These two pieces came from opposite ends of the evening where my focus was to put pen to paper more than to write for an audience, but I haven't blogged lately, so here you go...

Sweeten up Papa

I just fell off from thinking again
Blew a fuse and had to make amends
It wasn't that I ever want to blow,
But I started getting frustrated with how it might go.

Darling you know I'd never do you no harm
Still I hope & pray to be back in your arms
But the way you're acting lately baby
Ain't no way to treat a lady
So it's time to turn you loose.

Sweeten up papa & come back home.
Lighten up mister, don't you leave me alone.
But if you treat me like a dog and won't throw me a bone
My heart will finally break and turn to stone.

*****

Open the door
With the knob that turns
Rather than knocking forever
On the barred entrance
From your last exit.

Softly let go of the clenched fist
Allowing the light of a new dawn
To dance upon your palm
Then lift your head to greet the sun
with shining eyes.

Out of the shadow of last night's storm
a sunflower bursts in the light of morn.

*****

Even a raging muse needs inspiration sometimes. Last night it came in the form of the music created by Aaron Woody Wood. You can find out more about him and his current album project here on his kickstarter project page.

I had a great conversation with Margo Timmins of the Cowboy Junkies last week and look forward to one this week with Nat "King" Cole's brother Freddy Cole for the Mountain Xpress. I'm excited to catch both of these musicians live when they play Asheville in the next few weeks.

Friday night after a steamy show with the Red Hot Sugar Babies at Roger's Park in Tryon I returned to Asheville to catch a little something special at LaRue's Backdoor that made me dance with joy. Check out this video that captures the sound of the band even if it fails you give you the visual of the whole Bill Murray Experience. They're hot!

I have a bicycle, that I'm fixing. I have a 5 song EP waiting to be copied, but available to download. I have an article to write for the paper about someone who reminded me to keep focusing on what I do well and to get it done. So, apologies for holding back on the stories until I finish the ones that put a few dollars in my pocket. I need to pass them on to the next person for doing what they do well that I can't do for myself.

Don't think that I would do him wrong,
T'ain't my bid'ness where he has gone,
Yet folks bin askin' all along
So that is why I wrote this song.

It goes: doo doo doo dit
doo doo di doo
doo be doo doo dit
doo doo be doo
doo doo doo dit
doo doo di doo
doo dit da doo dit
da doo be doo doo doo
(repeat)

Well, if you see him, give a smile
Raise a glass to the weary miles
Remind him he's bin away too long
And home is callin' with a song.

It goes: doo doo doo dit
doo doo di doo
doo be doo doo dit
doo doo be doo
doo doo doo dit
doo doo di doo
doo dit da doo dit
da doo be doo doo doo
(repeat)

After running across the country packing each day full of shows and reconnecting with loved ones scattered like seeds across the country, I can't help but hope that the work we did through Poetry Alive! helped to provide some nourishment in these, well, interesting times.  I must say it was a relief to walk into schools this trip compared to the last time I was working on the west coast right after the Columbine incident. Everywhere we went both staff and students were grateful to see us and thirsty for the arts instead of scared of bomb threats. I was also reminded of how diverse America has become as I visited more schools where there is no longer a majority, but rather a rainbow of color, language, and culture. However, budgets are tight. Even though the arts and sports help bridge the gaps of culture and give students outlets for their own expressions, they are on the chopping block this season.

I'm worn down from 13,000 miles of road dust in the past month and really don't have time to worry about much except the basics of food, shelter, sleep & how to turn the few dollars I made for the work we did into sustainable independence. Isn't that really what we all need?

I was reminded in Lincoln, Nebraska, the heartland of America, that the essential part of the American dream is that if you work hard you will be rewarded. This doesn't mean you figure out how you can scam the most money out of other people at the least cost to yourself. This doesn't mean you run around blaming everyone else for making you miserable or expect that they owe you something.

If our government can't figure that out, it is our duty as citizens to help them. In the words of Paul Freire, "Nobody liberates anybody else, and nobody liberates themselves all alone. People liberate themselves in fellowship with each other."

My wish is that each of us stops playing the blame game and continues to develop those life sustaining attributes which allow us work together for a better tomorrow as we clean up the messes of yesterday.

Dear mountainside house,

You know I loved you.

I enjoyed many days sitting on your porch
gazing across the valley into the clouds.
Until the money ran dry,
we painted & polished you as best we could.
I walked your woods in wonder with my dog
marveling at each new bloom in Spring.
But, the last winter there nearly killed me.
The weight of the work for warmth
without someone to curl up with at night
wore me down to tears.
It was the summer storm that broke my back.
Road weary from travelling to arrive home
only to find I couldn't get home
because two red oak trees blocked the drive.
Again, I cried.
I wanted to stay,
but in the end had to choose to leave.
It was you or me, and both of us were dying.

I chose to live.

Starr's Day

The birthday cake
appeared on the counter
but vanished unceremoniously.

There was no time to stop
for candle lighting
between the jazz jump
& bumpity dj thump.
Colored lights blinking
over bunny hopping
hula-hooping
swirl of faces
blending of worlds.

Escape outside
for a breath of air
run into conversation there.

Magus

Pass the ugly jug
on a winter's night
with it's bitter brew
choke down the burn
& strum another tune.

Light a torch
& call the dancers
from the fringe
with a gypsy jazz love song.

Around the campfire
watch flames meet
dance together
as marionettes
put on the show
to burn down the house.

The tale in this tome
we'll stow under the rug
so as not to startle
the talon wearing carrion
into a feeding frenzy.

Wrestling with NaPoWriMo #8:
unusual love connections.

It's like that first ride
on Space Mountain
or Dad's racecar.
Armed with a uke.

(Sometimes 140 characters is enough. Is that a poetweet? Though there is a song a brewing from this prompt too. I might just have to sing it for you live first rather than casting it out into the internet.)