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writtenbyDominicChianese
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Don’t usually write myself ~ with such rhyming sentiment
Not to say that I don’t appreciate sentiment
it just makes me cry too easily
.. . then I heard this on a You-tube tribute to James Gandolfini
.. . and it made me cry.
24.03.2015
You-tube tribute : https://youtu.be/wZ_XzlIvgEQ
I look out the window
and what do I see?
I see a bird
way up in a tree
I want to be free free
Free – ee – ee – ee
I want to be free
like a bird in a tree
What good are my eyes,
they can’t see you
And my arms,
they can’t hold you so tight
I have two lips
that are yearning,
but they’re no good to me
Cause I know I can’t kiss you tonight
I look out the window
and what do I see?
I see a bird
way up in a tree
I want to be free free
Free – ee – ee – ee
I wanna be free
like a bird in a tree
I want to be free
like a bird in a tree
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guest poem/lyricsWrittenbyLeiber,Jerry&Stoller1956
sungbyelvisinhiscellJAILHOUSEROCK1956
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GLOSSARY – savonarolA – Piero and the exile of the Medici: 1492-1494 – bonfire of vanities tuscany
Read more:http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistories.asp?historyid=aa69#ixzz3TzqJ9YuP
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#NOTE – I have never been what you might call a rhyming poet or written what you might call poems of form or open to exegetic or critical poetic analysis (No negative judgement on poems like these intended or implied). I have always tried to write in a more open, Kerouac-style of prose for want of a better explanation. Perhaps like the Beat-style poets of the 60’s/70’s, where feeling and emotion are more important than form.
I have suffered the occasional criticism for this and in a somewhat futile attempt to silence the inner demons who taunt, I entered a poetry society and whilst there, I entered this poem in a competition. It brought me some rave reviews from a few notable American poets who commented that it was ‘the real thing’ and also some criticisms – such is life but I actually like it because it seems to me, to meet the criteria of the competition and describe the history of one of the world’s ‘great’ art cities – Florence.
What do you think?
~ edenbray22.10.2017
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WRITTENBYEDENBRAY06.03.2015
When you can’t see you long to look
through wooden blinds, an open book
When you can’t hear you yearn to listen
waiting for falling snow to glisten
When you can’t speak you want to shout
tell Monsignor the hellhound’s out
When you can’t touch you need to feel
decide yourself whether love is real
writtenbyedenbray03.03.2015
… I will return to remind thee, you are still as my elder sister …
Jessica Phirri comments on 01/10/2011
love the song. love the poem. as always, you wow me with the visuals.
” your breath fresh as apple cider
your smile birthed in trial that you have worn as lovers clothes,
taken his saturday joys, his monday flowers now so tired and bruised.”
like watching a battered woman make her bed and lie in it and still want to comfort her…… I don’t know. this poem is hitting me at a rough time. america is like an old dog laying on her side breathing rather slow and heavy. so to read this, makes me wish I had real roots.
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On this day 04th July, 2013 – I dedicate this poem to Jessica Phirri my most trusted critic, literary advisor and a friend
