I’ve Got Nothing to Say
– a poem song
I’ve got nothing to say.
People don’t listen anyway.
Let the loud and lame
Play their slam-jam game,
But I’ve got nothing to say.
Princes, queens and buffoons,
Preen in cozy cocoons.
Verbally inclineds
Murmer from their minds,
But I’ve got nothing to say.
Poets come and theiy go.
Write their names in the snow,
Scribe grand sagas on sand
In a changing land,
But I’ve got nothing to say.
Fate is a heartless brute
To bards who can’t elocute,
So some strike in print
What they really “mint,”
But I’ve got nothing to say.
Bubbles, wafting through time,
Drinking vodka and lime
On a ramblihng spree –
That’s okay with me,
But I’ve got nothing to say.
– by Job Conger
written 4:30 p, January 11, 2001
published in Bear’ sKin by Job Conger
No, it ain’t a typo; that’s how the name of my most recent book of poetry appears on the cover. It was inspired by a guitar lick I improvised while practicing on my six string. Some melodies speak verbally to me, and some phrases speak to me in melody the first time I pen them or type them on an electric machine. The words almost wrote themselves; I just moved the pen across my clipboard which I always keep handy when I’m practicing. There is a deliberate Groucho Marx take on life with the words, clearly in mind as I wrote the first draft. It’s not really a song. It’s a ditty.
It may not even be that.
Live long . . . . and proper.
