Tag: poetry

Mixed on the turntable

The pedestrian crossing on Abbey Road still looked the same. Marrie held my hand and smiled as she said, ‘It’s such a shame I should have stayed with you for more than just a day, but the music was good, wouldn’t you say. I nodded my head. She was still so pretty, and I was paralysed, almost fell into those big green eyes. The girl of my best friend walked past, and my heart skipped a beat. I wondered if I should tell her how I feel, but if she told him so, I could never face either one again, so I looked away, telling her, would be for another day. It was never about fame, because I realised fame comes and goes, and I know I should say sorry because sometimes the beat is inconsistent, which doesn’t help the dancers be more consistent. Apologies only happen at a later date, most times, much too late. There was a busker on the street corner playing ‘Something’, George was so in love when he wrote the music, thought it would last forever, but time changes everything, and before long, they drifted apart, leaving just the song as a memory before it all went wrong. The busker smiled as he strummed the guitar, then a look of sadness spread over his face as the song took him to another place. I was there when his girl left him for someone new and heard him say to himself as she left, ‘If I had stayed true, I know she wouldn’t be with you .’ An old black man sat on a wooden stool his hands were bent and gnarled but but they moved like magic over the strings of the guitar, dancing in front of him was a girl with a dimple on her chin; she was his babe, and he had his eye on you, the words don’t rhyme, but the music stays true almost as good as Mary loo. The beat was hypnotic; you could play it loud, listen to it alone, or in a crowd.

I don’t mind if you forget I am there, or if most times you share, and please forgive me if I make you cry as you think of a friend that’s long past bye, a girl you once knew, and wonder where it could have gone if you had told her she was the special one. I can take you back in time, be the calendar that used to hang on the wall, the mark your mom put on the wall as you started to grow tall. The tears you cried the day your dog died. He was old, but you hoped Kizzie would live longer than you; but think how he would miss you not knowing where you had gone, he would think you had left him not past on. Please don’t sigh, don’t waste a day. I will always be there if you need me, I will lift you up if you’re down, and fill the room with an incredible sound. Because I am ……………….

I am Music.

No sharp edges

  Rough draft of text for song, no melody yet

                                                                 

The music gets louder as I walk towards the door. It’s vaguely familiar, I try to remember who they are; a pretty girl smiles at me, so I don’t get that far. The smile lasts forever, but it does when you’re a teen, I know I shouldn’t, but I look her up and down, she doesn’t seem to notice. The smile is still there, it goes with the mini skirt and long blond hair. ‘My boyfriend’s inside,’ she says, ‘with my other friends.’ Wonder if her boyfriend believes in lend’s. I quickly dismiss that thought, she seems a nice girl, still I wouldn’t mind taking a whirl. The smile returns as if she has read my thoughts, ‘perhaps see you later,’ she says, and her lips sort of pout, if her boyfriend’s six foot six, I will rule the lend’s out. 

I grab a beer and drink it fast, and then another one, as the conveyor belt goes past, I move into the world where nothing really matters, no sharp edges, everything is smooth, life has become easy, problems melt away, they were of my own making anyway. The beers keep coming, girls linger past, they give me the look, but I just shrug my shoulders pretending I am took, I don’t think too deep, why girls find me attractive, without me being too proactive, perhaps it was luck or maybe it’s the genes, but they are wrangler and tight at the seams.

The producer tells me I will be famous when the film is released, but fame might not suit me I quite like who I am. Do I really want to become another man? They say it’s going to be a massive hit, put my name up in lights; make me a star. So I bought a car to go with the image, it’s real fast, especially on the straight not so good if I run out of space. No one can give me the one thing I want, which is to stay young forever, never grow old. I bet there are millions that think that way, but never met anyone who could stay. The girl with the boyfriend suddenly appears and moves in close, I get her a drink, ‘he’s my ex now,’ she says with a grin as she moves onto her second gin, another one follows, then four and five.

I grab a beer and drink it fast, and then another one, as the conveyor belt goes past, I move into the world where nothing really matters, no sharp edges, everything is smooth, life has become easy, problems melt away, they were of my own making anyway. The beers keep coming, girls linger past, they give me the look, but I just shrug my shoulders pretending I am took. I don’t think too deeply why girls find me attractive without me being too proactive, perhaps it was luck or maybe it’s the genes, but they are wrangler and tight at the seams.

She grabs my arm and gets real close, her perfume mixes with the beer and gin as if it’s seeping through her skin, she’s really pretty but very young, if she’s under age this could all be wrong. She grinned and read my thoughts again ‘I am older than I look if you’re worried about my age, and much wiser than many, almost a sage. You could get us a taxi and take me home, much better than spending a night alone,’ We walk outside, the Porsche reflects the neon lights she asks my name and what I do then the number plate comes into view. ‘j Dean’ she says, but doesn’t have a clue who I am and I quite like being an invisible man.

I would never get old, and there is a mystic in thinking what I could have become, but I did more in my life than most people ever do, and was always destined to join the club of the famous few.