But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream  

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

the bird is striped by metal bars

that shade his future, leaving scars

beneath his downy feathers soft

so he closes his eyes to see the stars

his wild eyes show his fear and hurt

his shaking frame can’t free the dirt

but though his body is tied down

through his lungs his spirit spurt

a song so loud it rings out clear

a trapped free spirit, a blinded seer

his hopeful voice is carried far

where he can’t fly, he helped them hear

The caged bird may not fly or flee

and it has hopes that can never be

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

but the broke bird’s spirit? Well, it’s free.

Amid many other (and bigger) reasons why 2016 was a rough year in the news, David Bowie, Alan Rickman, and Gene Wilder all died. According to his nephew, Wilder had kept his Alzheimer's secret so that children wouldn't hear adults saying that Willy Wonka was sick. Processing some of that, I rewrote some of the verses of The Kinks' "Celluloid Heroes," which as a movie guy I'd long loved, to fit film stars who had died in the last several years. I had thoughts of working with a sound editor friend to do up a proper video for YouTube, but never did. This challenge gave me reason to go back and rework a couple lines and share it with somebody.

I've put all the Kinks' lines in italics for easy separation; my lines are the verses, plus one I had to rewrite in the chorus (as several of those named don't actually have stars on Hollywood Boulevard).

Link to original song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTJVclgwS5g

Everybody's a dreamer and everybody's a star,

And everybody's in movies, it doesn't matter who you are.

There are stars in every city,

In every house and on every street,

And if you walk down Hollywood Boulevard

Their names are written in concrete

The Goblin King is still glittering

In a labyrinth far beyond

Hans Gruber would still be falling

But Rickman’s got a magic wand

Pay your respects to Mr. Ledger

Whose star is absent but not yet gone

He showed us so much of his fear and love

And he was still only just warming up

You can see all the stars as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard,

So many names are written there, some written only in the churchyard

People who worked and suffered and struggled for fame,

Some who succeeded and some who suffered in vain.

O’Toole crossing deserts

With all his thirst and pride

Robin Williams’ manic impressions

That masked all that hurt inside

Swayze asking you out on the dance floor

So you won’t ever be outshone

P.S. Hoffman gave outsiders humanity

And then he passed in his bathroom alone

Give Mr. Nimoy a greeting

With your fingers spread in a V

Return a nod to the dignified Dracula,

Lord Summerisle Christopher Lee

And flash a smile toward Gene Wilder

As thanks for the joy he brought

You can never forget the laughter in his eyes

He showed no matter what or who he lost

You can see all the stars as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard,

So many names are written there, some written only in the churchyard

People who worked and suffered and struggled for fame,

Some who succeeded and some who suffered in vain.

Everybody's a dreamer and everybody's a star

And everybody's in show biz, it doesn't matter who you are.

And those who are successful,

Be always on your guard,

Success walks hand in hand with failure

Along Hollywood Boulevard.

I wish my life was a non-stop Hollywood movie show,

A fantasy world of celluloid villains and heroes,

Because celluloid heroes never feel any pain

And celluloid heroes never really die.

You can see all the stars as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard,

So many names are written there, some written only in the churchyard

People who worked and suffered and struggled for fame,

Some who succeeded and some who suffered in vain.

Oh celluloid heroes never feel any pain

Oh celluloid heroes never really die.

I wish my life was a non-stop Hollywood movie show,

A fantasy world of celluloid villains and heroes,

Because celluloid heroes never feel any pain

And celluloid heroes never really die.

I WRITE

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may try your best to parody me

But still, without fuss, I write.

Does my sassiness perplex you?

Why do you reset this poem

’Cause I write like I own ink wells?

All of them, and you cant use ’em!

Just like morons and like puns,

Your the satire of having tried,

Just like hopes your effort aims too high,

Its Still my write.

Did you want to make me token?

Abridged, unread or lower my rhymes?

Should your failing drown in teardrops,

We can all see your conquered cries.

Does my pure prowess offend you?

Don’t, you make it way too hard,

’Cause I last like I’ve got the times

Dangling on my every word.

May take a shot at me with your words,

You may cut and paste my two lines,

Be killing me with your tactlessness,

But still, youll dare to write.

Do my linguistic skills upset you?

Dont act like you surmise

That I draft like Its not rough

Words in pen and do it right?

Out of the Lit of history’s hall o fame

My write

It is a piece that’s rooted in brains

Through time

I’m a black icon, sweeping ,

Compelling and unquelled I barely try

Leaving behind flights of readers in chills

I write

Into a pagebrake with words clear

I write

Bringing the gifts that my teachers gave,

I am supreme and dope, i slay. Cause

I write

I write

I write .

Maya Angelou is as supremely talented as she is passionate and I’ve written this butchering of her masterpiece from the view of her mockingly calling me out for not doing it justice.

(I'll be rewriting a stanza from Milton's Paradise Lost, because I did it for a school assignment the other day lol This is a non-rhyming poem and I changed it to have rhyme. These are from lines 50-60 in the poem, and I've added on afterwards. These lines speak of the nine days it took for Lucifer's army of angels to fall from heaven.)

Nine times the Space that measures Day and Night

To mortal men, he with his horrid blight

Lay vanquisht, rowling in the fiery Gulfe

Counfounded though immortal: But his rough

Reserv’d hands clasp in wrath; for now the fall

Torments him in doomed delay, eyes crawl

From star to earth in anguish and dismay

Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate:

"These be my folly," he screamed to heaven

Voice wracked with a liar's shamed confession,

"Fires that burn insidious and strange -

Cast thee free from thy ghostly, holy cage.

Damned be sinners who lie outside the wide

Gaze of God's loving, critical black eye.

Let it never be said He loves ye there -

For His fury hath no Mercy to bear."

Keeping time, time, time,

          In a sort of Runic rhyme,

            To the throbbing of the bells—

          Of the bells, bells, bells—

            To the sobbing of the bells;

          Keeping time, time, time,

            As he knells, knells, knells,

          In a happy Runic rhyme,

            To the rolling of the bells—

          Of the bells, bells, bells—

            To the tolling of the bells,

      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells—

              Bells, bells, bells—

  To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Hear the ticking and the tocking

Of the clocks, so rudely mocking,

All our lives, lives, lives;

They produce their steely knives,

Then they stab the one who thrives,

All the knocking and the squawking,

And the victims’ bodies locking,

To the times of their lives—

Of their lives, lives, lives—

Of their lives, lives, lives, lives, lives—

Lives, lives—

Of their silly-billy, frilly times and lives!

She with condescension seems,

To have muddled up her dreams,

With the putrid stress and knowledge of her bills!

For the bills pile up,

They o’erflow her spilling cup,

And with statutory memes,

She unveils her payment schemes,

To pay her bills! Pay her bills—

Pay her bills, bills, bills—

Pay her bills, bills, bills, bills, bills—

Bills, bills—

All her time and life was spent with

Paying bills!