MUSIC SERIES – Eyes Closed

This poem was inspired by Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles. Let me know what songs you think I should write a poem about!

 

Eyes Closed

 

Sitting in the strawberry fields

trying to recreate a simple dream

while the sound of a tractor tilling

at the stony winter soil

covers the distant song of the birds.

 

I can almost see myself on the branches

sitting next to them with my legs hanging;

looking across the small acre of land

at this stranger perched on a shrunken log

with his eyes closed, staring at nothing.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Return to Sugar Mountain

This poem was based on Sugar Mountain by Neil Young. Let me know what song I should look at next in the comments!

 

Return to Sugar Mountain

 

A handful of smoke-grey pebbles

and piles of decomposed granite

were all that I found on my return

to the fabled Sugar Mountain,

 

that, along with a pile of cigarette butts

burnt out underneath the stairs

beneath the broken-down church cemetery

where they buried old man Barker.

 

I remember dropping to one knee

to dust the ashes from the tombstone

and decipher the inscription his wife left.

It was from a note she wrote him in school.

 

All the candy floss at the carnival

couldn’t match the sweet in your eyes,

nor could the colored balloons

rival the vibrance of your life.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – The Bricklayer

I thought I’d change up Mondays for a while with poetry inspired by music. Today’s was inspired by Another Brick in the Wall, pt. 2 by Pink Floyd. Let me know what song you’d like to hear about in the comments!

 

The Bricklayer

 

I laid every dusty, red brick

of that mortar riddled school wall

like it was just another job

for my denim jeans and work boots.

 

I never asked why they hired

a prison building company

to construct their grim barricade

or why they wanted barbed wire

 

until I saw a boy staring

through the window of his classroom

at what used to be clear blue skies,

and turned back to his science class.

——

 

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RETURN HOME

I really enjoyed writing my fifty-word story last week, so I thought I’d try another this week:

 

The walk home from the winter train station always feels like a Debussy song. Each step through the snowscape is like strolling on a cloud in the summer sky, despite the cold. When I cross the bridge, I can faintly hear them. In the reflection below I see myself smile.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #53 – BLUE EYES

They look like the summer sky at midday

dotted with lazy summer clouds,

or perhaps like the arctic frost in spring

as it sheds from winter’s grasp.

Yet without the warmth of your coy smile

or the hymn in your flowered voice

I can’t shake that the icy glare you’ve got

means lonely nights for me ahead.

Which makes me think to Vivaldi’s Seasons:

that in your eyes I can find life.

That I can find the fresh roots of new spring

and summertime jingles that birdies sing

mixed in with the faded red leaves of fall

before winter comes to bury it all.

And that hidden beneath these vibrant songs

is the love you held for me all along.

Hello there!
I’m posting away from home right now, so I can’t link my normal stuff below!

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LOVE POEM #48 – MUDDY WATERS

The smoky voice, crackling

with the coarse rhythm

of an ancient studio recording,

asked the dimly lit room

to turn the lamps down low

 

and with the smell of

smooth Marlboro cigarettes

lingering after the heat of passion

she felt a quiet flame reignite

 

that she had thought was lost,

burnt out like the kindled fire

that was her first marriage.

 

Their silhouetted figures,

glistening with sweat in the moonlight,

sat sticky against the oak headboard;

limp thumbs tangled together.

 

He ruined that sweet moment,

as most men do,

when he turned to her

and whispered “I love you.”

 

That was all it took for the sweat

rolling down her chest

to freeze to ice, and soon

she was swimming

in muddied waters.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #47 – BLUE LOVE

I’ve spent all this time being midnight blue,

That I have lost my time to be with you.

You, the girl painted American red—

You’re the girl I can’t get out of my head.

 

You, the girl I sat next to for a year.

You, the girl whose smile could commandeer

Every man’s heart from here to Ireland.

Oh, the things I would give to hold your hand.

 

Do you remember that Slim Shady verse?

You’d rap it and be completely immersed,

And I’d almost forget that you showed me

The whole realm of music that is country.

 

You, the girl who wore those star-and-stripe boots

(Sorry if I ever checked your caboose).

You, the girl who loves the Anaheim Ducks,

You, the girl I know really love to…fish.

 

Oh, I know that you do it all the time

But that story is for another rhyme.

Tonight, I’ll lament ‘bout what I’m missing—

‘Bout how I wish ‘twas you I was kissing.

You, the girl with hair colored like a dove.

You, the one that cursed me with this blue love.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #43 – GREETINGS

In your simple song

Was the rising melody

Of a water’s crest.

 

And you were the sea.

At once calm as still silence

And wild as fire.

 

The downpour of rain

Couldn’t dampen your sunshine

When you plucked those strings.

 

And when your song peaked

It broke like a crashing wave

In swift harmony.

 

I felt my heart race

Parallel to your plucking;

Like it was your strings.

 

In blissful release

I felt the song end, and knew

I must say hello.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #28 – MOONLIGHT SONATA

I construct the notes of my piano

To a song that I composed just for you.

It’s about the trips I took through the snow

To see that smoke rose from your chimney flue.

Your dainty footsteps across the wood floor

Are like an angel walking in the clouds

And the white smile you flash at the door

Is like the moonlight peeking from the shrouds.

But as my hands dance on the iv’ry keys

I feel the tune slip to C minor,

Because last winter I felt the sharp breeze

Of your voice calling to someone finer.

I saw your smile in that nirvana,

And hence I wrote this Moonlight Sonata.

——

 

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ONE LAST DREAM

I think I’ll dream a dream tonight

A dream about a magical flight

A dream up to the skies above

Where I can see those that I love.

 

A dream that shows me down below

A dream covered in clean white snow

A dream where Jacque still rides his trike

That’s a dream I think I would like.

 

I’ll dream one last dream ‘fore the end

A dream more sweet than all I’ve penned

‘Cause how on Earth can we transcribe

The beauty that our minds provide.

——

 

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