Chicago Boy – A Poem
The genesis of some writing is no more than a gathering of bricks to build something at a later date. This is an example of that theory. Often the words flow, and a piece may write itself in a matter of minutes, or hours. Other times not-so-much. The following is an instance of the not-so-much category. There is no one to blame for the results.
Working backwards from the phrases these are the words used. You can see there are few.
a, about, air, all, am, and, as, boogie, bottle, boy, but, by, called, came, carried, Chicago, coming, crying, dead, deflated, destiny, devil, did,don’t, every, evil,fame, fascination,from, go, harden, heaps, I, ice, if, in, is, it, it's, know,last, lay,like, Live, love, man,my, no, not,of, off, one,out, past, poetry,prison, save, silence, sometimes, souls, storming, Stray, streets, sunlight, super, the, they, trembling, unused, used, waltzing, was, where, winter,won’t, words, world, year,you,your
I have hinted about a cruel muse. These are the phrases I jotted down from time to time as they arrived into consciousness. They were pieced together after months of waiting, perhaps some longer than that. Is there any rhyme or reason for this? Nope. Am I finished with these words? Nope. They are still trying to tell me something. (Word Whisperer.)
I came in crying – but I am storming out
I did not know the sunlight
In the streets, they harden
Live every year as if it was your last
Man in a bottle
No one is coming
Passed all fascination
Silence like ice (evil in the world carried off by the dead)
Sometimes it's love
The Devil won’t save you from the boogie man.
The man called super
The Prison of My Destiny
Used and unused
Waltzing in winter
Where souls don’t go
Words lay about in heaps
What of those waltzing in winter?
Sunshine always a season away
Dark figures twirling to music unheard,
barely disturbing the cold trembling air
Their words, they lay about in heaps,
hardened, frozen on the streets
With lives carried past all fascination,
to a place where souls don’t meet
To the kingdom of deflated fame,
the shadow figures twirl in vain
Carrying bottled silence, to
the prison of my destiny
And on a happier note:
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