PROMPT #116 – I’VE HEARD THAT SONG BEFORE
For many of us, songs carry associations, moods, emotions, memories. Some may be good; some may be bad; some may be ambiguous. The old Jule Styne – Sammy Cahn song, I’ve Heard That Song Before, suggests a pleasurable association that nonetheless is sufficiently faded in memory that the listener asks to “have them play it again.” Write a poem based on a song. You might want to write new words to fit existing lyrics, or write an entirely different set of lines that nonetheless have some connection with the song, or what the song means to you.
MARIE ELENA’S OLDIE (Hey! No snickering out there!)
IF YOU WISH YOU WERE A STAR
To the lovely classic “When You Wish Upon a Star” by Leigh Harline [melody] and Ned Washington [lyrics]: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQTzO2eRwwE
(To be sung softly, dreamily, wistfully; with your hands clasped together near your heart, for effect… )
If you wish you were a star
First consider how bizarre;
Paparazzi all around
Would stalk,
and hound.
Would you be a Meryl Streep?
Jacqueline Bisset of “The Deep?”
Ravishing Miss Leigh of “Streetcar?”
Rose – anne – Barr?
(Bridge)
Fate is kind
She left me disinclined
To live like actresses
Before the mass – es.
So, consider my advice
Stardom is not paradise.
When you look at me, foresee
Ob – scur – i – ty!
© Copyright Marie Elena Good, 2009
WILLIAM PRESTON’S EXAMPLE
ON HEARING HARBOR LIGHTS
One song, oft repeated, limns and encapsulates two hearts; a few days; many years; one love. © Copyright William Preston, 2013Note: Harbor Lights, written by Jimmy Kennedy and Hugh Williams.
I admit – I do not know the correct spelling of the name of the song I selected….
[corrections accepted 😉 ]
“O Sol Amio” [Oh how I love you]
With full orchestra background if you please.
Our meeting wa–s by chance,
We did not pla–n the glance
that caused our eyes to lock
with look to stop a clock.
You were so dream—y
You made me steam—y
and now I’m burning
to know – you more.
Oooooo…
I might…
could love you,
Maybe adore you.
Are you with culture?
Have whit or humor?
I long to know more…
Can you write so stunning
your lines full running
away with thoughts
that just – might rhyme.
You were so dream—y
You made me steam—y
and now I’m burning
to know – you more.
Do you too feel
that this is real
and are you burning
to know me more?
Please let me know,
don’t let me go
my way back home
to burn alone.
Oooooo…
might I…
could I love yo – u,….
This is great, M! Never heard this song before, but I adore the way you wrote it!
LOL! This is adorable! The one you refer to is actually an old Neopolitan folk song. Here is a youtube link of The Three Tenors performing O Sole Mio: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeqKXRVxRHo
Great one! Elvis took liberties with the tune as well, rendering it “It’s Now or Never” (my love won’t wait…which sounds more like your take in the poem). Great fun to read and hum.
“musica bella” – I googled that – I only speak West Virginian : )
This is indeed adorable, as Marie says. It brings back a memory: for me, it’s a piece of sheet music, hearkening back to the pre-radio days, when many home shad pianos and sheet-music sales measured the hit parade. I found it in an old chest of drawers, in the attic, about 1950, and the sheet music was old then.
I hope I’m allowed to use lines from the song…I used a couple here. 🙂
On My Own…
I wander among the trees at night,
Pretending he’s beside me,
All alone, I walk here on my own,
And see us together, him and me;
I feel his arms encircle me, yet
I know it’s just in my mind,
I walk here on my own, all alone,
How can he be so obtusely blind?
Darkness descends and mist arises,
The moonlight shines like silver,
All alone, I walk here on my own,
The rain, my tears, fall in the river;
I still seem to feel his skin on mine,
But when the night has faded,
I walk here on my own, all alone,
My very dreams and hopes all ended:
He doesn’t hear or see me at all,
Doesn’t feel my lone kiss blown,
All alone, I walk here all alone,
I love him, but only on my own.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Song: On My Own
Music and Lyrics by Claude-Michel Schönberg and Herbert Kretzmer
From the musical, Les Misérables
I’m so unmusical I had to look this up, then thump myself on the head…
Lovely, Erin, great job rewriting this song to make it yours.
Thank you, Debi! The song is very beautiful. I love the way Samantha Barks sings it in the 2012 adaption – it’s heart rending.
What a wonderful piece, and in RJ’s form prompt too. I don;t know the song you based this on, but your effort feels like a blues-flavored song in its own right.
Thanks, Will! The song is a masterpiece; you can find it on YouTube. 🙂
This is a lovely song and your poem makes lovely use of it.
Thank you so much, Jane! What a compliment… 😀
Beautiful job Erin, as always!
Aww, thank you, Linda! Glad you liked it! ❤
Erin, not only is it cool that you wrote this as a ZaniLa, but you and Eponine melded into one! Nice work!
Eponine is definitely my favorite character from Les Mis. And I love the form you introduced! Thank you, RJ!!
Hmmm…how did I know that?! How many times have you seen Les Mis? And do/did you sing along with it? 😀
I’ve seen it three times now, and I definitely sang along. 🙂 Eponine’s other song, A Little Fall Of Rain, is gorgeous as well.
You put so much heart into everything you pen, Erin Kay. (And yes, I’ll start calling you Erin Kay, now that I know you love your full name). This is just beautiful.
Yay!! Thank you, Marie! I think both names are beautiful (and not just cause they’re mine).
And thank you for your comment. I am always so glad to hear from you! I consider you to be my mentor and inspiration. 🙂
Lovely, Erin!
I DON’T DANCE
When they begin the beguine
I’ll be putting the finishing touches
to a Finnish ballet
that will have the world
standing on its toes
When they begin the beguine
I will write my last bucket entry
something like
May I be your ballerino
for one operatic moment, Babe?
When they begin the beguine
I will tell them once and for all
the absolute truth :
I don’t dance (don’t ask me)
how all my life I could only dream.
Trumpets will blow
An angel in a Brooks Brothers suit
will strum a golden harp
All things earthly will end
and I’ll go with the flow
when they begin the beguine
#
An angel in a Brooks Brothers suit
will strum a golden harp… begin the beguine
Ha, I love it!
I love this, and your reference to a Brooks Bros. suit is fitting, because I laughed so hard, my sides split.
Great, Sal! You had me at the finishing touches on a Finnish ballet, but I too loved that Brooks Bros. suit on angelic harpists. A hoot.
Oh my goodness. Could this be any more entertaining and creatively written?! Wow, Sal!
Sal, I must admit I was trying to hard to figure it all out to laugh at the Brooks Brothers suit. You are too clever for me. I was trying too hard to torture a meaning out of it, as Billy Collins would say.
Funny. And well written.
These are all such fun!
Well, I am from WV
(Country Roads, John Denver)
Peaceful Dreams
Sweet Idyllic, home of my youth
Iron Mountains,
the Doe and the Forge.
Life was good there,
innocent and free,
summers running wild
fun that never ends.
Peaceful dreams, take me back
to my sweet childhood home
Rainbow Holler, end of the road
take me back, peaceful dreams
I remember, deep within me
grandma’s apron, all the ways she used it
wiped off smudges, fanned away the flies,
carried eggs tenderly, dried tears from our eyes.
Chorus
I see her there, her blue-veined hands ever busy
the radio is playing bluegrass gospel music
and waking from my dream, I have a longing
but I know well it’s, just a dream, just a dream.
This is so lovely, and so in tune with the spirit of that song. You’ve drawn your (I presume) grandmother so well, I can see her, and I recall ladies who used aprons and all-purpose tools.
Thank you William. This is about my grandmother that helped raise me but in TN not WV. : )
John Denver would have loved your version too. The chorus adds just that touch of longing such memories evoke. Love Grammy.
Great job Debi. I sang it all the way through! Love it.
I love the lines about Grandma’s apron. Very nice.
Aww! So much tenderness here, Debi. Like Linda, I love envisioning your grandma with her apron. I picture my own mother’s mother, who was the epitome of “grandma” in her apron.
John Denver would be proud! I loved this, Debi.
Nice one, Debi. Very visual.
Marie, I think your your take is great. Oddly enough, I just saw a Bette Davis film, The Star, about a fallen star and her attempts to live a “normal” life. Interestingly, Davis, who was proud of her “Yankee” (Maine) upbringing, had a realistic view of the theatre and movie world, which might be why she lasted so long.
Thanks Bill! it was fun to write. If I was a ham and an extrovert, I’d make myself a youtube video, singing it as corny as could be. 😉
I sang your poem, several times, all the way through! You did not miss a beat with your words. Great job, ME!
This is a good place to tell you I loved your poem, Marie. No snickering here.
No snickering from me either, Marie. Jiminy Cricket couldn’t have done this better. Loved yours too, Bill, sweet and gentle.
Thanks so much, ladies! 🙂
Just time for a quickie.
North to Alaska
Five relatives on a boat
Will we stay afloat?
This one is escaping me, Connie. I bet when you mention the song, I’ll be palming my forehead and apologizing. 😉
North to Alaska. Elvis Presley sang it. Johnny Horton wrote it.
Fooled me; I thought it written by the Commissioner of Motor Vehicles.
HA!! Good one, Bill.
Connie, I’ve never heard of it. I’m not a huge Elvis fan, really. He’s okay, and I really like some of his stuff, but I’m not much into him. Good poem though!
Copacabana (At the Copa)
At the Copa he’d–a hope–a she’d elope–a wi’ him now.
He gave Lola laced, spiked cola. Lost her soul–a. And her mind. Ciao.
###
Ah! I can hear Belafonte singing it. In the words of the immortal Lawrence Welk, “Wunnerful, wunnerful.”
HeHe! (And tank ya, tank ya.)
Actually, this poem (and any that follow it today) just might be a hint of things to come.
Sneaky lil devil. 😉
LOL. 😀
L.O.L.!!!
Love it!
Sing-Song Nursery Rhyme Adjusted for Inflation
Songs of sixpence? Well, no offense: not present tense. Things cost lots more.
‘Though it sounds nice, the purchase price is more than twice what was before.
And another winner, RJ! Have you ever seen/heard Victor Borge and his “inflationary language?” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YY6kElOYcd8
Borge would love this, as I do. I can see him playing it at his piano, on which, he said, he could get four sonatas to the gallon.
I love the prompt, so I give you two for the price of one 😉 , both inspired by a lovely old favorite, Time After Time, by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne; 1947. I love that the emphasis in this song is in how lucky a person is to “be loving,” not on receiving but in loving. The song has a good attitude.
Take 1:
Loving
Some things I tell myself bear truth
of how I fit into the world,
of what my own good fortune is,
of simple wonders bearing fruit.
Some things help me to shoulder time
as if the heart were timeless too,
for lucky me meets loving me
in how my life fills, loving you.
—————————————————————-
Take 2:
Narcissus Sings of Love
Time after time,
he thinks he is sublime,
a gift to people far and near.
So lucky are they,
it takes his breath away
that he offers himself to revere.
He only knows that he’s so
fantastic—do they know?—
they’ll hardly bless him should he sneeze.
And time after time,
he thinks it is a crime
that they don’t see him as he sees.
Great job, Jane. So different from each other, and each such easy reads.
I love so many things about your poems, beginning with the song that inspired them. They’re they same folks who wrote I’ve Heard That Song Before, but <i.Time After Time feels majestic by comparison. That soaring feeling made your parody all the funnier; it reminded me of the late Harvey Korman’s parody, “All The Things I Are. Your first take is completely different, a wonderful reflection of the heart of Time After Time. Superb work, which I say so much about your poems, I’m afraid of it sounding cliche.I
Sorry; sloppy use of html tags here.
Thanks, friends. I play such wonderful old songs for assisted living folks and they sing their own naughty lyrics for me.
Fly Me to the Moon – In Memorandum, February 21, 2004
When she was very young, her dad had danced her
around the dining room, humming and scatting the strains of a song.
From that moment on, that one particular song held very special meaning,
no matter whom she heard singing the words, “Fly me to the moon…”
…and so many did, like Sinatra, Wilson, Fitzgerald and Reese,
although none could ‘do’ it like her dad.
Bart Howard let them all play among the stars, and they believed in it – and in him.
And even though his fingers wouldn’t grace those eighty-eight keys ever again,
his legacy, unlike those eighty-eight keys,
was not in black and white. It never was, because it couldn’t be,
because it was he who found the way to let us know
what Spring was like on Jupiter and Mars. Even in a dining room, dancing on a father’s toes.
So, in other words, there was only a small sidebar to the news of the day.
But once, Bart Howard spun moonlight in song for a young girl and her dad to dance to,
and no other song, by Howard or anyone else, could ever capture the same moon-mystique…
not by any artists or by her father or even her.
###
This poem is actually something I wrote in 2007. The original challenge, from Sol Magazine, was to write a poem based on a news event. At first, I thought of doing an obit to honor the composer of Fly Me to the Moon, a song which holds special meaning for me regarding my dad. That’s the above poem.
But then, I saw something in the news which troubled me (a lot) and, unusual for me because it was neither humorous nor in rhyme, I quickly wrote a different poem addressing that particular news issue. I never submitted the above poem, as it happened, but rather, sent in that second, hastily penned poem – which, surprisingly, took 1st place in the competition.
Just now, thinking of old classic songs, Fly Me to the Moon came into my head, and I remembered that poem from long ago.
Nice tribute poem and I love your story about the contest and the last minute change.
Such a wonderful tribute and memory, RJ.
This is a sweet one.
Moon-mystique, such a lovely phrase. Beautiful poem.
Darn! A typo! 1st stanza, 3rd line – it should read, “From that moment on…)
Fixed.
Your poem is so sweet and endearing, RJ. Thanks for filling us in on the story behind it.
I’d like to echo that. I remember when that song was first popular; I hadn’t realized it became a jazz standard. No matter; the story you told about it would be endearing if the song were anything else. I loved how you worked in Howard’s lyrics here and there.
You are My Sunshine
1. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine”
I sang that song when I was 4 years old
There was another relative playing his harmonica
And in the chorus, everyone in the place joined in.
2. When I opened my eyes I saw the sun
pouring his golden rays into our room.
Bathing us together in a warm and cozy embrace.
How the maple bedstead gleamed in that golden light
When we opened up the curtains and let the sunshine in!
Awww! I love these, Marian. Both of them. I too used to sing You Are My Sunshine to all 3 of my kids, and now to may grand daughter. “Bathing us together in a warm and cozy embrace” … beautiful.
This is a fine bit of sunshine right here.
Thank you, all, I have enjoyed this afternoon’s reading!!
YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND
You just click on my name
and you know wherever I am
I will answer as soon as I can.
When nobody else is around
You know somehow I can be found,
I’ll always be here, your facebook friend.
Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. LOL.
Lol!!!
Oh no! Cute one, Linda!
Love that, : )
Well, I don’t do the face-book bit, but I can feel the tongue going into the cheek here.
Yep
da, da, da, da, your facebook friend, da, da,da, da…
This is an imperfect parody. Blame its imperfections on—well, you’ll see.
Blame
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
I don’t dance so well.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
That is why I fell.
Yes, he said, “ Let’s just take a chance.
We can ace this lovely dance.”
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
Now, please help me up.
Don’t stand and stare.
No, no, please help.
Don’t you even care?
Help me get back up.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
That is why I fell.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
Don’t leave me on the floor.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
You’re heading out the door?
He’d said, “Let’s have fun, my girl
and give this dance a whirl.”
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
That is why I fell.
Oh, who are you
(You’re not my boyfriend.)
with your eyes so blue?
Can you help me up?
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
that we met like this.
He saw me on the floor—
some bossa nova.
and the closing door—
No more bossa nova
Then he took my hand.
Isn’t new love grand?
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
and my fall to love.
*grin* Cute one, Sheryl! Hmmm … true story? 😉
The only true thing is my lack of rhythm. I know nothing of the bossa nova, except it is a dance, and most dances require more rhythm than I have. I was about to despair of thinking of a poem here until I saw and article about Edye Gorme and Chicago. The lack of rhythm line came out of nowhere, and off I went. The only true thing is my lack of rhythm. I know nothing of the bossa nova, except it is a dance, and most dances require more rhythm than I have. I was about to despair of thinking of a poem here until I saw and article about Edye Gorme and Chicago. The lack of rhythm line came out of nowhere, and off I went.
I must have a lack of patience, too. I didn’t want long enough for my comment to post, bringing on a repetition of everything I wrote.
Which dovetails perfectly with this piece, in my opinion. I though this was wonderfully funny, and the twist at the end, endearing.
I really like this one, Sheryl.
I love this prompt! Might try another later but for now, this is spoof on my favourite Cole Porter song…
Every Time I Ask Why Me (after Cole Porter’s Every Time We Say Goodbye)
Every time I ask why me
I smile a lot now
Every time I ask why me
I buy another brown cow
Knowing just how silly
It is to wonder at all
Life’s so willy-nilly
Why not just have a ball
If I’m here
Must mean I live
above the sod still
Might as well jump up and down
And carry on so I will
Really it’s the best thing
next to being rich and famous
I’ll stop wondering
Every time I ask why me
Well done, Sharon! (And I love Cole Porter. 😉 )
This strikes me as very much in Porter’s world-view, as well as his style. Love it.
I’m singing this. Fabulous, Sharon!
Lovely poem, William.
Marie Elena, I was singing your poem the whole way through.
Thanks much, Linda! I agree about William’s poem. Lovely and downright inspirational.
I think the late, great Eydie Gormé sang this:
Blame it on the Cosa Nostra – so felonious.
Blame it on the Cosa Nostra, not erroneous
that it all began with just one crime spree
and continues on with each ‘family.’
Blame it on the Cosa Nostra:
The Mafia.
###
“Great” is the word for Eydie, all right. I still can her singing Days of Wine and Roses with that combination fo power and vulnerability that I thought was unique to her. I didn’t know about her parody here, though.
Yeah, well…(actually, I just made it up.) My parents were (and still are) into old classics, big band and Broadway show tunes. I come by my musical tastes naturally. 😀
I shouldda guessed.
RJ, your humor makes for great writing (this side of parodies) 😉 Love ’em all.
“This side of parodies”…. Wasn’t expecting to be thinking of F. Scott Fitzgerald about now.
I ♥ F. Scott Fitzgerald!
HAHAHA! 😀 !!
Summertime
(that noise in the background is probably George Gershwin turning in his grave)
Summertime
and the driving’s expensive,
gas prices jumping
with no end in sight.
Oh your daddy’s rich
or he wouldn’t be driving,
all of the day
and half of the night.
One of these morning,
you’re going to get your license,
and you’ll take your keys
to hit the road.
But before taking the wheels,
you’ll need to find a job,
to carry your part
of the gasoline load.
Ellen Knight 8.18.13
write a poem based on a song
Love this, just love it. I wrote something like it once; called it Bummertime. George Gershwin had a sense of humor; if he’s turning in his grave, it’ll be from enjoyment, I think. Don’t know about DuBose Heyward, though.
a great warning to teenagers hungry for the joy ride. Love this.
Well done, funny (or too true to be funny!), and easy to sing along. Good job, Ellen!!
OH, love this – and a song I can sing along with. Almost all the sample today are from songs I do not know. 😦 I do not listen to the radio or back-ground music. Thanks.
This is so funny. I enjoyed reading it.
“Oh your daddy’s rich
or he wouldn’t be driving,” Funny.
Of course it could be your daddy WAs rich. 😉 After paying for gas, no more.
Starry, Starry Night
by Don Mclean
Starry, Starry Heart
She was starting to sort out
artists, developing love
of manic swirls, giant
sunflowers, and blue
irises. Stern Dutch faces,
and the lonely landscape
of Arles, painted with passion,
found the bud which bloomed
in her. Van Gogh raged, hurt,
loved. She was feeling mis-
understood. Soft melody
of the song touched a spot
in her heart. Yes, she thought,
at the close, Vincent, “the world
was never meant for someone
as beautiful as you.”
Oooh… superb.
Thanks, William!
oh, this is outrageously good!
Thanks so much, Jacqueline!
Touching and gorgeous, Sara. And based on one of my favorite songs, both music and lyrics.
I was gonna say that, ME! Beautiful!
Oh, me too. Thanks so much for your kind words, Marie.
Ahhhhh, so lovely
Thanks, Debi!
(My apologies to Elvis fans, this came into my head and got stuck…)
Cow Dog
By David De Jong
You aint nothin’ but a cow dog barkin up a tree
Instead of herdin’ cattle ya let em all roam free
You need to earn yer keep and fetch em on the hoof
Instead yer barking at a squirrel dancin’ on the roof
Now I spend my afternoons roundin’ up cow-calf strays
Your pushin it to the point this be the last your days
Dry bunk and plenty of grub, a scratch behind each ear
I get so dad blame frustrated gonna fetch me a beer
I’ll take Ransom the horse that old sod-bustin’ geldin’
Plow through the thicket blazin trails like we is weldin’
You’ll just sit and watch that heifer break for the gate
Already knowin’ you run so slow you’ld get there late
One final warnin’ before I send ya to the vet
He’ll find some city folk to make ya a household pet
You’ll just lay on the floor growin’ dust and sheddin’ time
Wishin’ you had listened and turned them cows on a dime
I was never an Elvis fan, so no apology needed here, but I think Elvis himself would get a kick out of this one.
This is hilarious!
Funny stuff here! “You’ll just lay on the floor growin’ dust and sheddin’ time” LOL!!
This is great fun
😀
A LITTLE CENTO FOR MERCER AND MANCINI
Often I think this sad old world is whistling in the dark:
playing at games; acting out names;
sad little serenade.
Through a meadow land, toward a closing door,
wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.
Smile away each rainy day.
Come with me to the sweetheart tree;
let love light the sky up,
my huckleberry friend.
From lines in songs by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer: Whistling Away the Dark; Charade; Days of Wine and Roses; Moon River; Smile Away Each Rainy Day; The Sweetheart Tree.
This works so well! Nice idea, Bill!
Yes!
This works so well William.
A Rush Hour Waltz
Carmen’s heart is in my feet.
My ears sing with her rhythm,
my toes tripping, each step skipping,
and I waltz like a toreador into throng
crowds. Through Bond Street’s tube,
a flip of my hip through turnstiles,
and I’m free, running with bulls
into the pull of your tune.
# # #
Georges Bizet – “Les Toreadors” from Carmen Suite No. 1 is my favourite walking music.
EXCELLENT.
¡gracias!
Here is another musical work I don’t know, but it matters not. I can imagine the scene, from your words and rhythm, and the image of a matador in London is irresistible.
Have a listen, William. http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=4DNGMoMNLRY
Makes me want to get up and move!
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OLD ROUTE 66 IN THE MOJAVE
I sing the song as I drive the road,
now worn out from years of load;
they called this, Mother, and none other
calls to mind grapes of wrath, and Tom Joad.
The part of California I’m in
seems to personify sin,
and none other. They called this Mother,
but harridan fits the desert din
of trucks and dust that flies through the air
and tends not to settle there.
They called this, Mother. And none other
seems so strict, but yet, strangely, so fair.
copyright 2013, William Preston
Excellent, Bill! I have to admit that I had to look up “harridan.” I’ve never heard that term before. Of course, why would I? *wink wink*
Can’t imagine why you would. Given the musical allusions here, I was sorely tempted to try to take the old Cohan piece, Harrigan, and “harridanize” it, but I chickened out.
Like the Song Says
You should be dancing
Dancing in the streets
The dark end of the street
Do you wanna dance?
Come go with me
It’s now or never
I wanna take you higher
Give love a chance
That’ll be the day
I don’t love you
Never been a reason
Ain’t that a shame
I hear you knocking
Get away from my door
You dropped a bomb on me
I don’t even know your name
© 2013 Earl Parsons
Line by line, this is a keeper. Thanks so much for posting.
Whoa … you managed to put a ton in there, Birthday Boy! (Hoping it’s a great year ahead for you!)
Very cool, Earl!
To the tune of “With a Little Help From My Friends”
I Can Write Better Than I Can Speak
What would you do if I wrote you a poem
Would you keep it or throw it away
Just take a look at this piece that I wrote
Filled with love and the things I can’t say
Oh I can write better than I can speak
Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
Yes I can write better than I can speak
I write you poems when you out on the town
(I do better when I’m all alone)
Words come so easy when you’re not around
(Still I’m sad when you’re not here at home)
Oh I can write better than I can speak
Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
Yes I can write better than I can speak
I can say that I love you
It’s easier in a poem
Let my words say I love you
I’ll write it while you’re not home
(Would you believe in a love at first sight?)
Yes, I wrote about that yesterday
(What would you do if you two had a fight?)
Write an “I’m Sorry” poem right away
Oh I can write better than I can speak
Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
Yes I can write better than I can speak
I can say that I love you
It’s easier in a poem
Let my words say I love you
I’ll write it while you’re not home
Oh I can write better than I can speak
Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
Oh I can write better than I can speak
Yes I can write better than I can speak
Better than I can speeeeeeeeeeeeeeek
© 2013 Earl Parsons
Wonnnnnnderful!
Earl I love that song and your poem is perfect 🙂
I can just hear you read this aloud. So adorable.
Great job! I sang all the way through it in my head, and it works flawlessly. (I get a kick out of “I’ll write it while you’re not home.” 😉
Another winner!
This weekend we were out looking at houses. There’s something magical about everything being shiny and new. But when we got home, we crunched the numbers and came back to reality. With my sincerest apologies to Frederick Loewe and Alan Jay Lerner who composed the song for ‘My Fair Lady,’ here’s my take on a favorite song from that show: “On The Street Where You Live.”
IN THE HOUSE WHERE WE LIVE
There’s a tree about to come crashing down.
And no matter how we seed, the grass is always brown.
Siding peels away nearly every day,
but we stay in the house where we live.
When my parents died, we were left the house
that came with a nest of squirrels and one enormous mouse.
Water stains abound, but no leaks are found.
Still, we stay in the house where we live.
And, oh, dad’s “fixes” were vexing.
Repairs seemed to follow no rule.
So much that we found is perplexing,
like that big sink hole that’s become our wading pool.
But the mem’ries of those who came before
(those who put the green shag rugs on each and every floor),
make it hard to leave every creaking eave
so we stay in the house where we live.
This is a delight, purely and utterly. It also puts me in mind of another oldie, This Old House.
I’m glad you liked it! I still haven’t checked out “This Old House.” Shame on me!!
Here’s one place to look:
http://www.lyricsdepot.com/rosemary-clooney/this-ole-house.html
I just found it on a Rosemary Clooney CD. Didn’t even know I had the song. Yes, that would have been fun!
I can see this in my mind’s eye. I can see you sitting on a porch swing singing this on your porch. Just don’t fall when it caves in. lol
Love this
LOL! That would have made a great skit on the Carol Burnett Show!!
Aww! What a delightful read and attitude. (“like that big sink hole that’s become our wading pool” got me giggling)
After we moved here, we were quick to learn that we had to laugh! Thanks for your comment. I really appreciate it.
WHEN YOU WORK UPON A CAR
When you work upon a car,
makes no difference who you are;
nothing that your heart desires
will come to you.
Though you wish and though you dream,
any job is too extreme;
when you work upon a car
you bash thumbs too.
Fate’s not kind:
she brings to those who try
much anguish and a cry
of great frustration,
for that bolt just won’t work through;
fate just grins, then laughs anew.
When you work upon a car
it tortures you.
Apologies to Leigh Harline and Ned Washington, creators of When You Wish Upon a Star
Marie, you started sumpthin’
I love how your lyrics fit against the gentle melody of the song. This is a true keeper and one I’ll have trouble getting out of my head.
Hilarious!
cute parody. how fun
Love it!
Hahahahahahahahahaha! Perfection!
This is stuck in my head now, in a good way.
A FAMILIAR CONFUSION
One day, perhaps, I will be rendered wise,
for I have known this very scene before.
I know this tree; I know this rocky shore;
I’ve sifted sand beneath these very skies.
The shorebirds here have wheeled before my eyes
in just this pattern. Hawks aloft have soared
in kettles just like these, and waves have roared
their greeting in this way. It’s no surprise,
therefore, that you have touched my soul, dear heart,
for you have been here too. I’ve seen your face
and heard your voice enshrine these close events.
I love you so, together or apart.
I wonder when we wandered from this place.
One day, perhaps, I’ll know, ages hence.
copyright 2013, William Preston
inspired by Dear Heart, by Henry Mancini, Ray Evans, and Jay Livingston
Oh, the love language and flow of this piece. You did the boys proud, Bill.
Songs to Dreamboat Annie
A boat of lovers,
the music carries us out to sea
almost alone, each
reaching for the other shore…
just a little more rowing
past childhood islands
where old shed skin still gleams
like too tight jeans
on the shadowed dream world floor.
Listen as we sail away,
guitars filling the sails
with remembered songs while
a sly otter smiles, rocking
to the rhythm of our hearts.
Now, then, and it begins again.
I read this several times; was captivated by images of old shed skin and sly otters smiling. Wonderful.
Lorna, forgive me if I’ve welcomed you here before, and just don’t recall your name. Bill (William Preston) used the term “captivated,” and rightfully so. This is quite the captivating piece. Thank you so much for posting. I hope to hear more from you in the future.
Marie Elena
(DISCLAIMER: Hope this is not taken too seriously, but with the gun debate raging in my state, I just had to get us laughing with my take on the Purple People Eater)
Gun-totin People Getter
Oh, I saw this thing coming out of the sky
It was a shiny drone with a roving eye.
I commenced a shakin, and I said Oh no
All my ammo and guns will have to go.
It was an all seeing ,roving eye
Gun-totin people getter
D.C. had sent for me
I don;t know the song you’re parodying, so I can’t comment from that point of view. Nothing wrong with satire, though; it’s an old literary tradition.
You must Google The Flying Purple People Eater. It is a song you must know about, William. 😉
Here you go, Bill: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9H_cI_WCnE .
The sad part is that it’s from the year of my birth. Thanks for making me feel old, Iris! (Just kiddin’!) 😀
Thanks, folks, but my computer doesn’t have sound. I was able to lip-read some of Wooley’s wooly words, though.
These are all so fun to read.
Career Plan
(thanks, Willie)
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be teachers.
Instead of cow capers, they’re buried in papers,
as lonely as coyotes sound.
Mamas, better they’re cowboys than underpaid teachers.
It’s sad but it strange that their working for change
is the kind that just jangles around.
Bingo! It has long amazed me, with all that rides on good teaching and good teachers, that one could write something like your second stanza, and be serious about it.
Yes. And well done, Jane.
This is wonderful, Jane.
How much is that doggy in the window?
The one with the waggle-y tail….
How much is that doggy in the window?
the stray one found near the exit to New Hope Road…
the one who’s found his forever home!!!!!
Visit my site for a proper introduction to Finley!!
We rescue a fur-family member!
Jackie!! I found my heart! ♥
Here’s the link:
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2013/08/19/introduction-time/
Apologies for not “showing up” this week…I know they are not necessary but still…
Sunday was the busy-blessed day that we met Finley…I’m still struggling with this sinus thing too, soooo tired. K…sorry for whining. :)’s to all and catch up with you all soon!
Seems fitting … where you found Finley.
I know, huh?! Amazing…the Power that is knows just the details to make this writerly poetic heart of mine feel loved…couldn’t ask for a better scenario or dog if I tried. Thank you!
That is just so awesome!
“Jackie, I found my heart!” And that comment made me clasp my hand to mine!
Enjoy, Sweet Hannah, and no apologies out here. 😉
Marie!!! Thank you so much!! ♥
Pingback: Everything After | Whimsygizmo's Blog
Every time she sneezes I believe it’s love
and oh…. I’m not ready for this sort of thing.
– Counting Crows, “Anna Begins”
Everything After
God bless you,
unearthly daughter
moon goddess
quiet queen.
Your cough
is a murmur that thrums
in your throat
as you strum
your song.
I hold
my breath,
and hum
along.
.
Oh-so-lovely and so very “De.” You make me smile with every word you pen.
This poem looks like music. Great!
Week 8/8 of summer school – two days to go 🙂
It’s All Over Now
– after the Rolling Stones song of the same name
Well, we used to slave here all week long
It made me weep , even though I’m strong
Oxford took my soul, I thought I’d die
But now we are free, I ain’t gonna cry
Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
Well, they made me work every hour they could find
I surely thought that I was gonna lose my mind
They put me up, but they really put on me
But I’m laughing now, baby cos I am free
Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
Well, I used to work at the weekend, travelling on a bus
Counting the kids on and off, oh man what a fuss
But now there’s only one bus I’m gonna take
Time to get outta Dodge, make a clean break
Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
Because summer school is over and it’s all over now
Because summer school is over and it’s all over now
Ladies and Gentlemen, The Teachers have left the building!
Iain
Brilliant, Iain!
Merci Madame 🙂
Beautiful. A tour de force through melodyland.
Excuse me, Ian; the above comment referred to your collage. The above is indeed brilliant, but I had to look up the original; the “All Over Now” song I know is a lot older.
Thank on both counts William 🙂
Hahahaha! Brilliant for certain! 😀
🙂
Pingback: It’s All Over Now | Iain Douglas Kemp Writes – Without Anaesthetic
Blowin’ Smoke – a collage (name this tunes!!)
They asked me how I knew
My true love was true
Oh, I of course replied……
…you walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye
Your scarf it was apricot
You had one eye on the mirror…
…and I look at you and suddenly,
Something in your eyes I see
Soon begins bewitching me.
It’s that old …
…man river,
Dat ol’ man river
He mus’know sumpin’
But don’t say
…why do birds sing so gay
And lovers await the break of the day
Why do they fall in love?
Why do the rain…
…drops keep fallin’ on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothin’ seems to fit…
… ’cause your feets too big
Don’t want ya, ’cause ya feets too big
Can’t use ya, ’cause…
…, when your heart’s on fire
You must realize
Smoke gets in your eyes…
Iain
So many pulled together so neatly. Excellent, Iain!
Thanks Marie 🙂
Pingback: On The Write Path | echoes from the silence
ON THE WRITE PATH
Once I started writing poetry, every path I have walked, every star gazed upon, and every song listened to has been an adventure in discovery. I have gone places, seen things, and echoed sounds with my words as I had never done before. From the first day I was encouraged to go on this adventure, I have journeyed as someone healed from being lame, blind, and deaf.
broken bodies
can be given new life
with the right words
2013-08-22
P. Wanken
Despite the old ditty about sticks and stones, words do have force and consequences, and this little senryu (is it that?) affirms that. Wonderful.
I know a haibun is usually used for a trip/travelogue…but I used it here for a different kind of journey. So my poem is the while thing, not just the closing 3 lines.
(*the “whole” thing)
Ah, my ignorance is showing. Thanks for enlightening me. I have little experience with Oriental forms, and less “feel” for them.
I read your haibun anew, the whole thing, with your teaching in mind. I see the connections better now, and appreciate the heart of it all, discovery. Wonderful work.
Thanks.
Wonderful, meaningful write. ❤ to you, Paula.
I guess, after reading some of the other offerings, I took a different tack on “sing as inspiration.”
ack. “song” (not “sing”)