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poemsbyothers Sep 2020
Don't Let Us Get Sick
Song by Warren
Lyrics
Warren Zevon, Zevon Music BMI
<>

Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonight
The sky was on fire
When I walked to the mill
To take up the slack in the line
I thought of my friends
And the troubles they've had
To keep me from thinking of mine
Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonight
The moon has a face
And it smiles on the lake
And causes the ripples in Time
I'm lucky to be here
With someone I like
Who maketh my spirit to shine
Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonight
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Warren William Zevon
Don't Let Us Get Sick lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Mike Hauser Feb 2015
We came together on a day in London
As you played to the werewolves howl
With a purpose to teach us something
Enjoy every sandwich now

You handed us your empty heart
Laid out on a bed of coals
Always in search of a shooter
So you could play it all night long

No amount of lawyers, guns, or money
Could hasten down your wind
You let nothing come between us
Looking for the next best thing

You always were an excitable boy
Accidentally like a martyr
To your good tunes it's goodnight my friend
See you in the ever after*

January 24, 1947- September 7, 2003
All lines have to do with one of his songs.
Out of all those that have passed, I miss Warren the most.
Jester Jun 2016
Another tragedy happened today-
Oh lord call the newspaper stand.

Said a young boy became a young man-
in the heat of the summer of sixty-nine
lost in a generation, he simply fell through the gap he ran out of time.

I'd say let's blow this pop-stand but the party is just getting started, so rather than run let's hang around and have some fun.

For if today is the day we all die, you may as well smile rather than cry.

We all got to somewhere sometime, sometimes sooner than later
Sometimes later is right now
Right now I must be moving on
and if you knew what I knew, you'd move right along too.

I'd say goodbye to my old town and my family friends,
I'd say goodbye because it doesn't always have to mean the end.
Alex McQuate Mar 2022
The fire is crackling,
Head slightly spinning,
The world is quiet as I write,
Zevon keeps me company tonight,
Thinking thoughts of you.

It's hard to believe you've been gone for three months already,
Three months since your sister broke the news.

Perhaps I held off writing this,
Thinking that not doing so kept some part of you alive,
That my simple denials were all it took to keep you with us.

Perhaps it was after that the anger,
Rage at what you'd done,
Bitter at the precieved betrayal,
That if anyone were to kick off this mortal coil first it was gonna be me.

Maybe it was that I was holding out hope that if I didn't write this you would just appear one day, and as long as I didn't you would say.

It might have been I was just too tired.

I remember when we first met,
I thought you as nobody more than some silly kid from Staten Island,
With dreams and delusions bigger than your stomach,
But you won me over with corny jokes and high spirits,
Whether it be because of the ****** weather,
Or when my Grandmother died.

The tears come now,
On this chilly March morn,
As I think back, to 3 months ago.

I hadn't seen your family in years,
The ones who considered me like a second son and brother,
Fearing they would hate me,
For what I wasn't quite sure,
That I hadn't done more,
That we hadn't spoke to one another in so long?
I certainly hated myself,
Driving through those Pennsylvania Wilds.

I remember the last time we spoke,
Relaxing in your familial home,
You embraced me and told me to be careful,
Telling me you loved me in your own words,
And I told you in my own words too.
God I ******* miss you.

Zevon plays on,
The tears come faster still,
The screen is blurry as I type,
Warren's words echo what I imagine yours would be.

You were a poet,
A warrior,
A brother,
My friend.

Confidant,
Motivator,
Philosopher,
My friend.

When we took you to the cemetery,
I was right there at your side,
Carrying you to where you would forever rest,
Before they sealed you in I snuck my pin into your hands,
I was afraid you'd forget me.

I was the first to leave the building,
So I could sneak around a corner and shatter.
The brave face I held for your family impossible to maintain,
I suspect your family knew,
But it was the way I was raised.

After I left for home,
About halfway I broke down again,
This time on a cliffside vista,
The landscape mostly obscured by the driving snowstorm and evening gloom.

The rest of the way I played your favorite tunes, and sang along as badly as you use to.

I miss you Mike,
And I know I will never completely understand,
But you will always be with me,
Upon my arm and in my heart,
Watching my back through all my stupid ideas.

Warren's song has ended,
The fire died down to glowing embers,
Tears dried and eyes aching,
Tiredness dragging at my bones.

But I'll heed his words, Mike,
I'll keep you in my heart for a while,
Alongside all the others.

After all,
He never said how short "a while" had to be
Warren Zevon-Keep me in your heart

If you need help, you're never alone
Mike Essig Oct 2015
Intro - by Warren Zevon (thanks Warren.)

"I don't want to grow old gracefully
I don't want to go 'til it's too late
I'll be some old man in the road somewhere
Kneeling down in the dust by the side of the Interstate

I am a renegade
I've been a rebel all my days
I am a renegade
I've been a rebel all my days"

/////

Resistance is not futile;
resistance is life.
Am I contrary?
Very well then,
I am contrary.
I am vast; I contain
multitudes
of contrariness.
I revel in it!
It is the heart
of all I am.

////

A nearly illiterate Black Zen Drill Sergeant told me when I was 19:

"You born wid a bullet wid yer name on it boy. We all is. You jest outrunit fo as long as you ken. Theys only two kinds a folks, the quick and the daid. You run fast an smart, mebbe you live a long long time."

/////

“I am not young enough to know everything.”  - Oscar Wilde

/////

The very young believe
that suicide must be better
than wrinkles, illness,
menopause and grey hair.

Of course, they are very young
and understand so very little.

Your life is the only thing
the Universe ever gives you.


Life is not a game to play,
but a war to be fought;
only a war of joy that
you are lucky to be chosen for.
Use the weapons you are given:
smile, fight hard, live long.

There is no shotgun to ****
or strychnine to swallow
waiting for me:

I will fall on the day
when that bullet
cast at birth
and engraved
with my name
finally catches up.

Besides, I love my stories
and can't miss next week's
episode of my life.

Who know? Maybe something
             miraculous
will happen yet.

/////

Thanks to everyone
who has loved me,
hated me, helped me,
hurt me, struck me,
held me, touched me,
kissed me or cursed me.

I am the vessel made
from the clay that
you molded and shaped.

Good or bad, without
your hugs and slugs
there would be no me.

/////

And a special shout out
to all the NVA soldiers
who were such bad shots.
Your lack of skill
made all this possible.

/////

This birthday,
nothing more
than a
temporary
placeholder
in the book
of eternity.

Each day,
a prophecy;
each day
a reward.

Each day,
I delight
in the
fragile wisdom
of things.

Each day,
I wonder
at the
incomprehensible
mystery
of people.

And thus
I will
continue
to marvel

at the near
that overcomes
the distant

until the end
of (my) days.

/////

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional."

However weird I may be
I am a professional human being;
And it's a job I plan to hold
for just as long as possible.

/////

Namaste...

    ~mce
Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? Cause baby, I am 64 today.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
A girl from the north country with eyes deep as the  Great Lakes (if the Great Lakes were green).

Writers in numbers too great to mention.

The truth and those few who have the guts to tell it.

Contrasts and textures like white wine and black satin or the brown and white of tan lines.

Burgundy, my favorite color.  Strong coffee and good bourbon. Garlic and spicy foods. Yuengling Lager. Pall Malls. Evan Williams.

Classic movies. Indie movies. Movies.

Mozart, Warren Zevon and Bill Evans. Beethoven's late Quartets. Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell. An endless list.

Lingerie (but not on me). Women in hats. Women in dresses. Long kisses. Women with souls. Women with brains. OK, women, though very few good ones seem to exist.

My sons. Tibetan art. Champagne. Apple computers. Cats. Space travel. ****.

Quantum Theory. Buddhism. The Tao. Burning Bushes. Shiva and Vishnu.

Ghost driving aimlessly to see what I find. America is mostly off the interstates and mostly dying.

Young people who listen and know I'm real and like them..

Blueberries: food of the gods.

Breaking any rule I think is chickenshit in any way possible.

And so on.
We are all a catalog of our likes and dislikes.
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
I think I was born crazy,
'cause things have always
looked different to me,
I've never been able to understand it.
When I tried to explain my feelings,
people would look at me bewildered,
shake their heads in astonishment
& say I was like that character
in that Zevon-song,
the one who bit the usherette's leg
in the dark,
ruined the *** roast,
killed his girlfriend
& made a cage
out of her bones.

Well, I'm really not that excitable,
no way I'd do those things,
I don't feel that way.

Like I said,
I think I'm crazy
& see just see things differently.

Or maybe,
I just see things differently
& I'm not crazy.

Perhaps,
I'm just like you,
& that's just a song.

And after reading you,
that may be it,
I'm not an excitable boy,
they had me all wrong.
Anais Vionet Mar 2023
Here’s a playlist, Mr. Ex President:

'I Fought the Law' by The Clash
'Chain Gang' by The Pretenders
'Locked Up' by Akon
'My Own Prison' by Creed
'Prisoner' by The Weeknd
'Famous-in-A-Small-Town' by Miranda Lambert
'FatMan on the Run' by Paul McCartney & Wings
'Jailhouse Rock' by Elvis Presley
'Prison Grove' by Warren Zevon
‘Who’s Sorry Now’ by Connie Francis
‘If I Could Turn Back Time’ by Cher

If convicted, Trump should claim to identify as a woman
NEWS UPDATE:  I ❤️ NY
Mike Essig Nov 2015
Real work, whether of mind or body. Real work isn't a job or an occupation. It is any effort that occurs when what you know and what you do converge with who you really are.

Mammalian warmth: the touch of human bodies in all it's wonder and pleasure that reminds me of Nietzsche's saying, "First, be a healthy animal."

A cat's purr. It's existence requires no justification; it is complete in itself.

Blueberries, the plants and the fruit. A feast for every sense.

Books, movies, and works of art that are so compelling they take you on a vacation from reality by creating their own more vivid reality.

My white, 1997 Saturn with 245,000 miles on it. A gift from an angel, I call her Moby and together we sail the asphalt seas. She's a real lady.

Birds. They fill the world with color and music and desire no profit in return.

A lovely woman with bare legs in a sun dress. As Wallace Stevens said, "Beauty is momentary in the mind, the fitful tracing of a portal, but in the flesh it is immortal."

The electric charge of lips touching lips, of flesh brushing flesh.

Anything, on a woman, that is made of silk. Silk is exquisite, elegant and ******.

Weeds that flower, because their beauty is unexpected.

Evan Williams bourbon. Exquisite distilled ****** that burns and satisfies.

Cool evenings after hot days.

Conversation that sparkles with intelligence, wit and conviviality.

Warren Zevon, Thelonious Monk and Mozart, not necessarily in that order.

True friends. When the chips are down, they are a treasure more valuable than even family.

The magical, healing sound of flowing water.

Trees, especially the deciduous. Their greenness speaks to and cools my spirit.

Writing and reading poetry, my craft and my solace.

Love. It is elusive and difficult and perhaps impossible, but the belief that it may be out there sustains even the jaded, aging life.

The fecundity of the unexpected.

Fireflies. Almost too much beauty for one world.

Sunrises, because they bring the undeserved possibility of another shot at redemption.

Garlic, the spice of the gods.

And on and on...
- mce
Alex McQuate Oct 2018
Townes crooning to my fevered head,
As I'm cast through a mindscape of love and hatred,
Shame and pride,
Sailing one great hallucination,
As if on a new rollercoast track,
Smoother than a ball bearing rolling across oiled glass.

Hooked by the hopeless story as it is told,
Of a curse laid upon those who have sight,
To see what lied in the fog and impenetrable,
Those vile machinations that they had laid.

Throat going dry as the mind burns and fills the burnt remains with cotton,
Time stretches out ahead,
A weight settling in behind the eyes.

The addict's words have such a painful splash across the airwaves,
it taking my fuzzy self a few moments that it isn't just Zandt's voice in the fray with a whirlwind of guitar strokes,
but a lonely harmonica,
That is his words droning through such a fabled instruments.

The walls warble with the tune,
The flag flutters into sight line as lungs are filled deep and shudder.

A controversial documentary plays as Zevon hammers upon the piano,
A crescendo of a warriors tale,
The old days of Rhodesia as it sung out like a beacon of the colonial world,
Right or wrong isn't my right to determine,
For I wasn't there,
Which brought back the last old guns of an even older world,
An age of adventures and thrills,
Unknown danger and reward.

As I think I settle back into the normal,
I look out and see only a half hour has passed,
And the fever is still burning strong.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/you seriously can't do a dubstep DROP (the rhythm) like that, so, so blatantly.

what a thief!
   ******* thief!
who?
   warren zevon!
   with "his"
werewolves
            of london
(1978)...
cheap-***
*******!
   just 4 years prior:
sweet home alabama!
   (1974)

— The End —