The word for this week's Thursday Prompt was "Festival".
So, on the 5th of April was the Qingming festival. Or, the Tomb-sweeping festival. This inspired me to write something about remembrance.
That in turn reminded me of a piece I heard a long time ago by Bill Wells and Aidan Moffat, who do spoken word poetry over music.
Lyrics:
I woke up today and I decided to take a walk down to the memorial field, for old times sake.
It was there that I saw the remains of a bouquet of supermarket flowers, hiding a small wooden cross whose words, written with sharpie, had faded in the weather.
I can only wonder who still chooses to come out here and place flowers and crosses at the wayside, when whatever morbid incident that inspired this shrine has long since faded from the memory of the public.
I assume whoever it was who died was well loved, because the price tag on the flowers puts the bouquet at a respectable tenner.
I wonder, if I died here now, how much would my memory be worth in flowers? Fiver maybe, if a nice enough bunch was reduced at Tesco.
I guess it gets the point across, cuz I'm thinking about whoever it was now.
Maybe tonight I'll drink to their memory, and the continuation of my own.
So here's to you stranger, if we meet someday just know that you owe me a pint.
So, on the 5th of April was the Qingming festival. Or, the Tomb-sweeping festival. This inspired me to write something about remembrance.
That in turn reminded me of a piece I heard a long time ago by Bill Wells and Aidan Moffat, who do spoken word poetry over music.
Lyrics:
I woke up today and I decided to take a walk down to the memorial field, for old times sake.
It was there that I saw the remains of a bouquet of supermarket flowers, hiding a small wooden cross whose words, written with sharpie, had faded in the weather.
I can only wonder who still chooses to come out here and place flowers and crosses at the wayside, when whatever morbid incident that inspired this shrine has long since faded from the memory of the public.
I assume whoever it was who died was well loved, because the price tag on the flowers puts the bouquet at a respectable tenner.
I wonder, if I died here now, how much would my memory be worth in flowers? Fiver maybe, if a nice enough bunch was reduced at Tesco.
I guess it gets the point across, cuz I'm thinking about whoever it was now.
Maybe tonight I'll drink to their memory, and the continuation of my own.
So here's to you stranger, if we meet someday just know that you owe me a pint.
Category Music / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 120 x 107px
I am at a loss for words.... Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! This is so very remarkable and wonderfully emotional - not to mention that your voice is just perfect...
V.
V.
I'm really glad you enjoyed this :D It felt like it came together quite quickly, but it all felt right.
I've wanted to do something with spoken word for a while and when the inspiration hit I made sure to capitalize.
This isn't my natural accent, so it was a challenge to make it sound natural ahaha~
I've wanted to do something with spoken word for a while and when the inspiration hit I made sure to capitalize.
This isn't my natural accent, so it was a challenge to make it sound natural ahaha~
I think your voice was perfect... and never a clue it wasn't your normal accent...
V.
V.
It's a dour mood, but I think there's nothing wrong with indulging in a little weltschmerz, especially in these times.
I'm glad you enjoyed~
I'm glad you enjoyed~
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