One More Poem that was supposed to be a song 7.30.17

Song Prompts that I came up with and then ignored. Another night, maybe.

A geometry sneaks underneath the disturbance!

Vessel

The newsletter punctures a romance.

Partner

A teenage cliff colors.

Blood.

Life gets in the way. Is that your life or other people’s?

One More Poem that was Supposed to Be a Song 7.30.17

Instead of writing a song I jammed on my keyboard for a while.

Does that count?

No.

The challenge is to write a song or poem,

not hang out and have fun

Randomly playing chords, melodies, and whatever my fingers want to do on the keyboard.

Structure, my friend,

That is the goal.

So, structure is what I will do.

In the form of a written song

or poem.

Poems are easier.

There are less rules

and only one element,

Words.

Actually, that isn’t true.

Rhythm, maybe rhyme, and yes, some form of structure.

It doesn’t have to be verses and a chorus.

or a bridge

or a recurring line at the end of each verse.

But there needs to be something

that makes it cohesive

And not just a rambling mass of

words.

Structure, rhythm, a thoughtful process,

or else

It’s just words vomited on the page.

So, time to focus on the end goal.

Structure.

Words on a page

In a meaningful pattern

With a purpose.

Today I met Bob who was sitting on a stool

next to mine, listening to live music.

The band had a Hammond keyboard, which took me back,

I mean, a real Hammond organ sound.

So I filmed the solo and kept it running through the end of the song,

after which the band took a break

and Bob said something like,

“That was the song to get.”

I agreed and we started to chat.

At some point he said, “I’m Bob”

and reached out his hand.

“I’m Sue,” I said back and we shook on it.

It was fun just chatting with Bob,

a random stranger when I sat down,

and an acquaintance I may see again,
when I left.

I left Bob on his stool

after the first song following the break.
We shook goodbye.

Will I see him again?
Well, I know where he will be on Thursday night,
he told me about a show he's going to.

Maybe I’ll go out for music after work.

I love music

and so does Bob.

That’s all I need for now.

Someone I know on the stool next to mine,

appreciating good music.

No strings.

No expectations.

No games.

No drama.

Just a music buddy

in a music town.

Now that is a line for a song.

Poem - Summer in Memphis

Poem

Summer in Memphis,

Sticky, sweaty, hot 

outside.

Noisy, air conditioned

inside.

Outside, the air is still.

There is absolutely no wind blowing.

How can that be?

Inside, fans are working overtime

and electric bills are soaring.

At noon, no one is on the walking track behind my building.

It’s 90 degrees,

The weatherman says it feels like at least 93.

It’s humid and hot even when the sun is hidden behind a cloud

Barely a reprieve

Even for those precious few minutes.

In case my words haven’t driven home the point

Go ahead and ask me,

“How hot and humid is tt?”

My sunglasses and phone screen fog up

When I step outside.from my office in the early afternoon.

I can see the humidity in the air.

When she visited,

my daughter swore she could feel the humidity seeping through the walls.

I walk in it.

I run and bike in it.

I have to cut back on my miles a bit

But I don’t let it stop me entirely.

Doesn’t mean I like it

Just that I tolerate it.

Can’t say it feels good

Because it doesn’t.

Steamy, muggy, humid, hot.

Sweaty, anxious, tempers on edge.

Summer in Memphis.

Not all that different from when I was in Mobile.

Except then I was younger

And didn’t know any better.