Poem: The Overture

Posted: 01/21/2010 in Trevor McShane's Music
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THE OVERTURE

Hello and welcome to my world, where what is written herein may be read,          spoken, or sung, depending upon what is deserved.

You are accorded the full rights held by any citizen of the world

You have the right to remain silent, or have your attorney present

If you need an attorney and cannot afford one, one will be provided for  you

Be secure in the knowledge that you are now in control of this interactive          game

Don’t like it so far? Don’t turn the page.  (I said, “Stop, close your test          booklet, put your pencils down.) This ain’t a battle for your soul, it’s value hard to detect, but it beats most TV.

You’ll see righteous indignation, tales of brutality, odes to long lost loves incivility commented upon, angst and enmity, tributes to women, no need to genuflect, just verbal ingenuity occasionally spread amongst  the pap, pabulum, and precociousness, where what is invented is always ill-defined, but may engender that nod or knowing sigh

These pages are yours, no longer mine, for they have made their way into your hands, I probably paid for them but I don’t mind

Each poem will tell a story, some are meant solely to amuse, some have some pithy comment to make, many are just confused

For poems have no order, sometimes no reason, even when they rhyme

Poems aren’t good for much of anything, most people ain’t got the time

Nor should they, who isn’t tired of self-indulgent crap, especially from          someone like me who seems to need some new themes, but cannot  seem to unstrap himself from this hurling vessel now out of his control

I got what I wanted from it, now it’s yours and yours alone

This ain’t a compact, there’s no need on your part to thank me,                   communicate in any way, to comment

You are at the beginning of a ride over the continents of the heart, these are flights of fantasy, and recriminations and odd feelings felt in times of dark

These poems won’t make you money, won’t solve your problems (nor have          they solved any of mine), they’re just occasional animadversions or          onomatopoeia, fits of nonsense or pretense, but who am I to say

This is the first one I’ve written, I don’t even know what will hereafter follow, no idea what I’ll say

I’ll try to keep your attention, your mind on the page

But I predict you’ll start dreaming somewhere down the line about some          long-distance distant ex-lover, or what you’ve got to do the rest of the day

There is no intended effect here, just these words from someone who does not pretend to be a sage

What hereafter follows are poems, so hang onto your hat

Now turn the page.

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