My top choices on The Voice changed over the the last few weeks. At first, Alison was my #1 pick and then she dropped below my top two choices: Adam Wakefield and Laith Al-Saadi.
But after Laith opened up the finale with his version of White Room – WOW! He moved to #1. In fact, all of his performances last night were stellar. I downloaded his song on iTunes because not only was his performance amazing, but he brought me back to my youth and the original version of the song by Cream.
Reading the lyrics, I was reminded that it’s really a poem written by Pete Brown, a performance poet.
The first song I submitted for professional feedback had started off as a poem and the mentor praised the writing but then asked, “Do you know the difference between a poem and a song?”
There was a time when it didn’t really matter. Songs were made from poems, as in the case of White Room. I should have started writing songs back when the world understood that.
I’m inspired to get back to writing poetry – my lyrics were stronger for starting off as poems. My paternal grandmother wrote poetry. My paternal grandfather sang and played the keyboard in a band (his father made instruments). Uncles, cousins, nephews, etc. – all musicians. Yes, I come from a musical family and it’s time to embrace that side of me totally.
In the white room with black curtains near the station.
Black-roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings.
Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawn-light smiles on you leaving, my contentment.
I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.
You said no strings could secure you at the station.
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows.
I walked into such a sad time at the station.
As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.
I’ll wait in the queue when the trains come back;
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves.
At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd.
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten.
Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes.
She’s just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings.
I’ll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.
White Room (Eric Clapton on guitar)