Tag Archive: songwriter


[Read part one and part two]

“Everyone be quiet and stay calm and no one will get hurt,” the gunman commanded. “The shot was an accident. No sudden noises.”

Antonio knew that if the police were not outside by now, they would be soon. He also knew the gunman was becoming more nervous by the minute and he did not want to get caught in the middle, which was now an increasingly likely situation.

“The police are going to be here soon, if they aren’t here now. I’d like to help you if I can,” Antonio said in the most calming voice he could muster with his nerves on overdrive.

“Why would you do that?

“Because I’m a preacher and it’s my job to help people with their problems.”

“So how can you help?”

“I have a cell phone with the number of the sheriff and he will listen to me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I helped his family out. Like I said, it’s what I do.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I’m a preacher, for God’s sake! I don’t have an ulterior motive.”

“A what?”

“A reason for lying to you. Just let me call him. If you don’t like what I say you can shoot me. And I wouldn’t give you a reason to do that. But I need to know why you’re doing this. Are you here to rob them?”

“I’m not here to rob the place. I’m not sure how things got this far. Make the call.”

Antonio could sense desperation in the man’s voice. He hadn’t always been a preacher and he knew the difference between an evil man and a desperate one. He pulled out his phone and called Sheriff Martinez.

“Hello, Antonio. I’m a little occupied at the moment.”

“No more than I, Oscar. I’m in the restaurant with the gunman’s arm around my chest.” He felt the gunman relax his hold a bit.

“Was anyone hurt by the shot?”

“No, someone dropped something in the kitchen which surprised him and he reacted. The bullet went into the counter after going through a chair.”

“What does he want?”

“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain. If you’ll let us get to the chapel, we’ll try to resolve the situation without involving the people in here. We’ll be coming out the main door.”

“You got a line on this nimrod?”

“So far anyway. But remember, he’s one of God’s people.”

“But not one of the chosen, Antonio. Call me when you’re in the chapel.”

“First chance I get.” Antonio hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket.

“What’s the chapel?” the gunman said in his ear, tightening the grip on his chest.

“The semitrailer in the parking lot. I’m surprised you missed it.”

“I wasn’t looking for a chapel.” He pushed Antonio toward the door between the two rooms.

“Point taken,” Antonio said as he reached out with his hand and unlocked the door.

The gunman put the pistol in his pocket and stayed behind Antonio. Antonio nodded slightly to Fred as they passed the cash register. The two men walked out the front door of the truck stop and headed for the trailer. Police cars were parked in front of the restaurant. A group of officers gathered behind the cars watching the two walk toward the chapel. .

As the two men walked up the steps of the trailer, Antonio glanced toward the restaurant. A couple of deputies were coming out of the door looking toward the chapel. The gunman  followed Antonio into the chapel and locked the door behind him. Antonio walked over to his desk, swiveled the chair around, and sat down facing the gunman.

“So now that we’re here alone, what do I call you?” Antonio asked him.

The gunman held the gun on Antonio and looked confused. He was trying to get straight in his head the significant turn his original, albeit on-the-fly, plan had taken.

“I’m Jason,” he said finally.

“Well, Jason, I’m Antonio. Brother Antonio. Sheriff Martinez is expecting me to call him shortly and have the answers to some questions. Why don’t you tell me your story and let’s figure out how to wrap this thing up, whatever it is. What brought you to the truck stop with a gun?”

“A flat tire, an escapee from jail, a woman, two barbeque sandwiches, and a few bad choices,” Jason said with a sigh and look of resignation.

___________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

Dog days of summer

heat burning down

enough to melt the smile

from the face of a clown

Heat waves make a visible breeze

that moves the air, runs sky to ground,

gives no relief,

and nothing makes a sound.

 

The future is uncertain

or so it seems

due to the ending and beginning of dreams

with the new dream an infant

and the old dream retired,

some senses are numb

while others are wired

beyond belief.

 

An overheated radiator smells like celery

as long as it isn’t your car,

Some things you’ve kept forever

actually look as old as you are,

Life looks better up close

than it does from afar,

Nothing tastes as good from a can

as it does from a jar,

Then the curtain falls

and time passes.

____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

 

 

Granola bars

are for people

who want to be healthy,

but cannot escape the munchies.

_____________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

Good Morning (To Cyndy)

 

Good Morning – the Love of my Life,

Even though I miss you when you are gone,

I am excited – and anxious –

To see you again.

 

Because I know that

when you walk in the door,

you will be more beautiful

than when you left.

 

You have been more beautiful

each time I have seen you

for over thirty years

And more so with each passing day.

 

My one wish is simply

That you realize –

and rest in the comfort of the fact –

that I love you – literally – more than life itself.

 

Without you, my life would have little meaning.

You are such a large part of the good parts of who I am.

Have a great day!

Love you.

_____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

The Jester and The Lady

 

Scared is a reason,

Paranoid a curse,

The two souls surviving,

jester and lady,

Through verse.

 

The jester is still hiding

What the lady has seen,

And cries in the darkness

At the mess as it’s been.

 

Line of confusion, illusion,

Harpsichord melody,

The reflection of the essence

of the things that should be.

 

The lines which evolve

from the songwriter’s pen,

are requested by the lady

again, yes, and again.

 

It is her own way of drifting,

as his is to write,

Echoes of laughter

Escort the dawn into light.

 

The lady’s words

put the truth where it stands,

While the moment is tossed

just to see where it lands.

________________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

(Read the first part of the Southern Plains story here. Along with what the cover of the album was supposed to be like if the distributors had let me use the cover I wanted.)

The next time Joel, Bruce, and I got together – with guitars and beer – we each played songs we’d written. We enjoyed each other’s songs, re-playing some so the other two could harmonize. We were excited about what we were hearing. I hadn’t had anyone singing along with me on my songs and I was blown away.

Joel returned to school in Nashville, Tennessee at Scarritt College, which is now the Scarritt Bennett Center. He came back to Dallas over the summer and we played gigs before and after Joel’s summer courses in Nashville, including a show at a party in Slidell, Lousiana. Joel then decided, after three and a half years, that he would forego returning to school to play gigs. I paused my own schooling to move to Nashville with Joel so he would finish his last semester (and play gigs) and live with his other two roommates on the second floor of an old house.

The painting pictured above is a painting of a picture of mine and Joel’s guitars crossed. More to come!

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

Mr. Dramatic Returns to the Attic

 

Mr. Dramatic

has locked himself in the attic

and won’t come out to play.

Woke up on the wrong side,

woman took his pride,

it hasn’t been a very good day.

 

He’ll go for the gusto,

he’ll go for it all,

But, for sometime,

in the meantime,

on his own time,

he’s staring at the inside of walls.

 

Mr. Dramatic has gone far away,

floating away on the tide,

of emotions, feelings, and I don’t know whys,

his mind seemed a good place to hide.

 

It gets a little harder every time

living life in pantomime,

with all the lovely ladies

in costumes at the ball.

 

He doesn’t feel any static

sitting in the attic.

As a matter of fact,

he doesn’t feel anything at all.

 

Mr. Dramatic has gone far away,

floating away on the tide,

of emotions, feelings, and I don’t know whys,

his mind seemed a good place to hide.

 

He held them when they needed holding,

consistently kept them warm;

but when he wants warmth

he must warm himself.

 

The warmth only lasts a little while,

so when he feels the warmth of a smile,

He goes back to his attic

and smiles until he cries.

______________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

The Hinge

 

Residue of confusion,

Wayward distortion of fact,

The jester has simply

forgotten how to act.

 

It is one thing to let loose

and go on a binge.

Quite another to polish

An old, rusty hinge.

 

The one ignores the fact,

the other faces it.

Mr. Dramatic ignores it

while the jester chases it.

 

The jester just laughs,

though he doesn’t get the punchline.

Mr. Dramatic just imagines

that the hinge has a bright shine.

___________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

Static in the Attic

 

There is nothing but static

in the attic

as Mr. Dramatic stares at the sofa

that could be a bed –

but never becomes one.

 

Mr. Dramatic catches glimpses

in the reflecting mirror,

as the vision appears in the

lost dream of the lover

who once held a friend.

 

Mr. Dramatic remains the victor

of the game never played,

and the leader, reflectively,

of a plan not made, foundations not laid,

a great debt not paid…

 

…to oneself amid the static

in the attic,

as Mr. Dramatic stares from the sofa

that could be a bed –

but never becomes one.

____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

Stillness in the Morning

 

There’s a stillness in the morning,

scaring the man to death,

a sigh, a cup of coffee,

then an intake of breath.

 

The songs they sang

keep coming back,

with no sound in the room,

the cool change finally came,

albeit a little too soon.

 

The painting is not completed yet,

when sensible he knows it is true,

but when he looks upon the walls,

the colors change their hue.

 

He’ll deal with it as always,

having been through worse before,

but he would like to see the woman

upon opening the door.

 

The jester gets carried away sometimes

when handling himself,

like trying to hold your pants up

when you haven’t got a belt.

 

He’ll get a little better

when his intensity is felt,

but, meanwhile….

 

There’s a stillness in the morning

scaring the man to death,

a sigh, a cup of coffee,

then intake of breath.

____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

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