Adieu, Jimmy Buffet

Messages about life don’t grow on trees, we have to hunt to find them or open our eyes to see them, and so often we spit them out if fed them, but sometimes they’re diamonds laid at our feet as lumps of coal, and we soak them up, unrealizing, until pensive moments in the dark, like Jimmy Buffet’s song, “Margaritaville,” a life lesson hid in the cloak of a party song that sneaks up on you if you go beyond the music and feast upon the words of a man wasting away in booze, playing the blame game, a woman to blame, nobody’s fault, could be my fault, my own damned fault, a progression toward self awareness we all could reach if we just took stock. Goodbye, Jimmy Buffet, thanks for the music, thanks for the message, we won’t spit it out. (Note: I was awed by the poems posted by many of you yesterday. Really from-the-heart good stuff. This pales in comparison, but I heard of Jimmy Buffet;s death and felt compelled.)

Bluejay

Veteran of old My Poetry Forum before its hiatus. Happy to be back.

More about me