Swollen Hands

Her heart has more love to give

Then I’ll ever know

Her heart has more love to give

And she’s growing old

Time can harden your heart

Break you apart

And turn it into sand

With weary eyes

And weathered lines

No one would understand

These eyes see the world

Felt the knife slide through

Her swollen hand

Call the birds

Forget yourself

Put your ambitions on the shelf

No way to live

Don’t ask but give

Breeding nothing but bitterness within

 –

This heart has more love to give

Then I’ll ever know

This heart has more love to give

And we are growing old

When things get bad around you

Walls falling down too

I know what she’ll do

She will start again

With some new friends

A new life so far from the bends

Make her way

Cutting off the slack

Far away and never looking back

Then one day

She will turn and say

Things were never quite the same

She will know

That in her soul

Pain fades but never grows old

TV’s On

Late night at the Italian joint

we sit tired and staring

talking about how we are

going to make our lives

work

6 tv’s blaring telling us what to think

Next I am easily distracted

by the compact box

lighting the room

the food is good and will do

but as for me and you

it has been 10 years in the making

no more waiting

we are going to make our move

but for now in this vacant little resteraunt

we enjoy each other

even with the tv’s on

Summer Rain

Summer rain falls mid day

filling the pavements

washing dead bugs and twigs away

cascading on grass so needy

pulling it beneath the earth

taking its fill and nothing greedy

grass blades bend soft with water pose

hoping that the sun will keep it live on loan

but the cloud has filled with pulled cotten clean

billowing the small stacks of steam

I sit and wander

how the world rejoices in summer thunder

for me under the roof i sit and watch

that water falls to the ground

filling the parched holes in the earth

with a simple pitter patter

the wonderful summer sound

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.

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!

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

Wonder

Video

This is a song about how my mind seems to wonder at all times. I have a very curious personality – and I feel this song really captures the way I feel sometimes. Enjoy!

Great Nostalgia – 13 Years Ago

Tonight post is short and sweet. We just rocked out at a sweet house party in Downtown South Bend the night before our big show here in the bend for St Paddy’s Day. I am kinda wiped out – but I will give it my best. I am feeling a little nostalgic because I realized that tomorrow will be our biggest performance in South Bend ever and I have been playing in the bend for 13 years!!! Holy shit! I played my first show when I was 15, my mom dropped me off at a local coffee house called “Higher Grounds” in DT South Bend. It was an amazing show and now tomorrow I will be on stage in front of 8,000+ crazy to look back at the journey – and funny how life works. But I am super excited – a poem will be written post show to summarize the feelings and emotions. For some reason word press is not letting me space correctly so this will be read by using commas (not for grammatical purpose)

All the chatter, Play it this way and what is the matter, Chords still ring out, I cling to this guitar like a mad hatter, I have seen many a shops open and close, Sang them a song before they had to dispose, Of all their assets and move out of town, Kinda sad to think that I would never again see them around, This town or any other for that matter, People have come and gone, Some great inspirations, Some not so much, But in some meaningful way it was my life that they touched, I think back with great nostalgia to the first show posters, My life since those first days has been nothing short of a great roller coaster, I have now traveled from coast to coast, I have found places I loved the least and the most, With my guitar I have traveled, I say this not to boast, My humble beginnings playing in Coffee shops to onlookers playing chess, I did not have a fabulous voice, I can honestly say that I gave it my best, Only 15 looking for a grand time, Little did I know that love and a calling I would find, Years went by, I continued to play, I tried to give it a little something just about everyday, Then music led me to my love, She landed in my life as gentle as a dove, She would sing I would play, Anywhere and we did not worry about pay, 10 years have gone by since then, I can not believe it has already been 10, Now we get to play on a much great stage, I guess you could say that we have turned the page, From the empty coffee houses to people packed in, I used to know this city when the music scene was thin, Now it is robust and growing, Songs are being written, People now create great art, I am humbled to think that I played just a small part, I hope South Bend continues to grow, What it will become in ten years nobody really knows, To do my part I will just continue to pick up my guitar sing and play, I hope for the best for this city one day, Wishing it the best on this St. Patrick’s Day.

Futile to Fertile

Spring is right around the corner. On a warm spring day this came to me as I relished in the final days of winter. Those days are some of my favorite of the year. Enjoy!

Winter days fade

Into spring

Quiet mornings

Where the birds

Sing

The final snow

Begins to melt

And fade away

Winter is moving out

And

Must be on its way

For today

I admire

The winter cold

Windy gnarly

And brutal

My attempts to leave the Midwest

Always seem to be

Futile

Until the fertile lands

Of spring bloom

Once again

Bring back

Warmth and summers moon

All of this will be back

Very soon

And soon indeed

It will bring me joy

A young child

With a brand new toy

To run around under the sun

My heart swells

When it is warm

How the feelings come back to me

On this winters morn’

Political Constipation

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!

Upon us is The Great Sequestration!

Ode to the amazing political constipation!

This is no nation of procrastination and indignation!

But rather a great land

Of sensation and flirtation

With capitalism

And now possible stagnation!

The political bowel filled with dense matter

And the while the belly of the great nation

Grows fatter and fatter

But who really wants to ask

What is the matter?

Surely it can’t be

An infection of the bladder

It is the anus

Filled and discontent

No one wants to work

To lift the great clog

The almighty circumvent!

To move past political lines

Dine of much higher fair, politicians

The real moving kind

The sledge of procrastination

Must be cast into the toilet bowl

Worry not if it will over flow

It is time for change

Of the diet we consume

Must surely change

Grow and support

Greater endeavors

But it can not be just some broke ass poet

Who can be oh so clever

Ask yourself today

What are you willing to do for tomorrow

To cast away this fowl sorrow

To stitch the times that have grown to divide

And I will surely be

On your side