Musings and photographs from a man in a little house by a river, on a little island at the bottom of the world.

Friday, 24 May 2013

Willie at 80

You octogenarian you
The cheering has died
The back slapping abated
And still that timeless voice
Plays to the masses
Who endlessly adore, want more
Even as Willie’s body
Defers to the grandfather time
That cinderfies us all
His songs, that remarkable voice
Defies all

Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground, Georgia on My Mind, Always on My Mind

When the time for fingering
And fretting of strings
Has passed
When that venerable, ancient
Takes its final strum
We’ll celebrate a life of
Outlaw nose-thumbing
A life of scribbling ditties
That even now
Are folkloric

City of New Orleans, Stardust, Pancho and Lefty

 Meandering in the ether one day
 I chanced to google Willie and wife
 Like Old Shakey’s Pegi
The Boss’ Patti
In image after image
She, Annie d’, was beside her man

On the Road Again, Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain, Crazy

 I wish old Willie
At the end of his days
Knows the soft words, and
Even softer caresses
That salve my own dotage
So these can allow
The words still to come
And even more
The Red Headed Stranger’s
 To shine eternally

My Heroes Have Always been Cowboys, Good Hearted Woman, Seven Spanish Angels

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