My Poem for Bill Murray

No, Bill...YOU.

I interrupt this inexcusable blogging hiatus to bring you my submission to the Bill Murray poetry contest, which I believe was my destiny to enter. The contest had a 34-line limit, so a couple stanzas here didn’t make it into my submission. But you lucky readers get the whole thing, uncensored and uncut. Here goes!

To the Duke of Deadpan

Hey there, Bill Murray — or William, or friend
Goofy-pantsed man at the golfers’ pro-am.
Master of all expressions deadpan,
Unlikely lump of a leading man.

Eight brothers and sisters! (I’ve got only 2.)
From wee beginnings, you grew and you grew.
At 6 feet 1 inch, you are no Dr. J
But your presence is felt from the Bronx to the Bay.

Live from New York! You had your premiere
(To a mixture of knee-slaps and occasional jeers.)
You apologized live for your un-funny ways
But I’m begging you, please let this Star War stay.

Yet a star was born, and to the silver screen you went
Horrifying golfers with your anti-gopher bent
The old ladies enthralled you in their putting wares
Carl Spackler, you are sick beyond repair.

You tore through the 80s, a box-office king
(And you’re not only funny — turns out you can sing!)
Stripes and Tootsie and Ghostbusters and Scrooged
And you won fame with honor! Never appeared in the nude.

My relaxing times are spent with Venkman and Ray.
(Forgive me — I prefer #2 to this day.)
Valentine’s Day! World ending! What a bummer, you said.
That Paramas chick wasn’t right in the head.

You saved us from ghosts and goblins and ghouls
Riding Lady Liberty through New York’s avenues
To your fair lady Dana you came to the rescue–
And a satisfied smirk was our sign-off from you.

Hey Bill, you can sail! And you did on try 1.
See what happens when you let loose and have fun?
Dr. Marvin was mean, a real jealous prick.
Like you said to the mayor, “This man has no —-.”

What will tomorrow bring? A repeat of today?
Piano mastery? Un peu de fran├žais?
Will you win the heart of Andie M.?
Or will the hum-drum of today continue ad infinitum?

Not sure what to say about Op. Dumbo Drop.
Hey, everybody’s entitled to the occasional flop.
In Space Jam, you played some hoops with His Airness
Winning it all…though you didn’t play defense.

We saw a new Bill in that weird Rushmore flick:
A gloomy rich dude whose intentions were sick.
You’d been lonely, you said, heartbroken and the like
But did you have to run over poor Max’s bike?

Tokyo found you unable to rest
(But consistently head and shoulders above the rest.)
You had to cook your own food and toast all alone
But in the wee hours, you and she would talk on the phone.

So what did you say to Scarlett Jo?!
Maybe I don’t really want to know.
Like her, I felt lost when I saw you go.
To the Oscars you went, with my heart in tow.

Bill! Sometimes I actually wish you were here!
We could sing karaoke; I’d buy you a beer.
It just drives me nuts when people are dumb
But together, we could face them all with aplomb.

Call it karma, call it luck, or you can call it fate,
Everything happens for a reason, mate.
It just doesn’t matter, like you said at camp.
(But that kid won anyway — fast little champ.)

So I’ll leave broken flowers in these few lines to you
A tip of the hat, because it is due.
Maybe not total consciousness, but a life in review–
So Bill, you’ve got that going for you.

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