My Think Piece

  Leaving Carmel I had a girl on Mount Carmel, she served me the finest wine I had a girl on Mount Carmel, she served me the finest wine When I left Mount Carmel, I left it far behind. The mountains will drop sweet wine, and all the hills will melt The mountains will drip wine, and all the hills will melt When I walked away from Carmel, I walked away from myself!

 The trains will run on time He's rounding up the browns He’ll do away with crime  In the cities and the towns Sometimes it seems like up  But mostly upside down But the trains will run on time And he's rounding up the browns!

  Stuff I Need To Ignore! Getting lost in the form is bad form. Some stuff just needs to be ignored for the sake of the story and the message. Tempo: I can record or play at any tempo I like, and change tempo at any time I like. That is a tool of emphasis for the music! Studio or public appearances with other musicians are another thing! Form in poetry: I can meter and rhyme at any time and when and how I, please! The meaning is the thing, and sometimes wrecking some Iambic pentameter or adding a rhyme or meter in some places to evoke the mood can enhance the thought! Questionable grammar: I can use “bad” grammar as a literary tool! No offense to my old pals Strunk and White but the story is more important than being literarily proper!

Setting, Camping Out: I found a bean can, about a quart size that we had had for our dinner rinsed it out, and filled it with water on the campfire we had cooked dinner on. I watched it until it boiled for about 15 minutes on the fire and then moved it to my canteen. I restarted the whole process and did the same 3 times until both my canteens were full along with the bean can. I kept myself awake a few hours until the first batch was cool enough to drink, refilled, and finally went to sleep! The others were content to drink colas and sodas, but I had to have water! This happened several times in my life. When we came back from the fields sometimes Dad would stop at the station and ask if we wanted a cold drink. All I wanted was water. Dad said, just get a coke, someday soon they will figure out how to charge us for water!

Chronicles Of Me The Story Behind Let That River Wash Me To The Gulf Of Mexico There is a story here and I think it is pretty clear and doesn't need explanation, but I want to add some other dimensions to the tale. First, it is true. Second, it is an amalgamation of two experiences, one with my father and the other with my daughter. My father had several heart attacks and other health issues but still lived alone in the manner he chose. A few months before his passing, I stopped by his place and asked him a question: “What was your first childhood memory?” That led to some pretty great stories! It turns out that we had a lot of shared memories which were a generation separated, and of things that neither of us was aware that the other knew. Just one example: There was a huge mulberry tree on a sandbar in the middle of the creek from which we both feasted, divided by 20 years. There were lots of others, and it was at that time that he told me that he had made pl...

Chronicles Of Me When it Rains at the Rains County Fair No matter how dry gulch dusty life gets in small Texas towns, there is always a formula for bringing rain! This formula is not the ritual beating of drums, nor is it some frenzied dance of native agriculturalists or rockets fired by rainmakers but falls more in the category of a meteorological Murphy's Law. It works something like this: The chance of heavy rainfall is directly proportional to the distance you are from your pickup truck with the windows rolled down. We may also express it in this way: The probability of torrential downpours may be calculated by the number of bails of hay in the field, multiplied by the number of hay haulers who did not show up, and adding the number who left after picking up the first bail! By far, though, my favorite formula for rainmaking is chronological: The coming of the Rains County Fair! In those days it always rained during the fair, or at least it seemed th...

Chronicles Of Me Why Grandpa Hated Doctors! My maternal grandfather hated doctors! He may have passed a bit of that distrust on to his children and grandchildren. This medical reluctance probably led to some poor health issues and an earlier than necessary death or two in the family, and most certainly his own! An odd focus for hatred one might think, but there is a reason behind it. When he was a young man his mother became ill with something that we would now, almost universally recognize as a stroke. He rushed her to the hospital and the doctors refused to treat her! Why? Because she was Native American! Racism of that stripe was far less subtle in those days, but don't pretend it has disapeared. It has simply gone underground and become more subtle and is now astoundingly confused. It still exists in less severe forms and differing names. Now, instead of being "Indians" or "Redskins" those people who are native to the Americas are m...

Chronicles Of Me My Poorly Scheduled Heart Attack Okay, let me start by saying that I scheduled my heart attack at a very bad time...not that there is ever really a good time for one, but I do think that everyone should have one! (Not really but more about that later). I'm sort of starting out in the middle of the story here and will gradually explain it all in due time. Now, as for the heart attack itself, well, it went much better than I expected! The time from ambulance arrival at my place to recovery room was in my estimate, about 30 minutes! Once the stint was in place it was like all my high school distance running conditioning was reinstalled! It was amazing! Hence my reason for saying everyone should have one. Now, the process I am using to tell my story, as I said earlier, is sort of starting in the middle but it will all come together. Prior to the heart attack I had a case of Bell's Palsy which aggravated my pre-existing cataract problems which had slo...

  Chronicles Of Me Farmers and Anarchists I know some anarchists of the libertarian type. I understand the concept, but the devil is in the details. I would be concerned that they might succeed in their endeavors, but I am not. I grew up with farmers and cattle ranchers in a farming and ranching community in rural East Texas. When I was very young (back in the days of the Goldwater Johnson race) my little mind made some realizations about politics and farming and a small statistical catalyst. 2 percent of the American population produced abundantly more food than the rest of the population could consume! This was foolishly, of such concern that the government was paying farmers not to grow some crops! What a problem! From there, it was a small intellectual step to realizing that farmers control food and could, if they were so inclined, control the country. It was a stark realization of the dangers of control and, strangely enlightening to know those I lived and work...

  Strangely Spiritual Verse Fig Leaves Our fig leaf clothing Hiding our sin With our own shabby tailoring Chlorophyll offerings Where sin demands blood. Altars A thousand blood-stained altars A thousand cruel wars (As unlikely as it seems) All tell the Bards great story To the ever squeamish us: Our only hope is blood! Shadows In Spring The unfolding of the leaf sings the song Which squelched, wells up within each narrow chest Of birth and death and birth again to come (The song the Singer sang from eons past) The swelling bud casts shadows year by year The vast unfolding of eternal life. The Dew (The Day) The dew Drops of cool clear Crimeless blood on scalpels Of green, the bright shout of the sun: "Born fresh!" The Conquering King The fear of the unknown, The dread of fear itself, The brutality of war The nameless, battered wife, Thorns,thistles, sweat and death; The signs of mans domain We too groan and wait  For the conquering King. Paradox Door Who could guess that our l...

 The material posted on this site is original and copyrighted. The songs are registered with BMI.   Lyrics And Songs Please note that these lyrics are Copyrighted and the completed songs are registered with BMI. Lonesome Evening Wind When The Storm Finally Came Our Song Will Be New Memories And Mist L et The River Wash Me (To the Gulf of Mexico) Zombie Stare Vampire Mist Does Your Cat Play The Fiddle? Does Your Dog Own A skateboard? Please feel free to contact me about use or collaboration at mythinkpiece.com@gmail.com . At  this time, Our Song Will Be New, Vampire Mist, When the Storm Finally Came, and Memories And Mist still lack completed melodies to my liking. Some degree of partnership or collaboration is still possible at this time, with everyone being agreeable. I present the lyrics for collaboration. I have tunes in my head and recordings of them, but If someone can show me something better, then I would be interested in talking.  Recordings presented here ...

  When The Storm Finally Came We sat together alone in the park We talked about the weather as the sky became dark We held each other against the threat of the rain And we ran for cover when the storm finally came. We thought forever would always be the same Thought we would be together through the clouds and the rain But the ways that we traveled have been filled with such pain That love came unraveled, when the storm finally came. Into the heat of the night into the warmth of loves flame Came a flash of white light and the thunder and rain The storm clouds gathered to put out the flame And love no longer mattered when the storm finally came.

  Our Song Will Be New I'm not a prophet, but I know that its true Our song will be new. Someone once told me all the songs had been written But I hear something different when I see your faceI  I hear a song as new as tomorrow That even time can’t erase. I'm not a prophet, but I know that its true Our song will be new. Someone once told me all the scenes had been painted But I see something different when I see your eyes. I see a vista as fresh as the future As blue as the sky. I'm not a prophet, but I know that its true Our song will be new.

Lonesome Evening Wind It's a hard rain falling on my shoulder  Since that time, since that time. The only thing I've done is I've grown older Except in mind, in my mind. I spent those hours and miles  Knowing someday I’d come back again, Because my dreams have not been shattered Or scattered on the lonesome evening wind! Every day I've gone further, maybe nearer  Since that time, since that time. I'm not sure that I'm the man that’s in my mirror, In my mind, in my mind. All the people that I know Say I'm the kind who’d break before he’d bend Or let one single dream be shattered  Or scattered on the lonesome evening wind. I see tragic traces o n the fragile frozen faces that I meet All the time, all the time Lonely empty people on the street They bring to mind, they bring to mind The pain that I’ve been feeling And the knowledge that this road may never end But those dreams have not been shattered  Or scattered on the lonesome evening wind.

  Memories And Mist Oftentimes important things are not quite what they seem And all that will become of them will drift into a dream Fleeting like the darkness is the evening's final kiss As lovers' warm endeavors fade to memories and mist. Paint for me a memory of loves I’ve left behind A watercolor image of the fog inside my mind A breathless line of poetry, a moist and trembling kiss In the foggy half reality of memories and mist. Tomorrow I’ll remember in pastel blues and grays The names and faces but a blur, a whisper in the haze A subtle loss of details in the struggle to exist As my sense of past and present fade to memories and mist. Play for me a melody of loves I’ve left behind In tones of sensual subtlety, the tune that haunts my mind An intertwining harmony blending like a kiss In the foggy half reality of memories and mist.

  Our Balloonness Past, Future, Converging Needlepointedly On the thin membrane Of our soul’s presentness.

  Paradox Door Who could guess that our lean souls thus entered, Through the narrow gate, one cross wide, Should cross the threshold to the other side (The emancipation of the soul) To find the enemy is now the door? Sweet paradox, life evermore!

  December (Our Christmasness) A tiny gift  In a tiny land  Two tiny hands Opening into infinity! (January and February are not yet complete.) January The dying of the year makes way for the birth of new opportunity February The month of my birth.

  June Bugs (June Evenings) June bugs,  Creepily crawling. Lazily stalling On my front porch Before rising suddenly A buzzing array of erratic motion Flying off toward summer! July Daze July days,  Simmering heat  A shimmering haze Dust clouds Stifling breezes Blowing slowly into  August nights. August (A Residual Wind) It is August and I am wishing it was winter That old, wintery tingle overcame me  For a moment  Blowing through my ears Into my brain. Some minor emotion of Christmasness Snuck into the evening breeze Dropping off some early gifts and memories. Hey, I think I saw a snowflake!

  March Winds (Night Wind) March winds Blowing away the doleful debris of winter Sweeping away the dreary clouds, Blocking the needlepoint lights Sweeping away the dusty veil, Till we see clearly the one star Risen in light no sepulcher can contain! April Showers (Color Storm) April showers,  Rinsing away the reluctant remains of winter Cleansing mother earth  That she may give birth To the multifarious foliage  Of the Master Gardener!  May Flowers May flowers Splotching the green clad canvas meadows Brushing the coarse soft backdrop With perfect pastel accents Painting a smile on earth With the merry palette Of the Master Painter!