Bitter Styrofoam Celebrity
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The High Sky
On a brisk walk under November skies
The weather cold dark and grey
How would one ever know
That one thousand pounds of weed
Was falling my way
One foot ahead of the other
Walking in a winter fashion
Passing others waving
Making no point to be an attraction
Snow gave way to firm concrete underneath
A light chatter of crackling snow and ice
Under my feet
I glance at the horizon
Just up enough to see
That a dark black object
Hurtling toward the earth
And me
I quicken my pace to a jog and clear the way
I now know something is falling
Falling right towards my direction
As it nears the ground
50 feet or so
I notice it is about 8 bags of so
They fall to the ground as haystacks tossed
I begin my decent to discover the fallen goods
There is no way that I could have truly understood
Here is 100 lbs of weed fallen from the sky above
Heavenly dank sent from the angels with love
Upon that day I reached a new level high
With the gifts I received
That fell from the sky
Musical Supply and Demand
Its very easy to see what is going on
The music world has a case of gluttony
Supply and demand
Has crippled every last musicians hand
–
No more venues to play
There is a new price in town
A way called pay to play
It’s no longer about music friends
–
I must know at least 100+ musicians
Me being included in the big mix
A mix of everyone
Fighting everyone
Pushing anyone
Lower and lower
Until we have reached a new low
Below the impossible line of zero
Now we must pay
Out of our own dusty pockets
To create music for people to enjoy
How did this folly become the one
That I rely on as a means to be employed
–
But the venues enjoy the high chair
Bib wrapped around their necks
With a golden spoon in their mouth
Fuck what music used to be about
–
Its about the bottom line now
And it seems if you commit to this profession
You are bound to lose
Bound by something you did not choose
–
So I ask every musician do not play for free
Do not pay or even a shitty guarantee
Because if one falls for the silly trick
The rest of us will be doomed by silliness
–
In a world that has the x graph pushing us down
Rather than go lower push back and don’t give ground
We have to be an alliance
Of strong resolve
In a desperate attempt
This deficit we can solve
–
The challenge of the modern musician is ever daunting
Full of empty bars and feedback so haunting
We only have each other in the end
So stick it to the man asking you to pay
And this is what you say
–
I am a musician of hard work and dedication
Your cheap bar provides my weary eyes no medication
For what music creates there is no other sensation
So throughout all the nation
We will not play for free
This is just the way it must be
My Soul is Erect
The life of disconnect
Has my soul erect
Looking for reasons
To get away
To find different ways
To say the same story
–
No glory to be found
Disconnected from connection
No collection of pictures
Framed on painted walls
Full of feelings and emotions
–
Understanding is key
As to why it lingers on
Linger gently yet bold
Continuing with a life on hold
This soul demands more
More of me
More time more frustrations
More rhymes
–
I give every last sentence
A finishing touch
To hope that the connection
Begins and ends
With one word
One thought one phrase
This is the space
Upon which my soul lays
The Highways calls
The highway calls again
With it’s sun blurred lines
Cigarette butts
Animal carcasses strewn
The highway calls again
The open road pulls me back
With blackened road signs
Tar filled cracks
Semi hustle
The highway calls me back
To wide open fields
Kentucky hills
And Tennessee curves
The road calls
Gas station bathrooms
Stale AC air
And windshield fluid
State lines
And cargo lines
The car sets out
The highways calls back
Answer with a shift to drive
Praying to stay alive
On the open road
Here we go
The Grand Piano
Touching these keys
Learning the ropes
Can never quite know
If I will ever own a Grand Piano
No complaints
Simple observations
Over one late night practice
A good evening of contemplation
The keyboard is the working mans way
Not sure why
I thought about all the notes I have known
How they come and go
They are the only notes I hold
Hold them close
As the time rolls
And the money shrinks and grows
Falling in and out of my life
But the piano is a constant for me
Beckoning just a simple practice
Rehearsal for the future
But I will never own
One of those
Grand Pianos
Was not my life choice
Money was never my motivation
The crazy life of a musician
That full of life sensation
Wondering around our great nation
Playing for an ear that will listen
And notice
All the notes that flow out of my soul
Unnoticed
While content minds sip on sodas
At the bar where the piano sits
No one gives a shit about it
The grand piano
That I can play
But never own
A musician
On call waiting
Sitting on their phone
No I will never own that Grand Piano
Or a suit to go with it
I will own my songs and my life
And all that is in it
For a short time
A stint some say
Then in time it is all taken away
So in the end I need no Grand Piano
Its not mine to own
I will learn and learn from it
It will become a true friend
But in the end
When the lights are off
Both the piano and I know
I will never own
This Grand Piano
Silence
Silence
I crave silence
Reflective intuitive creative silence
No radio
Music
Talk
Instead
Silence
Time to decide
Time to listen to the silent guide
The pushing force
The calling from the inward soul
In the sky I look up
Nothing but the sound of a gas-powered engine
And the other cars around
It is not complete but quiet enough
The sound of the turning wheel
Pulling my thoughts apart
As husks on a corn peal
Looking for what might be underneath quick passing
What is the drive in me
What is the reason
I need silence to think
Think through decisions about the future
Decisions about the now
Am I doing alright
This will surely get me through tonight
I search for this answers this evening
Not on crowded streets or in a home
But in a car on a cool summer evening
With pure silence
The sound of air pushing through the ear canal
Creates a slow growing buzz
I may not know the answers
But I am searching for the cause
Upon reaching my destination the silence discontinues
Returning to the normal process of clicks and tones
All the things that fill up the normal home
But for one moment I could feel
My heart and soul in one great alliance
In that pure and simple moment
Of Silence
Showtime
The morning after
The lights gone
Neck sore
Could do it all the more
Evenings wrapped in wool
Sweating out heart full
Of blood pumping through veins
Pushing life on a constraint
My mind calls critics
While my hands respond
Sweat dripping down my chin
On soft linens my body demands rest
The ultimate evening test
Lights burn the floors
Tanning the evenings chords
Stress flows with tangible discourse
While the evening runs it course
Fans happy and bouncing
Through the set and over
I wake at mid morning
Head beating the latest warning
But ready I am to move on
Life lived in a rock song
Drumming Back Then
Delivering mail was the nine to five
With bills to pay
It was well short of the glamorous life
He had been a musician since he was young
Didn’t care for guitars
Didn’t care about the way he sung
Drumming had grabbed him right away
Counting rhythms out loud
And learning how to play
Dreamed of moving to Nashville
To aid in that Nashville sound
But life moves fast
And his chance never came around
He still plays on the weekend
To make some spare change
It is more just a simple means
To a simple end
But he wonders of what life could have been
Had he jumped off the deep end
Learning to swim as he goes
Where this all would take him
He truly does not care to know
I met him buying some drums
Sells them out of his basement
Best guy in Indiana
Drums that sound like true cannons
I believe his story and feel it quite familiar
A story told by so many players similar
Never wanted to test the waters
Looking back years later
With thoughts of what could have been
Of what life was life
And what opportunities life provided
Back then
Mr. Dylan
The beginnings of a song about how it seems that peoples belief in song has died. It has gone away with our generation – not that it is a bad thing – but things are changing. If I had a chance this is what I would want to ask Dylan, Seeger, and Lennon. It is a work in progress but it will someday become a song. Cheers and enjoy.
–
A Cup of Songwriting 