poetry, writing


Music is a lifelong love
It fits me like a well worn glove
I have a notebook where lines I keep
With voice recorded melodies
I mix them up inside my head
To find the blend and resonance

I practice in the lavatory
It’s just a bit of therapy
The tune, often, not quite a symphony
There finds its perfect recipe
I don’t have a process yet I think
To me it’s just a wait and see?

I knit my verses one by one
Finding the pattern and then the song
The tempo and the key soon follow
Though the beat and rhythm may feel hollow
The perfectionist is personal to me
A vulnerable debility

My voice, my instrument of choice
Inherited from my Irish clan
Without a plan, it just began
It is now part of who I am
Sometimes I step upon a stage
Close my eyes, lost in the moment, and the phrase

© Pamela Morrison

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