“The Ballad of Old Floyd” (Poetry)

(2002 / 2018)

His creativity’s all but spent

Poor Old Floyd’s loaned his mind out for rent

And no one’s bothered to return it

All that’s left’s the meager deposit

His family’s gone, so are his bonds

Those “get rich quick schemes” are all just cons

When Old Floyd walks by, sharks smell fresh blood

Everyone thinks that he’s just a dud

Destined to live in a makeshift tent

Twinkling in and out of existence

Still ev’ry day he shows persistence

Running with holes in his worn-through shoes

Trying to burn off his ever-present blues

Poor Old Floyd’s life’s just blowing away

The wind never seems to blow his way

And he just can’t keep up a good pace

He wishes he could launch into space

And off on some distant planetoid

Make friends with some noid droid who loves dance

He’s the strange fellow named Poor Old Floyd

With a heart that’s been battered and toyed

With a honker instead of a nose

That’s coiled up then strung out like a hose

Gaining wisdom through discarded readers

And chatting with burnt out seniors

A hapless wanderer, hopeless dreamer

Living off fattening pig feeders

His dignity’s long since been destroyed

The old ones see what he could become

They think he’s bashful, but quite handsome

And with a suit, bow, and tie, they say

He could put on a great show one day

You’ve got stardom written all o’er you

Says the wise old geyser Ernie Lou

Don’t let fools incinerate your dreams

You’ve just been working with the wrong teams

But Floyd felt he’d missed his chance for fun

Old Floyd didn’t think himself a star

After all, Hollywood’s pretty far

Still he works out some creative themes

That would play out great on silver screens

It’s a thousand miles’ walk on tar

But it beats wasting away at bars

Halfway to Hollywood, he breaks down crying

“Is this ladder even worth climbing?”

He just sat, defeated, on the tar

At first, Floyd thought his ears were ringing

His nose, like a soft flute, was singing

Serenading his worn, tired soul

Then he realizes, he has a role

His honker sounds like a flute duet

Turns his head just right, a clarinet!

Then he dismisses this discov’ry

Feeling it’s much too late for recov’ry

So he walks a lil’ more ‘fore sleeping

A girl with dark, messy curls, Kim Lloyd

Finds Floyd alone, starved, nearly destroyed

In her kind, sweet embrace, he finds grace

Maybe there’s yet hope for the human race

His soul enlightened, his mind returned, 

His roots in sadness forever upturned

He’ll learn to use his honker to play

Kimmy will help him, his friend she’ll stay

The future brightened for our Poor Floyd

Floyd soon found music could take him far

After just two songs, now Floyd’s a star

He reminds us dreams don’t need to die, 

They can all be realized, in time

Once left to pout with digging ditches

His story’s one of rags to riches

Kimmy’s his true love and missing link

Love has power stronger than you think

Whether in a plane, train, or a car…

You’ll hear Floyd’s songs wherever you are 

~ Amelia Phoenix Desertsong, 2018 <3

Writing words, spreading love, Amelia Desertsong primarily writes creative nonfiction articles, as well as dabbling in baseball, Pokemon, Magic the Gathering, and whatever else tickles her fancy.

2 thoughts on ““The Ballad of Old Floyd” (Poetry)

  1. This is so lovely. I love the writing style and felt like you conveyed such a strong message of persistence and encouragement for us all

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