the colour of our lives

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Archive for the tag “could be a song”


open strings growl, hiss, buzz with
bad-tempered, minor key blues;
the hammers are nearly drawing blood
and fat bruised thumb, booming out
metronomic, hypnotic and low

bend and slide, whack that half-
dozen and make then sing in pain,
metal on metal, knock of sprucewood
and mahogany warmth, cradled, head
bowed, jaw grinding like fretful dreams

whole, restless, body pulsates in turn,
in time, breathing like stolen cocaine
but music is the only drug. heaviness
purged; singing, with eyelids squeezed,
voice filling the empty room, and

frettedsurprised by the new sweetness,
fingers chancing major riffs, rhythms
slow, soothe, clear notes smiling
to the sun and heaven. indigo notes return
and resolve, shining, melodic.


twenty-first century blues (version 2)

Just for fun. Version 1 was written about ten years ago.

got weary feet and an aching back
lost my sleep and it’s not comin’ back
not good at shakin’ them sad, heavy shoes
moanin’ ‘bout twenty-first century blues

espressocan’t kick the coffee, too fond of the booze
too many addictions gettin’ too hard to lose
too many decisions, can’t possibly choose
sufferin’ from twenty-first century blues

long nights are hot and there is no rain
and nothin’s ever gonna be the same
world’s goin’ crazy – hate watchin’ the news
cryin’ ‘bout twenty-first century blues

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