Sad Is More Real, Rising Above

Here are two poems written half an hour apart.

Here is something I learned in music, slow and minor is easier to play than bright and happy quick major stuff. That is just simply true. Then I noticed that some of my favorite music is the blues. And the reasons are just too many to go into, having to do not only with the simple structure but some of the attitude too. There is a strong outlaw element in the blues that appeals to me greatly...

It was thunder and thunder and lightnin
The day this po' boy was born.
Ain't had nothin but yer trouble
And yer hate and yer scorn.
My daddy, he died in a train wreck.
My momma, she died o' th' booze.
My first name, it's natcherl born trouble,
My last name, it is the blues.

Damn, all done in Em with a certain riff to it, and then the B7 to break it open, hold it, hold it, (on last name) tumble back down to the Em. A two chord song. This is somehow more real...

Sad Is More Real

Why is it still so?
I have come to you, asking
For the path to joy,

Asking for true compassion
To flower in my warm heart.

I want happiness
To flood all my nooks, crannies.
Still sad is more real.

*************************************

This poem is about being a spin doctor. I don't really have to say I can't really rhyme stuff very well. I write poetry controlled other ways, these days mostly haiku syllable count lines. I have done other things. Sometimes I do rhyme stuff just to show you (me) that I can. Well. I can honestly say I usually dislike rhyme as much as I dislike really tightly structured meter. But not when a real master does it. I want my forms to disappear if you don't want to see them. I want a poem that speaks really well without being forced into meter. When I perform I deliberately converse and dramatize rather than orate. I am pretty good at it too, both trained and coming through my mother from dramatic stock. So all of that glosses the simple fact that I just don't rhyme very well. So do I really have to say so?

Rising Above

I've no room for rhyme,
Too busy, too fast, that's me.
(I don't think I can).
I'd never say that,
Never say I lack some skill.
No, I'm just busy.
Can't be bothered, me.
I'll stand aloof from it all,
Rise above on gas.