poetry

Over at SongFight they have two particular side skirmishes that have been piquing my interest.

One is the Album a Day movement, where you do your best to write and record a 20-Minute EP in a single 24 hour period. Lots of SongFighters have joined the fray; the results i’ve heard have been mixed, with a lot of silly songs, but a a few keepers. I am sorely tempted to try it.

The second, starting on Friday, is Marathon Songs – where all the participants will write one song per day for sixteen days. The thought of recording and posting a song for sixteen straight days makes my head quiver and long to explode – this is, afterall, my year off from Blogathon. Still, i am intriqued by the thought of forcing out a product consistently for two weeks, especially as lately i am alternately convinced my songwriter gland has atrophied and afraid that i will never be able to record all of the dozen dozen songs i’ve got floating around.

That’s the crux of it, really. I have so many songs floating, and i am torn between forging onward into the unknown and holding back to work what i have into perfection. Hopefully the decision will be made easier by the shiny new guitar winging its way to me from Kansas City as we speak, but in the meantime i am warming up for either or both of the SF challenges, with my final decision on whether i participate or not coming on Friday.

So, yeah, basically what i’m trying to say is: here’s some shitty poetry.

I am thinking where am i
Georgia O'Keefe flowers keeping watch
Over my drip drop on the museum floor

I am soaking wet in Washington
Sixth and Pennsylvania
With four dollars in my pocket

     Lost here in the city
     I recognize each building
     That i have seen on teevee
     Could i be as real as these streets?

I was walking in New York City
Skirting the hole
Where buildings used to be

I was circling Central Park
Where teevee stars walk
But i don't know where i am really

     And lost then in the city
     Rabi seated across from me
     Could i be as real as those streets?
     As real as the buildings i once looked down from upon
     Now gone?

I am wondering who am i
Walking to your house
Wondering if i know where i begin
So many ends i've got figured out, but
The means to acheive is what i'm always missing

Dry now in Washington i know i'm as real as the streets
And that white house where all the dignitaries meet
As real as Georgia O'Keefe's
Lewdest flowers, hung for all the world to see