Here, There be a Writer

Monday, July 15, 2013

Hot Summer Nights and Green Day!

It's been a long week and even longer weekend. "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" has come and gone. The kids were wonderful, the building hot and stuffy, and I am still sore for the friggin' Courthouse. The wind down feel less obvious this time as I am already starting another show, this time I will be onstage in a production of "The Best Little Whorehouse is Texas". I find future blogs might spring from this adventure, or when I watch the animated-using anthropomorphized animals-musical movie adaptation of "Tom Sawyer" made last year and found in the 5 dollar bin at Wal-Mart. It looks terrible. I cannot wait to watch it. Gonna be fantastically horrible.

But anyway, it's been a long and busy weekend with the three performances of "Tom Sawyer" and the "Whorehouse" read thru yesterday. I chose to take today, Monday, off fro  work to decompress a bit.

Of course this weekend is also the weekend when FULL ON SUMMER kicks in the Twin Tiers! Today was in the mid to upper 90's in Corning. I did not do much today. In fact I and the cats chose to nap or do very little today, but that left a blog to still be written. I had nothing really lined up, most because I was moving courthouses and giant Styrofoam rocks, but I still belief that you lovely reader like to have something to read. So, after a bit of deliberation, I decided to cash in my Poetry Topic Contest winners on my Facebook page Here, There be a Writer (I post various writing adventures there. stop on by to see what else I am up to) and write a sonnet with the topic that had the most votes. There was a tie between Green Day and Steampipe Alley, so I am going to write sonnets about both topic, today is Green Day. Tomorrow will be Steam Alley, a game show from the 1980's starring Mario Cantone.

*Thank you Google image search for the pictures.

For Moo and Sara Love!

Sing of Green Day (or You Hear the Guitar)

You hear the guitar and it starts thrumming,
The sound waves resemble a living thing
In a miasma of pulse and strumming,
Pushing out in time they begin to sing.

The volume picks up and the singer moves,
Calling out across the liquid rhythms
Of heart, truth, and inner wisdom that grooves;
A soul that breathes of musical theorems.

You echo back as though a reply to
The voice singing to you on the other side
That is familiar with the old haiku
Of emotions that he too will confide.

Like a long distance call that is gritty
Is all that is needed of this ditty.


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