The Daily Routine

Posted on June 26, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

Ah the challenge of keeping creativity alive in my life. As I am pulled to try and sell the art and the creations that have already occurred. It is hard sometimes to step back and try and let the creative juices be heard. So I sat down to try and document my daily routine of keeping creativity alive in my life. So here it is – enjoy!

–

The daily routine

Wake up in the morning

Make sure to exercise

Work out the arms and the thighs

Get back and get cleaned up

Got to write and practice

Keep the routine up

3 or four hours later

I now sit at the compu-tater

Life’s lines complex yet defined

I make this no place to wine

Letting go on paper what must be done

Seemed like a good idea

Challenging and fun

Poems must be constructed daily

This challenges what I have to say

About beauty, art, and the progress of today

The challenge is not to conform

But to set a new aggressive norm

Creativity must be engaged often

Or else the course muscles will soften

Decay and leave your soul

Looking for someone else to enroll

The creative spirit can be fleeting and gone

So I must capture these spirits in songs

Poems, writings, and other means

Or else I will be left with nothing

Creativity gone and no job to boot

I look pretty bad now in a business suit

Full of aspirations are these writings

Even though my mind is rattled with distractions

I must be real and stay ahead

Better off here trying

Than creativity dead

Swollen Hands

Posted on June 19, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

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

Overstay Your Welcome

Posted on June 11, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

Some dark shit – but hey we all have those days right? I am feeling the weight of overstaying my welcome and feel that I have to move on – so here it is.

–

I waited to long you see

The walls are closing in on me

Not much left I can do

Not quite sure I can see it through

The rent is late

The man has to be paid

But I am short on pennies

Nothing easy about being a musician

Not gunna lie

Some days I wish I was a fat cat

Just laying around chasing rats

But what the sense in that

I have these fingers and these thoughts

It not something that I bought

Or try to sell

But when the whispers turn to yells

That is when the pain can swell

And swell

Turning you into something you are not

Making you turn your back

On something when it is quite alright

Why do it

Why go now

Just a couple bucks short got you down

There has to be a better way somehow

Life ain’t easy is the saying

But life has a way of displaying

This little cliché in a real way

It never makes sense until that one day

Then you look and say

Shit

These bills

How will I ever pay?

The Coals of Ambition

Posted on June 10, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

Can anyone tell me where this is going

I am not quite sure I follow

yet I am content to find out

there is no real place called home

not when living a life on the roam

for what might be better

yet sometimes much worse

my thoughts fumble as my mind wonders

internal rain

perpetual thunder

raking me across the coals of ambition

little did I know it would hold me ransom

these things that I was wishing

holding onto dearly as if the bible

these contemptuous desires should be convicted of liable

they have not given what was prescribed

empty bags straight out lied

and made me feel at home

in a bed of feathers

little did i know my mind it would teather

and hold down with uncertainty

but certainly

I will come out stronger on the other end

I once was a three

Now I am a ten

time to grow up

rather than start again

I will leave it here for tonight

what I said seems alright

I will fall fast asleep

until the the night is bright with

morning light

Hairline

Posted on April 23, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

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!

–

Why spend so much time thinking about your hairline

all in all things are just fine

sing and write a poem from time to time

does this symbolize youth and health

or simple vanity

for all eyes to see

what will happen in the days to come

there is no reason for that

I am not sure if it is a reason to just look back

a connector to my past

but I start in the glass and wonder

what is the reason for it

my worry

my concern

in days and years I will learn more

about the world

and myself

Life Closer to the Ground

Posted on April 18, 2013 by acupofsongwriting

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!

–

Life Closer to the Ground

–

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

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

The daily routine

Wake up in the morning

Make sure to exercise

Work out the arms and the thighs

Get back and get cleaned up

Got to write and practice

Keep the routine up

3 or four hours later

I now sit at the compu-tater

Life’s lines complex yet defined

I make this no place to wine

Letting go on paper what must be done

Seemed like a good idea

Challenging and fun

Poems must be constructed daily

This challenges what I have to say

About beauty, art, and the progress of today

The challenge is not to conform

But to set a new aggressive norm

Creativity must be engaged often

Or else the course muscles will soften

Decay and leave your soul

Looking for someone else to enroll

The creative spirit can be fleeting and gone

So I must capture these spirits in songs

Poems, writings, and other means

Or else I will be left with nothing

Creativity gone and no job to boot

I look pretty bad now in a business suit

Full of aspirations are these writings

Even though my mind is rattled with distractions

I must be real and stay ahead

Better off here trying

Than creativity dead

Share this:

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

Share this:

Some dark shit – but hey we all have those days right? I am feeling the weight of overstaying my welcome and feel that I have to move on – so here it is.

I waited to long you see

The walls are closing in on me