Letters #1: On writing

Like just about anything creative, it's a river. Or stepping into one. And once you're in it, you let it take you.   You might exert some of your own will onto it but ultimately when things are going best, it's the river that decides.  And it speaks through you as well as to you, …

Letters #2: Influences

When you’re starting out you may find that there are many writers and musicians whose work you dig, but I'd keep an eye out for those who really knock your socks off, who make you want to dance naked in the street, howl at the moon and make love to strangers; who, when you read …

I’m going back in

I’m going back in where things are seen by stepping back and laying low staying loose, ready to go this is only a pome, but we’re on the move never free bound to earth to make the scene just breath and see dance and dwell right in your beat there you’ll see it’s you and …

The Wake Up

Ren Michael - Logo - Initials

Only Love For me there is only the road. Sometimes I think it's the only real home for me listening to good music and digging every new place I see and all the old places too with the sun in my eyes and above me the moon and the stars. It's a real sweet spot, …

I write on the backs of napkins

I write on the backs of napkins I write on scraps of tissue paper for you ought to not sweat the fancy jet the time yet, no or the old lessons of propriety don't stack that shelf full of fancy volumes, neither no, don't overload the head with journals with their pages crisp and clean …

Stationhouse Blues

This is the first song that I recorded, chopped and produced on my own, the first that I had fully ready to go even before the debut album,   However, at the time, it didn’t quite fit with the rest of the songs on deck, and I was more keen on releasing a full album …

typing late at night

typing late at night the halls are silent kitchen’s quiet, all I hear is the tapping of the keys the low hum of the fridge and the sound of the lonesome rider driving in the night, as ever down Normandie I hear him the lone rider he’s outside my window waiting not quite lonely, no …

staying grateful during a headcold

Yea I’m grateful to breathe at the least, and hey I've got my lady with me as she calls out rigatoni, time to eat it’s you and me, baby with our pup Sunny and a box of kleenex I’m grateful for you for our friends and our family and like I say thankful just to …

how it began. I hear that train a-comin’

John 'Jack' Lucious Quinby is a journalist who specializes in current affairs and American music. Jude Moonlight is a musician and songwriter, a blues singer and guitar playin' vagabond. The following is a transcript of one in several conversations between the two friends, though the date of the recording is unknown.  We are quite sure …

Village Song

There is a feeling I get Watching this show Villagers in the wasteland Villagers out in the forests of our escaping Here we are When we learn to let go Of our obsessions Our desires, our possessions Our mental discussions And simply enjoy the quiet The waves on the beach The whisper of the wind …

twin palms

People passerby in the afternoon sun twin palms at my side I don't worry none, no I'm sittin' on top of the world. drinking my piñon as the harmonica plays, the other day I didn't know my own name but I see now the reflection, as I read the buried poems of a 60-year old …

Posting and Parks

I don’t often post in the moment because I‘m either without reception or—most of the time—too caught up in the moment itself. This was a combination of the two, though by the looks of it, I am in the middle of taking a picture. Needless to say, I post a lot of pictures after the …

Where Do We Begin? Sketches.

once I was wanting to accumulate (just) stacks of papers and notes as I busied myself with more writing and creating and letting the stacks of papers grow like towers & skyscrapers in a white city as I busied myself like Hephaestus deep in the fiery trenches grinding out work after work But now you …

Caravan Song

It's easy to lose yourself in the desert. When you abandon the basics, the building blocks of navigation laid down by generations before--like following the sun, where it rises and sets--then it becomes easy to lose your sense of direction too. When you've lost your sense of direction, along with sense of self, neither way …

Tonight I Roam

Oh moon Home to seven trembling faces Nameless, blank expressions Your face, the friendliest I’ve known Oh moon Home to my heart and soul Your soft glow Carries me ‘cross the night Though I tremble by thy naked hand Oh moon Stranger to the angels and to blues sparrows flying like arrows in silhouette across …

The Prado

Inspiration has many faces, and sometimes it can leave you spellbound to the point that you see no reason to do anything else, because you feel the overwhelming feeling that everything’s been done already. It’s why I’m wary of museums. Of course it’s a matter of perspective, depending on the individual and the choices they …

Piano Player in a Vienna Cafe (Diglas)

at night rain falls neath soft neon lights between the old walls of Vienna, as people laugh & take in the sights and the piano plays for the end of days in a broken-down cafe I hear a song, sudden like a waltz some ancient dance I remember well the woman beneath the glass and …

World Poetry Day

I’ll tell ya something brother poetry is our return to truly democratic ordeals, the art form of the people empowered by the firm grip forged in fire now cold steel of the world the word at times spoken other times written it is a return to language unfiltered without ever being second guessed unless you …

El Camino Del Sol

An ancient creek breathes brand new Strayed off far enough found you unassuming, child lived a thousand years oblivious to the war the crime Do you know of time? Have you heard the news? What do you say? What’s to come through? Or do I ask too soon? Ancient creek Whispering softly, echoing mystery and flowing …

Seine Reflections #2 (Afraid to Love You)

fear to extend a hand open up, I stand in the streetlights of Paris, in Saint-Germain sure they drive me wild lovers walking along the Seine, they leave so it's just me and the river, I could jump in I hear you Still, of course I still hear the whisper as ever calling to me …

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