Demons in the Street-NaPo for 4/24/17 another one that has gone through the publishing center cause i felt like it and i really need to start moving back to the humor poetry i used to write
and as the music flows by my head, I think of all of the concerts I've gone to. All of the music that I've ever heard rushes, so swiftly back into my mind and it's like I never stopped listening. I like this feeling, it's good and happy. Maybe I'll finally be at some sort of peace, now that the radio is blasting next to my bed for all eternity.
They always say, that April showers, they're gonna bring May-ay-ay flowers. And wait every year as the days roll by, just watching clouds float in the sky.
they always said it was too tough and me trying to get through life would be rough but the piano sang a melody to me it took me in like the siren's song and i just wanted to sing and play along
i learned how to play on a thrid try at third hand it was an upright piano, not too fine, and the keys always sticked even back in its glorious prime the hymnal book was stolen in '53, from somewhere east of the mississippi
all my cousins, they learned how to play, on baby grands and expensive lessons that wasn't me for they said that i just couldn't learn, i wasn't smart enough but when the devil asked for a piano player my hands slid across the ivory and caught the sheets on fire i blew the devil's mind till smoke tunneled out his ears
didn't even have to go down to georgia to get it down
sometimes i write things quickly and i don't edit at all. i don't pay attention to the grammar laid out before me, i don't even bother to capitalize the 'I's. but that's my style and i'd rather like it if you let me be. even if i type out lines like this, ones that stretch into actual sentences, looking nothing like the lines you're use to. i dance around styles like they were fire rings and i'm trying to escape the smoke that's burning my eyes. that's just the way i am and i'd rather like it, if you don't complain about these things.
The devil watched my hands run across the keys, the fire burning hotter and hotter as I hit verse after verse. My voice was growing hoarse from each refrain but kept on going, just trying to gain, a shot at redemption. Some fiddle players go for a violin made of gold, but I was imply trying to win back my soul.
I'm getting a bit older (nearly 16) I know it's not something you like to think about (since you're getting older too) But you know it's happening so just accept it (it's only 5 months now)
Lizz, I enjoyed reading the musical themes in some of your last poems. This one's great: "The devil watched my hands run across the keys, the fire burning hotter and hotter as I hit verse after verse. My voice was growing hoarse from each refrain but kept on going, just trying to gain, a shot at redemption." The mix of music and the religious references are humorous and unique.
Your poetry is just bold and unapologetic. This line also made me smile: "i dance around styles like they were fire rings and i'm trying to escape the smoke that's burning my eyes." Thanks for sharing your work!
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
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