Poetry Games: The Cure

First: Happy Friday!

Today’s turning out to be a real crappy day, as you can tell by today’s Quote of the Day post. I heard “Friday I’m in Love” on the radio just now. It’s my silly sign that things will be okay. Haven’t done a “The Cure” poem yet, so this should be fun. 🙂

 

It’s Friday and on

“Friday I’m in Love”.

 

It’s “A Strange Day”

to be in “A Forest”

wandering through the “Purple Haze”.

Wish you were “Close to Me”

again so I’m not trapped

in my memories with

these “Pictures of You”.

Alas, you are

“Jumping Someone Else’s Train”

“In-between Days”

Watching a “Strange Attraction” at a

“Freakshow”

 

Quick!

Quit being “The Perfect Boy”

for once in your life and

meet me at “10:15 Saturday Night”

on “Fascination Street” by the

“Hanging Gardens.”

If we make it in time,

we can catch “The Lovecats”

perform their “Lovesong”.

 

We’ll laugh and party

for old time’s sake

and it’ll be “Just Like Heaven”.

We’ll stay up ’til morning

before we part ways.

You’ll start crying like mad

and I’ll stop you and say

“Boys Don’t Cry”!

We’ll take “The Walk”

to the train station.

You’ll hum my “lullaby”

and promise we’ll

meet again

soon.

Poetry Games: The Beatles

 

The trumpets sound.

The officers send their demands:

“Let’s ‘Come Together’!

Go away to the ‘Revolution’

on the ‘Long and

Winding Road’

where the ‘Blackbird’

‘Twist and Shout’

in the ‘Norwegian Wood’!”

And you go.

 

 

You escape without so much

as a “‘Hello, Goodbye”.

You’re “Here, There, Everywhere”

in my view.

 

On my doorstep on “Penny Lane”

You called for “Help!”.

I come running out

surprised to see your face.

You tell me,

“‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’

so close your eyes

 

and let me kiss you!”

“‘Hey Jude’,” I say,

“This isn’t ‘Yesterday’.

You’re too late.

This ‘Elanor Rigby’ is not for you.

Take your ‘Yellow Submarine’

‘Across the Universe’ because

‘Here Comes the Sun’ and

You ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’.”

 

 

Poetry Games: Louis Armstrong

"Hello, Dolly!"
Why are you such in a folly?
Darlin' quit your shenanigans
And come see "La vie en rose".
Stop and look around you 'cuz
We got "All the Time in the World"!

Darlin' Dolly you're a silly girl
Wanting to dance "Cheek to cheek"
In the rain on "Blueberry Hill".
The world lights up "When You're Smiling" and "What a Wonderful World" that is!

Come with us, come with me,
Give me "a kiss to build
a dream on".
Everything will fine because
"Nobody knows the trouble
I've seen" (except for those
"Jeepers Creepers" at "St. James infirmary!).

Hun, let's be real.
You ain't "On the Sunny Side
of the Street".
So quit your "Muskrat Ramble"
And go back to your
"Rockin' chair".
You've had your chance
To come to the rain to dance.
Face the truth and
All that comes with it.
Hun, you ain't "That Lucky
Old Sun" anymore.
You'll just have to settle and
"Dream a little dream of me".

Poetry Games: The White Stripes

Because why not The White Stripes? Enjoy!

Let’s grab our “Seven Nation Army”

And head over to the “Hotel Yorba”

Because “I fell in love with a girl”.

Let’s sneak out of the rooms

“In the Cold, Cold Night” to 

Hear the “Icky Thump” rant away.  

Let’s see the “White Moon” rise

As the “Little Ghosts” draw 

a “Blue Orchid” on the walls.

Poetry Games: George Gershwin

I finished watching An American in Paris (1951) and figured I should play the game out of Gershwin’s music. Here we go!

In the “Summertime”

On a “foggy day”

There was an “American in Paris”.

The American,

a tall, handsome fella,

sure could dance.

he would put on a “funny face”

when he would “strike that bass”.

A “fascinating rhythm” he had.

He would always joke

“‘The can’t take that away from

me!'”

He was “someone to watch

over me”,

“the man I love”,

“but not for me”.

Good sir,

“embraceable you”,

“‘s wonderful”.

“I got rhythm” now.

It’s a wonderful

“Rhapsody in blue”

So “strike up the band”

with the “Cuban overture”

because “they can’t take

that away from me!”

Poetry Games: The Clash

Some of my nerdier friends and I like to play this game in which we have to create a poem using song titles from a musician or band. Actually came up with this one using Clash songs two summers ago while wandering out the fancy chocolate section in the grocery store.

 

Oh you.

“Rudie can’t fail” we thought.

What a pitiful thought!

Rudie, if you are going to “Rock the Casbah”

As you get “Lost in the Supermarket” with “Janie Jones”

Then I shall ask you this “Should I Stay or Should I Go”?

“I Fought the Law” with “Police & Thieves”

by throwing “Spanish Bombs” at a “White Riot”

while driving my “Brand New Cadillac”.

Hurry up Rudie as the clock is ticking.

I’m trying to escape on a “Train in Vain”

to the Mother country because “London Calling”.

 

Note: I do not own any of these titles, so any party involved with Joe Strummer’s estate or The Clash in general: please don’t sue me.

The Fickle Things

We find that time
is a fickle thing.
We are actually
Quite, quite wrong.
What we don’t realize
is that we are
the fickle things.
We fear change
Yet we are
Constantly changing.
Growing, learning.
We support things,
places,
people.
Yet when the time comes,
We cut the chord,
Close the shop,
Disappear,
Hoping to never be seen again.

Time.
Time remains constant,
Always forward, never backward.
Always and forever there.
Time haunts us,
tempts us,
provokes us to return
to that place we once knew.
That place we now yearn.
Ironic, n’est-ce pas?

That place.
The sights of Jiffy 620s on display,
Of curiosities on shelves,
Of groovy artwork on faded walls.
The smells of cigars,
Of high quality coffee at low prices,
of home.
The sounds of laughter,
of love in bloom,
of philosophical talks and debates.
Now replaced by
the flashing of phone cameras,
modern and sleek boutiques,
the crowds of foreign folks.
Not a single familiar face in sight.

We find that time
is a fickle thing.
We are indeed
quite quite wrong.
The person you were then,
the person you yearn to be again,
the person you are now,
Are as strange as the places
themselves.
Not a single familiar face in sight.

XYZ

In high school they say

“The real world is XYZ.”

You fear it,

You wonder about it,

You desire it.

 

Off to college and they say

“The real world is XYZ.”

You fear it as you near it.

You desire it to get out to it.

You are in it.

 

The real world is here

And you find yourself

Stumped.

As the rules were always the

same:

High school cliques,

Robotic hours,

Maddening thoughts to get

out.

 

In the world they say

“The real world is XYZ.”

But we all know

XYZ is the current

Situation.

A Tourist at Home

I want to Escape

as I have become

A Tourist at Home.

 

These strangers don’t

drink the Strange Brews but

foreign, colorful

Kombucha shots.

 

Come along brother!

To New York, to Paris,

Hell, to Laredo!

Let us escape the rules

of those Phony crowds.

 

We are the new era,

Lost Generation.

Our bodies shells of

what we used to be.

 

Those innocent days,

the laughter at the

thought of growing old,

merely memories,

deeply cut into

Our souls, never healing,

Forever stuck and

Forever trapping

us within this cage.

 

I want to escape,

to get away from the

Madness, Chaos, lost

Phonies whose mere goals,

mere purpose in life

is to suck the life

of Hopefuls,

banning cool tangos

in the summer rains.

 

“Quit trying to throw

Your life away they say.”

Certainly my friend,

I will indeed quit,

once I can make my

Escape from this place

And no longer be

A Tourist at home.

Burnin’ Bridges

When the war is over,

The alarms are off.

When the blitz ceases,

The rubble remains.

But the bridges,

To many a surprise,

Have not been burned.

 

You ponder and pace,

Do you cross it

To remember?

To remember what life was like?

To remember this moment

Was not always your normal?

You step on the edge

And find it sturdy,

But looks are deceiving

My friend,

And very, very, dirty.