Mr. Carter (1989)


It goes a little bit like this, a little bit like that, you take a perfect flower, and you treat it for what it lacks. Son there’s always plants, you never dreamed that they would grow, but over there on Garden Street I’ve planted and I’ve sowed. My life with Mrs. Carter is the sum of all that’s green, a placement in a flower box that blooms like its still spring. For every little tear I’ve cried in life, there’s been a plant, a garden, and my woman to keep my soul intact. You think that life is lonely try not having leaves in spring, the pedals of a rose just like a woman’s inner tender wings. So much I’d like to tell you before you hit the road, and travel to your high country where different flowers grow. I’ll stick to just this story, this little piece of luck I’ve touched, inside the secret to long life and the reasons that there’s love. It’s the honesty of G_Ds green earth teaching me what’s up above. Teaching me what’s up above.

I believe my dear Daniel the year was 1956, when hurricane Flossy came and made our home a pile of sticks. We lived in our garden in a shelter made like a tent, and Mrs. Carter my dear sweet woman, the heat it made her sick. I prayed to find an answer, there were no Doctors to be had, no one to help this black man, and my wife so near her death. I went into the garden a patch of drowned earth, and kneeled upon a tattered plant, to beg for what I’m worth. There my boy I smelled life so strong, minty and all green, the smell of peppermint, my boy, it seemed like it was spring. It seemed just like an answer to all that was bad, the mix of leave and water to bring my missus back.

It goes a little bit like this, a little bit like that, you take a perfect flower, and you treat it for what it lacks. You know a kingdom can’t survive if it is built on pure stone, neither can your heart know things of love you’ve never known. I tell you sir as you drive off from this southern shore, take a lesson from these plants their gifts and their lore’s. Take my voice my story, of plants and flowers so green, and build your life in far off lands, and love a girl like spring. When the day does arrive when heat fells your soul, look for peppermint to make a tea, its worth much more than told. Some day when you’re thinking, of all that I’ve said look at plants around you, and know that you’re blessed. Know that you’re blessed.

It goes a little bit like this, a little bit like that, you take a perfect flower, and you treat it for what it lacks. It’s the honesty of G_Ds green earth teaching me what’s up above. Teaching me what’s up above. – 05.28.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

American Rubber (Anybody There) – 1983


She wants to go, ride, and ride hard, with me along this white sandy sheet. Shakespeare’s crashed, and all my dramas bled into a sleeve, and washed into latex swirling in that gulf so deep. We can listen to Blackmore, and party in a ‘Stone Cold” sea, go to kiss so wet along this silent beach. American rubber, and a Moosehead cold, lights in the wilderness, allow us to become so bold. And while I swim in pleasure, and lose my heart, perhaps I want an answer on why did we start. Anybody there to guide me, a man perhaps to tell me, in soft skin she climbs up on me, and my eyes won’t close, no they won’t close.

Twenty-two, I’m crazy, looking at the hazy sky, so low, wishing I was alone, just alone to wonder why. Questions in the dark along a darkened sea, rolling in the tide, just like her body grabs me. Anybody there to guide me, feeling my self-release in her below, American rubber you come and hold my soul, my fallen soul. Tasting her neck, I hear the sea roll, I turn my eyes see the horizon glow, her skin flavored salt dripping from the water I suppose, just another element I know.

I thought this so easy, this ride, slipping in, another Moosehead, and she wants us to try again. England Dan and Mr. John Ford Coley pull all the “Falling Stars” in a hurry, for twice in a row, her face seems so blurry. Can anybody tell me, her breast closing in, is this just by instinct, or is love a sin. American rubber, two for a note, my love for a dollar, her tongue near my throat. For far up above us a spirit looks down, swirling in wonder, at what it has found, a boy and his questions of now fallen youth, descended from passion, his heart now forsook. Anybody there to guide me, a man perhaps to tell me, in soft skin she climbs up on me, and my eyes won’t close, no they won’t close. – 5.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

“My head is saying, “No”
But my heart keeps giving in
So hard to let it go
When it’s there under my skin
Well, if this is the face of a sinner
And if heaven is only for winners
Well, I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
Thought that I’d let it slide
But it’s me that’s slipping in
Thought that I’d go for a ride
Before this crash I’m dying in
Well, if I’m judged on the life I’ve been living
And if heaven is not so forgiving
Well, I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
My head is saying, “No”
But my heart keeps giving in
So hard to let it go
When it’s there under my skin
Well, if I’m judged on the life I’ve been living
And if heaven is not so forgiving
Well, I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
I don’t care,
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
Is there anybody there?
Is there anybody there?
Is there anybody there?”
Songwriters
O’DONOGHUE, DANIEL JOHN / SHEEHAN, MARK ANTHONY
Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group


Dance of the Corn (Louisiana 89)


Bring she corn at sunset, out by the lowland lake, there near Baton Rouge, July’s moon, has done itself forsake. Elisabeth you brought me to heat that takes the land, and brings forth such a harvest, the corn husk seem to dance. My body lies in rich soil, the dirt it looks so black, it comes from dead leaves dyeing, an inward seas shellac. What of light that’s missing, the mist it rolls in waves, the Louisiana bottom, weaves with spells of lace. Elizabeth comes she forward, a woman as a wraith, and in this time of festival she ask me to come take. We’ll bath among the fire flies, in the pond out back, and make love to the ghost lights, that cross the great set back.

We travel in her Civic, the year of eighty-nine, and go up through New Orleans, the devil makes us blind. For all we see is beauty, Elizabeth and I, we travel to her cousins to cut the corn with scythes. The farm it sits among trees so low, the road so wide, and there within a mystery, a festival bastilles a shrine. Some men they wear all cotton, their robes of starch and white, there brown faces leery of the boy I am outside. It is the fires all burning, those fires that touch gray sky, all day there is a harvest, and corn we eat that night. There are at times sweet children, those that move so quiet, and disappear at sunset, their faces shining bright. Oh yes my sweet, sweet Betsy, Elizabeth of night, your black dress looks alluring, its sway, it cuts so tight.

For twenty hours of memory, a lifetime of my mind, I dance in Louisiana, with Elizabeth of night, we watch and bath in corn husk our bodies in oily rite, and when the sun comes shining, we sleep in morning light. The corn rows are disjointed, July’s heat burns out with a cry, in Louisiana proper, a face it turns to be out mine, and makes its way so slowly, from such a lovely night. A belle with black hair tresses, a woman’s eyes of tan, her dress torn from shoulders, her lips upon this man. Her right hand holds a corn husk that goes beyond my back, and within its wave, I’m willing to make my way on back.

Elisabeth you brought me to heat that takes the land, and brings forth such a harvest, the corn husk seem to dance. – 03.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל


The Recipe

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

Woody first thought of the road trip, the trip in 54. The day his Daddy mentioned were headed to the North. The family filled the Packard, their eight voices sang, they left their Lubbock, homestead for what their Daddy craved. It had to be the end times, the sedentary crew, fit in seats like hoboes, monkeys in a zoo. Daddy had a mission, a cook with quiet a plan, in Santa Fe there’s chili that fills a hungry man. What Woody dared to wonder, as his dad drove that day, what is chili made of, that’s green upon a plate, his father told the family, start your dreams and pray, today we feast with angels, we eat in Santa Fe.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

They crossed the line at Farwell, driving 84, somewhere it turned to desert, the heat made tempers soar. Mother said to Daddy, why did you bring us here, we are not like the Hebrews, I wish I had a beer. A cloud of feet were rising as children fought and played, the station wagon hovered between hell and heavens gaze. Woody’s mind was clear then of what his dad would say, I believe a recipe waits us in Santa Fe. My dear it is of chilies, green, I’ve heard some say, it brings your tongue to places, words I can’t relay, I’ve only heard its born North, there in Santa Fe.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

Somewhere, around the Moon Ranch, upon road 66, there came from heaven thunder, apocalyptic sent. The Packard hit a deluge sent from angry skies, Mother screamed at Daddy you’ve brought us here to die. Woody and his siblings to their benefit, prayed to idols many, to bind the elements. Daddy drove on tight lipped his face awash in gray, the family knew at some point, he’d look at them and say. Up ahead is chili, born upon by man, I know it’s for the willing, the ones who drive this land. A recipe for taking, ahead in Santa Fe, no rain or storm can stop me, or cause us such delay.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

The Packard rolled down Canyon down through Santa Fe, Daddy’s watch was ticking ten to four that day. There upon the plaza, the Packard came to rest, a Texas family followed their father to his test. Inside a small cantina, the type there is no more, a recipe was waiting like food not know before. A promised land of chili born by Juan’s own hand, it rested green and willing a journey found its end. Daddy turned his grey eyes, filled with tears that day, what’s born from this man’s warm stove, will rest my soul always.

Clap your hands, ding a ling, look the other way, Texas crew is coming, the Packard’s on its way. Daddy brings you sunshine, like, he’s done before, pack your bags for heaven, we eat with G-D at four!

 

Woody told me his daddy a fry cook out of Lubbock Texas had a penchant for loading the family of eight up in the 1954 Packard Station Wagon and cruising the dusty roads of the southwest in his eternal hunt to find the Green Chili recipe of the immortals. This is one such tale of their journeys. 😉 09.01.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

1959


How are you there, dear neighbor, why Mr. Carter I’m doing fine, did you try that new ice cream down at the five and dime? Did you see that Ms. Pickens no longer sings at church, she fell and broke her ankle, stepping off that dang ole curb? In the morning, I’ll drive her where it is, she needs to go, I know she’s frail, and lonely, and she needs our help so. Hello Mayor Phillips, I heard your cars broke down, can I give you a ride, to the business side of town. It’s the best a soul can offer in 1959, shelter me from the carnage coming down this timeline.

It could be Dr. Mike’s a rich man, I don’t care, and I don’t ask, when we can’t pay him, he still does his task. The city park needs cleaning, nobody need get upset, the boys they got together, and in no time mowed the grass. There’s a place by the river where I take my favorite girl, at times she lets me kiss her, and I feel my heart unfurl. When we decide to marry, and I promise her my life, there won’t be no one other, for this ever, she will be my wife. It could be rain is coming, in a time where devils speak but now I’m just living and my soul is real at peace.

Sharon Keeley’s theatre runs the best show for a dime, each night before she shuts down she looks at Heston one more time. She knows a dream before she sees it but it’s life just the same, the actor makes her feel like she walks in star like grace. The children of a small town walk to and fro from school, never thinking of a stranger who might want to break life’s rules. Officer Rumford is a good friend, who plays his best when the summers hot, when the church league is shy a player they just know they can call that cop. There’s a ship that’s taking water on this ocean up ahead, but for now were treading water, it’s not too high and not too bad.

At nine o’clock we just get sleepy, and we think our stars it’s late, and we drink a glass of orange juice, Aunt Louise eats some cake. In the nighttime not a nightmare, from the mayor to a child, as we enter sleep filled union with a balance and a smile. It’s a sliver of an era built on time that will not last, a year of 1959, and soon it will pass. Can you see it in a time machine built static in these words, built special in a town of rhyme, before danger strolled the earth. It’s the best a soul can offer in 1959, shelter me from the carnage coming down this timeline. – דָּנִיֵּאל

Better Living (Life in Totah)


I will take you there, where the three rivers meet, where something really special built a spirit in me. In the Totah of the valley I was built with creed, my apostles were the blue sky, and the sand at my feet. My birthright was the mesa that was soaked by sun, my terrors torn asunder when the day was done. The fashion of the plain way, and the spoken tongue, the right and left of promise, deeds of praise unsung, the sheltered light of caring, forgotten cost of sharing while I was young.

A chamber not so hidden still resides in me, a place I stood my childhood still in memory. A blanket full of wisdom, not found in norm, a hand that wears the turquoise, no culture lost by storm. Sometimes when an earthquake shakes my home, I bring back better living, life in Totah there I roam. The best that I can offer in my private belief, came to me in boyhood near a Pinon tree. In the seed was Manna that fed my soul, there in by the San Juan I took control.

Now I’m growing older, and my hair is gray, I need to search three rivers where my secrets lay. Something in the water, could be stone or sand, something in the people, and the heart of the land. Sheltered by remission, where this road does lay, I will find permission where the ghost do play. Come famed muddy waters cutting channels deep, I will live in Totah while my soul does sleep. Therein lies my wisdom from where I used to play, growing better living in the Totah way. This immortal minder gifts a better day. I will take you there, where the three rivers meet, where something really special built a spirit in me.

Kind memories of the plateau’s valley’s and rivers of my childhood near Farmington, Kirtland and Fruitland New Mexico reminds my ageing soul that the cost and victories I retained in this special place as a child instilled in me better living for life. My foundation was life in Totah! דָּנִיֵּאל 03/22/2014