Somewhere,
Out there—
Beyond the machine—
The bluesman,
Ever can he be heard.
An undiscovered soul,
With grit in his growl
And pain in his howl;
No stranger in this town.
His mama raised this son—
Always the center of fun—
The blues shot out of the gun.
Mr. Technique shaped into soul—
Have a cigar, y’all—
With or without you,
Mr. Bluesman’s guitar-graced voice
Will forever melt gold!
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, August 26, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: August 26th, 2026 07:20
- Comment from author about the poem: To the King of Swing himself, with much love. Here’s looking at you, Richie Sambora! ❤️
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments2
A fine tribute
I love blues Tristan one of my favorite genres especially when the soul can be heard beneath the grit. Male or female either works. A beautiful dedication to a singer and type of music close to my heart.
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