Goodbye, Amy Winehouse

A Poem In Alternative Prose

By Darrin C. M. Buckley, Resident Beatnik

Queen of R & B-hive, luscious cracked demon voice wrought from the streets of Foggy town.
Spinning Jazz, riffs with hop and pizazz, soul and roll blended with blues and crushed ice and vodka,
she melded the galaxies of music into one cool and swingin’ universe for all the little kiddies to dig.

Are you hip to this? Can you dig what the chick laid down for the crowds, belting out “Round Midnight” with as much soul as “Rehab”? The utmost chick, the one and only chick, to invent, invoke, infuse, like, wow…yeah. Mind blown, successfully.

What riffs she wrought, what tunes will now not be. What a cosmic waste of a hip life; uptempo, forte, the crescendo now way gone in the past, the coda never to be riffed upon again.

What crazy, mixed-in-the-head juice did this chick chug to cut down such a groovy existence? She did refer to the reefer, but did she chase the dragon, ride the white horse? And why, with so much going on? Who knows, man. Who knows. She knows. We don’t. Heavy.

Goodbye, slick chick Amy Winehouse. Goodbye to you, you beautiful, right-on chick. Goodbye to your silver voice, your kooky hair, your on-stage goofs, your krazy tats. Goodbye to one of the swingingest retro-chicks to go Platinum. May your soul swing high through the cosmos, baby.

You, and what you may have been, will be missed.

– Darrin C. M. Buckley


(Darrin C. M. Buckley is a guest writer for Tiki Lounge Talk and appears courtesy of Star Dust Productions)

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