Open Mic
By Walter Burns
I'm getting kinda weary And I'm getting kinda psyched I wish somehow I could escape For tonight it's open mic I have my poems in hand And strapped on ukulele Some cymbals and a fast drum beat I come and listen daily The groovy cats sit back They can smell it in the air One more poet with round glasses Has come with heart to bear They introduce me As a soul Who likes to Rock n' Roll They say I must be heard Hang on to every word So through the smoke I weave A fleeting thought To leave But the fingers of the suede blue Atmosphere, Sway my fear All eyes are on me now I must climb the stage somehow And read my poetry If not for them, for me Two by two I take the stares What if I read And no one cares There she is… She will be the one I read to Her warm inviting lips are smiling …she will be my northern star © on Jul 02 2001 12:49 PM PST 0 • 12
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"I'm getting kinda weary..."