"loony" poems - Hello Poetry

In time you’ll recover and absolve push those scorned impressions aside hammer down the jaded edges and sing that delightful commoners song the one you sang so well in what seems a lifetime ago You really had it you know that fiery disposition and nimble cunning those butter chords and derelict style we could see it -- we could all see it it was all it took to turn the evening tide (and rile that buck fever) heads bashing tongues lambasting middle fingers high and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen There were no rules when it came to your survival no textbook rally or common bond no structured songbird or bravado stage you either made it, or laid it “life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say a kaleidoscope of dreams with rich colored imagery hardened artisan seams in a carefully woven motif But something got lost in the needle point something sinister and distorted took hold the quirks and street genius that were your lifeline gave way to grunts and squeals and chilling night crawlers the colors faded quickly to a cold confining grey There was no grace in the new world no retribution or switch back no salvation or accorded finale only edged platforms of blackened steel that kept you cased in a silent vanquished cell shivering cold with fear night without day all in the shadow of death But time heals all and the polish sneakers and open sores are long gone (though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain) indeed the falconer beat the widow maker this go around and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again and if it does you’ll see me standing hand on heart with that old verse in hand: he ain’t tainted or silly, and most certainly not forgotten… he ain’t loony or fixed, or a product of his self-doing… he’s just a straight shootin’ guy, who had the most of it figured out

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Jan 29, 2017

Jan 29, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC

ck-baker

The Commoners Song

In time you’ll recover and absolve push those scorned impressions aside hammer down the jaded edges and sing that delightful commoners song the one you sang so well in what seems a lifetime ago You really had it you know that fiery disposition and nimble cunning those butter chords and derelict style we could see it -- we could all see it it was all it took to turn the evening tide (and rile that buck fever) heads bashing tongues lambasting middle fingers high and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen There were no rules when it came to your survival no textbook rally or common bond no structured songbird or bravado stage you either made it, or laid it “life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say a kaleidoscope of dreams with rich colored imagery hardened artisan seams in a carefully woven motif But something got lost in the needle point something sinister and distorted took hold the quirks and street genius that were your lifeline gave way to grunts and squeals and chilling night crawlers the colors faded quickly to a cold confining grey There was no grace in the new world no retribution or switch back no salvation or accorded finale only edged platforms of blackened steel that kept you cased in a silent vanquished cell shivering cold with fear night without day all in the shadow of death But time heals all and the polish sneakers and open sores are long gone (though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain) indeed the falconer beat the widow maker this go around and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again and if it does you’ll see me standing hand on heart with that old verse in hand: he ain’t tainted or silly, and most certainly not forgotten… he ain’t loony or fixed, or a product of his self-doing… he’s just a straight shootin’ guy, who had the most of it figured out