Quirky From Afar (Draft 8)

Quirky from Afar (Draft 8)

Sadly waving on
wonder why there’s no endless splash

The water seems shallow
the music seems cool

Oh sorrow drowning girl
wonder why you’d die
shed your feathers

So many young song birds crash
and fame’s not much of a crumb

Guess you’re a bye-bye
pretty song bird up a stage tree
who’s never seen an ocean wave hi

Oh sad lady
sitting in the catbird seat
wonder why you’ve
never seen the sunrise smile

Oh mournful lady
wonder why you’d die

’cause flattering and fluttering
fan cats purr and fan chicks peep

and no I’m not
exactly a fan, no not exactly, even though
you make showy new arrangements,
make a scene without a melody, upscale
variations and inversions on the sorrow sparrow

wonder why
you’ve never seen an ocean wave hi

I mourn the fallen
song birds at dawn
with oatmeal, but sometimes

lunch is best
at breakfast time
with appetizers at sunrise
by the ocean

Birdies in the dawn
have worldly songs I know,
choreographed for the video

The trouble with the quirky world
is few singers will have an
elegant soup for breakfast,
will not take my silly advice for
the morning lunch of desire

pizza with me, and
anchovies for seagulls
opus no. 4, symphony 2,

won’t minister to the minestrone
and are left with a cereal for the showy birds

I make soup for breakfast sometimes
just to watch the mist fog up the
window glass of dawn
where nothing can be a scene

I have a showy tablespoon
with a fancy engraved handle
for my lonely soups, for sometimes
it’s better to sip carefully than
be scorched with hot sorrow

better to look out the window at
feathers and upper blue cool dawn,
better not listen to orange songs
and be juiced

Screeching birds in the dawn
have angry tears in the rain, secretly
curling up with a soupy turmoil
a noodle that no one is willing
to unravel, and many unwilling
to spoon out comfort to them

These are the famous agonies
I think I know, though
being nobody of renown,
such unseen sorrow has
no publicity value, has no way
to monetize a cry, can not
get this tune on the charts, but
she has a beautiful way
to monetize sorrow

Oh young beautiful girl
who might have been near
where I could have praised
your feathers of flight
your perfume of happiness,
could have spooned out
a dollop and a dabble in magic
like I once thought I had.

I’ve seen you dance
in the bubble and cage
of the obscene show-biz scene
seen many be too serious about trivia

Oh magnificent party girl, don’t die young again,
young girl with the band and groupies

Leave your toady agent and your dreams
and let me be a non-toxic chatty drug
’cause I’d love to sing nonsense with you
because I am profoundly silly, and
I wonder why you’d die even with the
praise of your fans, and no I’m not
exactly a fan, no not exactly, no it’s

just that I’ve heard you scream famously
and I’ve screamed alone, because
I can’t seem to compose the song of my heart
as well as you who is talented, lonely, and sad

Maybe I could’ve been your odd high
the quirky no one who’s not hip
and hears your secret silent cries
that fans and agents never hear
when they feed you any drug of the day
you think you want, and if in a haze
you keep on chirping
I’ll pray for you, because
you are so beautiful and
of course, sexy, but
that’s not the point
though they say it is

Oh hey, I know about loneliness
and when you die young
I will wonder why talent doesn’t matter
and why I never met you

Can’t say if I would have mattered at all
can’t say if I would have been more than a quirk
or a mere jerk, but you will die young probably, and
maybe I would have given you an hour

Urgently
an hour is all I need
to love being with a song
a rhapsody in grace
so blue toned, but I

don’t know why
beautiful girls die young
even when they can sing
sorrowful chirps and dirges on key

— Douglas Gilbert

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3 thoughts on “Quirky From Afar (Draft 8)

  1. I like all the new changes and lines added in…is it finished now? It seems finished but I know how you can surprise me sometimes and fix a poem up even more after I’d already thought it was finished. But anyways, it’s turning out very nice but is a bit depressing. I mean I’m not famous, definitely not a celebrity but it still makes me sad because I know the loneliness and I know that no one wants to die lonesome, without love (even celebrities).

    1. Thanks. Yeah, it ought to be finished except that I made a note that the “catbird” when in distress makes a sound like a cat meowing. So I thought it would be cute to use the word meow somehow. And then somehow I wanted to contrast two points of view: one from the “crow’s nest” and one from the “catbird seat” because they’re basically the same idea except that the crow’s nest is a high perch or lookout point on a ship. And I’m not exactly sure because I still think the narrator of the poem is still too detached and philosophical… Oh I don’t know, seems that both should go like Romeo and Juliet except that they never meet. Or oh, I should write a play: the agent gets him a singing gig, she drops out, falls in love with someone else and then his career is a great success and she thinks he’s going to die so she gets the agent to give the singing contract to a seagull who becomes depressed when there are no anchovies in the dressing room before a performance. Yes, would be an outstanding 1,000 page poem. I think it’s going to take a while. Maybe I should take singing lessons first, but seagulls and catbirds are hard to mimic. Maybe the mockingbird could recommend someone… um, uh, or it could be finished.

      1. Gosh…poor seagull. How could they forget the anchovies in the dressing room? I’d be depressed too! Maybe they could adopt the seagull and they all could live happily ever after on their own private island where they have a contract with a nearby pizza place that would row a boat full of anchovies and pizza out sometimes. There aren’t enough happy endings these days…that’s probably what’s wrong with everyone – always expecting a tragedy.

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