Posts Tagged Poem
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November 26, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: In His Room
Brian Wilson in his sandbox, making art. The grit between his toes calms the flitters in his heart, at least momentarily. Tearily, he’ll circle Gershwin, wash through Mozart, change lanes to get ahead of McCartney. Smartly, he goes wherever his mind takes him. Sadly, that’s far too many places. But we get round, round, get […]Archive
November 25, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Nothing Gold Can Stay
no more horsin’ around for Ponyboy; racetrack dreams are for Outsiders only – no good once you’re on the inside track. So good to be on the right tracks for once. Silver is fine when there are pockets to line. So Ponyboy don’t mind at all.Archive
November 24, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Habitual Filling For Us Both
Okay, here’s the thing. I didn’t want to write this. Just as you don’t want to read it. Let’s agree we’re both here because we felt a need to be. And leave it at that.Archive
November 22, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Imagine
I talked to Alan White. You may or may not know already that he is the drummer for a band called Yes. He also did a bunch of sessions back in the day, including playing with Joe Cocker, George Harrison and John Lennon. That’s him playing drums on the song Imagine. Can you imagine? I […]Archive
November 20, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Talking To Neneh Cherry About Seven Seconds
I wonder what it’s like living with a song like Seven Seconds. To know you’ve done something so huge, so special. I asked Neneh Cherry, one night on the phone. I was sat in my car, parked on the side of the road, at the top of Cuba Street. She was having breakfast at home. […]Archive
November 20, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Cuts Deep
Abbey Lincoln, with her voice like a sword cutting deep. Have you listened to Let Up? Have you sat down with Abbey Is Blue? Or the records she made with Max Roach when he was her husband, when she was his wife – when they were cutting deep, taking turns to be the knife. There’s […]Archive
November 18, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: American History Lesson
Why did the chicken cross the road? Was it to get to the other side of a racist joke? Why didn’t the watermelon cross the road instead? It was having a smashing time! Corks were burnt, shoe polish was placed on faces – wasn’t that hilarious enough for ya? Tell us another one: The master […]Archive
November 17, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Just Read The Label
I learned I was an artist when I found it was a personality type. It offers a certain freedom, from certain responsibilities and from actual abilities. We should label ourselves more often.Archive
November 15, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: The Very Best Awkward Ending
Making mixtapes was blue-collar work back before I worked at all. Now it’s a tech-gimmick in an empty-gesture world, I’m old and tired and so are my mixtapes. Doesn’t mean I don’t mean them. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen. But it’s not what it used to be and the problem is not with me, nor […]Archive
November 14, 2021 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: A Real Mix
When I am boss of the whole world I’ll make a rule that stops all people from saying about the little babies, “gosh, they’re a real mix of mum and dad”. Such a shame I’ll never be boss of the whole world. All these parents tired and afraid, being told about the permanent reminder of […]Archive
November 13, 2021 by Simon Sweetman