Category: songs

Faulkner’s first draft of “Dying As I Lay”

Tossing another token to John Prine who epitomized offering more with less. I liken this to a song rather than a poem but I’ll leave that definition to the reader.

Hey, dying ain’t all it’s cracked up to be

so don’t you go listening to that Fibber McGee

nobody’s thinking ‘I gotta hit the finish line strong’

’cause there ain’t any victors racking up wrongs

 

Living serves up messy helpings of joy and dire

on the level with the devil and singing with the choir

as my hourglass sands silently collect at the bottom

the choir loudly singing ‘smoke ’em if you got ’em’

 

Did I master the rudiments of bountiful living?

was my existence knowledge minus application bidding?

okay, I’m throwing myself on the mercy of the court

and aborting the generous A+ request on my life report

 

At the end of our paths of becoming a human emeritus

we remain self executioners serving out a life sentence

I’ve learned not much changes putting the tea kettle on

IPA salvation at the brewery tops a day at the salon

 

But say I make up my mind I want to come back

unfinished business, hand me that jacket of flak

you know if Google or Apple has an app for that?

We all wish for the one offering just rewards

 

So before I coldfoot it out of this Hotel Final

where it’s always checkout hour with no revival

I’ll offer a last howl before as a breathing human

serving up these words as my last communion.

Family, or Not

* Inspired by the Bruce Springsteen song “Highway Patrolman”

We was raised on a family farm way out of town

croppin’ wasn’t easy but the lifeblood we found

two boys, me and Jed, our sister Rose died at eleven

buried past the barn when he was twelve and I ten

one day here, then gone, Mama said it was the fever

told me not to say a word and everyone believed her

 

Jed soon turned dark, just ugly treating others

we was the same but so unlike blood brothers

he earned a reputation, it spread and soiled me

kids would quietly edge away, watching fearfully

but Becky Cook took to likin’ me, be it luck or fate

with her I felt alive,  a liftin’ of the heaviest of weight

 

Chorus

Life moves on but absence ain’t just not being seen

Darkness shadows families, we claw at the holes in between

 

My parents said don’t you dare bring her around

When I’d ask why, they’d say you just calm down

Jed told me to do it, with a look like he knew more

Then he’d smirk and continue on with his chores

one day Becky called wanting to see me by myself

Daddy and Mama in town, Jed to parts unknown

 

She showed up and I told her I liked her smile

I went to find my  favorite book, floatin’ all the while

when I returned, she was gone less a single shoe remaining

I called her name to no answer, silently spittin’ out a prayer

then I heard a scream outside and tore into the yard

Jed was draggin’ Becky away like a corpse to the boneyard

 

Chorus

Life moves on but absence ain’t just not being seen

Darkness shadows families, we claw at the holes in between

 

Jed turned, let her go, then ran into the barn

Becky shaking, her dress dirty and blood adorned

Daddy’s truck appeared, he asked “why’s she here?”

“Jed hurt Becky” and Daddy’s eyes displayed fear

“He’s in with the livestock and I want at him”

Daddy had Mama take us inside, him pale and grim

 

A single shot rang out, Daddy took two hours to return

sayin’ “there’ll be no more problems, nothing of concern”

an hour later, he spoke again with “it’s time for the truth”

he said, “Emory, this is gonna taste like bitterroot

it was evil but family, what Jed did to our sweet Rose

but taking it outside us left me nothing but what I chose”

 

Chorus

Life moves on but absence ain’t just not being seen

Darkness shadows families, we claw at the holes in between

 

 

The Sound of One Hand Writing

I’m still on my John Prine-ish (if that isn’t heresy) binge. Let’s call this a music-less song rather than a poem.

I got a woodpecker in my pants

some mistake it for a fer-de-lance

it makes my legs sway to and fro

although both my feet flatly say no

 

I’m stuck with a pair of alligator arms

don’t worry, they’ll do ya no harm

And the eyes I own aren’t the same size

On the beauty way, I’ll win no prize

 

(Chorus) We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

 

My disks are each fully fragmented

still in place, yes, but slightly dented

biting into moon pies makes me giggle

when I get up, my thighs they wiggle

 

I need to minimize my gluteus max

ain’t all diets a personal sin-tax?

lost count adding up my multiple chins

Let’s call it a maximizing of all my skin

 

We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

 

My nose knows what’s fingerlickin’ good

food tasting should be my livelihood

Throughout my boyhood I just misunderstood

Not too many spark plugs under my hood

 

We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

 

You know my toes, they refuse to twinkle

when it come to snorin’ I’m Rip Van Winkle

my pecs been the victim of some kidnapping

I’m a piss poor candidate for chromosome mapping

 

The few muscles in me are the slow twitch kind

I’m disinclined to ever seek peace of mind

nobodys ever asked me to pee in a cup

cause my human algorithm has never added up

 

We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

America the Dysfunctional


It’s said this is a most Christian nation
but acting Roman is our supplication
idol worshiping money’s lurid gloss
while justice is bang nailed to the cross
why isn’t wrong wrong as well as right right?
it’s the crux of humanity’s never-ending fight

Chorus:

O beautiful for brownish skies
for modified waves of grain
for clear cut mountain majesty
above the parched and barren plain
America, America,
god what they have done to thee
and crown thy populace via dominionhood
from sea to rising sea

Manifest destiny always holding sway
exceptionalism the sole American way
timeless fables telling that familiar story
all preaching the emancipation glory
free to buy the milk and cereal we want
while freedom’s blueprint sheds its font

Chorus

Those welcoming tragedy for opportunity
dollar sign profits but all they can see
accrual by vanquishing the dispossessed
experimenting on humans, more or less
if a god shed some sort of grace on thee
was it for the despoilers to be all they can be?

Chorus

The most distinguished jurists in all our land
simply bought-and-paid-for with open hands
granting corporations full human rights
extinguishing Lady Liberty’s historic lights
advancing predation for the monied class
leaving hell to pay for all the lower castes

When Too Much Is Not Enough

At the top o’ the heap by rigging the rules
keeping the money flowing to their favorite political tools
discarding the bereft like yesterday’s trash
after fleecing ’em out of their homes and cash

It’s full bore patriotism to the almighty dollar
but never ever is heard any painful blue blood holler
from the wallets of our very own kith and kin
the elite steal from early and often

CHORUS:

They win or lose on whichever path they choose
but triumph or fail, they always will prevail
’cause they’re calling the dance at the predator’s ball

The rich and powerful sup at the trough
they’re brilliant, they deserve it — cough, cough
junk bonds and derivatives crosses of the alter
financiers as deities, surely none will falter

It’s a no product, nothing built, sleight of hand
just vast paper castles built on quicksand
with the tap of a key, so easy to perform
no muss, no fuss, just economic porn

CHORUS

Profit on the guaranteed demise of others
sacrifice for the low level sisters and brothers
but just when is enough and at what cost?
and to what degree of our paradise lost?

What about he who finishes first, shall be last?
it’s fundamental scripture — the die is cast
but in a country worshiping grandiose greed
Caesar and mammon are the twin masters’ creeds

CLOSING

Yes, they package and trades things invisible
insulated from the fickle ol’ bear and bull
insured from calamity by the full faith and credit
of the ordinary folk who will never ever get it
they’re simply too big to fail or take down
they’re America’s terrorists, they own your town
salute and subjugate to the new holy crown

Johnny Spillane

Got to have at least one olde Irish ditty in the repertoire.

Johnny Spillane be my name
I’m neither of fortune or fame
but with my able hardy back
I climbed out of the potato sack
and made a family and a living

Life was bleak in County Cork
me the twelfth arrival of the stork
my family had neither land
nor any opportunity at hand
so I shipped off to Ameri-cay

Having no papers or money
oh, that land of milk and honey
she was mighty, mighty harsh
it being ‘no dogs and no Irish’
so I did what I had to do

Getting off that bottom rung
was no sweet song sung
the dollars and coins were sweated
as I obeyed and marionetted
biding my time all the while

Then I caught me a lucky break
an offer from a Mallow rake
to supply the needed muscle
enforcing his wayward hustle
and my pockets began to fill

Now, I sit behind a desk
others working at my behest
a society respected man
who started with nary a plan
blessed, if there be a God

My past, I keep it well hidden
when I was doing others’ bidding
for no one would ever believe
what I did so I could achieve
and drag myself out of the gutter

Now I’m acting like the Cromwell Brits
it gives my elderly parents fits
scorning the powerless once like me
though they’re not truly a threat as I see
all they want is their dreams to be

Settling into Wendell Berry’s “Enriching the Earth” Bliss

I grew up on a family farm so many years ago
putting seeds into soil, the planting cycle ruled our life
harvest time the payoff but only if God graced our crop
but I ran away at my first chance, taking me a city wife

We were kids, unprepared to be bigger than our age
it failed ’cause I didn’t care which way the wind blew
then Uncle Sam asked me “wanna be in my family?”
not knowing much of nothing, I upped to start anew

I called my Daddy, telling him I was now a GI Joe
he was surprised I had chosen such a row to hoe
one of taking orders and being at others’ command
but with clarity of kill or be, it’s just you and your foe

So I settled in for 20, a long and stagnant run
a time of chasin’ women, tryin’ somehow to connect
always knowing I was bound to beat myself
living out the ancient lifelong birth defect

Now I’m out and as purposeless as my younger days
more pillar to post rambling, just like I was before
but I’m wiser of late on the basis of some written words
a book loaned, a poem read, a striking at my core

So I’m heading back home to work on the family farm
Dad needs some help, what with his older, slower ways
the tiller and the tractor faintly pulling at my memory
furrows in the fields and now spread all across his face

What I’ve come to see is a connection blessed be
the farmer and land being bonded in seasonal symmetry
connected to one another in a way I couldn’t see before
it’s a thread of timeless truth woven out of viability

Mother Nature, some call her a most fickle mistress
but so much less than any bastard land dominionist
I’ll hook my wagon to her and be grateful for the ride
aware of what my head and heart so heedlessly missed