Great Uncle was a musician
He chased his dream on a mission
He never penned a song
Folks knew him well down in Nashville
Though music paid no big gas bill
He had true ambition
His songs found a sweet rendition
He played with open admission
His true love was lifelong
John picked his guitar with goodwill
With joy, the music he instilled
Sharing tunes, his mission
To make music his tradition
Spontaneous compositions
If I could string along
I'd play it with my own free will
John Craig showed such a master skill
He strummed strings all day long!
John Craig rode as a musician
With grit and a deep ambition
Just pickin' it along
John would pluck out his chords at will
With six-strings he'd ride and travel
Playing good tunes, headstrong!
He was a slick string technician
A musical aesthetician!
He played for trav'lers all night long
I'm not sure he knew a playbill
His playin' was a sweet earful
John Craig's songs still roll along!
[Even if in my mind!]
Great Uncle was a musician
He chased his dream on a mission
He never penned a song
Folks knew him well down in Nashville
Though music paid no big gas bill
He had true ambition
His songs found a sweet rendition
He played with open admission
His true love was lifelong
John picked his guitar with goodwill
With joy, the music he instilled
Sharing tunes, his mission
To make music his tradition
Spontaneous compositions
If I could string along
I'd play it with my own free will
John Craig showed such a master skill
He strummed strings all day long!
John Craig rode as a musician
With grit and a deep ambition
Just pickin' it along
John would pluck out his chords at will
With six-strings he'd ride and travel
Playing good tunes, headstrong!
He was a slick string technician
A musical aesthetician!
He played for trav'lers all night long
I'm not sure he knew a playbill
His playin' was a sweet earful
John Craig's songs still roll along!
[Even if in my mind!*
Not nearly long enough, a king’s words
what to expect from a tyrant's paradox absurd
She holds the cobalt blue bowl to her lips
making sure not a drop is lost as consumed
a grape tint gauze tied gently around her hips
it tells of an impregnated womb
a farewell toast to the warriors aboard ships
or a drink of what they’ll lack, that and more
of the destiny a young husband has in store
departing are ships, she ponders them upon the sea
the open book in front of her kept unread
behind her, replacement ships underway, as relief
what has been too long, for any sailor this dread
out at sea in despair of the unknowing, the grief
Of sailors jumping overboard, an S O S ignored
what any wife can’t bear, their king has no empathy
furious are the wives of the lies told
a sword has stricken through the hearts of gold
replacement ships finally, underway to relieve
what has been too long for any sailor out at sea
John William Waterhouse
couldn’t paint any female in a blouse.
Pre-Raphaelite, he painted his muses in the nude
or in gowns with tragedy or mythical allure imbued.
#1
The key to
under-
standing John's mum-
bling babble is to
work blathering with
all known grum-
bling scum-
bags in the
area.
#2
Sheer junky
blonde men's
sons are
shared by
sheared shaken ju-
ries hunk-
ered down for
now in a
herky beef hus-
band's jerky her-
esy chamber or
dry cell assault and
battery cage.
JOHN TO LINDSEY HI
AFTER ME, YOU WENT TO TRUMP WHY?
I SAW FROM UP HIGH
The plumber man fell asleep
with ash on his lips, losing
track of his cerebral train
John Boy with his stained new teeth
and guns of oil on his stone hands
Paining tires, chainsaws, the
garage ceiling
seasoning the turning of a leaf
John Boy's hounds piss on the porch
warping wood with smoke and sulfur
Is shooting blind since the judge took
his gun from his holster
John Boy stopped drinking a little too late
his brain full of holes, just like
a tree trunk to a woodpecker's peck
As he drunkenly recants the psalm
'I get no respect!'
He walks in a world of mirrored glass and gold,
Where every coin is made of teeth, and time
Is measured not by clocks, but by heavy lead.
A dog, a ghost, a myth of hollow bones,
Buried beneath a weeping willow’s song.
He seeks the Table carved of jagged stars,
Where suited phantoms trade in shattered breath,
And penance bleeds from leather-bound decrees.
Beneath the neon rain, the shadows twist,
Weaving a coat of sorrow for the dead.
He aims, a cipher in a waking dream,
Through catacombs of chalk and snapping glass,
Where adversaries dissolve in clouds of ink.
The pencil falls—a catalyst of wood—
And writes a symphony upon the brain.
He bleeds in shades of bruised, electric blue,
Rising again to face the shifting maze,
A tethered phantom in a tailored suit.
The path winds backward to a sunlit grave,
Where peace remains a memory of smoke.
President John Kennedy,
A very wise man was he,
He spoke about the moon
And won the election soon.
When Jesus walked on earth
He showed His disciples many signs
proving that Jesus is the Christ
showing them how to walk in line
The scriptures tell us about Jesus
of many of the miracles He done
but not all are put in print
only those that prove He is God's son
This indeed brings home to us
the authority of the word of God
so with utter conviction in our hearts
believing Jesus is the Christ by His sword
This sword convicts bone and marrow
piercing people's hearts in believing
God is the divine source of all scripture
learn to trust in Jesus by cleaving
Believe fully in His divine name
for in His name is true power
that you may have life
for this, Christ is your strong tower
"Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name."
John 20: 30,31 (ESV)
Painting…
artwork
berserk
odd earned
modern
surreal
appeal
bizarre
by far
not banned
unfanned
slash—tore
restored
Symbol…
Based on
Friar John’s
drawing
gnawing
foreseen
cross scene
Christ’s arms
paint psalms
cross floats
gloss boat
Easter
feaster
Colors…
cool tones
browns form
dark sky
eagle eye
bone blends
deepens
blue dream
hue scheme
Technique…
contrast
both vast
pewter
muter
spectrum
none done (perpective never done)
Dalí’s
follies
JOHN BARRON, MY NAME
TRUMP ALTER EGO MY GAME
C-SPAN MY NEW FAME
Did Hannah See Bees? Hannah Did,
eating blue cheese with the big kid.
Noel, Let's Egg Estelle On,
about her friend little John.
They ran fast down the hill and slid.
Henry Cross said to the frozen Herman
"Why didn't you go to Claire's?"
I like Cross mentioned Jenny's
Why didn't Timothy just go there?
From one brother to another
"Later bro" and "so long"
Parting ways like Alyosha and Ivan in
"The Brothers Karamazov"*
Every memory every lesson
We learned along the way
For most of our lives we were kept apart
By the choices that we made
I don't know what it's like in Heaven
They'll welcome you there, I would expect
And until we meet again
Beyond the blue where I now reflect
The Blues won’t ask
permission
as it infiltrates
your soul
Each riff a lesion
around your heart
each wail
heartbreak untold
The Blues wont grant
forgiveness
for those roads on which
you strayed
But the thing it wills
inside you
is the mojo
— that you play
(Kingston Mines: January, 2026)
Blues Poem #20
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