Tag Archives: writing


The clouds move
like an army
over the mountain.
Their bellies barely
scraping the jagged edges
and tips of pines.
With each moment,
they grow larger
swallowing the last
of blue sky.
The wisps become thickets
of dark grey and white.
Though they are quick to pass
through a maze
of valleys and peaks
they stagnate
on the far east edge
and begin to release
days of rain
that they have been keeping inside.
Dousing the plains
and slinking further up
there is nothing left
to hide.


The Fires Around Us

World to ashes
but our feet still on ground
carrying burdens
cast to us by
a selfish and needy past,
leaving nothing unfound.

We are left
to prove the impossible
rebuild from the broken
fragments of life
grieve for realities forever lost
and whisper memories of another time.

Why couldn’t this be stopped?
Is a question on all our minds
when the easily forgotten answer
is because you chose to be blind.

Do nothing
and receive nothing in return.
The savage destiny
we have built for ourselves.
The Earth continues to decay
and we stare at the inevitable
refusing to understand fate.

Can you not see
the fire burning at your feet?
It doesn’t care who you are
or what you could become.
The fire will consume everything
until it is all gone.

In the End

Part I

The Earth has died, but we are still here. Living.

What has been left to us is dust. Clouds of it erasing the distance and swallowing horizons whole. We have covered the windows and taped all the seams, yet the smallest of particles still find their way in. Piling in the corners and ensnaring bits on our bare feet.

The Sun has become more powerful. There is no longer a layer to protect us from it’s blinding rays, the power of it’s ultraviolet light altering everything in it’s wake. Within the Day the rays stretch over the land, piercing anything unblemished; radiation consuming the ground. Not even the dust can save you.

We have become accustomed to the Night. Only then is it safe to wonder beyond a door, be it armed with a filter mask, layers of leather upon your skin, and a heavy knife. Never forget your knife.

The oceans are incubators, filled with the toxic aroma of death. The shorelines stretch deep into the land, extending miles beyond their said origins. Storms rage upon them for weeks at times, creating acid rains and winds that pulverize any remains among the abandoned cities.

Humanity once cared for one another. But that care has been replaced with fear. This fear is not like what our grandparents knew. It is ugly and traced with anger, confusion, and blame. No one wants to live in this world, but no one wants to die in it either. Yet we are the ones who made it this way.

In the Rain

This patter of rain
could lull me to sleep.
A warm dog at my feet
and the softness of a lantern light.
The night cooling with each drop.
I wish it to never stop.


The way
my head aches
from this medication
is nowhere close
to sedation.

The vessels
are swelling
in my brain.
Vibrating and undulating,
tightening into a tensile pain.

I never had headaches before.
The one or few a year
just a price for drinking
a bit more.
But now it happens
at least twice a day.
I just don’t think
I can bear any more.


Eleven years. Eleven years of waiting. I know you’re a busy guy, Jack White, but I (and thousands of others) have waited so long. And then like the sun bursting through an endless grey sky – you and Benson and Lawrence and Keeler have delivered. And just like the first two The Raconteurs albums – it’s fucking awesome.

Help Us Stranger is the junior album from The Raconteurs and hot off the June press this year. And while I genuinely love every song on it (I’m obsessed with this band, truly), I decided on doing a little write up on “Thoughts and Prayers” – a title that carries some irony as a modern throwaway phrase as Jack White put.

Starting off with a very quiet and short piano bit that is then answered by a guitar, “Thoughts and Prayers” is one of the slower tracks on the album but carries more weight than most. Guitars continue to echo, creating a layering effect that is both eerie and calming. A deep synthesized bass joins in shortly, putting a solid base against the moving strings.

The lyrics then branch into some thoughts on the grim reaper without time, a sunless sun, a sleepless man who doesn’t own a clock, and the absence of friends. The first three verses finish with a useless prayer of hoping for another way to feel OK – but no action to resolve it.

A brief interlude of the melody with a new introduction of a screeching, down spiral of a mandolin and violin (via the Richie Sisters) follows as the next verses play out. Again we reach into someone’s thoughts on how people live, how to grow money, and writing letters. The latter referencing Sullivan Ballou who used to pen eloquent letters to his wife, one being only two weeks before the battle of Bull Run in 1861 – in which he was killed. In 1862, his wife would have received the letter and been in mourning (a good reason to be blue).

The lyrics then seem to get a little more desperate, being our protagonist thinks himself a cast away, led astray, and very much alone. Is there even any worth in making it to the end if you are the only one left?

Then the song dips into a very frantic and wild build with the mandolin and violin taking front and center. The trills and runs are building force pushing the song to its end.

The last verse is loud and present, reminiscing in a sense of what was and the gray that now is. Again, a prayer is said for a better way – asking God (notably a her) for assurance that there are reasons why it is this way. The song ends quietly on those last words, dropping to nothing.

So many meanings can be pulled from this one. For me there are two. The first is an apocalyptic scenario where the protagonist is the only surviving person on Earth. Everything (and everybody) has been destroyed by some unknown force and he is trying to find a positive outlook on this grim world that he must get through alone.

The second is the tinging of a person’s outlook on life, perhaps after a catastrophic and senseless event. They are counting the sad things in life, wallowing in the gray. They see the future as bleak and even death doesn’t seem to matter. It seems impossible to get back to even a sliver of happiness. Thoughts and prayers are just as useless, and they don’t change anything.

No matter how this song speaks to you, I hope you enjoy it just as much as I do. Please take a listen of this charged tune via whatever your music provider may be. Don’t forget to check out the full lyrics below.
“Thoughts and Prayers” by The Raconteurs

How can the grim reaper creep
If he really doesn’t have the time?
And how long would you sleep
If the sun decided not to shine?

There’s a man who lives up the block
He doesn’t even own a clock
Sometimes he stays awake for days
He’s doing it his own way

I used to give my friends a call
Now there’s no one left at all
I think my father used to say
There’s got to be a different way
To make myself feel OK
Or maybe that’s just how he used to pray

And who cares how people live
If living’s all they got?
And who knows how money grows?
Drop a nickel in the pot

I wrote a letter down to you
Like I’m Sullivan Ballou
It’s a recipe for blue
Like it’s 1862

Maybe I’m just a cast away
Or a poor boy led astray
There’s no one left here to betray
The only child of the earth
Nobody left here to give birth
It’s hard to tell what that’s worth

I used to look up at the sky
Up at the beautiful blue sky
But now the earth has turned to gray
There’s got to be a better way
To talk to God and hear her say
There are reasons why it is this way


I came to the forest
to cry out my soul,
to let go of the emotions
that riddled me
and kept me from whole.

And the Earth,
like a sponge,
so willingly took it in.
Embracing the darkness and grey,
filtering again and again.