Poetry
Sorting Through Old Albums On A Rainy Thursday Afternoon
The music of childhood
I wrote this poem while sorting through old albums on a rainy Thursday afternoon — as you may have guessed from the title.
Scratched discs bear the marks of dutiful service, a lifetime of singing, of entertainment, of drowning out your own thoughts with clever riffs and dumb lyrics
different time, different place but the same songs are still playing — quite the lungs these artists have — the same backdrop to a new dreary existence
you should throw them out, you’ve not listened to this since you were eight, jumping up and down with your air guitar, hair slicked back with enough fat to fry an omelette
but you can’t let go, the songs come back in an instant — it’s a shame that brain of yours can’t learn anything useful — and you know you won’t chuck them away because that would mean
accepting you’ll never do this again, you’ll never spend another rainy Thursday afternoon sorting through old albums you pretend to no longer care about.
Some excellent poets on Medium:
J.D. Harms always impresses me with powerful imagery and innovate uses of language:
Zsanyla Cabansag’s messages resonate with me, especially this poem about the apathy of the world in which we live:
Manasi Diwakar is an incredible poet and creates stunning images with a sparse and understated style:
