I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song
Three minutes thirteen seconds
So, it wasn't quite that long
Filled with love and disappointments
All the things a good song needs
I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song

They said "write something simple"
I said "I'll see what I can do"
They told me "you can do it"
"you're the best at what you do"

I needed something with emotion
Something new and something hot
I wrote for fourteen hours
And this is what I got

I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song
Three minutes thirteen seconds
So, it wasn't quite that long
Filled with love and disappointments
All the things a good song needs
I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song

It was a little love song
You know...people could relate
I played it to the band
They said "Man, this song is great"

It's a little bit of Shakespeare
With some Poe there on the side
The song was full of highs and lows
It would take you for a ride

I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song
Three minutes thirteen seconds
So, it wasn't quite that long
Filled with love and disappointments
All the things a good song needs
I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song

In the end when it was finished
It charted, not for long
Then I realized the story here
Was the story 'bout the song

So, I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song
Three minutes thirteen seconds
So, it wasn't quite that long
Filled with love and disappointments
All the things a good song needs
I wrote a song about a story about a story about a song

Awkward smiles
We try
Ha, ha, ha
Act like it’s all good
Touching the surface, greatly scratching, bearly a ripple
We easily avoid it, the clean, smooth, pristine surface
Skirt around disturbing it’s placed waters
Skirt around saying what really needs to be said
Instead we laugh, and smile
Weaving a masterpiece
Of our own

Some may blame this course of action but,
What if we do disturb the sleeping lion
What then
What then?
Are we afraid of
Our perfect facade
Perfect visage breaking
Shattering into millions of tiny pieces
Too small to reattach

“But if it’s broken can’t you just fix it?”
“How, Sweetie?”

“My mommy always puts a band aid on my boo boos”
“But it’s not a boo boo, it’s completely broken.”

“Then why don’t you just build it again?”
“How?”
“With legos! That way it’ll be taller and even better!”



Ha,
Ha, ha, ha, ha
Sometimes the answer is right there

Translucent, red traffic light
Belongs so comfortably
No one made a fuss over its colour
Just an instinct for the shade
The perfect pigment
No hustle, no alarm
Being the man who ponders this
Am I not allowed the breeze or the brevity?
Are we blessed to fidget the cigarette?
Cursed to be tense
I imagine a mellow, white man
Prancing on a set of traffic lights
Naturally pristine and silky
He plays in an explorative band
Rock and roll on scalpels
So smooth, that breathing
Not a single itch
I’m going to achieve such a feat
One day
I’ll be a queen *****

On campus

the morning rain is subsiding  
while the cool air is still flowing
a live band starts to play  
in front of the library
beneath some trees
sweet and beautiful melodies
to promote a ‘happy relax’ theme

while my fingers tap to the beat
a familiar face
appears and sits
between the band
and my seat

indeed a pleasant surprise
but I should leave soon
a revision class is starting

should I stay or should I leave?

ah what a rare chance it is
to find the heart
where it wants to be,
I should stay

yet the tuition class
is where I ought to be
I should go

torn in between
I look up
to the streaks of light
slipping through
the wet foliage,

it then occurred to me
don’t think too hard
just enjoy the stay…

Playing to the heartbeat
Tub thumping Drumbeat
Overwhelming Synth wave
Channelling the Bass slave
Guitar jams, room shaking
Screaming voices, larynx aching

Cello in the background
Violins make mellow sound
The Snare an unholy snap
A Tambourine a mighty slap
The Cymbals crash
A Tom Tom smash
Chord change impending
Middle eight unending

Digital and analogue
Recording in its final slog
Final verse is looming
With the Bass Drum booming
The soloist’s precision
Fulfils the final vision

Aduain

Play along my sweet, sweet horn
For all the hearts are torn
Carry on a note so long
In your sad forgotten song

Now play along my sweet, sweet string
And let them hear you sing
Move your bows ever so gently
And watch them listen intently

Now play along my sweet sweet flute
And watch them all salute
Your lovely voice soft as rain
Deprives them of their pain

Now play along my sweet, sweet bell
For you always play so well
Show the world your soft tone
Because you’re all alone

Now play along my sweet, sweet bass
Just to give them a taste
Of your low mellow chord
And get them all on board

Now play along my sweet, sweet sax
But be mindful of those flats
Play it jazzy and so smooth
And take away the ruth

Now play along my sweet, sweet drum
And make the crowd go numb
You careful steady beat
Will lift them off their feet

Now play along my sweet, sweet chime
And freeze us all in time
The hollowness of your sound
Always in the background

Now play along my sweet trumpet
And match up with the cornet
Now join all the rest of you
And along to this merry tune

When I hear the words “marching band”,
I think of 4 am’s eating donuts on the bus,
Piled in big heaps to conserve warmth,
Not caring who we were laying on.
I think of lips on fire,
Sectionals that drag on and on in
The scorching sun, and staying
At attention for longer than you can bear.
I think of impossibly quick changes into uniforms,
Asking your friends to zip you up,
Band moms wiping off bibbers and shoes,
And when you’re all ready, realizing you didn’t put on your mic.
I think of falling on turf during
25 mph wind gusts, hearing the hail smash your instrument,
Not being able to feel your face,
But knowing you have to play on just the same.
I think of eating at weird times,
Breakfast at 4 am, lunch at 10 am, and supper at 10 pm,
But knowing that when you get you get a chance to eat,
The band dads have got you covered.
I think of laughing so ******* the bus
You’re crying, sobbing even, sprawled across
Your best friends, and you think you’ll never calm down
Enough to ever play your instrument again.
I think of the drum majors’ voices yelling
LEFT LEFT LEFT
Over and over again until the freshmen finally understand.
There’s always that one that never does.
I think of the moment of utter agony
Before they announce the last place in your class,
And you’re squeezing your eyes shut, praying
That at the very least, you won’t be last.
I think of that moment of utter relief
After you hear the last place in your class,
And it’s not you, and your prayers have been answered
That at the very least, you were not last.
I think of the last competition of the season,
When the seniors are bawling and it seems like
Your entire world is crashing down,
And nothing will ever be right again.
This poem could go on forever,
But finally: finally.
When I hear the words “marching band”,
I think of that triumphant moment right
As your show ends for the last time,
That last horns down,
And you know you’ve given it your all,
And no matter what your score is,
You feel in your heart that you have put everything
You have out there,
All the music, the drill, the blood, sweat and tears,
Out there on that football field.
And that moment, you can get no where else, but
Marching band.