He used to sing the blues at the corner of 45th and Main,
Strumming on a 1970’s guitar with rusted strings.
The wood was warping but the sound was perfect.
He sung of broken heartedness and shattered wings.
Forsaken by God, he sung, but he still wore a cross,
Deep down he believed he was the happiest among us.
Forsaken by love, he sung, but he loved the world,
But the world passed him by with a jeer and a cuss.
He sat below her bedroom window the whole night long,
And he sung his songs of pain, heartache and lost love.
She used to think that it was foolish and degrading,
But when you left her honey, his words were an escape.
Night after night with her window left wide open
She’d sing along to her favorite song that he was always showing.
Around eleven he’d get up and pack his things away,
She’d settle down to sleep with her heart gleaming and glowing.
He used to sing the blues at the corner of 45th and Main,
Strumming on a 1970’s guitar with rusted strings.
The wood was warping but the sound was perfect.
He sung of broken heartedness and shattered wings.
Sunday he didn’t return to his corner in the afternoon.
No sleek guitar, no rusted strings, no aching songs.
No ragged clothing, no mangy beard, no minstrel.
She whispered the words she remembered all night long.
Monday she picked up the paper and read the headlines,
She searched the front page, back page, middle for any news.
”Local Guitarist Shot in a Drug Raid”
Her heart stopped, blood ran cold, her jaw hung loose.
He used to sing the blues at the corner of 45th and Main,
Strumming on a 1970’s guitar with rusted strings.
The wood was warping but the sound was perfect.
He sung of broken heartedness and shattered wings.
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Comments
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The hallowed lands so far behind
As fleeting dreams still linger
Like distant voices through the rain
Like grains of sand cast from my hands
Lets see...
I think the most awkward part about it is the verse is heavy, it doesn't quite fly like the concept should. One of the things i've noticed about poetry is that the fewer sylables you use, and the fewer hard consonants, the easier the words fly. You don't have to stick to the whole 8 count or whatever it is you're using..
Gonna give ya an example of what i mean.. *nod*
He used to sing the blues at* the corner of 45th* and Main,
Strumming on a 1970’s* guitar with rusted strings.
The wood was warping but the sound was perfect*.
He sung of broken heartedness* and shattered wings.
Can be changed like this.. (Not that you HAVE to, mind you, it's your poem)
He used to sing the blues on the corner of 4th and Main,
Strumming on that old guitar with rusted strings.
The wood was warping but the sound was right.
Singing of broken hearts and shattered wings..
Changed the at because it's a hard consonant, makes you stumble while reading it sometimes. Changed 45th to 4th because it's really an extra consonant that weights it down a bit. Changed the part about perfect mostly because it ends on a consonant, it's not a nessecary change considering the verse. Changed the part about brokenheartedness to broken hearts because it's not as heavy, rolls off the toungue a lil easier...
I find the easiest way to find this stuff is to find a quiet corner and just read it aloud to yourself, let your instincts guide you, say it different until it sounds right. That's what i do if i get stuck. *nod*
Hope this helped?
--
The hallowed lands so far behind
As fleeting dreams still linger
Like distant voices through the rain
Like grains of sand cast from my hands
i miss ya lots
<333 KAtiE
I miss you too!!!!
<3333
~Amber
--
~Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."~
--
~Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."~
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