I Hate Guitars For The Same Reason You Hate Chess

I found yet more old pieces I've written and I am going to post one.  I think to myself, shouldn't I be working on and posting new stuff? -- but the coincidence of finding this file on this particular day has led me to put it up.


I created all the lyrics to the songs for a musical I'd intended to write.  The plot was wretched and the characters were lifeless and the thing will never see the light of day.  Neither am I any kind of musician; I still have in my head some of the old lessons about scales and meter and such from eighth-grade music class, but I think I'd have to collaborate to make something palatable.


So, I'll just call this a poem.  And it came about because of a friend (whose birthday is today--thus the coincidence and appropriateness of posting this) who is the "You" of the title.  I really don't hate guitars, of course, but I think the complex psychic mix of supposed hatred and self-aware jealousy written in between the lines of this ditty make it entertaining--to me anyway.  I really can't speak to the rhyme or meter... there was a reason behind it once, but that was forgotten long ago.

When the lull comes and silence arrives,

The conversation is ended and still.

It seems to last for hours, and now

We can't find anything to talk about.

You run off to play guitar:

You know I don't know how to play.

Does that damn’d guitar treat you well?

Is it loving; is it caring: a better friend?

I don't know how to play; you don't know how to play:

I hate guitars for the same reason you hate chess.

Go on and play your guitar;

I'll go play chess.

When the lull comes, deadly silence invades:

We have nothing to talk about.

It can last for hours: feel the silence

Until we must run away.

So I set up the board, lost for hours in this game:

Too bad you don't know how to play.

The game I enjoy treats me well:

Gives me what I can't hope to find anywhere else.

I don't know how to play; you don't know how to play:

I hate guitars for the same reason you hate chess.

Go on and play your guitar;

I'll go play chess.

I sometimes forget you won't always be around,

But when we can't connect, then

You go off and play guitar,

And I go off and play chess.

I suppose I could learn how to play guitar,

And you could learn how to play chess.

I suppose I could put aside my disdain,

And you could end your disapproval.

Don't you know we could teach each other how to play:

I learn guitars for the same reason you learn chess.

Come and teach me guitar;

I'll teach you chess.

Poetry Schmoetry

I managed to dredge up some old computer files and discovered a folder call "poetry."  To my disappointment, there was only one file in it (somewhere out in the electrons, there is an old disk with a hundred slip-shod poems from my college days).  The one file was a sonnet (or maybe just a quatorzain--it seems to be a little off in the rhyme scheme) written during my semester in Costa Rica.


I'll repeat a few words as qualifiers: "college days," "slip-shod," and "a little off." It is what it is.

Lake Atitlan

The Atitlan sits blue in mountain dell;

The sky above is clear and sweet with sun.

In quiet hillside town rings out the bell

To call to any dedicated one.

Confession of my sinning thoughts to eyes

More sweet than sun, more blue than the skies above.

Within the bells the playing music lies:

A pilgrim’s dance to your cathedral love.

Embrace in dance, close lips and feet find grace,

To hold you close and let you set the pace.

But kept too close you try to steal away

Spun widly from your arms’ embrace to stay

Cast out from Eden’s honey light and skies.

From other love I cannot take your eyes.