BOB DYLAN BRONC SONG

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Simple Twist Of Fate—
Bucking chutes on hallowed ground
Big gray stud-horse skyward bound
Where Bob in cowboy-hatted crown
Rode hard his concert stage.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Like A Rolling Stone—
Key of C with jazzy licks
Stopwatch clicking all 8 ticks
My spur rowels reached for cosmic kicks
Out in the Music Zone.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door—
Risk it all for just one song
Some losing’s right, some winning’s wrong
This ride might last the whole night long
A buckle if you score.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
All The Tired Horses—
They cheered us from the bleacher pews
The organ groaned communion blues
I gave the nod, they lit the fuse
With atomic torches.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
John Wesley Hardin—
Gunfighter of a by-gone time
Pistols sing and bullets rhyme
Church bells in the village chime
When heroes are departin’.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Forever Young—
Old hearts beating in reverse
Lady Luck in see-through skirt
Music’s blessings, music’s curse
God’s songs forever sung.

Though I’ve hung up my bareback riggin’
The roughstock days are far from dead
Bob Dylan’s out there still a-giggin’
And I’m here slinging words like lead.

Poetic souls still buck unbroken
A bronc is but a song unsung
Guitar picks and spurs a-strokin’
The desperado West un-won.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Every Grain Of Sand—
Plug the juice into acoustic
Beat the drum until you bruise it
A pound of flesh, a pound of music
The blood, the bone, The Band.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Blowing In The Wind—
How many shows, how many broncs
How many two-bit honky-tonks
One-half sloshed and one-half zonked
Forgive us if we’ve sinned.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Shelter From The Storm—
Twin universes parallel
Which one’s heaven, which one’s hell
Two sisters kissing at the well
Mankind lacks a quorum.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Hurricane—
Old Bill Pickett dogs a bull
While Strange Fruit hangs in orchards full
Pure hatred with its downward pull
A far, far cry from Shane.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Thunder On The Mountain—
Youth ain’t wasted on the young
No Holy Grail need touch their tongue
They’ll drink up truth if truth is sung
Straight out of The Fountain.

Though I’ve hung up my bareback riggin
The roughstock days are far from dead
Bob Dylan’s out there still a-giggin’
And I’m here slinging words like lead.

Poetic souls still buck unbroken
A bronc is but a song unsung
Guitar picks and spurs a-strokin’
The desperado West un-won.

I rode the bronc Whiskey Talks
In the same arena Dylan sang
Lay, Lady, Lay—
Don’t need no re-rides of the past
No flags a-flyin’ at half-mast
I pledge allegiance to what lasts
There’s nothing more to say.

2010 SPUR AWARD for “Best Poem” from the Western Writers of America