Soft rock; smooth music filling the air.
A gentle nostalgia that makes thoughts wander more than usual.
A sweet presence flutters around the spectrum.
Not physically, just a simple spark of imagination, that one that turns ordinary moments into small echoes.
A good moment for the brain to daydream and float, defying the heavy gravity.
Couples coming and going, filling the sidewalks with muffled chatter that breaks the quiet one dives into.
A few laughs are coming from who knows where; nothing remarkable.
When all that passes, the surroundings become even quieter than before.
Mowing the lawn, folding the laundry, reading a little of something that one can’t quite remember now.
Simple tasks. Repetitive motions.
But beneath them, questions kept circling:
What if things had been different?
What if the timing, the courage, or fate had shifted just a little?
Would this day have felt less empty?
Less sad and nostalgic?
Nobody has an answer.
Only the music, the chores, and the quietness that sometimes aches recreate a scene of another version of this life.
When I was a girl, I watched the 1982 movie "The Last Unicorn" with my sister in the early 2000s. My sister and I sat on the beige living room carpet. Growing up, beige carpets and white walls were expected in apartments. On the TV, soft rock flows beneath the animated picture. An ethereal unicorn stood poised before the blue sky and hills. The fairy tale painted the white and beige real world. I loved that movie despite preferring pegasuses over unicorns, and wished to craft my own fairy tales. Fairy tales where the beautiful heroine possesses brown skin, brown eyes, and coiled ebony hair. A childish wish, a thoughtful adult could make true. As an adult, I've thought fairy tales through, and it's not just enough for the beautiful heroine to inspire brown and black girls like I was. I've read The Last Unicorn novel a decade past adolescence. The film is a dream swaying to soft rock on the black sea of memory. The Last Unicorn was aware of its fairy tale nature, like an adult reopening the fairy tale book with a cracked spine. Familiar but new to wiser eyes. The unicorn leads the way for me to write a fairy tale not for the girl I was, but for the woman I've become.
my son is having weekly online lessons. with
a tutor. that is an assertive declarative fact.
and so is the asiatic toad.
ploughing represents life.
clumsy, stumbling stuff
i now own five different lanyards around my neck
and can get into many places with confidence.
cullinan diamond.
the tutor is a university student. he asks, 'my dad
wants to know what music university students
are listening to nowadays.'
she replies, 'soft rock and pop.'
what happened to the Plastic Ono Band?
On clumsy day of morning fogg
I woke up to reality
To check my beloved sanity
A stone became the chosen one
It was picked for his services
A hard son of soft rock,
A tough block, a rough block, indeed
Destiny knows his path
Growling wind observed the scenario
First flight took Mr. Stone to few feets
The desire was to Re-release
It left my hand to reach space
My head became a Crater by double pace
The stone lives in my head since then
He was first where the headache begin!
I like the heroic America of World War II;...
The America champion of good technology...
The America that freed us from the damned little mustache...
The America of Hollywood, of cinema,
Of black soul music, of Doo Wop,
Soft rock of Credence Clearwater Simon, Bob Dylan
Folklore... Woodie Guthrie, Peter Seeger,
Peter, Paul, Mary, mixed with country and blues,
Poets like Walt Withman, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost. BEAT POETS...
The America of Frank Lloyd W. Edison, OTHERS...
Not an America with dyed hair and greed
madness for money and power...men colored
in yellow who only think of domination,
and submission of others, without thinking of brotherhood among peoples...
MAGA Make America Gentle Again
I was sitting on the dock of the bay listening to a song
when Otis Redding happened to come walking along.
He said, "You watching the ships roll in?"
I said, "Yeah, and then watching ‘em roll away again."
He said, "That stuff's really dug by some,
but I think it’s all pretty much ho-hum."
It's the beginning of colorful Fall,
many chilly days are expected ahead;
tall pine trees don't heed the call,
they are green and warmly dressed!
Their slender images draw twitching shadows
on the wild grass where a pink Lotus grows,
no Monarch comes around to seep pollen;
how cheerless is the voice of young Allen!
It has rained for days, dogs don't bark,
they need to catch frogs at the pond;
no umbrellas today, sun rays abound,
music is heard, Paul plays soft rock!
Even my pace seems too sluggish,
I pause sitting on a rock to wish;
it's the perfect day for planning,
I grab my guitar and start singing!
worlds spin
night and day
wandering souls
living real lives
finding the love
learning to give
co-creating
co-suffering
and co dying
finding out why
the good times fly
when we were kings
and we feared naught
but played the part
strutting to sound
walking the proud
amongst the mad
tipping our hats
english accents
soft rock playing
slipping into
the long dark sleep
our souls to keep
then fade to black
my subscription
to the chaos
of existence
beautiful but
haunting wonder
should I lose hope
and forget my name
just wave me on
that I not miss
that golden place
Friends have an open invitation, dusky sky, soft rock music~
It’s all part of the experience of barbecuing—I Am Anaya
Rustic charred mesquite fired up
Aromatic smoke
Sweet guavas, fish, steak, grilling
Blazed creamed artichoke
Decadent pastry
Black Velvet
Lime
A glass of champagne to soothe your soul
As I sway to the sweet soft rock and roll
In my arms I feel your heartbeat
So sweet I remember it’s so complete
There is no need of sadness tonight
Or worrying about what is wrong or right
And it feels we are alone on the planet
Together in each other’s arms in a perfect moment .
© Paul Warren Poetry
I welcome the silence of falling snow
the virginity of pure crystalline flakes
gathering to frost my windowsills
But I watch while snuggled beside a fire
a cup of cocoa and soft rock playing
A warm hand to hold is all I need
With the stage name “Denver,” beloved poet John
to country, folk and beautiful soft rock was drawn.
“Take Me Home Country Road” made him a star.
What lovely songs for nature he strummed on his guitar!
With the stage name “Denver,” beloved poet John
became a 70’s phenomenon.
To tunes like “Grandma’s Feather Bed” and “Annie’s Song”
his fans would listen and sing along.
With the stage name “Denver,” beloved poet John
crashed his plane one day, and in an instant he was gone.
His art lives on even though no longer can he roam.
How apt his autobiography’s name: Take Me Home.
Dec. 29, 2020
For Brian Strand's the 'YOU SELECT AGAIN' Poetry Contest
Karen and Richard were a famous duo from the 70s
Of course, I mean “The Carpenters” part of our musical heritage
Karen's soothing voice
Richard's keyboard rejoiced
With a selection of laid-back soft-rock melodies
seven feet
by eleven with
the deepest being
five feet well below
the freezing frozen time
needs
work the
waterfall doesn't
flow and the pump
seems not in proper order
but the
rocks can
be made and
moved to get the
best flow reasoning
the best
attitude for
your soft rock
mantra and don't
forget the lilies that
will grow
back if desired
covering half of the
pond so where algae
is not wanted won't be
take
it
or
leave
it as is
When young I liked the hard, driving beat,
the heavy rock rhythm rocking the socks off my feet,
now preferring more soothing with less percussion,
violins and flutes and folk guitar I now get a rush from,
Having various cd's I listen to in my car night or day,
classical, folk, gospel and soft rock being more my forte,
throw in a little spanish guitar or even a Celtic tune,
a hodgepodge of easy listening music I often croon to.
2-1-17
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