Ruckus

I was listening to Nina Simone
she was singing a Bob Dylan song
she made it sound straight out of Memphis
Tin Pan Alley by way of Africa
her barely touching the keys made me sing
like the whole world was uninhabited.

I was listening and watching come child-star
from one of those Scandinavian nations
she was eight years old and didn’t have all her teeth
but she sang Billie Holiday just like she’d been
raised up and beat up in New York City
in the universal blues of the northern lights.

Oh Sonic Angel
Oh Ruckus of the Chorus.

I was trying to write a song about being alone
and tried to remember those long cold nights
I put on an LP from back in the Sixties. “You
don’t really love me, you just keep me hanging on.”
The line brought back that teenage view
where you are, you are, the only one.

Oh Sonic Angel
Oh Ruckus of the Chorus.

All the musicians and all the songwriters
and all the singers who mastered the art
of letting go and setting free
what others fear and refuse to see
play to each other and sing along
to the roar of the battle between right and wrong.

Oh Sonic Angel
Oh Ruckus of the Chorus.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
This entry was posted in poem, poetry, song and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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