LISA RISTING | staff writer
Music has the power to touch us in a way like nothing else. As it moves through our veins and into our soul, it has the ability to heal, to hurt, to help or to harm. It can comfort a broken heart, or create a release for an angry mind. Music has always been the narrator of my life, as I constantly find songs to explain what I’m thinking or feeling. But when there just isn’t the perfect song already created to explain things… I grab a pen and paper to write my own. It has been a therapeutic release for me, as well as a sufficient form of documenting my life. I can look back on music I wrote and remember specific moments in my life that have led me to be who I am today. Where mere spoken words may not suffice, music takes over.
LYRICS: "STRANGER NOW"
A thousand words couldn't paint the picture
A hundred miles I was off the floor
I learned your smile, your touch, your every gesture
You stole my heart I thought was locked for sure
Despite my longing just to let you be
I came to love the way you loved me
You are the wind that moves me through the storm
You are the strength that keeps me from harm
You are the rock that helps me reach my dreams
You are my everything
A thousand words couldn't place the feeling
A hundred kisses can't replace the pain
I learned the differences that made our distance
No single moment was to blame
Despite my aching just to make things right
I came to terms with truth that night
You are a stranger whom I hardly know
You are a cold and distant voice heard low
You are a memory of a broken vow
You are a stranger now
- - - -
MEAGAN CLEMENTS | staff writer
POEM: "THE SOLO"
Quietly shaking on string number 3,
A rustic vibration and a howling plea.
Flirting and falling from mid-air madness,
Mellow and minor in string 6 sadness.
Triumphant and hopeful on fret 14 local,
The hurdling hunt for the point they call focal.
Curiously crawling then doodling a design,
Dashing and darting before the urge to resign.
Slapping then napping, then sliding on down,
A pallet for painting and they were bent in a frown.
Callus and curvy and flexing indeed,
To climb up the board they were dire in need.
Picking and plucking and pulling and popping,
Startling and stopping, they went home for some hopping.
He answered himself a rip-roaring riddle,
while wand number 5 began to twiddle,
then played so it sounded just like a fiddle.
Staggering between and weaving about,
A crooked expression and a shapely ol’ pout;
Hustling and bustling, then snoring and bored,
Up the plateau they fearlessly floored.
Hungry and hammering some sure spicy steel,
They were about to make one delicious deal.
Halt about here they said to strings 2, 3, and 4,
A tedious tone has tendency more,
For playing this solo has been adventure galore!
