Fascination with what?

Life? Nature? Mountain hiking? Poetry? Bands with catchy weird names? Yellow? Quirky movies? Memories? Gipsy music? Yoga? Oxymorons? Many of our fascinations are ephemeral, while some are ever-lasting. One thing that for sure won’t change is my fascination with words. That’s why I’m writing this blog.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Poetry: Bobby the Singer

Bobby the singer
I took a picture of him
three days before he died
he was at the old harbour
playing his guitar
singing to a crowd of people

I was there
in the midst of it all
listening
didn't really know shit about the guy
except that he could sing
and play the guitar

Someone later told me that he used to be rich
ended up as a homeless man
sniffing too much white powder
shooting brown crystalline

His girlfriend was also there
always with her rambo headband
rattling the tambourine
"Hi, Mr Tambourine Man"
accompanying his song for freedom

His bearded old friend was in the background
watching from a distance
standing in a boat that barely floated
eating an apple
indifferent to the song he had heard too many times before
about how life takes a grip
but never carries you on its shoulders

I don't know how he said goodbye
Bobby the singer
with his curly wild hair
an excellent street musician
but terrible father

Three weeks after he meet his maker
I saw his girlfriend
rattling her tambourine with someone else
as she was drowning in a crystalline high
protecting herself from the outside
in a bubble she finds shelter

And now that he's gone -
and the harbour is a ghost
I wonder
who really misses him?
Bobby the singer

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