2015 Poem A Day, Day Seventeen

Prompt for Day Seventeen:

For today’s prompt, write a swing poem. Sure, there are park swings and mood swings; there’s swing music and swing dancing; and there are swingers. Some people swing one way; others swing another. In politics, there are swing votes and swing states. And many people have swung a bat, an ax, and/or a hammer in their lifetimes.

I really have no idea where this came from. I dedicate this to Patty Griffin, who inspires me every day. This is more a bluegrass song than it is a poem, which I suppose is okay. Our family has deep bluegrass roots.

Swing

Not a fighter, but I'll fight

Not a singer, yet I sing

If you back me in a corner

Watch me swing

Watch me swing

Not a poet, but I get down

Not an artist, but I dream

If I find a rope on a riverbank

Watch me swing

Watch me swing

In this life, we've got our bridges

Those are the easy paths to take.

We've got our blue skies

filled up with clouds.

We've got our whole lives

at stake

So if you climb up the mountain

then you might as well scream:

“I am here, and I'm alive

Watch me swing

Watch me swing.”

Paperback Heart, revised

This is the revised poem, Paperback Heart, now even more like a song. It's been stuck in my head all day. If only I could write music...

Let me know what you think in the comments below!

Paperback Heart

How long will I live this

paperback life?

Letters stuck in envelopes

days stuck in strife

I guess I'm always hoping

I'll get carried away

But I'm trapped in this existence

day after day.

How long will I live with this

paperback heart?

All my days the flimsy pages

of someone else's art.

I think I'm always dreaming

of getting out to dance

But I stand against the wall

and I never take the chance

How long will I dream these

paperback schemes?

Choking on the exhaust of

someone else's dreams.

All my notebooks filled but empty

Nothing there but grief and pain

Don't have the guts to burn 'em up

Don't know how to start again.

So how long will I live this

paperback life?

Hiding from the real world,

hoping the fictions aren't all lies

My shelves cluttered with memories

of someone else's strife.

I think I'm always wishing

for my hero to ride in

To save me from this drudgery

Let my fairy tale begin.

But I know that we're just people

And I know that love can die

And I know that I'll keep living

this paperback life

2015 Poem A Day, Day Ten

Prompt for Day Ten: 

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “How (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “How to Write a Poem,” “How Mechanical Pencils Work,” and “Howling at the Moon After Midnight in the Middle of a Thunderstorm.”

I think perhaps this poem, which started out as How Long, aspires to be song lyrics. It's pretty rough and very silly, but it's late and I'm posting it anyway.

Paperback Heart

Waiting for that someday

Waiting to take a chance

Waiting for your heart to break

To finally make a stance

You stand in lace and ribbons

Your back against the wall

You listen to the music

You wait to take the fall.

Why do you hold yourself apart,

When you know you want to sing?

Why do you lip sync in the car

When I know you want to sing?

And how long will you live

in this paperback heart?

All your days

the flimsy pages

of someone else's art?

How long will you live

in this paperback scheme?

Always waiting

always hoping

just a wish

and just a dream?

These are safe

alternatives

to doing the

real thing.

How long will you live

with this paperback heart?

Just another daydream

Waiting for life to start.