David SmithWhite

Rookie (270552 / Australia)

Song: A Master Of The Blues - Poem by David SmithWhite

It was another country. It was another place.
But the songs he sang were relevant,
to the whole damn human race.
His name was Bob Dylan. A master of the blues.
You know just what he's feelin' by the way he sings for you.

His name was Bob Dylan. A poet of his age.
He sung of rank corruption in tears of blinding rage.
It was in another country. In a different world.
The knot of fear and hatred, he loosened and uncurled.

He fought a thwarted justice, that something must be done.
He warned us of the price we'd pay,
and the things that were to come.
It was a different country. It was another land.
But he made us see, possibilities, that we could understand.

He knew all the elements that would conspire:
the lusting heat of cold desire,
the wind, the rain, the creeping fire,
the child within the man.
A vision sought is a vision gained,
he saw it all and he explained,
and through it, with him, we were sustained.
We went on as he began.

It was another country. In a different hemisphere.
And in speaking truth to restless youth Bob Dylan had no peer.
It was a dream, or so it seemed, but they were the golden years.
Among the young, he spoke their tongue, as a prophet or a seer.

His name was Bob Dylan. A master of disguise.
He'd see right through the hurt in you to the pain sunk in your eyes.
His name was Bob Dylan, and it comes as no surprise,
he struck a note in what he wrote: how love both lives and dies.

It was another country. It was a different time.
He gave us goals and set our sights on mountains left to climb.
His name was Bob Dylan. He was honest if not wise.
And the cards you knew he was dealin' you were not a pack of lies.

Through every moment his songs require
an open mind and trust inspired
to raise us up from within the mire
that we call: existence.
A vision sought is a vision gained,
he saw it all and he explained,
and though it left him tired and drained,
he went on with quiet persistence.

It was a different country; in another past.
He found the evidence of my deceit bound down within my heart.
It was another lifetime. If its' vision did not last
who could blame that passionate flame, illuminating art?

His name was Bob Dylan. He blew a funeral horn.
And heralded the winds of change from within the social storm.
His name is still Bob Dylan. He's a master of the blues.
And you know just what he's feelin' by the way he sings to you.


Comments about Song: A Master Of The Blues by David SmithWhite

  • (8/30/2005 8:35:00 AM)


    Great tribute, but I don't see this one as a song. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 29, 2005

Poem Edited: Monday, August 29, 2005


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