by Ken Robert on May 27, 2009
If we can’t sell it, we’ll give it away.
If we can’t ship it, we’ll walk it there ourselves.
We’ve boiled it down to these three things:
the work, the art, the distribution.
No market? No matter.
We’ll make it anyway,
and here’s our little business plan.
We’re going to fill it up with passion
and package it with soul.
We’ll flood the brain waves,
and tell the birds. They love to sing.
Don’t know about the product,
but we know about this.
We’re new and improved
and priced to move.
Today is our grand opening.
Let’s cut the ribbon and
make our public offering.
Tagged as:
Poems
by Ken Robert on May 26, 2009
Hello, Cello.
Thought that was you.
Every time I hear you moan
I get the sense that someone
is drawing a bow across my chest
and tapping on my skin.
Just the other day,
I was telling someone about your chuckle,
about that deep hearty laugh
I always find infectious.
You seem to be a soulful fellow,
someone who sees much
and feels much.
You have wisdom
but require no words.
I wish I was like that.
I wish I could say what I have to say with just a sound.
Tagged as:
Poems
by Ken Robert on May 24, 2009
Everyone tells me I’m forty-two.
The calendar confirms this.
The mirrors all agree.
But there was that moment the other night
when you parted your lips to laugh
and brushed my knee with a carefree hand.
There must have been some magic in that.
The china and linen on which we dined
turned plastic trays on plastic sheets
and there we were, in a grade school cafeteria,
you, the new girl, and me, the class clown,
doing what I could to make the young girls laugh
because I’ve always loved the sound.
Later, on the drive home,
you leaned across the console
and whispered a secret incantation
that changed the dangled keys
into my father’s and sent my eyes scanning
for a place to tuck my borrowed wheels,
to make you laugh some more,
and turn the volume down
on all your mother’s warnings.
Tagged as:
Poems
by Ken Robert on May 23, 2009
There is this business of the body
and the body of art
and the art of doing business.
There is this doing of the planning
and the planning of things
and the thing of starting doing.
And all of these are on my mind.
Tagged as:
Poems
by Ken Robert on May 22, 2009
She was made of bubble wrap,
but it wasn’t very long before her world went pop.
Her big idea was overrated.
Her dreamy soul had just deflated.
She’d went to Cozumel
to buy some trinkets on the streets and sell them in the states.
She didn’t know what the exchange meant.
Her business plan a failed arrangement.
But then she knew
what she must do
before her problems got too big.
She got some new maps
and grabbed her boot straps,
and laid the ground for a brand new gig.
She knew some guys in a band
and they always found her grand. Yeah, they loved to watch her dance
when she was swaying by the speakers
in her jeans and high top sneakers.
She bought a tambourine
and she taught herself to sing the refrains and harmonies.
It made the group a big sensation.
They loved her new interpretations.
I guess she knew
what she must do
before her problems got too big.
She got some new maps
and grabbed her bootstraps
and laid the ground for a brand new gig.
Inspired by Elvis Costello’s “My Mood Swings”
Tagged as:
lyrics
