to experience live music,
see what’s out there.
Maybe learn a few tricks,
maybe get some inspiration.
Not everything I hear will hit me
the way I want or need it to.
But it’s music.
It's a person sitting on a stool,
with a shiny black acoustic guitar,
telling the stories behind them.
Exposing her soul.
And i respect that,
whether I relate to the songs or not.
So I stay through the end of the set,
support a local independent business,
support a local musician,
support the community,
support the craft.
Wednesday, August 17, 2022
Here I am
Here I am
In a forced social setting,
My weekly attempt
to go to a group event,
Today it’s poetry
at a bookstore.
I can sit alone
people I don’t know.
Listen to a published poet,
Try to convince myself
to read one of my own
in the open mic
that will follow her fifteen minutes.
She’s reading from her latest book.
Bright yellow sticky notes
match the book cover.
Should I or shouldn’t I?
Will I or won’t I?
She’s almost done.
There are five readers signed up
I’m not feeling it yet.
The elusive it
The powerful it
That keeps me listening,
Thinking I could do this.
But I don’t.
Usually I don’t.
Sunday, August 14, 2022
I seem to be working on a series of songs and poems related to my religious beliefs. I suppose I'll get to the skeptical and cynical thoughts at some point.
#1 -- not finished yet, but close, I think.
I worship the trees, I worship the breeze,
I worship the moon and stars.
I worship the wind, I worship snow and rain,
I worship [being?] outside.
I sing to the clouds, I sing with the streams
I sing to the canyons, mountains, and plains.
I sing to myself, i sing to whoever is listening,
I sing because I can.
I listen to sermons, I listen to prayers,
I listen to white noise and silence.
I listen to learn, I listen to escape,
I listen to my heart.
I see, touch, taste, hear, feel,
I no longer can smell.
I thank the earth, I thank the air,
I thank music for entering my soul.
I thank the people who have guided me,
I thank the people I would rather not follow.
I thank places I’ve been and the roads in between,
Thursday, August 11, 2022
Not sure if this is a poem or flash fiction. Can it be both?
“Can I ask you a question,” she said
“Are you happy?”
“Most of the time.
How about you?”
“Some of the time.”
“Ah. Do you want to talk to me about it?”
“Not right now.”
“Okay. I'm willing to listen. And not talk unless you want me to.”
“I know. But not now. I've got to get ready for work.”
“Can I just offer my little pearl of wisdom before you hang up?
No one is happy all the time.
The important thing is to recognize when you're unhappy
and try to pull yourself out of it
before you sink so low you feel stuck.
That can be hard to do, but recognizing the issue is a big step.
Try to use that momentum to
start the next step.
End of wisdom.
I love you.”
“I love you, too. I've got to go.”
“Bye. Hope work goes well tonight. Let's try to talk again when you get a chance.”
Open Mic - Prose Only
It’s all memoirs.
And now a short story,
part of a novel,
And it sounds like
(drum roll, please)
about a 4 year old blonde
in a house with a mean mom
(yes, that is the word that was used)
And a cook.
Fast forward and the girl is 14.
It’s a well written piece.
They were all well written
and read well, too.
Well, well, well.
Pages of personal writing.
have a lot
Monday, August 8, 2022
A secret not shared
If I share a secret
it will no longer be my private truth,
my story that only I know,
my reason for fearing or loving or running or clinging
my reason for being too passionate or too removed,
too, too, too
Sharing a secret will take it out of my control.
Instead of the secret consuming me
or fueling me,
It could be used by others
to help, hurt, analyze, explain,
whether I want them to or not.
But keeping a secret in
can be a burden,
And sometimes the burden becomes
too, too, too.
I have a few big ones
and many small ones.
The small ones aren’t really secrets,
they’re just things people don’t know
and I don’t care if they do.
It’s the big ones that
and occasional drama,
and solitary days.
I’ve got a secret.
I’ve got a few secrets.
So do you.
So does everyone.
I might have one I want to let out.