There were days that even Judy had the Blues.
But there are days when all lost souls do...
Sunday, August 15, 2004
Gary Gilmore Blues
Criminals are the great existentialists now;
We cheer them on to life, but they go for the glory.
Death gives them identity; they even turn into artists
In their last golden moments of captivity.
We don’t understand it
And thus abhor it,
But the fact probably is, this dying’s
The first right thing they’ve ever done.
rcs.
2nd draft: 02/08/03
©1981 Ronald C. Southern
Posted by at 12:09 PM
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Judy Garland's Blues
Why was Judy Garland sad?
Did she have everything—but not love?
What drove Judy Garland mad,
Or do I give her too much credit?
Was she just privately unlucky, after all the public luck?
Did she have two armfuls of nothing in the worn valises
She dragged into another mansion of expenses, pills, and airs
Amid lost things never declared, forever beyond her reach?
Did she have everything—but not love?
Was she too often left behind as a child
Or was she poisoned in the vein
As by too many drinks or a rattlesnake...
Twisted by some familial demon spirit she became
That Voodoo spirit, the reel and spin, the deadly living blues,
Forever frightened—no matter her age or image or magic—
Of what to choose and what to lose, out of control to the end?
Did she, like you, like me, have everything—
But could not feel the love that others gave
Or stay as brave as needed every moment?
rcs.
Current draft: 4/12/2010
3rd draft: 04/26/05
©2004 Ronald C. Southern
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Ron Southern,
Chigger, Texas, USA
4 comments:
Good poem. But I seem to notice how before they die they all seem to find God. Maybe they could teach me their secrets.
Good poem. But I seem to notice how before they die they all seem to find God. Maybe they could teach me their secrets.
nice.
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