A poem or a song in the time of Corona?

Being a writer is truly weird sometimes…
Last night instead of sleeping my mind nagged at me to write a poem… about music. Why? Don’t know. Just had to.

Can’t let the words go to waste, so here goes:

Incantato of adagio
A hum or a her.
The lilting life tune
Floats on the air.

Treble the trouble
Or double the bass.
The boom box is quavering
So lock down the case.

A monotone moan
Or a semi tone scoff;
My melodic mind music
Is truly brassed off.

But sing me a song
With banging blue tune.
I’ll beat out the chorus
And howl at the moon.

I’ll soar with the score
To conduct with a quell;
Taking my bows
And my curtain calls, as well.

Adieu adagio.
But… Encore once more.
Now adieu adagio
This tune is no more.

And I thought I’d written a poem, whereas I’ve been told I’ve actually written a song.

Letter 18: To Song

18 February 2012

Dear Song

I am puzzling over whether to address you as song singular or songs plural … either way,  you know what I mean and you know how much I love you. In fact I love you so much that I am semi convinced that the reason my memory is so slow, is that my brain is simply over loaded with song lyrics … especially ones from the 80s … oh and the ABBA back catalogue of course …

I love listening to you, I love singing you, I love dancing to you. There I was this very evening in fact – dancing the night away and singing along; part of a jostling happy crowd, in the semi darkness of a singing, dancing, drinking homaging kind of a place and, it  has to be said, doing justice to all three of those activities … ah, the power of the multi-tasking woman …

And from childhood I saw myself as pop star, opera star, musical star … yes I would open my tonsils, so the dream went, and out would come a voice of such power and beauty that glass would shatter and icebergs would melt … When I sat and watched the old Saturday Afternoon, BBC 2 film musicals, I’d see myself on screen, the girl in the gorgeous dress, who could act like Ava Gardiner, dance like Cyd Charisse and sing, like nothing else on this earth …

When other people did not recognise this about me, it was always received with a sense of puzzlement.  In latter years I have wondered if I am akin to one of those deluded people in the Y (on earth) Factor programme – the ones they have on in the early audition stages; you know – the musical wannabes who have that implicit belief in their own amazing talent … yet we, the public, see and hear them with differently filtered eyes and ears …

Then at other times, some one will hear me, see me and praise me and I am content with my own localised stardom … for now any way … there is still time on this earth for me to be a mega star yet or indeed to get my next fix …

And here’s the thing – singing in public still takes me wildly out of my comfort zone and the sound of my own voice can either mesmerise me or make me wince … so here is my ultimate vulnerability, a badly made recording of me is attached … singing ‘Love Letters’ of course.

I trust Dear Song that you will take this as a compliment and not a caterwaul – that’s for your ears to judge. Either way I’m gonna love you … it’s a love I was born with, it’s a love that’s unconditional and it’s most definitely a love that is real …

    Yours tunefully,

          Sandie Super Star xxx

PS: If you love the written word and pictures, as well as song, there is more of both in the Book version of my letters – follow the link here to find out more…