Cold air on sheltered skin
Slow sunrise and morning skies
Christmas
Baking goods
Flour and eggs
Bells singing
House creaking
The more I grow
I realize
As we get comfortable
The world gets ready
For change
Christmas Morning Commute
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Tag Archives: nate hoff
The Common Denominator
What makes it better
What makes it worse
These vital feelings
We may not coerce
–
Pushing them in
Pulling them out
Will do us no good
If we are living like we should
–
Shall I wonder under a rock
Beneath feet pounding
Or center myself on ground
With my heart pounding
–
I am here for you
And you for me
That is why
We cannot let it be
–
Growth can occur
From one solid root
Life will burst
Into something beautiful bold
–
Your hand I hold
As we cry
Waiting for the storm
To blow by
–
These are not easy times
But they make us real
Through the fire burning
Born is true steel
–
I will be here now
And will be here later
Love will pick you up
It’s the common denominator
–
Love will push
Love will pull
Love will bring us back
Fill our hearts full
–
We live through great moments
We survive the bad
But at the end of any day
The good fights been had
–
I wish to say this
So that all can understand
You are my lady
And I am your man
Carnival of Waste
Nothing disappointed me in music this year more than the claim or title that somehow Kayne West was the new Dylan. I needed to vent on this one.
–
It’s all about the hoes and the clothes
Songs about what others drove
Sipping crystal and shitting gold
That is what the new preacher told
My generation defined by such vanity
This new rhyme and rhythm
Isn’t what it used to be
Everyone singing about the “me”
How to satisfy oneself
Whether it be blatant
Or stealth
If Kayne is the new Dylan
Rolling up in a Bentley of Crimson
I will disown my own soul
If this is the price that must be tolled
For such vanity and glutton cannot be forgiven
Every single talent that is given
Should be taken away
Rather than wasted
Dylan sang for a generation
Calling awareness and action
Now all I hear is bullshit
Shooting gun
Pleasure the only “one”
To the ultimate satisfaction
I have no time for this carnival of waste
This recycled culture
Of copy and paste
I have no allegiance to this self-serving leader
Kayne no Jesus
And me no Peter
He defines no time
He is prolific poet
Not a single humble feature
Pathetic
It is to waste with such vigor
With chains of gold
Top down in the middle of winter
My frustration with my own generation
Giving golden crowns to those
With self views of inflation
I will not adhere to any of your calls
Forget your pitiful attempts to write your name
On history’s walls
I am not your follower and others say too
What you say does not reflect
In the things you do
No wishes for a brighter future
All the brightness taken
With your own scalpel and suture
So I willfully deny you of this title
Makes me sick if I just stayed idle
Kayne is no Dylan
That I know today
I will not change anything with words
But I said
What I needed to say
Trying to Find
Trying to find the words
or the thoughts
Unable to connect
Through any pathways
Waiting
Hoping for inspiration
Lost with passing moments
So when time passes with nothing to say
Why not then say
Nothing at all
Busy
We are all busy
Too fucking busy
To
Care
–
Unfortunately
It is not alright
Striking Words
It is with few words
I must strike down
The rhythm and the sound
Falling on fond ears
Restrained and freed
Recalling memories so new and old
with few words
I must paint many lines
So that a story can be told
3 Words
Bitter Styrofoam Celebrity
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
The Genius of Catch
If Not for Perfection
–
I wish not for perfection
Rather somewhere
At the intersection
Of preparation
And the continuation
Of ones course
–
The readiness is created
By all the time spent
Re-taking
Take after take
Just for one good virtuous shake
The artist prepares with good intent
Content on rehearsal
Frustrated with constraint
Holding the power to change
Is the key to arranging
The true masterpiece that lies within
–
The strokes fall smooth on the page
Many hours have been spent
To create this moment
In this perfect age
The feelings and the artistry dance
Upon the blank canvas
Creating great swaths of golden hues
No reason to overdue
Simple strokes and committed lines
Hours spent caressing this craft
To create a mindless illusion
The genius of catch
–
Illustrious moments turn to intricate delicacy
As the grand swaths revolve to small movement
This is where preparation meets commitment
Where the small lines have the greatest impact
No thought or stroke left un-in-tact
This creation flows from the mind
Through the heart and blood
To the muscles and fingertips
Out onto the canvas
–
So what was once within
Can be seen without
Having to speak or convey
The image left upon the page
The true masterpiece
A Mouth Full of Iron
Just because I am broke
Does not mean that I am broken
–
The heart broken
Knows the languish for success
–
This languish can only be known
Through heartbreak and distress
–
The world around me spins
Yet I have to catch my druthers
–
In a life that is given
One must learn to rely on others
–
But that bitter irony
Creates a burn in ones mouth
–
Leaning on hopes of easier roads
Leaves the heart less than whole
–
Rust collects on the resting
One must move so no dust can begin collecting
–
Subdued Indiana terrain
Toughened the skin with winter pain
–
A mouth full of iron
Cracked on all sides
–
Makes me wonder
Whats is the next curve in life
–
What awaits
What gives what takes
–
Yet
–
Just Just because I am broke
Does not mean that I am broken
A Cup of Songwriting 