One For The Radio, One For Me
by Molly-Ann Leikin

Once in a while, I like to write something that isn't a song. It helps my creative process, because there are no demands for form and meter, no melodic constraints and, of course, no hooks. Often, I'll write a limerick, just for fun. It's easy for me - I can whip out a good one climbing the flight of stairs to my office. A limerick is fast, doesn't "count", makes me giggle, nobody's judging it, and best of all, the fullness I feel from that brief, successful activity, gives me courage to try other things that are harder. Like hiking in Wyoming, where everything is uphill, even the "down" escalators.

So far in this lifetime, I've written three poems. I'll share two of them with you. They are here to show you there are lots of different ways to hold a pencil and make it sing.

Hobo

I heard there was a man
Without a number to his name
Who died in a garbage can
In a frozen alley
Somewhere in New York City.

They said he thought
If he could just get out to California
Where it was warm
It might be a little easier gettin' by.

I'm glad he never made the trip
'Cause there's people dyin' out here, too.
It was seventy-nine degrees today
But there's all kinds of cold that'll kill you.
In California,
It's mostly loneliness.

©Molly-Ann Leikin

Breakfast With the Moon

Four fifty-four in the morning
Is no time to be awake
That dog next door in the morning
Is more than I can take

I punch on lights
Jam my feet into slippers
Grab my robe
And storm downstairs
I need my sleep!
I've got meetings today!
But that Doberman doesn't care

It howls and howls like a banshee
At heartbeats blocks away
But the end is near for Dobie
I'm buying guns today

I grab a broom
And race outside
Bang the condo porch next door
Shut up that dog!
That goddamn dog!
I can't stand this any more!

As I raised my broom
For one last blow
I saw the orange dawn
With a crescent moon
That seemed to be stuck
In the wires over Weinstein's lawn

I thought I'd have to shake it loose
With my ever-trusty broom
Then the barking stopped
And I brewed some tea
And had breakfast with the moon.

© Molly-Ann Leikin

(The Doberman died shortly after I wrote this poem. I gave it to her owner, who read it at the funeral. Then the owner moved away. But a man-hating, PMS poster-woman with two mangy dogs, two nasty cats and the charm of a stuck rhinoceros, moved in. Stay tuned.)

As an exercise, and one I give my clients, try writing something formless just for yourself in between the songs you have to write for your career. Writing one for you, one for the radio (and knowing which is which), should help to keep the integrity of your writing process in tact. It should also give you a sense of immediate accomplishment, and put a twinkle in your eye. Without the latter, why are we here, anyway?

© 2000 Molly-Ann Leikin

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