The Prompt: Musical Marker—We all have songs that remind us of specific periods and events in our lives. Twenty years from now, which song will remind you of the summer of 2014?
I’m going to let this song say it all: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZdljy7uVGg
Today’s (Jan. 8, 2015) WordPress Daily Prompt is: I Got Skills – If you could choose to be a master (or mistress) of any skill in the world, which skill would you pick? Oh, to play the guitar! But I already wrote to that subject last July. Here is that post.
At times when now I only hum,
I’d pull out my guitar and strum;
and by the time that I’d be done,
completing my last pluck and run,
perhaps whoever sees and hears
would be reduced to sobs and tears
by every perfect tone and note,
the sentiments that I emote,
and tender lyrics that they knew
because of course I wrote them, too.
But I would be so humble still,
(my hubris would be less than nil)
that when they laud me at the Grammys,
I’ll be home curled up in my jammies—
still unaffected by my fame,
astonished at my new acclaim!
And when Bob Dylan asks me if
I’d like to come and share a riff,
of course I will not turn him down.
In spite of all my new renown,
I’ll take the time to show him some
new ways I’ve found to pick and strum.
Mick Jagger would hang out with me
(and Leo Kottke, probably.)
We’d get together to talk and jam.
The whole world would know who I am!
My fame would spread to presidents
and queens and Knob Hill residents.
I’d be so busy that I fear
my writing would fall in arrears.
I might forget to feed my dog,
forsake my friends, neglect my blog.
So all things taken to account,
as negatives begin to mount,
and though I know that I’d go far
should I decide to play guitar,
I’ve penned a note unto myself,
“Put that guitar back on the shelf!!!”
The Prompt (from July 3, 2014): Strike a Chord—Do you play an instrument? Is there a musical instrument whose sound you find particularly pleasing? Tell us a story about your experience or relationship with an instrument of your choice.
For our day 9 post, we were to post a poem that incorporated at least 5 song titles. I incorporated more and offered a prize for the person who could find the most and promised to publish the solution later. Well, I failed to do that but I am remedying it today. Below is the poem with song titles in boldface. If you count them, you will see there are 50!!!
The winner was “forgottenman,” who didn’t find all of them but found more than most. He says no fair to use one-word titles, but I wrote the poem and I make the rules. You won anyway, Forgottenman! (See his blog at okcforgottenman.wordpress.com.)
I’ll Leave the Light On
This is a world for the knowing,
and everybody knows
that if we would try just a little bit harder
that we wouldn’t feel so trapped.
yet still we cry baby, cry.
You think he’s gonna carry you home
to China?
It’s not like that, darlin’.
It’s more likely
that you’re walkin’ blind.
You will be two marionettes
on the Twickeham Ferry.
Where can I go?
you ask,
trapped,
a woman left lonely
in winter.
What you gonna do––
let your wedding dress
carry you home
to the cold mountains?
Run, baby, run.
Let the black ladder
be your museum of flight.
At heart you were always
a circus girl,
anyway––
that woman on the tier
far above desolation row.
When were you happy?
I know you keep me in your heart,
the one who loves you the most.
I am in your mind,
in the wind.
The memory of me
is better than love.
This is a call—
a broken man’s lament.
I hope it will
carry you home.
Walk away, Renée.
Walk away
You’ll accompany me.
We can take the long way home
(There are 50 song titles. If you came up one short, Cry Baby and Cry are two separate titles)
Sabor de México
The weaving of the inside of the palapa roof forms an exotic herringbone––in places its pattern interrupted by a patch of pale blue sky where the palm fronds have been eaten away by wind and rain. We are nine gathered around the table: eight women and one man. We sit writing in theme books, on typing paper, small notebooks or computers. Three of the four computers are Apples, a testament to my firm belief that this is the best computer for the artistic mind. Something about it is instinctual—which is right up my alley.
Alleys are something lacking in this town of small palapas and concrete houses. Neighbors back onto neighbors. Chickens have no dirt pathway to cross between properties, but jump from one shared fencepost into either yard: the one they belong in or the one they choose to go into. More often than not, no fence separates the spaces between houses. Here, privacy is not a big issue. The sounds of life float from street through window, uniting the visitor unwise enough to live in a house fronting on the main street in town with a night full of ATV’s, motorcycles, loud bands and tape players, air brakes, raucous shouts of those vacating bars at closing time.
The time between the night’s last departures and the next morning’s first arrivals is but an hour or two. Every morning I am awakened by the blasting of radios turned full volume and shared via rolled-down windows of pickup trucks and cars. It is a harsher form of the church bells that serve the same function in my village in the interior of Mexico. Who would need to be asleep later than 6:30? Who could be complained to if I were so foolish as to register any complaint?
Senses in Mexico are there to be stimulated. The patterns of shadows thrown by palms, bright colors, the bite of salsa and tequila, sounds formerly mentioned, the grit of sand underfoot, the sting of saltwater on sunburned arms and backs, the smell of tamarind and lime and the rotting blowfish on the beach. All senses mingle in a salad that we all taste from the common bowl. Whether we live here or visit here for months or weeks or hours, we take our few bites or many according to the time we have to digest them.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 