Bob
Dylan, Poet, Master
(c)2012 Bob
Atkinson
Dylan grabbed
my heart back then
on 4th street
slowly he walked again
turned left
and right and winked at Joan
she seemed
somewhat a friend to folks
dragged his
harmonica along with him
on the side
of a walked mall with friends
carried over
his refrains of powered words
mind's music
flowed so undisturbed
sweet, sweet
times he did recall
with tender
loving care for all
rolled stones
over until worn smooth
words hung in
the air, didn't fall so soon
my cultural
attitude developed slowly
owe much to
his word selection wholly
grabbed his
useful phrases for my own
imagining my
inner strengths not frozen
while never
looking back at him
took his lead
and moved within
that proven
useful shell of which
saw someone
doing all of it
all those
things we do in life
school, work
and family strife
friends and
social contacts
flights of
fantasy real and not
we just
passed close in the night
he saw me not
at all, not lighted
yet, I felt
his image press firm upon
my mind
against that wall each dawn
to him the
art of poetry floated potent
a newly
charged degree quite free
a firmness
Poe wouldn't like to see
soothed my
pride alright, did he
no smirks
contained within his lair
no
tune-smiths hiding their newer flair
no shame for
what my words would say
as long as
were soft and sincerely made
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