I love to write poetry. It is
like breathing to me. It is my favorite form. I write several poems a week.
I also write a lot of lyrics,
and while they are related, they are not identical.
What is the difference between
poetry and lyrics? Some lyrics are poetry. Some poetry can be lyrics. The
differences can be hard to quantify.
Lyrics are often more rhythmic
and repetitive than free verse poetry, though some of the more formal poetic
forms use these devices.
Now, there are some
similarities, as well as differences. Good poetry and popular songs both
connect with their audience in some manner.
They create an emotional
resonance. They allow their creator to express thoughts, emotions, and ideas on
a topic.
I wrote my first song when I
was a little girl. It might not be the most polished song, but I still remember
the tune. The lyrics were:
Lollipop Land
Where the rain rains lollipops and lemonade
and the sun is a great big gumdrop
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You're really not there at all...
Where the rain rains bats and three-legged toads
and the sun is a great big werewolf
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You don't want to be there at all...
Where the rain rains lollipops and lemonade
is a very nice place to be,
But otherwise is not, you see...
for otherwise is --
Where the rain rains bats and three-legged toads
and the sun is a great big werewolf
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You don't want to be there at all.
When the gumdrop sun is hot, so hot...
It bursts into little tiny pieces
But a new one always grows
As pretty as a rose
In the land of the gumdrop sun.
Where the rain rains lollipops and lemonade
and the sun is a great big gumdrop...
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You're really not there at all...
and the sun is a great big gumdrop
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You're really not there at all...
Where the rain rains bats and three-legged toads
and the sun is a great big werewolf
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You don't want to be there at all...
Where the rain rains lollipops and lemonade
is a very nice place to be,
But otherwise is not, you see...
for otherwise is --
Where the rain rains bats and three-legged toads
and the sun is a great big werewolf
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You don't want to be there at all.
When the gumdrop sun is hot, so hot...
It bursts into little tiny pieces
But a new one always grows
As pretty as a rose
In the land of the gumdrop sun.
Where the rain rains lollipops and lemonade
and the sun is a great big gumdrop...
No matter how tall
No matter how small
You're really not there at all...
When I was in college, I wrote
a song to the boy I had a crush on. It was a song of love and longing…and
became the song that Stefan sings to Daerci in The Luckless Prince. The tune to this one is much richer and more
mature. So are the words:
I tried
to write a song for you,
To tell
you how I feel—
I tried
to write a song for you,
But the
words won’t come out real….
I’ve
loved you from the very start,
The first
day that we met—
I’ve
loved you from the very start,
And now I
can’t forget….
That to
you I’m just another note
In an
ever changing theme—
And the
hope I bear for love’s return
Is only a
passing dream….
Presently, I write songs that range
from the silly to the serious. My first “professional” song has been recorded
by Marc Gunn several times. I wrote it for him after reading about the subject
online. Though I’ve had several songs recorded since, this is still my
favorite.
SOUL OF A HARPER
Oh, they say ’tis a hanging
that soon I will be–
My body a-twisting from
yonder oak tree–
For daring to think that a man
could live free…
but though I may die,
’tis a harper I’ll be.
The strings of my harp
will never be stilled
while the green of the shamrock
still grows on the hill
for the music of Ireland
is her strength and her will
and the soul of a harper
no mortal can kill.
will never be stilled
while the green of the shamrock
still grows on the hill
for the music of Ireland
is her strength and her will
and the soul of a harper
no mortal can kill.
Oh, the red-headed queen on her
cold golden throne
fears harper freedom
she never has known
Our bright Gaelic passion
comes through in the tone
so she orders it silenced
and broods all alone.
cold golden throne
fears harper freedom
she never has known
Our bright Gaelic passion
comes through in the tone
so she orders it silenced
and broods all alone.
For a man of the road,
death holds no sting.
‘Tis another adventure–
a wondrous thing.
And I know that my music
will evermore ring
in the hills and the rivers
of each Irish spring.
death holds no sting.
‘Tis another adventure–
a wondrous thing.
And I know that my music
will evermore ring
in the hills and the rivers
of each Irish spring.
Check out some of Rie's work with Mocha Memoirs Press:
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