Review: A Tribe Called Quest

Review: A Tribe Called Quest

Christmas with: The Sunburners and Queen City Silver Stars - CincyMusic.com

Christmas with: The Sunburners and Queen City Silver Stars - CincyMusic.com

Inspired by Song titles from different artist

Inspired by song titles from Aaron Lee Tasjan off of his new record Silver Tears

Little movies
Made her ready to die
Memphis rain always makes her smile.
12 bar blues plays til 2am
Success for her is written in sin.

Inspired by Joseph's album: I'm alone, no you're not

Glaring over a canyon
She sent a S.O.S.
Hoping no one went overboard.
Blood and tears she could not see
There's a hundred ways to die
However the planets move in the sky.
I don't mind the way she rolls
It's a whirlwind whenever she goes.
Waving a white flag for all to see
She's more alive then dead
More honest then blessed
When she whispers sweet dreams

Aaron Lee Tasjan: Silver Tears - CincyMusic.com

Aaron Lee Tasjan: Silver Tears - CincyMusic.com

Interview: Lisa Loeb - CincyMusic.com

Interview: Lisa Loeb - CincyMusic.com

Nightmare on Price HIll: The Real Story of Price Hill Chili

Nightmare on Price Hill: The Real Story of Price Hill Chili

by: Moose Gronholm

In the cold grey fog of this particular Saturday

William Henry Riley woke himself from a most delightful dream.

Firm in his stance and cold in his eyes

He knew that this tasty surprise

Would bring him desire and money from far and wide.

From his living room bay window on Elberon and West Eighth

He would watch the ladies of pleasure stroll about in a most demoralizing state.

They would stroll on his Hill calling for their Johns

The slamming of car doors when they were done would only egg poor William Riley on.

With his restaurant set to open in a few days time

There was one item left that would only cost a dime.

His Price Hill Chili was the name that was penned,

The secret ingredient is where we shall begin.

Through his living room bay window he watched her catch her thrill

The first of many more to come was young Annie McGill.

She was not nearly twenty with her brown hair and curls,

William Herman Riley was ripe with excitement  to hear her deathly shrill.

He sat and watched her for three long days,

Keeping notes in a ledger and filling it page by page.

All the while his disdain for her boiling within

As he peered out the bay window his disdain set off a most cold and evil grin.

He closed his ledger and readied her nightmare

For within his building lay a concrete room to which he would stare.

He readied the torture that befall poor young Annie McGill

And with his grin and plan he became calm and still.

Upon the third day he grabbed his hat and scarf

Recognizing the chill in the air was still pretty sharp.

The dark of the evening had steadily crept in,

And there was young Annie standing on the corner with her back to the wind.

William Riley fixed his cold eyes on young Annie McGill

Like a lion preparing for his next kill.

With patience and methodical precision he watched her every move

To bid his time instead of pouncing to soon.

He stood and watched while leaning on the lamp post

While young Annie caught every John with a toast and a boast.

For pleasure and fun were her two traits,

And William H. Riley could not wait to hear her scream and watch her shake.

She caught her last ride for the evening,

Gave a wink as the steam arose from the sewer cap beneath

William Riley began his walk towards her as the car sped off

Mumbling to himself: there is only one way out Miss Annie and that you will see in a moment's time.

Annie began her walk to her flat

Her feet were tired and she only wanted to relax.

As she walked she could feel someone behind her

But when she turned around the street was bare and she began to stir.

For the black of the evening gave her a frightful chill

She picked up her pace as to not stay still

William Riley was ahead of her peering around the corner

As Annie drew near William dabbed a rag with chloroform.

Within one step, two steps, and on the third the chloroformed rag went over her mouth

With little more than yelp and nor more than a shout.

He draped her over his arm carrying her to his home

William took her around back where the entrance to the basement was set about.

He tied her to the chair that was placed in the middle of the room

Slapped her around to wake her so she could watch her impending doom.

He let her struggle and writhe for he needed to tenderize for his delectable treat.

For two days and nights he held vigil over her seemingly lifeless body.

Annie exhausted from screaming  and struggling.

On the third day and that third day's night

He began to quench his thirst and make a bloody sight.

He tied her hands together then tied her feet

Pulled a chord and she flew from her seat.

Now hanging upside down like a piece of meat,

William Riley made a cut to drain her blood methodically and neat.

As her blood went down the drain

William Riley prepped the other ingredients with no disdain.

As the water came to a boil a cold dark washed over his face,

As he watched her hanging from his basement ceiling leaving not a trace.

William Riley made other preparations as well

He sent out invitations to friends and family from in and around the Hill.

A soft opening was what he was planning for these friends and family,

But mainly to gaze upon their faces as the took that first bite of his tasty chili.

With Annie McGill's blood all drained William Riley began dressing her like a deer,

Removing her innards and separating meat from bone with a delightful cheer.

The next afternoon as his chili began to come together

His friends and family gathered for drinks on a chilly November.

They took a seat in the dining hall of Price Hill Chili

They waited patiently as William served his meals

Then one by one they each were served a bowl of his chili

Then one by one they each smiled delightfully and pleasantly,

And one by one each person commenting quickly

"William Riley you have out done yourself for this is amazing and superbly tasty chili."

And with that he sat back and reveled,

As the questions of what was in it he could not reveal

But he would say with the most eerie of grins

"If I were to tell you, I would have to kill you."

And with that little quip came a roar of laughter from those friends and family

William Herman Riley would become infamously famous.

Nightmares are getting served at the PHC

The CEO is going on murder spree

I heard it was he

Who chopped up a nice family of three

Planted bits and pieces of them in his chili recipe

This was a rhyme he would say to himself as he did his deed.

These are the tasty and delectable treats said he

As he slowly concocted his chili recipe

Pursing his lips salivating and sweating

As that sweet chili slowly was simmering.

Customer followed in as their heads began to spin

From the smell of his chili and so tasty they would be let in.

Line formed around the block to which he saw a ticking of a clock.

He had to run for his newest victim was almost done.

His victim was almost ready for his most tasteful batch of chili

The smell was permeating Glenway

And there were no more customers for the day.

He walked the streets for his next victim

And for his customers to eat

He sat on a bench in a park

While the sun set and it began to get dark.

In the moon lit night

A figure in the distance was out of sight

But as it drew near

He felt that chill that he loved so dear

He took some cover behind a tree

As the figure drew near William Riley strangled her,

One, two, three

The next victim for his most delectable chili

"Price Hill will never see the likes of me"

He so proudly boasted

As he grinned and fired up his broaster....

Justin Payne: The Northwest Ohio Vagabond

Justin Payne: The Northwest Ohio Vagabond

My Favorite Color is Black

My Favorite Color is Black

By: Moose Gronholm

My favorite color is black

Not for the darkness that resides in it

But for the people that bare its color. 

For the jazz that swings when I write

For the speeches by their leaders that move me to tears

For the songs and poetry that reside within it’s body. 

My favorite color is black

For us both bleed the same color red

For us both struggle with our day to day

The only difference is I’m white. 

The only difference is my struggle fails in comparison. 

I can walk to the corner store

I can bike wherever I would like

I can drive with driver side headlight out

I can do all of this without the worry of the “boys in blue.”

My favorite color is black

For how much they give and humbly reside.

For how much they care and their passion within. 

For how much they put up with, and still move forward. 

My favorite color is black

Because my heart and my eyes can no longer take these swells, 

Because my heart lays heavy within my chest when more senseless violence occurs, 

Because my eyes drain their salty liquid that streams down my cheeks and into my beard. 

Because I, 

I cannot begin to understand their day to day. 

As much as it may be like mine;

Wake up 

Go to work

And do it all over again, 

There is still that chance today. 

There is still that chance that somebody will say or do something. 

We are all far from perfect

We are all going to make mistakes, 

But the least we can do is show a shred of compassion. 

The least we can do is apologize for stepping on a toe, 

The least we can do is think before we speak

The least we can do is treat each other as equals. 

My favorite color is black

For no other reason than it just is.

Because your souls beautiful

Because just there are some bad apples

But we aren’t all bad. 

Because your women Nubian goddesses

Inside and out;

Because the passion that resides within you is infectious

Because I am inspired by you.

My favorite color is black 

When everyone else has either blue, green, or purple

But me

Black is bold. 

Black is strong. 

Black is passionate

Black is caring 

Black is sensitive

Black and me while different 

Have similarities too.

Strangest of Things Unseen

 the strangest of things unseen
 blend with the newness that spring brings
And i tap to bottomless beats
Where my sisters and brothers walk streets
The strangest of things take refuge on broken television screens
The strangest of things unseen reside in broke down trash can alleys
May the weak
The meek
The poor
The fat
The skinny
The broke down
Run down rags rise and be seen
Scream with voices unheard and unseen
Where once solitude reigned as king
Bellowing the battle of cry of freedom has captured solitude in a coup de tat.
The strangest of things unseen take hold in words yet read
They fight the things unseen
The strangest unseen things fire off in universes far beyond the way of the Milky
Where wars rage for peace
Where utopian ideals are preached
Where destinies are written in pages by tormenting Gods
Ah the things unseen
Like a Shakespearian comedy you plague our hearts so
Where the knife in the back is as lovely as the kiss on the cheek
For the weak and disbanded gather in mass
For their rightful return to take back what was lost centuries ago
Yes, the things unseen remain to the maybe
That maybe being an eventual return to light
To sound their voice
The strangest of things unseen
Blend with the newness that spring brings
And that is where doors open or close
And that is where the muse rests her tired bones

Juliet & Death

Juliet don't hang your head so low
Where Romeo's flown you soon shall know
The moon's shine is blinding on this night
And try as you might why else shall you fight?
Don't flail in the wind
And don't bellow to the skies
For Romeo's flight has sailed away
Juliet let slip your hands to the end
For where else shall you go now that family disgrace has come to bare?
Juliet, i sit here beside your Romeo
We converse about the love in your hearts
We converse about the fire that resides inside you both
That, upon your tongues you can still taste each other
Upon your skin you can still feel the hairs on his arm
And where shall you go from this place?
Where shall you go in this world of torment and doom?
Your love awaits you
Your Romeo sits beside me basking in the glory that is your fate
Oh Juliet, for your own eyes can see the way
Oh Juliet, take refuge within your heart of hearts
And where your Romeo persists
We shall see you in a moments time
As the wind sighs from the east
You shall be beside your Romeo
For eternal peace

Katie Garringer: A Little Soul Medicine

Katie Garringer: A Little Soul Medicine

By: Moose Gronholm

​Katie Garringer is a songstress who resides in Muncie, IN and comes down to our Queen City to play shows every so often, and is currently getting ready for a big move to the Big Apple. Before the move however she would like to share her latest recordings with us. Six songs worthy of what my ears thought were a sheer pleasure to listen too. She has a voice that can shake and chill you to the bone, and her playing is equally as chilling. Dave Manship from Beltauer Studios in Daleville, IN was the one who recorded the songs and captured the chill and the shake. There are a few pleasantries we must take care of first however before we delve into the songs. 

​Katie started playing music at a young age growing up with a piano in the house and parents that were constantly singing she couldn’t escape it. So at 5 years old she decided to give this whole thing a whirl, but her mom made her wait until she was seven to start lessons. The main reason for making the decision on wanting to play was not for fame or fortune, but for a reason more simple a reason more humble. At family gatherings her grandparent’s, on her mother’s side, would both take turns at playing the piano and the entire family would sing along. Mostly gospel hymns, and Katie wanted to be a part of that, and not just in the singing but to be the one who plays the piano at the family gatherings. As time progressed it was only natural that Katie’s biggest supporters would be become and remain her parents. Her influences run across a broad spectrum as most musicians have them being; Dolly Parton, Ingrid Michaelson, Josh Ritter, and Brandi Carlisle. Her creative influences are: Maya Angelou, Madeleine L’Engle, and Bob Dylan. Through most of the songs whether it be the playing, a lyric, or the way her voice hangs on you can hear these influences melded into a blender and out with them came Ms. Garringer. 

​As mentioned before there are six songs on this ep and each wrap around a feeling whether literal or figurative about love. Two in particular “Bonnie and Clyde” and “Who Do You Think You Are,” are about in her words “I was madly in ‘like’ with someone new” that being “Bonnie and Clyde” and “Who Do You Think You Are” is about the same person post break up. She has always again in her words “loved, ‘love’” but her intention was to write about everything but love, and over the course of a year and half roughly of writing these songs she realized early on that this might not be possible. Again Katie “While all the songs I write are not about love, the majority of the ones on the EP definitely are.” You write what you know, and you write what you feel at the time. Which makes this EP an honest reflection of a life being lived, and where the road has gone and where it may be leading to, and only she knows. Her story however, begins with this EP and she is kicking it off in great fashion. 

​With the EP done she will be returning to the studio to record a second in New York City with a friend of hers that plays cello. She said that a full album will come after EP 2 is finished. With a move to the Big Apple happening over the spring, a Midwest tour, and the EP release party happening in her hometown of Muncie, Indiana a full album has been put on the back burner. She said all of this with exclamations points and the excitement was palpable, even if through email. 

​The last question I asked Katie was what I always like to ask musicians that I talk to and that was why music? Of all things to do why this and her response was pretty damn good so I will let her close this out. Here is her answer: That’s a doozy of a question (with) so many emotions. I’ve always known that the way I communicate best is through writing, and playing music, rather than speaking. I feel like I am the best version of myself when I play music, and the connection that occurs with the folks that listen is palpable, and powerful. I believe that everyone is struggling with something in life, and that music can be an effective remedy, or at least a distraction from what is ailing them. My main motivation in playing music is to positively affect those who are listening and to give them a little soul medicine. While I love to play music for others, I also play and write for myself. I’ve overcome some pretty serious trial in my life by writing about what’s going on, and I can’t imagine being the person I am today if it weren’t for the healing power of music. I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life.

The Crow's Nest

The Crow’s Nest: If You Think It’s Dead in Here Look Across the Street

By: Moose Gronholm

​It was the fall or spring; I cannot remember which one as this period of time is a jumbled mess, of 2006 when I first walked into The Crow’s Nest. Up until this point I had been to many a bar in Chicago, my hometown, but my younger brother had made the move to Cincinnati and found a place with our cousin on Nebraska and Roth courtesy of the west side. Conveniently enough, at the end of the street and on the corner was this bar called The Crow’s Nest. I was in for the weekend visiting, and I know we went up there later in the evening and I am sure there was probably somebody playing some music. But what I remember most and what has stuck with me after these ten years is the vibe it gave off. 

​Maybe there is something in the water out on the west side that makes this place feel like home? Maybe it is because the west side is like a small town where everyone knows everyone and that can be both good and bad at times. Maybe it is just the sheer fact that these people, these friends, that have been coming to The Nest far longer than me mind you, are some damn good people. I was not obviously alive in 1896 when it opened, but I am going to take an artistic liberty and assume that nothing much has changed in the vein of it being a neighborhood bar; the road out front and the scenery inside have probably undergone the most change. But, The Nest for me at least has always seemed to have this neighborhood vibe to it. Everyone knows each other in some form or another, and that has carried on and I would venture a guess and say probably since it has opened as well. 

​The Crow’s Nest opened up in 1896 and was owned and operated by John Crowe. In 1921 though things changed even the name which from 1896 to 1921 it was called John Crowe’s Roadhouse, and after the change of ownership The Crow’s Nest (which is a naval term for where the lookout would sit. It was kind of like a wood basket that was connected to the main mast of the ship. The lookout would sit there and holler out instructions, obstacles, or land ahead) was changed to and has held onto that name ever since. There have been changes of ownership over The Nest’s long life, but the building has remained and since 1921 so has the name. The name suits the place when you think of the literal definition of a “crow’s nest.” The building sits on the corner of West 8th and Nebraska, and seemingly keeps watch on the west siders coming home or going to work or school. Along with that it also keeps watch over the dead. Yes, you fair reader read that right that was not a typo. See across the street sits St Joseph Cemetery, and when I say across the street that is exactly what I mean. 

​One could say The Nest looks over the dead, and you would not be wrong as the building again is right across the street from the cemetery. But sometimes those lines blur, and the dead make their way into the bar. There is an array of differentstories from the staff pertaining to these occurrences. Things placed where they shouldn’t be while a cooler door closes, and I’ve heard bartenders speak of a strange vibe when going into the basement. I personally have stayed late with one of the bartenders because the night per the “spirit” had just been too strange to bear for this bartender. There is even a sign that is sort of a joke about the bar that reads: If you think it’s dead in here look across the street. 

​While across the street may lay the un-living inside of this building the energy is palpable and intensely alive. The Crow’s Nest has become a place where music thrives and all levels of talent are welcomed, and I personally have witnessed bands form, and bands get their start here. Everyone from Ben Knight to The Tillers. Due to the fact that currently every Tuesday night the Open Mic hosted by Sean Geil of those Tillers, has brought out some amazing musician’s the caliber of talent that graces the open mic nights has been impressive at best. The open mic dates back to at least 2006, when a fella by the name of Captain Mike used to run it. Even then, the caliber was still amazing. Possibly due to the fact of who was bartending Adam O’Neil and Matthew Wabnitz started bringing up their friends. From that moment onward it has changed. These are just my opinions, because this is what I remember as I have been coming up here since 2006. In all honesty, nothing much has changed. Other than friends getting married, friends having kids, or both, and friends moving on but remains is The Crow’s Nest, the beacon of the west side. 

The building has become a second home for me. I have met and made friends with some amazing people all due to the music and The Crow’s Nest. I am in the band that I am in because of The Crow’s Nest. I have ten year friendships with two of the bartenders because of The Crow’s Nest, and 7, 6,5, or 4 year friendships because of The Nest, and why? Strictly because of the music that has passed through the doors, and the water that resides on the west side. 

The Crow’s Nest sits at 4544 West 8th Street, Cincinnati, OH 45238. It is the tallest building on the street, and like any Irish bar is welcoming to anyone that simply would like to have a good time with some good people. There are no grand words to close this out. No big ideas or overly dramatic sentences to describe The Crow’s Nest, no, you fair reader simply need to come out and experience it for yourself. And when you do, if you think it’s dead in there, well, look across the street

Upon The Shelf

Upon shelves do these lives sit
They stare at me for hours on end
Some days with contempt in their eyes
And on other days they smile with content

Upon these shelves we leave our memories
To remember what once was
Upon these shelves the dust settles in
Upon those same memories that once were

Upon these shelves stories sit patiently
Until they get their day to have their pages turned
Upon the shelves heroes remain stoic as relics
Shelves of fame hold their namesakes.

Upon these shelves i gaze in wonder
With starry eyed eyes i choose wisely
No adventure is the same
And upon these shelves adventures remain

Upon these shelves the stories remain
Upon these shelves these lives remain
Upon these shelves the memories lay
Upon these shelves wonder stays for another day

Save Camp Springs

Save Camp Springs, KY

By: Moose Gronholm

 

 

 

            Keith Neltner amongst many hats that he wears is an artisan and agriculturalist. He owns and operates his design business and owns the tavern, along with his wife Amy. The farm is operated by his brother Keith and their mother Claire all down in Camp Springs, Kentucky. Keith messaged me a week ago about a battle that the town of Camp Springs is having with the local governing bodies. One to not turn anything down I took to the typed out word to fill you all in. If you have heard about what is happening then Keith, and the many folks that live there, and myself simply ask you to help raise your voice in unison to stop what is happening.

            What is happening? The residents of Camp Springs are locked into an eminent domain fight. I am going to quote the article that was shared with me from Keith Neltner which is from Preserve and Protect Camp Springs (the local legal alliance that was formed in order to defend themselves): “Camp Springs’ way of life and continued historical value is in grave danger of complete erosion or extinction due to an uninformed and destructive local government decision to place a raw sewer pipeline along the Four Mile Creek without community support. This forced decision is causing the residents, many who have been on their properties for generations, to defend their rights through expensive legal proceedings and threat of imminent domain.” That is the general message going out. We encourage everyone to make the drive and visit Camp Springs.

            I’m not one for soapboxes, but this is a cause worth fighting for. This town has been around since the early 1800’s. Folks come in the 10’s of thousands and from all around to visit during special events, purchase agricultural products and services, and use its scenic routes for bike rides and leisure drives to take in the beauty and wonder that is Camp Springs. In an age where growth and technology are becoming ever more present, the folks of Camp Springs are simply asking to have that growth and technology not disrupt and destroy what they have been preserving for generations, and generations to come.

            The residents of Camp Springs are asking for help to fend off the actions of Judge Executive, Steve Pendery and the Sanitation District (SD1). They have set up a gofundme page, along with a legal alliance aptly named “Preserve and Protect Camp Springs.” All monies collected will go towards the cost of such extraordinary measures being carried out by the SD1, as well as the attorney’s fees for said defense. Now the attorney’s supporting the community have cut their rates dramatically to ease the pressure on the residents.

            In short, this community of agriculturalists and artisans of all sorts need a little bit of help. Nobody likes to have to go these extraordinary measures for help, but sometimes what else is one left to do? The folks are not going to sit idly by and watch their town be destroyed for a sewer line, and all they ask for is some help. This weekend at the Camp Springs Tavern (7009 Stonehouse Road, Melbourne, KY 41059) they will be hosting a little shin-dig. They are opening up the doors for whom ever would like to come for a visit, to do just that. There will be a concert and I will provide the acts at the end. Give these folks a helping hand. They could sure use one. It’s not that often we have the opportunity to help a community. In a lot of cases the town is bought and sold before the community and residents can even process it. Here now we all sit for an opportunity to help in any way that we can. Attend the concert Saturday April 16^th, or make a donation. One voice can roar, but together we can move mountains.

 donate here: www.gofundme.com/savecampsprings

Spring Celebration @ Camp Springs Tavern Saturday April 16^th:

 

5:30 pm:

Hoot n’ Holler with Chris Lloyd

 

7:30pm:

Todd Lipscomb

 

9pm:

Casey Campbell

 

BBQ sandwiches and homemade pie will be available for purchase at Noon.

Great selection of domestic, craft, and bourbon and more.

AGES 21+

Oh These Hearts

 

Oh these hearts

 

 

Oh the hearts of men whose lashes from whips sting me so.

The daily grind of my feet to my knees on this concrete floor

For fat rich men to indulge most gluttonously in their fat and their rich

Plagues my heart and wearies my soul.

 

Oh these hearts of men whose shackles bind my own heart’s content

Where and how do we go?

Where and how do we get our chance at the fruits of a better life?

Work you say?

Get a job you say?

Fall in line and take your turn on the assembly line parade

Revolving around and around and around?

Your parents did it,

Their parents did it,

And now, look at you doing it too.

That 401k gets put away.

That’s right, fall in line and take your seat

For the rapturing fate of this eventual demise will surely turn to a lullaby.

 

All this money, all that means nothing,

For when I die will any of this come with me?

For when I die will any of these, things come with me?

For when I cease to make another revolution on the endless cycle

Will the car, the house, the computer, the phone, the 401k

Will any of this come with me?

But fall in line with these hearts of men they say.

Fall in step by step and you too can achieve that GREAT AMERICAN DREAM!

 

To them I say,

NO.

To them I move myself to a blasphemous rhythm

To them I play chameleon

To them I put on the face

I put on the boots and I come in.

Punch the time card eight hours punch out.

I play the game because I gotta keep the lights on right?

But what I have inside of me

What dream lies in wait that inspires me?

What feeling resides inside of the depths of my sou?

I write right here for the taking.

I get to do what I love and I escape this machined existence.

I escape to the hills, or the fields that reside in images that, like a blanket, cover my mind and take me to a place where I can go,

For me,

For my own time away.

 

Oh the hearts of men that have made me wise

The ones that told me don’t be like me

The one that gave me the strength to defy this machined lullaby,

And the one that continues to do so day in and day out.

 I play your game with my steel toe boots laced up,

Merely, simply, and only because I have to

Not for want or need, but for have.

 

Oh the hearts of men release your shackle and fear

And live with the compassion of billions of hearts and minds

See, listen, and feel the words from your fellow brother and sister

Hear them listen to them as they explain their disdain

For to blow us off

To bid no favor to our voice

But most important,

To not do what is just and right

Is a travesty that far surpasses any moral comprehension?

 

Oh hearts of men your fear plagues you so

Your fear has infested your mind the way the beetle bores its way through the trunk of the tree.

Your fear consumes you the way the quicksand swallows all in its wake.

Fear can be addressed this is true

Fear can be grasped, this is true

Alas do not fear what is just and what is right.

The compensation for such awaits you in the end,

Sheer and unlimited gratitude,

This holds no price

Has no value of money

Knows nothing of silver or gold,

And gives nothing in return, other than tearful smiles.

 

Oh these hearts of ours, we can end the fear through a smile

Oh these hearts of ours, we can move MOUNTAINS of disgust

Oh the hearts of us,

Let us live.

Let us breathe in the night air

Let us be the folly of our own emotion

Let us just live.

Oh the hearts of us,

Together we can mend un-sewn souls.

Early Morning Porch

Early Morning Porch

 

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

The still of the morning before the engines roaring

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Fall is creeping in and all upon us

And all around us the storefronts are closing

The people are scared and starving

Their scars are worn not embraced

Their scars are like road maps of life

Where they have been

Where they were going

And how

The day has not yet been stained by a course of events that have transpired

                The thoughts sit and linger

As the coffee gets to brewing

The thoughts will flow through the pen and onto the paper

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Silence fills the early morning air

Birds are chirping far off in this still morning air

Echoes of train brakes grinding scream the alarm

No cars or trucks blaring horns or revving engines.

No, for in this hour the quiet is deafening

The smell is comforting

The feel is inspiring and calming.

This musty mildew filled air relaxes a mind fraught with thought

                It is joy to be up with the sun.

All this concrete resides and cracks

If it had a voice I wonder what it would ask

The many feet which have trod its façade.

The many years it has sat in its place

The walls

The stairs

The curbsides even they have a story or a conversation.

The sun slowly rising with the day which a course of events have not yet stained

                And have left me in comfort being up with this sun.

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun,

Re-sounds like the trains brakes four blocks away,

Or like a record that gets is stuck to play.

These words play in my head like a movie or a song

Over and over again I see them and hear them

Over and over again I think

Over and over again I wonder.

I sit with coffee in hand as the wonder turns to ponder

                And the ponder turns to pen to paper.

Here lie those words from that chain of events.

Herein lies the thoughts on folks less fortunate than i.

Whose lot in life is a slow change to which sometimes it never comes.

Shoes with worn holed soles

Souls with worn old holes

Mirrors are shop windows

Sleeping under bridges or beside them

Near train tracks or rivers

Suitcase toting sharp dressed men

Making decisions for folks who haven’t changed in months

Tell me the sense?

The day has not yet been stained by the thoughts of men

                And still I will smile with the comfort of the sun.

I regress from previous thoughts

And detract no statements said through said thoughts.

Instead, I shall dive deep into closing my eyes and listening

To the buses and vehicles

The highway’s hum

And the occasional distant sirens,

Or just the pure uninterrupted silence.

The slow walks and chirping talks

The meandering and sneering

The loudness and blaring

They have not yet come to pass within these early morning hours.

The day remains silent as events have yet to occur to stain the day,

                And I sit with the sun as it is nice to be awake in this hour.

A stain can be good

A stain can be bad

A stain you live with

And a stain you remove

But a stain always stays.

You can be rid of it but you always know where it was.

There is no shame in this

There is no reason to be morose or angry

The day remains in this early morning hour

Still and quiet and waiting

The day remains

As simply the day