I’ve been looking here and there, searching everywhere, for a story idea to jump out from the bushes.
It’s either a way with words or a war with words–never in-between.
Couldn’t get on WP for a time, and was going to use that for an excuse.
I can’t reflect on the passing of Gregg Allman, without strains of “Midnight Rider” running through my head.
Bluesy, Southern Rock from the land of hot, humid summers, kudzu, and sweet tea–my favorite genre of music.
Growing up, like most teens, I took for granted local music legends–Chuck Berry, Ike and Tina Turner, Miles Davis. Didn’t every city have their own musical treasures?
Miles Davis trumpeted jazz and was kind of blue
The area wasn’t always kind to him in return
Ike and Tina Turner Revue–somewhere every weekend
The mountain was high and the valley so low
On vinyl records by The Beach Boys, Beatles, Rolling Stones
Many other artists borr0wed fame freely
Chuck Berry gave back tenfold
Early in the morning, he gave warning
Don’t step on my blue suede shoes
Words and music by C. Berry
After all these years
We’re still Reelin’ and a Rockin’
If the late, great, old-school comedian were still here–he might have this to say.
“No respect…I get no respect. Went to the Kentucky Derby–bet on this horse to win. I shoulda known better. What kind of name is Nyquil for a horse–anyway? It fell asleep at the finish line. …Pa–rump, bump…”