Writer's block

Can one forget how to write
Blocked for forever
What do you call it
When the words scream never
Again

An outstretched hand

Memories are woven into our spirit
Gently laid beneath our skins
Scratch, and they shall come to you
Moments are eternal
They linger on the tips of our souls
Reminders of the once was
That became the is
Roots of what will be

The past reminds us
Of how far we've come
And how much we can be grateful for
The doomsayers shall sing their songs for eternity
They serve as silent clutter
To be ignored

Hope is the fuel that drives the soul
Belief in tomorrow is the nourishment
That wakes you up every day
There is much to be grateful
Live dreams and dream on, sweet dreamer
In your child's smile lies everything you'll ever need
To create a future we can all be proud of

Musical Chairs soundtrack

This is part of what I hope to be a poem in pieces that I have been scribbling for about six months. Part 1 and 2 lurk somewhere in the archives of my blog. I love music and am fascinated by how it seems to serve as a history in sound. Songs have special meaning within the context of what was happening in your life at the time. I am hoping to publish a lot of the pieces on this site, although I don't know about some... This one is one of my favourites, if I can get it right. Would love your thoughts. I have added the first two parts to this, part 3.

Track 1:
Soul fantasies linger on the dancefloors of memory, transport forgotten sins from then to now, nostalgia has a habit of wiping cracked slates clean, past discretions fade with time, leave only slightly soiled fragments and a bittersweet taste that only returns when you hear that chord, that note, fullblown by the chorus, it is easier to look back than exist in the illusionary present, 'could have been' a refuge from 'to be'....

Where have all the good songs gone?

A boy sits in a room in his father's house, reaches into his father's past to find comfort, the words he hears speak a language only he seems to understand, his friend's don't quite get it, or maybe they just don't want to, the boy finds a semblence of momentary peace in the moments, the sounds reaching through the headphones to caress his heart, this is real art, he whispers wordlessly, and closes his eyes to today, drowning in a yesterday that he knows nothing of....

Where have they gone?

Songs carry our memories, take us to a place once lived, most times, they bring with them the magic of moments, sometimes, only sometimes, the pain they bring chokes....

Track 2:
Mommy I hear voices singing my future, they sing off key to mock me, breed indecision with each twisted melody. My yesterdays have faded into the music archives of time, I dream of classics yet to be sung in my name, the voices still mock me, taunting with schizophrenic harmonies

Where have all the good songs gone?

The division of music into someone's random classification leaves those of us who exist in the grey area confused

Where have they gone, the good songs?

She used to sit, listening her grandmother hum, this was the soundtrack to her childhood, rooted in the earth, the womb, the soul, the calm preceded the storm of puberty, when she stumbled through the music of her youth, and finally understood why, on those sunday afternoons, listening to her small radio in the kitchen, placed next to the stove, why, in between sunday lunch and sunday chores, she would sometimes, not always, just sometimes, she would see a tear in her mother's eyes....

Why have all the good songs gone .....

Track 3:
Dance, my child
Lose yourselves in the rhythms of your father's time
Listen to the words
They speak of a timeless love
Of days long lost
Dance, my child

All of the good songs have gone

Yet they linger
Remastered and remixed
Sampled and re-released
Now they cut the good bits together
And give them life

Why have all the goods songs gone

Each generation finds its classics
Melodies that define the journey into puberty
Musical manifestation of hormonal chaos
You shall have yours one day, my son
Until then, you shall have mine
Nostalgic harmony that maps the misteps of my life
Chords and notes that only ring true
Now that you are here

Why have all the good songs gone?

Sing, sister, sing

the songbird,
sultry and strong,
playful and immensely powerful,

behind the shutters of her eyes
lies infinite melody and charm,
and when she sings,
the birds perch on the branches of trees and listen in silence
the dogs stop barking
and wolves stop howling at the moon

she reaches to the stars with song
conquers our hearts with emotion
and rhythm and hope

the songbird is a lullaby personified

for her

i had a dream once
and in this dream
i lived a life of perfection personified

in this i dream
i had a family, a wife, a child
i was a father, a husband, a son, a brother

in this dream i awoke every day knowing i was blessed
and had everything i needed

i had a dream once
a perfect dream
till i realised i wasn't asleep
and the dream was actually my reality

my life!

Mantra

Build those castles
Will them into existence
Carve your future with thought
Master your reality
With positivity
Know that everything you need to know
Lies in the depths of your spirit
Let your imagination soar above the pettiness of doubt
There is only beauty and happiness in your future
Live them now
And dream
Never forget to dream

In traffic

Bumper to bumper madness
We sit in limbo daily
Caught in our own stagnation
The trees sway in winds of pollution
Tree huggers decry the lack of shame
The earth's pain
The poor do not have the liberty of conservationist thinking
The rest of us do not see beyond our first meeting or our next pay cheque
Imagine all the people
Peacefully proclaiming their independence
Eradicating profanity

Laughing gas

He laughs hysterically
The days and endless cacophony of the mundane
Recycled experiences
Never ending repetition
The spark has been lost
And all that keeps him going
Are the strains of insanity

He sits in traffic
Bumper to bumper
Zombie to zombie
The same faces stare off into the distance
Going half crazy with the pain of it all

All he has is 'one day'
One day things will be better
One day it will all make sense
One day his dreams shall become
One day his laughter will come from the gut, the heart
One day

He laughs at the hopelessness
He laughs one day

meaningless words

these words
tug and pull
tickle and taunt
clog the pen's artery
get caught in my throat
stuck on the tip of my tongue

these words
tease and mislead
evoke hollow dreams
speak mindless truth
linger in the minds of the uncouth
but never grace me with the simplicity of my truth

these words
hide in the shadows
daring me to seek them out
to enter the unknown
to overcome the fear

these words
drag my soul kicking and screaming onto the page
cackling and laughing at my feeble resistance

these words mirror my reflection
magnify my inadequacies
and yet, somehow, give me hope

these words are all i have