Constant cantata

By Buff Whitman-Bradley

My cranial jukebox plays nearly nonstop every day all day and half the night, snatches of melody and misremembered lyrics echoing down long and winding neural hallways in my noggin like a soundtrack for my daily comings and goings, my nightly musing and ramblings. Right now, for instance: “🎶You’ve got a friend in me/You’ve got a friend in me/Dah-dumpt-dah-dah in your nice warm bed/You’ve got a friend in me 🎶” It’s not often that I actually choose what will be on the playlist at any given time. The music just shows up. And like old musician friends unexpectedly come to call, they pull out their instruments, set up their sound equipment, do a mic check and begin filling my head with song.  Seldom do they perform a piece from start to finish. Oftener it is a particular passage repeated over and over and over again, one that thrills me or comforts me, that reminds me of a significant moment, an old friend, one that jazzes me up, mellows me out, tickles my inner ear, makes me laugh or weep, and sometimes drives me a little nuts when the same serenade continues for days, or even weeks.  Many years ago, in my earnest Buddhist days, I tried vigorously to meditate away the constant cantata thrumming in my brain, figuring the road to nirvana was paved with silence. But in a sudden insight of melodious clarity, I realized that after I’ve kicked the bucket I’ll have plenty of time to cozy up with the Big Quiet, but in the meantime, as long as I keep toting around my pail of days, the songs that crowd my cabeza are tuneful reminders that I’m still in the mix, so why not kick out all the stops and let the music play on.

Buff Whitman-Bradley’s poetry has appeared in many print and online journals. His newest books are At the Driveway Guitar Sale (Main Street Rag Publishing), The Heron Could Be Lost (Finishing Line Press), and And What Will We Sing (Kelsay Books). He podcasts poems on aging at thirdactpoems.podbean.com and lives in northern California with his wife, Cynthia.