Perhaps this describes one of the few downsides of being a poet. Thanks for reading!- Heather
I Am The Leprechaun!
No, No. that’s not the song lyric. ( eye roll)
It is – I Am The Light Bringer!
What were you thinking? (sigh)
Well, that was what I was thinking.
Maybe like poetry,
the singer is trying to evoke both?
After all, a heroic leprechaun
could certainly be The Light Bringer.
There is a precedent.
I try to parse music lyrics of my Gen Y and Z’ers.
If not sure, my mind quickly substitutes words –
blackberries, gold, and panettone.
Brain as auto-correct.
We go to fa sardines. I hear her say
as we walk into the coffee shop.
That really can’t be it? I ask, faintly
concerned as I don’t like sardines.
We go to face our demons. But I can kinda see
where you could have heard that, she smiles kindly.
The kids don’t seem to mind when they don’t know.
Just look at their phones, to ask
Spotify/Pandora/Prime, if they even bother.
The music, vocals, arrangements flow over them,
like cool water, heart beats or the scent of pizza.
Me, I am phrases and emotions behind, desperately trying
to read the libretto in my head.
Intonation can be entirely at odds with the words –
whisper-soft rapping about anger,
excited, upbeat singing of pain.
Sometimes, I’m sorry when I find the true words.
Comforting that music and poetry themes are the same
between generations, or is it?
Exchange nuclear weapons of mass destruction
for global climate change devastation.
Vietnam, for war du jour.
“Best minds of my generation destroyed by madness”
for the best minds of my daughter’s generation
destroyed by fentanyl and suicide.
It seems my mind’s Rorschach test errs on the side
of silver linings, magical people and Italian treats.
Thanks to Allen Ginsberg “Howl”
Heather Saunders Estes 