Elegy for Jesse—Murfin Verse

 

Note—Jesse Jackson arrived in Chicago in 1967, the same year I began to come into the City from Skokie for Anti-War marches and SDS style high school community organizing on the far North Side.  Jackson was already celebrity famous.  I was a quirky White kid of no consequence what-so-ever.  Over the years our paths would cross frequently but never personally intersect.  I supported him in his two runs for the Democratic Party nomination for President although without much personal influence,

 

Elegy for Jesse 

Rev. Jesse Jackson 

Oct. 8, 1941—February 17,2023 

 

He had the most magnificent, awe inspiring 

globe of an Afro more perfect than 

Don Cornelius, Angela Davis,  

Little Michael Jackson, or even 

Roberta Flack, 

 

Standing at the pulpit for an Operation PUSH Sunday 

in a sharp, colorful polyester shirt 

and swaying medallion 

rousing the flock as if 

the Second Coming was NOW. 

 

I, in a curious/rapturous seat in a  

nosebleed recess of the church,  

after the Amens! and Hallelujahs! 

saw him launch that familiar chant. 

 

I Am Somebody! I Am Somebody! 

 

We responded to the call 

with rising fervor. 

 

I Am Somebody! I Am Somebody! 

 

I was unsure if I was, 

but had no doubt at all 

that he was.  

 

—Patrick Murfin 

 

Little Tuesday’s Very Exhausting Day—Calendar Coincidence Murfin Verse

                        Little Tuesday's Very Exhausting Day.

Little Tuesday’s Very Exhausting Day 

February 17, 2026 

 Kiddie Lit Book proposal.  Needs whimsical illustrator.   

 

“Oh no!” Cried the Little Tuesday 

in the littlest month. 

 

“I don’t know where to start-- 

expecting a bland slate gray day 

in a boring slushy week, 

I got this tumble of cacophony and demand. 

 

“Fat Tuesday itself is a Trinity 

with pączki lines at dawn, 

Shrove Tuesday pancake flipping Goodwives, 

and Mardis Gras, 

all glitter, boobies, and sin. 

 

“Try keeping just those juggling balls 

in the air.  I dare you. 

 

“But wait! There’s more! 

 

“Chinese, OK, call it Lunar New Year, 

comes riding in on a flaming horse 

with firecrackers popping  

like the Western Front, 

Lion and Dragon street dancers, 

and all of deepest, shiniest 

red you can imagine. 

 

“As if that weren’t enough, 

here’s Eid al-Fitr 

hanging on the cusp 

of a disappearing moon 

calling on the faithful   

for prayer, feasting before fasting,

and generous alms. 

 

“Three celebrations like scorpions in a box.  

 

“I’m exhausted already,”  

Little Tuesday groaned and wept. 

 

“Hey, where’s the Hurricane bar? 

I need to drown my sorrows.   

 

—Patrick Murfin