poems & music….

on November 22, 2009 in things that have fallen out of barbie's mind.... with 1 comment by

i got together with a guitar player, chris ortega, from open mic. we sat down and worked out some music to go with my poetry. it’s sounding pretty awesome. it’s a little different since i’m used to working with a bass player, but cliff hunt is somewhere in chicago now and probably not available for thursday nite gigs in north carolina. i thought that i’d put up the poems that we will be using for this new set. it will probably be another week before my web designer is able to get the poetry and artwork pages populated on the website. so here you go, i hope you enjoy these pieces.
thanks for playing. barbie.

Nuno’s Poem

She chased Happiness down the stairs
and then out the back door.
She lost him in the street
down by the record store.
She caught him two weeks later
and he quickly got away.
So she followed him discreetly
to find out where he stayed.
She tried to trick and trap him
to keep him by her side.
But every time she turned around,
Happiness would hide.
I don’t know why she sought him out,
why she didn’t wait for him,
but on and on went her pursuit
though she could never win.
They found her in the courtyard,
in the center of the town,
her world a mess, like all the rest,
‘cause someone let her down.
She sat alone and cried there.
She knew this was the end….
Then Happiness approached her
and asked to be her friend.

Introductions

I’ve bumped into Truth and talked to God.
I’ve made Chaos my best friend.
Passed Time with Fate while Confusion laughed
and Society spoke of our end.
But the first time I ran into Love,
it was a special kind of pain.
Like a searing, sweet cacophony,
with a bitter, sharp refrain.
I’ve know the type of Careless Love
Dylan sings of in his songs.
Reminiscent of an avalanche,
‘cause it comes on swift and strong.
I’ve felt the sweetness of a crush
and the torture of Love’s tears.
And even the nitemare relationships
that left me with chilling fears.
To fall into Love and never land
is everyone’s greatest wish.
To live in every tiny touch.
To linger in each kiss.
I once passed Love on a beaten path,
and once on a darkened street.
But the kind of Love I dream about,
I have yet to ever meet.
I’m sure I’ll know him at first glance,
all smiles and old corduroys.
I’ll know him the moment my heart stops,
not by his face, just by his poise.
And he’ll ask me champagne questions,
and he’ll melt in with my dreams.
Wanting only to live in the magic.
Content to remain there with me.

Proverb

There is not enough living
Involved in my life.
So I think that I’m due for
A change.
I need some more passion
And a whole lot of light.
I want more time to play in
The rain.
I won’t offer excuses
There’s too many now.
I’m not here to make anyone sad.
But I don’t want my feet
Ever touching the ground.
I just want to enjoy
What I have.
The soundtrack of my days
Has sped up quite a bit.
And the tempo is tapping my feet.
And I’m not taking blame
And I won’t take your shit.
My existence is finally upbeat.
I’m not going to run
And I won’t stay and fight.
I am just going to live for a while.
Cause I’m not sure what’s wrong
And I don’t know what’s right
I am living for what makes me smile.

For Sale

There’s an old man at the bus stop selling memories,
from a suitcase he swears holds all my dreams.
He promised that he’s locked up life’s miseries,
as he offers the simplicity that brings me peace.
There’s confusion all around me in every way,
as I struggle for an instrument to keep me safe.
And I’ll purchase any wisdom I may someday use
if it leads me from the horrors of the evening news.
The billboard in the sky proclaims our ignorance.
The preacher at St. John’s is screaming eloquence.
As if we could attempt to own some common sense,
yet we’re living in society’s embarrassment.
There’s a vagrant on the corner wearing sanity,
clutching tightly to the last bit of humanity.
He’s not fulfilling any ancient prophecy,
but he says he knows the answer to every plea.
An old lady’s living underneath the mission steps.
She covers up at nite with all of our regrets.
They keep her from the knowledge of the life she left.
She’s keeping the contentment that we all forget.
While a small band’s playing Dylan out on Clark and Tenth.
A guitar case catches change to help them make the rent.
And I listen to the memories from every song,
‘cause the old man sticks around until my money’s gone.

Share
Tags:

One comment

  1. karyn mcgroarty
    posted on Nov 24, 2009 at 9:51 AM  |  

    Wow, I really like ‘For Sale’. All of your poetry is very evocative. You make pictures dance in my head. Yay!

You must belogged in to post a comment.

My book "Roasting Questions" is now available to purchase!