The green of the grass;
A trick of the light,
On a chemical process;
As bold and refined,
As if born in a laboratory.
Nature’s lab builds miracles;
no human can compete or duplicate;
still, stubborn tries.
Chloral-phonic color songs are, Gaia’s patent;
At best, the mortal, births artificial clones;
Deluding himself into believing that,
His way is best.
What fools believe;
Manifests failure.
The wise, accept gifts,
as they are bestowed and builds upon them;
Why waste time, attempting to duplicate,
when so much more, is possible.
Categories:
chloral, earth, environment, garden, nature,
Form: Prose
The saddest man you ever saw
Sang through his nose, his notes were raw,
His teeth were bad, his voice was flat;
Hank Williams wore a cowboy hat.
A hundred songs upon the shelf,
He loved us more than loved himself:
He sang of you, he sang of me,
To set our shackled spirits free.
His tritest titles bragged of pain,
“Your Cheatin’ Heart,” “You Win Again,”
And “Weary Blues,” “I Saw The Light,”
And “There’ll Be No Teardrops Tonight.”
He loved to drink, but he loved more
Composing melodies meant for
The words he couldn’t always spell,
But sang so well that they still sell.
A limousine, gold in the bank,
Were not enough to ease old Hank:
He cursed his loves, and feared his Lord
Would pay him back the debts he stored.
The debts were cleared on New Year’s Day,
The coroner could only say
That chloral hydrate took its toll
From Hank’s poor self-tormented soul.
You hear that yodeled freight-train whine?
It’s just a ghost, aged twenty-nine,
That left his flesh in ‘Fifty-Three,
But still he haunts Montgomery.
Hank Williams repeated the above form in nearly all his songs some of which are included
in the above verse.
Categories:
chloral, dedication
Form: Ballad