Hello all. I'm re-visiting my poetry file this weekend and tidying up some edits suggested by Sean. I found this piece I wrote in response to one of Alan's exercises. It's not rocket salad, but I'm adding it here as a prompt in case any more of you have some results from this exercise that you ould like to share.
Apple Juice.
The umbrellas are up against the August rain.
I can't see the man playing across the square.
I never thought I'd hear that riff again;
I'd recognise that fingerpicking anywhere.
I forgot the bloody lyrics, fumbled every chord,
lurched from gig to gig, fought in the studio,
We were never boring, but our fans got bored,
the playlists dropped us from the radio.
Perhaps he'd recognise me but it ain't no use;
he's see my shaking fingers and my bloodshot eyes.
This glass is holding single malt, not apple juice.
The sky is crying, and so am I.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Thanks for posting this, I enjoyed reading (hearing?) it again. I like the gentle references to pop songs.
ReplyDeleteThat was such an interesting exercise, although I think it scared the hell out of us all at first. everyone seemed to get something from it, at least from the second go!