The Bob Dylan
Song
Dear Mr. Zimmerman,
Played all your records
Hummed all your tunes
Been to some concerts
Read your writ ruins
Tried to keep this short and sweet
But that ended up too hard
Know it is barely complete
Enough to lay down one card
Protested, proclaimed, been Saved, right inside
Got nothing, left to lose, and nothing left to hide
Free to thank you, for your efforts, and your wide
tide
Relax and listen, save your blistered feet
You surely must be weary, keeping the unique beat.
My mind’s eye tells me, says it sees
Knew you not when I was a kid, playing on Daddy’s
knees
So maybe I’ve come within, some forty one degrees
Of understanding what you said, you did believe
You nor I would write it down,
if you ever told me.
A boy from a little, cold Soda town
With an energy so vast, you
looked upside down
Crooning and picking, and tickling too
Some woman called, what she told was true
Woody was a bountiful, destined nation
A righteous reflection, not a hesitation
Had made the mark, and peeled the bark
Used to build the
Hammered and nailed, his wood has turned to coal.
Thoughts and dreams and blues, filled the nights and
days
Listenin’, readin’,
thinkin’, through the smoky slippery blaze
All the while they heard, the cold Soda kid amaze
Like no one before, for real or just a craze ?
The many stages grew fast, they flashed and went
Day by day, hither and beyond was spent
The seeking crowds, roared to their amusement
The shiny suits locked step with, their rhymin’ new accruement
What do you think? What do you do?
Seemed all wanted to know, and gave a care
But only what they wanted, needed to hear
Gossip or foolishness or witness a real tear
For love, lust, or crime or fear
Were you uptight, not right, untrue or unkind ?
Or just tried to keep your gifts as precious in your
mind?
You had the sight to see, they need to be,
Left deaf, dumb and stick-poked
blind.
It was your God-given right, not to say or share
More than the size of your shoe and length of your
hair
Which they could easily see, when they stood to
stare
Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan
What is it you got, that you’re spillin’ ?
Is it some, penicillin ?
Or a divine drop, of red wine ?
Some people think your foolin’
them
Lending them a line
Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan
What is it you got, that you’re spillin’ ?
The words, like timely medicine
The melodies, ripe from the vine
Nobody told them, they had to listen
To make reason, of your treasonous rhyme
You kept them all, always guessin’
Blowing the sparks, of time alive
Just when they thought, you were confessin’
You took a brand new deep dive
Teaching another, wind blown
lesson.
They wanted a spoon, you gave them the knives.
Bent the scales, with words of weight
Broke the rails, with tunes of freight
Screwed the nails, into the gate
The unjust fails, to negotiate
Where you are, your gravity is great
All amassed, magnetically drawn
Where you’ve been, the light was shone
Having made, mind shadows long.
A creature of God, that got the nod
For his DNA, ‘twas tied,
In such a way
To make the letters fit
And the notes sway
To wiggle into the right place
On command, with righteous grace
Blending blinding ambition
That cradled no one tradition
And strung the chords to a
fertile musician.
More songs than can be counted
Bootlegged, ripped off, and mis-mounted
More concerts than can be heard
Profanitized, insanitized,
and absurd
Looked into the eye of The Hurricane
And imagined what you saw
Am sure I saw the same
Black innocence and a drivin’
pourin’ pain
Dare to think about the warring Masters
All speaking in Satanic
tongues
Smiling with their platinum teeth of plaster
They bought with the wholesome purely young
Once worked at old Maggie’s place
Went young and came back old
Thought it was a just fine race
Til I turned round in a square
mold
Was born in the
Laced the skates and shot the puck
Stacked some hay and drove the truck
Will die in the
With just a little of God’s luck
Got a sweet lovin’ Sara, all
my own
Been listening to her, pleading song
Aim to never leave her, left alone
We pray to hold tight and run slow long
You sang straight on about Jesus
That was some tune
Surely the Spirit sent to please us
And reflect Truth for high noon
Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan
What is it you got, that you’re spillin’?
Your swords, mend by piercing,
The unsuspecting mind
Your sounds, grease the steel
Time and time
They don’t know what to name, your condition
But I call you the one, song physician!
Connecting the dots of despair
Into figures of mystique
Blessed connections for soul repair
And mind mending critique
Words to sew the stitches
For gashes in the head mast
Notes that dissolve the poisons
Of snake bites from the past
Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan
Give us some more, a little more
One of a kind, not in a store, we had some before
Give us some, Bobby Boo, just a little more will do
Right here and now, a little medicine, med us in,
medicine
Another shot, right in our head, tell us again, what
you said.
You’re full, to the brim, spill us a little,
medicine, man, dear, dear Mr. Zimmerman.
Sincerely,
Patience.
PS.
I pray that He has meant you and bent you and sent
you
To the Streets of Gold when they unfold as He
foretold.
The inclusive, the confident
and the bold, the Loving Faithful.
Copyright © 2005 Patience Protruding
Publishing