I am trying to understand some of the things that seem to change as you grow older. I am not sure why I take interest in these things of vanity – but I do – good or bad. I don’t want to give away too much – enjoy!
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Hairline
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Sunday Morning Light
Been on the road for a couple of days and wiped out. Here is a poem about what I enjoy the most about having a relaxing day at home to regroup. We will start our European preparations tomorrow. I am excited to see how these upcoming experiences will affect my writing and perspective. Cheers to relaxation – hope you had a nice day!
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Sunday morning light
Moves soft through gleaming windows
Crisp with spring air
Revolving summer
Into the minds of the people
I can still hear the birds calling
Beckon
I listen
Calling on a brisk morning
Asking for a summer born again
Dogs sun bath and grab energy from the heat
Sun shining
As it has not done much this year
On a world needing light and warmth
Grass warming into greens and browns
From grey and yellow
Life restored into lifeless fields
Stretching miles and miles
Foreheads colored again with sunrays
People walking and taking their time
Living up a warm spring day
With nothing on their mind
For when the sun shines
It is a sign
Through the glossy windows
On a Sunday morning
The River is Swollen
Up in Fargo, ND there is some serious flooding going on – in Chicago too. I scribbled this together with Siri on the 16 hour drive home. Enjoy.
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The river is swollen.
Fargo fields are flooding overflowing
with water and run off
falling from the sky filling the fields 3 feet high.
Taking turns to throw sandbags to hold the river back.
The water collects the fields and dirt and turns brown and black.
While the snowflakes fall fast and crash on the pavement.
Painting the fields and streets White a revealing statement.
But the river water will not turn from our abatement
Flowin and rolling through the Fields
Making its way
While the water doubles it’s yields.
There is no shield from this water
flowing it just pushes its way wherever it’s going.
Because when the Fargo fields are flooding it’s as serious as can be.
When the fields are full and the animals flee.
What to do with the river now is up to you and me.
The Young Working Class
A late evening in Chicago. Had a nice time enjoying some drinks and laughs with friends. Hope you enjoy. Cheers!
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The young working class
Service industry of Chicago Illinois
Sparse light in a dim bar
Conversation flounder and puff
Into inaudible crackle
Faces gleaming orange and yellow
Filled with powder and fluff
Men reclining willfully to distant music
Irrelevant and monotonous
Pushing eardrums back and forth
Jaws pumping laughter heralding
Anger dispensing
Question asking
Bar tender looking for connecting eyes
Asking quickly for a drink
Tip jar sitting silent yet demanding
Women relax on sofas talking about dinner and evening plans
I am but a witness to these thing
On a late Friday night
In Chicago Illinois
Life Closer to the Ground
As I sat tying my shoes I was struck looking down at the cold ground – what would life be like if I lived very close to the ground. I realized very quickly that life would be much much different. It would obviously become very simple in some ways – like pure survival and relying on your senses. But very complicated in trying not to get hurt, dodging, staying clean. There is a lot to be learned from living so close to the ground. So I submersed myself in this to try and see what I could come up with for today’s poem. Enjoy!
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Life Closer to the Ground
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What would life be like
If I were only 1 foot high
People would loom large
Skyscrapers connecting with the sky
Would I know more about the earth
The way it is created and breathes
The dirt on the ground
The wet grass and fallen leaves
I would be so dirty and covered
I am sure of this in a city
If any other
I would know more of waste
And disconnect
That everyone feels standing 6 foot
Erect
I would feel the wind blow
Under cars and around poles
Would have to stay dry
Or else I could get too cold
I would discover more about humanity
Than what I may have ever been able to see
Shoes stomping on ground
Throwing garbage around
I would encounter forgotten things
Lost keys and crumbs
All brushed under the rug
Where only I could see
Conversations would occur in the heavens
I would have to stay more connected to the ground
So close now I would not have to look down
I would rely on the land and others
To take care of me and protect me
For I would only be one foot from the ground
Feet shuffling past
People brushing their hands over grass
Gum from years ago
Some from just a second ago
I think I could really learn something
Only one foot off the ground
It is the world
I would get to know
What is
Memories tied up in strings
Wood, picks, saddles, and tuners
Plastic and brittle
My mind wanders around the bracing
Through the saddle and what I am facing
What is holding these memories
Why do I hold them true
The memories are not captured in these
Rather in the simple thought of them
Memories come back
Slap me in the face on Wednesday morning
Overwhelming me with no warning
What is it that I try to keep
That I feel I must take
These plastic distractions forsake
Asking me for a place to stay
Asking in a moment forever
and not knowing where to begin
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In the end it is just a collection of
Wood, pick, saddles, and tuners
It is nothing more
Nothing less
When Bad Things Happen to Good People
As I listened to NPR cover the story unfolding in Boston yesterday on my way home from Chicago – my fiance and I were just silent. Sometimes it just takes time to realize that some people have that much hate inside of them that they are willing to act out and hurt others. It was a very difficult listening to the coverage – and violent acts happen all the time. So I have begun working on a song called “When Bad Things Happen to Good People”. I feel that I have had this song on my chest for a long time. Something that I can turn to when I feel worn out by peoples hatred and violence. A song to give hope, but also deal with the hard question of “why?” Obviously, I do not have the answer – but I know what can make me feel more loving in my own heart. To recognize what is great and take time to be thankful. It does not erase the pain, but rather helps me deal with it in a positive manner. I will have the song posted here tomorrow afternoon – for now here are the lyrics. I just wanted to say there is no reason for why bad things happen – other than the existence of hate/evil. Rather than focusing on evil, I wanted to focus on love and hope. The verses are about what makes this country great and what I am proud of. In verse 2 it is my call to action. I hope that you can relate with this and find it helpful in this time of grieving.
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Keeping everyone affected by this in Boston and throughout the world in my thoughts.
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When Bad Things Happen to Good People
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When bad things happen
Oh my god
To good people
There is no way around
It is a quieting sound
But hate won’t tear us down
It won’t tear us down
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I love the way
People care enough to say
Oh I love you
And be safe out there
Just take care
In a world that’s always spinnin’ round
Don’t be scared
The fear will try to tear us apart
But in your heart
We must know
That the hate must die
For the love to grow
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When bad things happen
Oh my god
To good people
There is no way around
It is a quieting sound
But hate won’t tear us down
It won’t tear us down
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When news gets tough
You have had enough
Don’t throw your hands
And just give up
The world needs us now
Hate has knocked it down
Its up to you and me
And everyone around
Help someone back up
Even when your heart aches
The love you give
Must be greater
Than the love you take
Why Wait
This is written on the road. We’ve been on the road for over 18 hours in the past two days. My posts are supposed to be short but potent – you decide. I hope you enjoy.
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Why wait
why sit around and procrastinate
this is no save the date
Collect words and Poems
let them propagate
Give them out to the world
and expect nothing back
Lifeless Piano
Checked into a hotel yesterday. Walking in I noticed a nice, but not too nice, piano sitting looking lonely and needing to be played. Just to ring out for a couple of minutes maybe ten at best! However I was denied very admittedly – I even felt lied to. They just don’t want any “kids” to touch the piano. It is a sad thing – which got me thinking – what is a piano with no one ever playing it. So here is a poem for the situation as it went down. Enjoy!
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You know the piano sitting there is just a piece of wood
I remarked to the lady at the hotel counter
She looked confused and had not understood
That if an instrument makes no music
what is it
it truly is no good
sitting neglected
disconnected from the rest of the world
If it could speak
what would it say
I am sure it would be ready to play
sing and project
overbearing owner has no soul for sound
he just simply looks to protect
and deflect any “kids” from the wood and strings
the one thing in life that is truly made to sing
the lady looks at me again
treating me as if I were ten
and then says
I can not have the “kids” banging on the keys
surely she could not have meant me
but she did
so in reply I jabbed
a piano locked is just a piece of wood
I hope that you can enjoy that
this she truly understood
as I walked away feeling quite sick
One sentenced resounded in my mind
LONG LIVE MUSIC!!!
Shoulders Weathered
House hunting can really have some crazy effects on you. This house that we looked at had this car that had been sitting for a very long time. From what we knew about the owners and the energy in the garage it sent my mind into a tizzy. So I had to put it to paper as soon as I got home. It was this old car in the garage up on cinders, it was a very strong image burned into my mind. So go ahead and give it a read. Enjoy!
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That is where the old car sits
Up on cinder blocks
Sitting the same way it has been
Since the day he died
Dust collected
Covered throughout
Smudged windows
Locked doors
Not one things has moved
Maybe it is better that way
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Conversations happened late at night
When the world slowed down
Back in ’85
When times were easy and happy
Life happened since those days
It just does not seem right anymore
Days passed
Slugging slowly over shoulders weathered
In time she had to move out
No longer are the streets what they used to be
Safety gone
Changes made
She heard about the robbery down the road
Had to move out
It occurred in such a hurry
Still takes care of the place on Sundays
Sell it and getaway
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