In The Weeds

One of my earliest childhood memories is singing along to songs as my mother drove around delivering newspapers from her car. I remember hearing songs that would stay with me the rest of my life. I also remember being brought to tears and begging to change the station by either songs that were too sad, or just plain terrible. At least to a toddler’s ears. At my elementary school we had no preschool or kindergarten, so my school memories started with first grade. It was the first time I was in the same room with a real guitar, when the music teacher would make her weekly visit to our class. Up until then the guitar had only been something I saw on television, or in the windows of music stores. Hearing the beautiful sounds those strings made when she strummed them, I thought “this must be what it sounds like in heaven“. I still remember the first song that music teacher played for us, all the way back in 1973. It was “Michael, Row The Boat Ashore”.  I definitely can trace my love f...

he rises long before dawn just to face another day a boxer’s caught in the ropes punch drunk in his own way Holy Jesus, I don’t know how he does this the hot steam rises from that same old broken cup I remember how it burns his hand as he hopes for some better luck Holy Jesus  I don’t know how he does this over and over  again his road is so well traveled he might as well drive it blind the miles pass like the sunsets in the mirror behind him the years keep on rolling by like so many falling leaves dropping from the sky that one day will be calling him back home Holy Jesus  I don’t know how he does this over and over  again this ain’t no deperate prayer I’m hoping he can say no , its just a worn out legacy til he passes away