Category: Poetry

Rhymed and unrhymed, form or free, this is where the poetry lives.

No to Yes

lindastudleyLeave a comment
  1. (N+11)+(O-10)+S
    or
  2. First letter: Remove first line and reattach at the base where the other two lines intersect.
    Second letter: cut into circle, reattach one end approximately 1/3 of the way along the other end.
    Third letter: add s
    or
  3. Have reasonable expectations.

#204

A bit of a poetic puzzle I guess.

Don’t Shoot Me I’m Just the Independent Musician…

lindastudleyLeave a comment

I am a songwriter,
I write music and lyrics.
I am a performer,
I play guitar and I sing.

I am an independent recording artist.
I have put my money, quite literally,
where my mouth is;
paying for recording, manufacturing,
and promoting my CDs of original music.

But apparently that is not enough.
Now I must give that music away for free
(although the internet site that sells it to you
will still keep their share).

Why does society crave entertainment and
yet distain and disrespect the entertainer?
Don’t shoot me, I’m just the independent musician.

Sorry if this doesn’t seem like poetry but it’s where my head was at this morning. The Supreme Court of Canada, in its infinite wisdom, has declared that creators of music should not be compensated for digital downloads of their music. I am stunned by the magnitude of this ill advised legislation. It is a petty, miserly kick in the guts for every indie musician and the cherry on top is that it is highly unlikely that the music buying public will save a cent on their downloads – it’ll just go into the middleman pocket. If you want to read more about this here is the link to the news story that started my day out with a slap in the face.
If you believe that artists should be fairly compensated for their creations, please share this blog posting anyway you can, twitter, facebook, or print it out and send it to your Aunt Mary… People need to know how they’re being manipulated – and how the only ones who are going to be punished are the artists, sigh…

#202

Can You Tell Me the Time?

lindastudley4 Comments

I hereby revoke
time’s untimely yoke
and assert that time travel
is mine to invoke.

If clocks can be set
back or forward, I bet
I could set a calendar
without much regret.

And the time that I choose
would be mine to reuse
or rethink, or relive,
to gain or to lose.

A million years will go by
past the day that I die
and I’ll meet myself travelling
and ask for the time.

#201

Weathering the Weather

lindastudleyLeave a comment

We spend ten months complaining the weather’s too cold
and a month that the weather’s too hot.
And the couple of weeks that occur in between
Are the closest to perfect we’ve got.

Is there any place anywhere here on this earth
where the weather’s predictably fine
and the primary topic of all conversation
isn’t whether the sun’s gonna shine?

I’m tired of being climatically-centric
I will not indulge speculation
The weather’s not altered by my puny input,
or by my  anticipation.

So starting today Weather’s all on her own,
Don’t talk to me of predictions.
Short range forecasts are just wishful thinking
and long range are just science fiction.

There’s no sense in discussing the weather, my friend,
It’s not like we have any say.
The only thing we can be certain of is that
there’s sure to be some kind of weather today.

 

#198

Past Perfect?

lindastudley2 Comments

If I could remember the future
the way I remember the past
perhaps I could make alterations
to plans and find true peace at last.

But then, upon further reflection
I recall that my memory is flawed,
I often recall, over fondly,
things that never happened at all,

or places and names are all fuzzy
and my actions may not have been quite
as heroic as I now recall them,
in edited, rosy hindsight.

So if I remembered the future
the way I remember the past
I’d probably make alterations
that would set me right down on my ass.

We can’t change the past, that’s a given
but we can change the future, I guess.
just not in a way that we can control.
without making a terrible mess.

 

#197

Insomnia

lindastudley3 Comments

Standing barefoot on the edge of the ocean
waves pounding, ocean heartbeat calling me
to sleep and yet my eyes
will not close.
Slowly,  the surf eats away the sand
beneath my feet
grain by grain undermining
my body’s resolve to stay awake until,
my foundation dissolved, I crumble
into exhaustion only to rise again,
red eyed and unrefreshed to
face the waves once more.

 

#196