By Alfred Brown
This is the poem where I finally got to use the sentence that had been rattling in my brain for a few years “Everything was fine until I got shot in the face.” I wrote it first sometime, probably around 2013, then I did some edits to it around 2014 or 2015. The intention with the edits was to make the poems into songs.
36 -i could never harm you
I could never harm you
At least not on purpose
If i ever harmed you
That would be the worstest
I could not forgive myself
If harm could not be undone
For disharming anyone else
Would seem so unfun
This may sound in jest
But I’m a real go getter
I don’t do my best
I do even more better
37 -they may become oldies
Though you may treat my words with scorn
I’ll tell you why im so forlorn
The best songs died when i was born
Now all we get is korn or torn
Korn guy looks soft, but sounds hardcore
He screams and i can’t take no more
Nat’s body’s hard, but sounds can bore
Though she can lay naked on my floor
Unlike execs don’t care bout looks
Don’t care about the beats nor hooks
Just like it is with flicks and books
All you get now are hacks and crooks
C:
They may become oldies
But they were never goodies
Just give me those moldies
And keep those kids in hoodies
I like it when a singer sings
Musicians play instrument things
Computers don’t make boops and pings
And faces aren’t merchandising
White songs were good for twenty years
Sixties seventies then tears for fears
Black songs twice long were twice as fearce
Now to stand either takes some beers
I understand nostalgic needs
But i ignored the lame eighties
I grew up to the real oldies
My chosen aural remedies
I heard Kearth from in the womb
Back when you could like every tune
But Chuck Berry got chucked so soon
Or I’d listen until my tomb
Oldies is not a formula
Subtract thirty and then ta da
Post 79 is blah
cause rock had had its last hurrah
You may not care bout radio
But if now oldies are gogos
One monkey don’t stop no show
They’ll go the way of the dodo
38 -I once wrote my favorite song
I wrote a song without any words
Because i was sick of trying to rhyme
I composed it without any notes
Because I was sick of thinking up chords
C:
I once wrote
My favorite song
Had not a note
Nor words to go along
I never even gave it a beat
Because I’m pretty sure i have no rhythm
I never sang, played, nor told it to a soul
Because I could never play sing or tell well
Every past song had failed expectations
But I never expected anything from it
I thought I’d quit while I was ahead
Because it could only go downhill from there