Old Blue Eyes Poem by Bernard Kennedy

He was hungry for dinner at eight,
and swaggered onto music stage,
with audiences eager for song,
and presence of the confident master of
control,
in life and film and legend.
From black-haired youth to grey old man,
a colossus, who could
make it there and anywhere,
it was up to him.

Women's love filled that need
of affection, and
men the saloon chums,
song gathered eyes of
the blue sea of admiration
from sixty years,
through cinema and song.

When your awaited death,
broke on sky,
the tributes recalled,
everybody's years,
everybody's emotions and
romantic loves,
the heart of living,
fantasy and romance
were statued by you.

Your tuxedo approach to life
sealed those moments in
the acceptable world,
no longer private,
and thats life.

You were puppet, pauper,
and King of the Hill,
and living was underlined as
your way, and looking death
as a contract on you,
and you at the bar, to look
in the eye
The Grim Reaper.

Put away the calendar, the vinyl,
the magazines and fashion,
hang up the tuxedo,
sink the Daniels and Camel,
and start all over again.

The bar is now closed,
the concert hall empty,
the tributes all over.
So long Saloon Man,
adios amigo, ciao.

Hollywood, bow,
take down your sign,
and Blue Eyes,
shine,
in the Big Casino.