Tribute To Tom Waits Poem by Wayne Falconer

Tom Waits rings out an eccentric tune.
Beneath the bohemian beat flavoured moon.
Saluting Ginsberg with a handsome wave.
Singing America 'Home of the Brave'.

With his gravel heart savings song style.
Bending notes to drive the piano mile.
Holding our flesh heaven within his hand,
as we unwind chant aloud with the band.

Like how Dante challenges your fiery soul.
Like how two heartbeat lovers drums role.
Like how Morrison's Doors beg to be heard.
Like how Milton's saviour flys high to disturb.

Tom Waits tear at our civilised disguise.
Begging the inner spirit phantom to rise.
His video poet barbed lines chance to steal.
Whisper and scream aloud 'let us all feel'.

Painting abstract stories in lightening rain.
Measuring with pen and spoon our hollow pain.
Dishing up some technic cosmic meat wheel beat.
Sounding like this from plastic pulse street.

Like aliens swallowing cheese upon the moon.
Like fire flies dancing solo's in regal tune.
Like hungry lawyers selling soul by the pound.
Like errie monks waking the midnight deaf sound.

Tom Waits with his sword fish swing trombone.
Both heats and chills to the marrow zone.
Like swinging fallen lovers an age before.
His wall angel images allow us all to score.

His poem is his bohemian funeral dirge song.
Whose fiery rage I'll embrace alnight long.
Find redemption breast drum beating hard.
Within song sung from beat feasting poet bard.

Like everyday priest in deep confession.
Like born again lover cast in depression.
Like the actor whose torn in conceited grief.
Like Jack Karouac whose channel is belief.

Tom Waits I stand high wired and salute you.
Your American experience surely falls true.
So strike up the vice saintly brothers band.
Let your visionary circus shake loud the land.