What is

Posted on April 18, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

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

–

In the end it is just a collection of

Wood, pick, saddles, and tuners

It is nothing more

Nothing less

Clocks and Lamps

Posted on March 31, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

This is a poem reflecting on life through the collection and the ultimate giving of possessions. I was inspired by a conversation I had with my uncle, who is a very devout priest, about how the things that he had collected simply become garbage if the family does not want it. Maybe he came to this by seeing all the people come and go in his life – and the disposal of their belongings. It really reminded me of how life is truly simple at the core to give back and not be controlled by what you own. A simple idea and a poem to go with it. Cheers.

–

A holy man has spent his years praying

Years

Walking through narrow wooden halls

Lit with dim lamps

When night would fall

Sitting silent on a quiet lake

He would speak so softly

As to not make a mistake

Years passed

His health began to wane

One could never tell

He never spoke much of pain

His years of prayer and solitude

Subtle vintage soul

Quiet demeanor and gentle attitude

–

“Is there any worth to this”

He asked me

Once we pass

Is there any meaning left

The colored lamp, wooden clock

Passed from hands to hands

Through generations tenderly walk

Falling down the mountain

Back to life
Formed from reincarnation

The giving fountain

Eyes passing

Looking

Watching

Take what is left

When the date has passed

When the soul departs

Small trinkets left

–

I learned much from his quiet soul

His tepid walk

Gentle flow

Upon others shoulders

Leave what you collect
From the field

There is no reason to save

Gands these items we collect down

It becomes a pile of forgotten

The trash man will collect it and move on

Drive away in the early dawn

–

Clocks and lamps

Collect new meanings

When new eyes see

A new branch is born

Upon the tree

A City on the Verge of Revolution

Posted on March 30, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

My hometown cries out for help and investment from my generation. Not only the monetary investment to restore it, but the physical elbow grease and time that a city needs to be rebuilt. Being that I am a full time musician and weary of committing any time or money to anything because of my transient lifestyle, the idea wears on me. I have no idea what I can do but I want to do something. This is a poem about the challenges the city faces, but what I face also. I am going to do a series of poems on South Bend, IN and this is the first installment. Enjoy!

–

A city on the verge of revolution

Slow but surely it rises

Dim lit hopes to find

A solution

Will I be the resolution

Or the prodder

Stay or leave

I can’t just pay restitution

If I stay I shall invest myself in the future

A price not yet determined

The man at the store

Is not afraid to give me the sermon

The streets can be brought

Back to original glory

Of the Studebaker nights

An all American story

–

At stake city buildings

Crying out for help

Asking to take its wings

Nourish it with fillings

Can these hands build back

What has been stolen away

Should I give up

Simply wait for yet another day

These streets and walls have gone on neglected

Yet I try to move out

All my things

I have collected

Only to be called back

With a voice so timid and quiet

Asking for help

While its soul is dying

–

Can I afford to stay

What help can I be

Even a little effort

Goes a long way I can see

People are inspired

Looking for revolution

So I fix the brim of my hat

And commit to be

Part of the solution

The Salesman of Song

Posted on March 25, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

The Salesman of Song

–

Born to the middle class

They called him Joe

Full of talent

Full of song

Bringing to life

People’s wishes and thoughts

Make people cry or laugh

Whatever he sought

Growing up he took it so lightly

Musicians were not like him

Seemed to flighty

Years had passed

The pressure had grown

To make some money

Have some kids

Own a home

Through all he had been taught

All he had learned about

Never had the nerve

To sing his way out

See what songwriting could earn

So he went to school and got a degree

Went on to teach middle school until he was 53

Then came the recession

The ugly layoffs

He got caught up in the process

Now he had no job

His paycheck is much less

Would push a mower with his hands

Making sure the kids were fed

Keeping steady the natural family plan

Took out a loan and went back to school

No one ever thought this man a fool

Earned a PHD

Still struggling to find what he wants to be

He writes books on religion

Sells them at the doorstep

He knows that he missed

Stumbled when he could have leapt

He just writes songs on the side

Did it all along

Never had faith to make a living

Writing a song

He sells the idea to the young generation

Asking people for help

Feels the weight of procrastination

In a hole so deep

Playing songs so beautiful to the ear

But no singing can anyone hear

He is too old to try out new tunes

Wants to pay off the house and retire soon

He clearly knows years ago

Where it all went wrong

All that is left

Is the Salesman of Song

Mr. and Mrs. Particular

Posted on March 22, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

This is a story about a band name that we still laugh about to this day. Our first attempts to name our band were pretty rough. But this one in particular is funny still because it captures who we were once upon a time. Enjoy!

–

Mr. and Mrs. Particular

This is an emblem of what we once were

No longer do they exist

Vanished into the darkness and mist

Sent them off to the valleys and mountains

Never to be seen again

Every once and again we think of them

How everything seemed perfect back then

The sun would come up in the east

And settle in the west

In simple naivety we would live

It was all we knew

We thought it to be the best

Through travels and experience

We realized our views were much less

Then second best

We had grand ideas and no way to achieve

So the best option was for us to have them leave

So we packed up their things

And gave them our best wishes

We were both so young but willing to change

I never would have thought how things felt

Oh but so strange

And new

And confusing

This whole idea of changing was quite amusing

Even after we packed up everything in the van

There was one thought that came back

Again and again

What if we never find our way back

What if we let go and want our old selves back

We looked at each other and began to say

It seemed we were quoting each other

So we just stopped

Both of us felt the same way

Screw Texting

Posted on March 21, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

This is a song about the disconnect between someone on a phone and someone not. I was really inspired to write this song as I walked through a grocery store and almost got whacked by some guys shopping cart as he laughed and texted to someone. That shit is dangerous – and i see people texting all the time when I am driving. I would say that is just as bad as drunken driving. One time i stood on an overpass in LA and 13 out of 30 cars were distracted drivers. Just zipping by doing 80 and texting. Shit be crazy. So this song explores the texting dilemma in a the form of a confused love song. I felt this would make the song most intimate and revealing to do it in this way. I think I achieved what I was going for – you tell me. I will be posting the video tomorrow. Enjoy!

–

Stop texting

When we are talking

There is nothing

Better to do

–

Feel like I am dying

Cause I am holding

I am holding my breathe

for you

–

Your friends calling

Just ignoring

All l the little words

I try

–

It feels vacant

In this party

Yeah this group

Of just me and you

–

It just kills me to hear you say

–

Don’t go

I wont go if there is a reason for me to stay

Don’t stay

I won’t stay if there is a reason for me to go

(Repeat)

–

I fight feelings

We have outgrown these

Damn phones

Lets throw them away

–

What could make you

So happy

Looking at that

Box in your hand

–

Fingers punching

Always talking

While your lips

Have nothing to say

–

It so quiet

In the room now

That the phone is

all tucked away

–

We can just talk another day

Elkhart’s Eternal Flame

Posted on March 13, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

Late night band practice in Goshen, IN led to a midnight drive to South Bend. Even at the late hour you can see the flame burning off of the highway in Elkhart. It reminds me of how that thing burns 24/7 and how we are filling it with every step that we take. So this is a short poem about where it all took me.

Elkhart’s Eternal Flame

–

Elkhart’s Eternal Flame

Lights my mind up every time

Drives me insane

The heap of garbage burning bright

The smell that seeps out

Lets you know something’s not right

Trash carving it’s way in Midwest trees

Coming from all over the land

From the mountains and the seas

Landfills in Indiana seem to run a plenty

Follow your nose and you will find

One, two, and oh so many

As with all trash it must be disposed

Where exactly it goes

I can’t say anyone really knows

But on a Tuesday night the flame glows

On highway 20 when you see it

You will know

Blue flickers orange pops red in too

Depending on where the wind blows

Is where all the scent blows to

Racing over fields and famers

Streams and trees

Through our nostrils

Into you and me

Into our lungs and through our livers

Into your soul giving you shivers

Into our blood

Through the water that we drink

Bubbling up through the faucets and the sinks

Shame should fill the hearts of the waste

But toss it in the trash

And don’t really face it

The next time you waste

All the trash that you disclaim

I may see it burning one day

In Elkhart’s Eternal Flame

Wonder

Posted on March 9, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

This is the revised version of a song that I am currently finishing up. It is about being in the grind and trying to find meaning in your work. For me it is grinding through all of the social media/marketing day to day activities of running my own company. It is a simple morning – but my mind begins to wander. That is where this song comes from. Hope to have video up soon. Cheers!

–

When I wake up

Feeling fine

Get up put the coffee on

I’m in the grind

The TV rings out so clear

In subtlety

Weather man’s telling me

These thoughts are free

But you will find

You will find

That in due time

–

That OH

Don’t you just wonder

How the clouds can fade

They just fade away

And oh

Don’t you just wonder

How life it fades

It just fades away

–

It fades away

–

Every time I think of her

I fade away

All these people telling me

Move this way

What the fuck is wrong with you

He will say

You’re head is tucked in clouds

But I’m OK

Then again

And again

Love I will send

–

But OH

Don’t you just wonder

How the clouds can fade

They just fade away

And oh

Don’t you just wonder

How life it fades

It just fades away

5 am grabs me

Posted on March 8, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

Very informal late night ramble. Drove from 8:30 am until 5 am and this is basically where my mind was at. It is crazy how you almost start to hallucinate and you definitely need some time to recover. So here is to late night, cheers!

–

5 a.m. grabs me

not asleep yet

soon

maybe

probably not

the skies lift a heavy fog

from evening shoulders

passing lines

and green street signs

–

late night

driving all around

better prop up these eyelids

so they had not fall down

–

the next day is no better

wake up late

in somewhat of a lucid state

but 5 a.m will take some time

to recover

my mind works slow

slower on those days

it stumbles through

with a velvet glaze

–

my eyes bloodshot

all around

last night was late

and there is still a ringing sound

–

i muster up the courage to write

let the words fall and thoughts take flight

i feel alright as my muscles warm

to poetry I return

with no care for content or form

–

that is where I stop

as vision blurring mind distort

better put the pen down

on days like today

it is best

to keep it short

Political Constipation

Posted on March 4, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

This is a poem inspired by the absolute ridiculousness of political grid lock. I care not for a side and for no person – but for the overall lack of enthusiasm to work as a whole unit. In a way that the body can only truly function if it all works together. I am not sure where all of this shit is going to take us, but my optimism is waning. I wrote this as much for the humor as for the literal sense. I tried to capture the disgust for which I feel
for the current situation. Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t, but I enjoyed trying! Enjoy!

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

–

In the end it is just a collection of

Wood, pick, saddles, and tuners

It is nothing more

Nothing less

Share this:

A holy man has spent his years praying

Years

Walking through narrow wooden halls

Lit with dim lamps

When night would fall

Sitting silent on a quiet lake

He would speak so softly

As to not make a mistake

Years passed

His health began to wane

One could never tell

He never spoke much of pain

His years of prayer and solitude

Subtle vintage soul

Quiet demeanor and gentle attitude

–

“Is there any worth to this”

He asked me

Once we pass

Is there any meaning left

The colored lamp, wooden clock

Passed from hands to hands

Through generations tenderly walk

Falling down the mountain

Back to life Formed from reincarnation

The giving fountain

Eyes passing

Looking

Watching

Take what is left

When the date has passed

When the soul departs

Small trinkets left

–

I learned much from his quiet soul

His tepid walk

Gentle flow

Upon others shoulders

Leave what you collect From the field

There is no reason to save

Gands these items we collect down

It becomes a pile of forgotten

The trash man will collect it and move on

Drive away in the early dawn

–

Clocks and lamps

Collect new meanings

When new eyes see

A new branch is born

Upon the tree

Share this:

A city on the verge of revolution

Slow but surely it rises

Dim lit hopes to find

A solution

Will I be the resolution

Or the prodder

Asking in a moment forever
and not knowing where to begin

Back to life
Formed from reincarnation

Leave what you collect
From the field