Sunday, August 26, 2012

Poem for my Dad

It's my dad's birthday!  Here's a poem that I wouldn't have written had he not be in my life! It was my attempt to write about why I love music so much.  Turned into a poem about how I grew up. 

Celtic Punk

My lullabies were sung from steel strings,
as I was rocked asleep by a pulsating Fender amp.
Bar booths were as comfortable to sleep on
as a soft bed, or the grass
during a Steppenwolf concert—I was five.

Musicians’ guitar stringed melodies
played from the living room,
from the basement into my
second-story bedroom.  These were
the sounds that led me to sleep.

In a house full of musicians,
loud noises comforted me.
In my car, stuck in traffic
loud music:  guitars, drums,
bass, and bagpipes calm my energy.

New musicians lull me to sleep now
in my one bedroom apartment.
Pulsating speakers still help me sleep,
but they are pumping out Dropkick Murphys,
not my daddy on his rusty-orange Fender. 

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