Could-A-Bin - Poem by david namerow
Could-a-bin a contender, a pretender for the crown
A man whose deeds and words were gilded with renown
I could have left a heavy mark, gone down in history
But I chose to build the chains of my failure's legacy
Could-a-bin a writer, I had words shaped and honed
My great imagined novels, rave reviews engraved in stone
Paid six figures for a treatment, or a million maybe more
But I chose instead to dream ‘cause rewriting was a bore.
I could have won an Oscar, for that movie I directed
And at LA cocktail parties, I would have been expected
To chat and freely mingle with the movers of the minute
But I settled for that lower bar, you'll find the losers in it.
Could-a-bin a husband, a worthy mate for life
A stalwart life partner, joined eternally to one wife
A hardy oak in life's storms, a shield in a raging gale
But I'm as soft as jelly, all my wives can tell the tale.
I could have had some strength to build my artsy soul
With stone instead of fluff to hold me to the goal
But I let things ride right past that coward in my head
I could have fought the tide but they sucked me dry instead.
Could-a-bin a painter, an artist with a name
My works would hang in galleries, my viewpoint I could claim
Was a unique and truthful insight well beyond the shaded veil
But I, stubborn youth, refused the gift, and turning, set my sail
Could-a-bin a teacher with golden words that touch
Young and old entranced would say that they had learned so much
My questions would be harpoons, sharply razorlike and teasing
A degree and certification? I found other things more pleasing.
Could-a-bin a father whose love was tough and gentle
A golden beacon in the turmoil, strong yet sentimental
Instead I told boring stories about my big mistakes
And said don't grow to be like me. Learn to make your breaks.
I could have taught him better, made my boy a tougher man
Whose independent way of life could pridefully withstand
The users and the whiners, the slapshots to the soul
Perhaps a bit more laughter should have gone into the bowl
I could have smoothed with love the hardness of my daughter
Her shields hide deep the soul, the traps of life have caught her
And now she calls her speed-dial dad, I'm a father on the line
Can she feel the strength of tears, her own and even mine?
I could have told a whole lot more, about life, its joy and pain
I could have sung the secrets, but I knew it was in vain
Love tears the heart with anger, love heals the heart with time
But they can't hear the silent agonies, my empty soul a crime.
I've dreamed so long and tried so hard for immortality
My life turned to dry dust, hope's become vain misery
And I dreamed too long, used all the juice, on my futile quest
To wind up in the suburbs, my soul soon laid to rest.
When I was born the gifts I got were precious jewels to taste
My vaults were filled with fires, my young mind often raced
Fueled the ribald rushing winds into storm clouds up above
Now empty vaults remaining, passion's ghost my only love.
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