#100 One Hundred Songs
(Americana)
You left a card -- well, a post-it note,
Stuck to the front door when I got home.
Stood in the kitchen, looked around my empty house,
Pretended there was no way I could have known.
Sat on the bed, looked at your cleaned-out closet
Flopped over, stared at the ceiling, replayed my wrongs.
Sat right up when I figured out the answer:
To win you back, I'll just write a hundred songs.
The next morning -- chord diagram, black coffee
Kitchen strumming, worried when I didn't get far.
Only chord I learned was a flat seven,
On a borrowed, worn-out guitar
Scribbled lyrics, early mornings on post-it notes,
Evening, back porch -- sang them into my phone.
Along with my strumming and picking,
Deep into the night -- busy, but all alone.
Stored all the song files on my laptop,
Wrote a new one every two days -- stayed on track.
Looked at all the post-its stuck on the wall,
Wondered if this was still about getting you back.
Listening to music -- hope to steal from the best,
Thinking more about chord changes than how you are
Learned many new chords, still loved that flat seven,
On my borrowed, half-broke guitar
Finally done! Voicemail when I dared to call you.
Said I understand -- leaving was the right thing to do
Learned some things while writing one hundred songs
My endless tryings and fixings -- well meaning, but wrong
Our love song never had a chance to begin
I was too scared to just listen and let you in.
I hope you know you were right, and I'm sorry
In case you hear this, wherever you are.
I lost you, learned my life's often a flat seven,
Played on an out-of-tune guitar.
Or at least that's what I think right now,
Keep learning I'm no stranger to wrong.
Because some days a song is everything,
Other days -- it's just a song.
#99 CONCRETE BUNNIES
(Americana)
By now y'all heard what happened to Roger,
When that kid set fire to the art museum.
Let go as director, couldn't find a new job,
"Friends" on the street pretend not to see him.
But here's a better tale you might not have heard,
About the front yard of 212 North Hickory.
The pride and joy of Roger's neighbor,
Missus Martha Eugenia Moseley.
Truth seekers I've met are pinched and solemn,
But the search for beauty? That's kind of funny.
Cross a whole ocean to see the Mona Lisa,
Or just fill your front yard with concrete bunnies.
Roger moved in back in January,
Snow was piled high, a sharp Nor'easter blew.
At his front door next day, purple snowsuit, hand out,
"My full name's a mouthful -- Call me Martha U."
Friendly smiles, nods and waves, first months as neighbors.
But when March melt revealed the grass and the dirt,
Our fine arts director saw to his great dismay,
A slate-grey throng of statues that made his eyes hurt.
Truth seekers I've met are fierce and solemn,
But the search for beauty? A bit more funny.
Drive twelve hours to see Vincent's Starry Night,
Or just fill your front yard with concrete bunnies.
June morning, Roger opens his door, eyes dead tired,
Martha's there, purple sundress: "Sorry you got fired."
Hands him homemade cranberry crumble, pint of ice cream,
Points at the bunny she's placed in his yard and just beams.
Explains she'd already sealed it to protect it.
He swallows, says "Thank you Martha. It's... ... perfect."
Truth seekers I've met, I get why they're solemn,
But the search for beauty? That's just funny.
Fly to Florence, join the crowd staring at a statue,
Or just fill your front yard with concrete bunnies.
#98 ALL THE TELLINGS
(Americana)
"You see the best in everyone Anna!"
Mama smiled as she brushed my hair.
Rainy August morning, start of first grade,
Told me to tell 'em if they don't know -- only fair.
Thirty years later I'm outside our house,
Sorry -- I mean yours, since I moved out.
Early morning, car-crying -- heavy snow,
Reliving all the times I opened my mouth.
The world doesn't know how special you are,
You can do anything -- just reach for the stars!
Fake treasure for the young from the old,
All the tellings I have been told.
Age fourteen, finish second in the science fair,
Mama says "Go congratulate the girl in first place."
She then leans over and whispers I should,
Tell her blend the make-up line, left side of her face.
The snow picks up strength -- still no sign you're awake,
Kleenex pack empty, my shame now complete.
Thump both hands on the steering wheel, put the
Car in drive, head off slowly down the street.
Never be afraid to speak your mind,
Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind.
Rule book handed down by the old,
All the tellings I have been told.
Jennifer's wedding -- we both had to go,
See you up next to the groom -- shrugging, slight smile.
You see me -- you pause, then look away.
I sit way in the back, next to the aisle.
Around a corner, reception hallway, I hear
Jennifer ask why you're no longer with me.
You say "Anna doesn't ask. Annabel tells."
I turn, walk away fast, tears flowing free.
I told you money doesn't grow on trees,
And you just can't see what I see.
My words were poison, dressed up as gold,
All the tellings that I have told.
All the tellings that I have told.
#97 HIGH COUNTRY LOW
(Americana)
The marmot whistled, sharp, shrill and loud,
My tent -- High Sierras, just off the path.
Then he chattered, his dark eyes unblinking,
Unhappy at how long my visit might last.
Top of a pass, day one, breathing hard,
Towering view, but more uneasy than serene.
Somehow bored by the burst of colors I take in,
Deep blue sky, slate grey rocks, meadows light green.
I climb to the sky, to find my alone,
Stargazing beneath Lodgepoles, far from my home.
Can't find my peace in the peaks and the snow,
The one thing I've found is a high country low.
Two days hike in, then onto this steep overlook,
Right before sunset, just me and Fuzzy's long face.
A face she'd call adorable if she were here,
But she's no longer joining me in this place.
Alone on the trail, late spring waterfalls roar,
Dusty winding paths all seem wrong, not like before.
Now silently watched by peaks covered in snow,
One thing I can't lose is this high country low.
Fuzzy whistles one final time, then heads off home
The alone I now find is a different alone.
The mountains just measure what's right and what's wrong,
Tomorrow I'll leave this place I no longer belong.
Last gasp of sunset -- bright gold under dark blue,
Mountain meadows now quiet until first morning dew.
Verdict returned by peaks heavy with snow,
Not easy but fair -- this high country low.
#96 YOUR ECHO KEEPS RINGING
(Yacht Rock)
That girl tucks her hair behind her ear,
And suddenly there you are once more.
You linger in the warm dark smell of amber,
And that aisle where we kissed in the hardware store.
Your laugh bounces around a backstreet corner,
Your eyes wide when you spilled that vindaloo.
Late morning, almost empty dive bar,
I'm seeing that time you danced with the pool cue.
The memories flash, in bursts and starts
Whatever the day decides to bring.
You're long gone but you never leave,
And your echo keeps on ringing.
Met at Murphy's, mid-week songwriter's round.
You sang along to a song you'd heard me play before.
Tucked your hair before you clapped, few weeks later,
You're smiling with all your stuff piled right outside my door.
Watched you swearing at a jigsaw puzzle, summer morning,
Arms-linked, pond-side skipping rocks as autumn winds blew.
Kissed you in an alley, near where we'd kissed before,
Closed my eyes, watched me back up the alley kissing you.
You join me, in sudden bursts and starts
Brought forth by almost anything.
You're long gone but you never leave,
And your echo keeps on ringing.
Came home late, set my guitar in the hall,
You're crying on the couch, curled up tight and small.
Held your hands, wiped your tears, asked what I can do,
Slowly shook your head, said "It's just not you."
Step to the mic -- strumming, head bowed down,
All the songs for you I can't stop singing.
You've been gone for years, but you never leave,
And still your echo just keeps ringing.
#95 THE PORCH FACED NORTH
(Americana)
Told my daddy "Come on, it can't go there."
Pointed to where it sat in the plans.
Steamy Monday morning in our office,
Designing the house he'd then build by hand.
Expected more yelling, today he just shut down.
Tried all morning to get him to discuss.
He kept sketching, drinking coffee.
Slight smile when leaving, said "Guess I've lost your trust."
Often times it'll be too cold,
And almost never enough light
Who builds a north-facing porch?
Damn certain he's not right.
Not long after, I up and moved north,
Our talks dropped from rarely to none.
Then fifteen years ago I got the call,
His time in this world was done.
At his house, east side of Waycross,
August afternoon heat was searing.
But when I joined the mourners in that porch,
Here's what I felt and was hearing.
Smiles, low talking, cool breeze,
And just the right amount of light.
That damn north-facing porch,
Couldn't believe he was right.
Mama lived in that house, rest of her time,
Porch checkers when it rained, porch tea in sunshine.
Now it's my sister's -- she's raising two boys
She says porch breakfasts, summer mornings are a joy.
At the top of the list when I'm
Counting regrets late a night.
That old north-facing porch:
Never told him he was right.
When they bury me way down deep,
I'll find out if my spirit still wants to keep
Watch over the place that makes me smile.
And then I can sit in my north-facing porch,
For a long... long, long while.
#94 THE CHANGES
(Americana)
One time, the summer I turned eight.
My mother said I'd earned a treat.
Took me down to see PopPop,
Rehearsing at the VFW in the heat.
I watched him keep telling his band,
Follow the music on the pages.
Finally put down his fiddle, yelled out:
"Boys! Just play the damn changes!"
Music swells all around you,
Here's what should ground you
Path's written down on pages,
So play those changes,
Just play the changes.
Today I'm a fireman, and divorced,
Ten years back, had a wife and big league deal.
Tried for the majors -- shoulder said "Nope!"
Told others "She's fine!" -- forgot to ask Tenille.
Morning she left, I sat on the porch
Tossed the ball in the air, used my good arm.
Went back inside, got a bowl and a spoon,
Ate a whole box of Lucky Charms.
I had my plans, but fate just yawned,
From a walk in the park to a fall in the pond.
Each moment rearranges,
So play those changes,
Just play the changes.
My friend Sandra moved to Nashville,
Planned to be a star.
Now she owns a food truck,
Still plays a mean guitar.
Next-door Janet broke her back,
Stray sock left on the stairs.
Summer evenings, she'll wave,
As she gardens from her chair.
Ran off with their neighbor,
That's how Cousin Roger lost a wife.
Eight lonely months later,
He meets the love of his life.
I had my hopes, then life shrugged her shoulders,
Not sure about wiser, but I sure got older.
Every moment rearranges,
All we can do is play those changes,
Just play the changes.
#93 WE FOUGHT IN THE KITCHEN
(Americana)
Right at first light I'm already up,
The coffee pot fills with steady drips.
Alone in the kitchen, cereal on the floor,
The full mug warms my fingertips
Windy this morning, yellow leaves flutter by,
Stare at the pic of me and Wilma -- big toothy smile.
Lean against the sink, coffee cup in one hand,
With my other slowly trace the counter tiles.
The oak table my Grandpa built from scratch,
The brown fridge -- still works with the patch.
Where we'd eat, drink and laugh -- but never fight.
Then we fought in the kitchen last night.
Last night talking about Aunt Wilma's money,
You give a small shrug "How best to use it?"
I'm pacing, worked up, say "She believed in me!"
Point at her picture "Help my dream, not lose it!"
I'm at the sink, arms crossed, you're cleaning the table.
You say "Hobbies shouldn't be more than they are."
I freeze. The clock ticks four times, then I stomp and say
"She saw me better than you ever will by far."
The shelves we built together in a hurry,
And the beige paint we used to save money.
Where we'd cook, listen and talk -- but never fight.
Then we fought in the kitchen last night.
Before the kids have stirred, you walk in the room,
See the cereal on the floor, go get a broom.
Sweep, pour your own cup, place on the table,
Don't want to look at you, but I'm finally unable.
With arms out, you turn your palms til they're showing,
I wait... Then nod, turn to watch the leaves blowing.
The cork wall where everything got stuck,
The sideboard that held Sunday potluck.
Where we'd plan, dance and cry -- and never fight.
But we fought in the kitchen last night.
Wilma gave me a small gift,
The day she said "Now! Go begin it!'
And for years, best I could do was,
A page or two in a spare minute.
But I looked at that gift every day,
And hoped my work would excite her.
On the wall where I write, small framed cross-stitch,
All upper-case -- "I AM A WRITER."
#92 GOODLETTSVILLE, TN
(Americana)
I’m standing at a corner,
In Goodlettsville Tennessee
Because of a girl I saw once,
Who looked straight back at me.
Twenty seven years ago,
Heading to a job interview.
There she was -- lovely, standing tall,
Hint of a smile, eyes bright blue.
Last five weeks of dreams, I keep seeing her face
Full day's driving, and now I'm back at the place.
Looking for some... thing -- maybe make it live again,
On some corner in Goodlettsville, TN
I was running late that day,
For a job I didn't want to do.
Thought about skipping, then
Gazed upon a girl I never knew.
The corner looks almost the same,
No longer hedges on this side of the road.
She stood right in front of them,
I didn't pull over, I didn't say hello.
Some old choices still hit you like a punch
Back then I thought, "Hey! I saw her once."
Young and dumb enough to think I will again,
On some corner in Goodlettsville, TN
Taking pictures of the corner, don't know why.
Old man on the sidewalk, I catch his eye
Asks me "Pics for insurance, or what?"
I open my mouth, then slam it shut.
Old man heads off, I raise my phone, keep going.
But then drag to a stop, after slowing.
Sigh, shake my head -- and the walk to the car begins
Done with this corner in Goodlettsville, TN
Back at my car, I start smiling. Why? Don't fully know.
I'll go get something to eat, then start the long drive home.
#91 KIND OF FUNNY
(Americana)
On the back porch, sanding decoys,
Late summer sun, cold beer drinking.
Smell the cut grass, hear those cicadas roar,
Look at the bench where you'd blow bubbles, start thinking.
Man drowned at the shootin' range,
Heard about it, thought "Damn, that's strange!"
Ought to learn to swim, before you learn to shoot,
Kind of funny, kind of true.
Sun ducks behind the trees, think about my call to you,
Smile when I hear "Can't come to the phone."
Say once again the "sorry" I didn't say back then.
First bats fly as the cicadas drop to a drone.
Day you joined this world, I held you, red and squalling,
Nurses said "She needs her mama to stop her bawling."
Yelled at the nurses -- told 'em "Shoo!"
Kind of funny, kind of true.
I dressed my best, first visit to your new place,
But drinking heavy, and right after we said grace.
You're serving dinner, so I tried to speak hushed.
Whispered to your mother, you still heard "grandkids... mutts."
Far off faint field lights, think of you back in high school
Softball game, their biggest player shoved your friend Jules.
You bopped her right in the nose, turned her eye dark blue.
Kind of funny, kind of true.
Back in the day, my daddy stopped talking to me,
In your house, that one damn word slipped free.
You said "Til my last day, I'll never talk to you."
Kind of... No. Wait... That's just true.