music

Love Is In The Small Things

I hold her hand

So nervous like the first time

She offers me a gentle smile

It hides a trace of pain

2 Days mean more

When they’e numbered

I can’t imagine my days Here 

Living without her

3 She use to make my meals

Use to mend my clothes 

Now there’s only shadows 

Where she made a small house our home

4 The sounds of laughing children

Once filled these empty rooms

The best of times in our life

We danced and laughed and struggled through

Those were the days

Even if we didn’t know it

Love is in the small things

Seldom seen and often go unnoticed 

1 She wants to walk in the garden

But her legs have grown weak

I help her to the window 

She shuffles her feet

2 Holding hands in silence 

Siting in the setting sun (ya see)

Love doesn’t belong 

Only to the young

3 Sunday drives in the country

Picnics by the lake

It doesn’t seem that long ago

But time moves on, refuses to wait

4 Whispers a Hail Mary

Tells me there’s angel circling

She can hear them calling

Calling her name

5 I kiss her forehead, and say

If you must go, I understand

What will I do without my sweetheart

Who I shared my life, hand in hand

Those were the days

Even if we didn’t know it

Love is in the small things

Seldom seen or noticed 

Give Yourself Some Room

Give yourself some room

Give yourself some space

This life’s a marathon

Not a foot race

Beware of fools and takers

Be your own best friend

It’s all about where you’re going

And not where you’ve been

Learn to love yourself

Find a way to make a home

Know I’m always with you, 

No matter how far you may roam

Take your time

Don’t get in a hurry

Life’s to short, 

To waste on fear and worry

Don’t be afraid to try

Be strong, be brave

Don’t feel alone

We’re all just, finding our way

Live out loud

Live wild and free

Don’t let anyone tell ya 

Who or what ya suppose to be

Chase down every dream

Cause time flies by fast

Let go of your sorrow

Even the toughest of times will pass

(Repeat Chorus)

Music and Aliens

Thanks for taking the time to listen to my music. I don’t expect any great revelations or scathing critiques. It’s just nice to know that my music is being listened to by someone out there in that big ole universe.
Perhaps, once a sound wave of music is made, it goes off into infinity, passing by silent stars, forgotten planets and yet unnamed galaxies. Maybe an alien will come across the sound wave and find themselves happily tapping their foot to the beat—–wouldn’t that be nice.
Music is one of the few things that brings order to the chaos—-and for a brief moment provides refuge to the weary.
So my good friend, open up your ears and heart and take a peek at the sound of my soul……
P.S. I’m big on planet Zaltar—-ha ha
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I’m Stuck with you, You’re Stuck with me

Tell me daddy, what makes the sun burn so bright

Who turns on the moon, when it gets dark at night

Oh Daddy, what makes the wind blow

Who turns on the rain, who freezes the snow

Tell me Daddy, why’s the ocean so blue

Who decorates the flowers, with morning dew

Someday my son, you’ll be a man

You’ll see, it’s all part of a plan

What you take, and what you give

Gonna come back to you, in this life you live

Love is all, we came here for

Nothing less, nothing more

One day son, you’ll leave home

You’ll find love, and have children of your own

You’ll teach them all, all ya know

You’ll wish them well, then ya gotta let-em go

You can choose your friends, but not your family

So I guess I’m stuck with you, I guess you’re stuck with me

Someday my son, you’ll be a man

You’ll see it’s all part of a plan

What you take, and what you give

Comes back to you, in this life you live

Love is all we came here for

Nothing less, nothing more

Inventing Colors

Art is everywhere, but most only see it when it’s put in a fancy frame, installed in an art show or defined as such by pretentious critics’. I do love art. I love Bukowski and Kerouac….Their pens like divining rods, separating raw sewage from raw beauty.  Some people breakdown playing the piano into a math problem, into intervals and the frequency of notes on a page, but that’s missing the point of playing the piano. Why paint by numbers when there’s so much more waiting outside the lines. Doodle, scribble, close your eyes and let the music flow through you, out of you, into you——like a new color that’s yet to be discovered.