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Bonny Lad and Lass


Mirrors reflecting darkness

Bring the bonny lad to his lass,

Like coats left in the corner,

When the rain has come to pass.


But the bonny lad misplaced the lass

In a dream upon the sea,

Amid waves of things as they were before,

And stormy yet-to-bes.


Two shadows fell together

silently – yet alone,

With arms reaching outward,

for the same place at different times.


The dream ended

as the ship set sail,

Leaving a question (unasked)



Mirrors reflecting sunlight

Distinguish bonny lad from lass,

The coats serve their usefulness,

with the corner free at last.


Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.






Something to think about these days.

Dealing With It


I would like to let you in –

on a little secret –

It may not be much

Of a secret, however,

I do not see many people

catching on.


You can drift away

from the world,

And listen, watch,

and learn.


You can spend so much time

watching for sulphur to ignite,

That you fail to see

the match burn.


You can seek the truth,

envy the youth,

Think that you may know

The answer.


Then find you concentrated

too much on the dance,

Ignoring the soul

of the dancer.


Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.





Blue is the color of the ashtray

from which your figure appears

in the smoke from the cigarette.


Blue is the color of the sky

as I go outside to lie

on the grass and think of you.


Blue is the color of the twinkle in my eye

remembering your tender smile

when I did something you approved of.


Blue is your touch upon my face

softer than the night,

like the seagull’s quiet flight.


Blue is the color of my thoughts

when I think of you

and remember that I love you!




Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.




With gathering places still closed, I came across this poem I wrote about being at the library.

At The Library


At the library –

– I see a different side of life –

Polite people whispering

Diligently reading.

I scrape a chair

And say “Excuse me,”

To all the readers staring.


At the library –

– I sit at a table –

Watch a girl sleeping.

Her mother writing

A paper she was asked

to write for night school,

While her young daughter waits.


At the library –

– I watch the librarian –

Walking briskly,

A student is following.

She tries to show him

where the biographies

on Shakespeare and Milton

are located in the stacks.


At the library –

People reading,



doing research,


and learning.

At the library.


Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.



Good Morning Sweetheart


Good morning sweetheart,

I love you more than strawberry cheesecake,

– and I really like strawberry cheesecake.

I love you more than peel ‘n’ eat shrimp and beer,

more than cold water after mowing the lawn,

more than the day’s first cup of coffee,

more than Marshall’s Barbeque,


I love you more than Hi-C gummies,

beef jerky,

Canadian Bacon on a good pizza,

chicken wings or chili on a cold night,


I love you more than a beautiful sunrise,

a gorgeous sunset,

the colors after a light spring rain,

a smooth flowing river full of fish,

– unless you are there with me – then I love you for the collective                                                                     beauty of you and nature.

I love you….completely,

I love you….wholeheartedly,

I love you….period.


Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.



A Leaf


Walking down the sidewalk

I stopped as the mist rose

Watching a leaf fall

Through the mist.


I am like that leaf

Floating softly over the paths

of yesterday.


Observing much,

but saying little,

Of what I would like to say.


Someone kicks me,

I fly off to see tomorrow,

In another place,

Not knowing where I’m bound.


Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.



If I Had A Wish


If I had a wish that I could wish

I would wish that you would always love me.


If I had another wish that I could wish

I would wish that you would be with me forever.


If you had a wish that you could wish

Would you wish that I would always love you?


If you had a wish that you could wish

Would you wish that I would be with you forever?


If you have had that wish that you could wish

Then your wish has come true –

And so has the wish that I would wish if I had a wish.


I Love You.


Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.


Eyes of a Poet


I’ve weathered storms

Climbed tall mountains,

washed my hands

in city park fountains,

I wake up wondering

what new thing I’ll have to try.


I’ve seen the world through

the eyes of a poet:

Observing while I stand alone.

Never a thought

of wanting to change things,

What can you do

when the seed’s been sown.


The robin rocks and rolls upon receipt

of a young boy’s slingshot stone,

The eagle flies in darkened skies,

and on Friday afternoons

Sometimes I laugh

like a crazy hyena,

Sometimes I howl at the moon.


Well hiddy hiddy ho

and tally tally ho

Too many choices

which way to go?

But, you know, the damnedest thing of all is,

actually – only one way is right.


Keeping writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

So I left Colorado on Friday morning – a beautiful day. The traffic was still rather light, but had picked up a little each day. It was a nice day for a drive. A damn long drive, but there you are. The weather warmed up, the air was clear, and the clouds were seemingly drifting through space and time. 

Radio reception cut out on the drive through New Mexico. I listened to the latest mix Conner sent me of the songs for the LA Session cd to be released later this year on Refrigerator Records. The songs sounded so good I was tempted to release it earlier, but everything in its own time. It is good traveling music.

The timing worked out perfect. Radio reception kicked back in when I finished listening to the mixes. A couple of hours later I was past Amarillo. Weather warnings began to interrupt the radio show. Rain, ping pong ball size hail, and sixty mile an hour winds were attacking the panhandle behind me. I was appreciating the fact that I had dodged that particular bullet. 

I appreciated that fact all the way to Hwy 380. The wind had picked up considerably by that time. Then I hit a little light rain. No big deal. I called Cameron to see if he was at his apartment in Denton. I was going to stop off, say hi, and use the bathroom. But soon after we hung up, the bottom dropped out. God’s way of telling me he didn’t appreciate my over confidence. 

On 35, visibility was reduced to having to turn on the flashers to warn those behind us. I worried about those whose common sense seemed lacking. I had to go around two accidents, the first of which I was almost in. But I arrived home with no incident in which I was involved.

I’ve been wearing a mask and social distancing the whole time. On one level of my conscience I’m getting used to it. On another level, I’m kinda tired of the whole damn thing. I would like to have a beer at the bar and then finish my show when the break is over.

In my dream last night, the trip – as well as events of the past few months – invaded that same conscience. There is a lot of jumbled parts that made an impression, but I don’t remember what happened. However, one scene struck me vividly. 

I was at a gathering of some sort. It was obviously pre(or post)- Covid 19. While the groups were away from each other, it was closer than six feet. I was walking through the crowd, saying hello to what seemed like everyone. I wasn’t shaking hands, but I was patting everyone on the shoulder. I got halfway through the crowd when I became horrified at what I was doing. Yet I couldn’t stop. Then I suddenly woke up with a shake.

I’d rather not have that dream again, if it’s all the same.


Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.


Since the first single from Southern Plains Revisited will be released May 29 on Refrigerator Records (whether I play the show at World’s End Brewing or not), I thought I would fill you in on the beginning of Southern Plains. Cyndy and I have been married for twenty-eight years. We’ve been in love, as we say, since right after high school – where we were friends.

Our first date was during her senior year. I had graduated the year before. We went to see Rusty Weir at the Lone Star Opry House on Industrial in Dallas and had a blast, drinking – you guessed it – Lone Star Beer. Industrial is called Riverfront now. We had a couple of dates after that.

Then, in early ’76, we had a disaster of a double date. We had an okay time together. But the date sucked. We ended up in an apartment lying on the floor next to a couple who were getting excited by the movie they were playing of people doing things we had no intention of doing at the time. But the other couple seemed to be moving in that direction. Neither of us remember exactly how the date ended, but mercifully it ended.

Cyndy called me before Super Bowl Sunday and invited me to a party at a friend’s apartment to watch the game. There were Cyndy, myself, and Joel Nichols at Bruce and Charlotte Gibson’s apartment. We spent more time talking about music than watching the game. By the time the party was over, Joel, Bruce, and I agreed to meet again with guitars and beer to see what transpired.

Stay tuned!

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.




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