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Word’s Worth

Poetry lives in the strangest of places
In books and in stars and in fair people’s faces
That curious child still walks ‘long beside you
But you’ve quit listening ‘cause life’s quite consumed you

You dash for the dollar; rush to the commerce
To squeeze every dollar from all that you’re worth
Your poetry withers—written by others
As your curious child dies trampled and smothered

So they tossed on some dirt and propped up a stone
A clay plated casket of soon-to-be bones
Words they were said but people soon scattered
‘Cause you killed long ago the one thing that mattered
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Word’s Worth

Poetry lives in the strangest of places
In books and in stars and in fair people’s faces
That curious child still walks ‘long beside you
But you’ve quit listening ‘cause life’s quite consumed you

You dash for the dollar; rush to the commerce
To squeeze every dollar from all that you’re worth
Your poetry withers—written by others
As your curious child dies trampled and smothered 

So they tossed on some dirt and propped up a stone
A clay plated casket of soon-to-be bones
Words they were said but people soon scattered
‘Cause you killed long ago the one thing that mattered

Doug Kershaw Jr., Donna Lewis and 16 others like this

Joyce Ponder GentilellaDean Hall thank God for you. Shame on me if you have not just changed me

6 months ago
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Friends

We were born around the same time, in different places, under different circumstances. I noticed you one day while I was fishing—a young, budding pine standing there against the elements. You seemed happy, your branches and needles outstretched towards the raging sun; your roots planted firmly in the Earth.

Somehow you made it out of the safe canopy of the dark forest and onto the bank of Old Man Walter’s pond. We sat on the bank together every day. I would try to catch a bluegill or a sunfish big enough to brag about back at Fred’s Tire Store and bait shop, which sat adjacent to the old family cemetery.

We were friends. At least I thought so. You were even there for me during the harsh winter. The bitter cold would cut through me like a whaler’s shank, but you stood strong. I admired you. The winters always passed, and each spring brought new stories ready to escape from the dreams and imaginations conceived during the boredom of cabin fever.

We talked, we laughed; sometimes we cried—together—there in the warm Kentucky sunlight that shined on us like fortunate sons of the Commonwealth. You always listened. Now and then it rained, and we both got wet. The smell of rich pine needles always drifted in from the crowded evergreen forest from where you came. We both grew taller and taller above the fertile soil.

Several years passed; I never forgot you.

Then one December day—just before Christmas—I walked that path to Old Man Walter’s pond I’d walked a thousand times. I froze in my tracks. My heart stopped. You were gone. All that was left was an empty hole in the ground. A few mangled roots marked your struggle to no avail. I turned to hear the forest weep, but it was silent. Detached in the distance.

I sat down in the snow and cried a mother’s cry—a cry to an indifferent universe.
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Friends

We were born around the same time, in different places, under different circumstances. I noticed you one day while I was fishing—a young, budding pine standing there against the elements. You seemed happy, your branches and needles outstretched towards the raging sun; your roots planted firmly in the Earth. 

Somehow you made it out of the safe canopy of the dark forest and onto the bank of Old Man Walter’s pond. We sat on the bank together every day. I would try to catch a bluegill or a sunfish big enough to brag about back at Fred’s Tire Store and bait shop, which sat adjacent to the old family cemetery. 

We were friends. At least I thought so. You were even there for me during the harsh winter. The bitter cold would cut through me like a whaler’s shank, but you stood strong. I admired you. The winters always passed, and each spring brought new stories ready to escape from the dreams and imaginations conceived during the boredom of cabin fever. 

We talked, we laughed; sometimes we cried—together—there in the warm Kentucky sunlight that shined on us like fortunate sons of the Commonwealth. You always listened. Now and then it rained, and we both got wet. The smell of rich pine needles always drifted in from the crowded evergreen forest from where you came. We both grew taller and taller above the fertile soil. 

Several years passed; I never forgot you. 

Then one December day—just before Christmas—I walked that path to Old Man Walter’s pond I’d walked a thousand times. I froze in my tracks. My heart stopped.  You were gone. All that was left was an empty hole in the ground. A few mangled roots marked your struggle to no avail. I turned to hear the forest weep, but it was silent. Detached in the distance. 

I sat down in the snow and cried a mother’s cry—a cry to an indifferent universe.

Renee Rice, Wanda Meeler and 23 others like this

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James-Chip McGloneWow man , I guess you wrote this?

12 months ago   ·  1

8 Replies

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William WoodsHello my old friend!

12 months ago   ·  1

3 Replies

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Aimee CoverLove my memories of Sunday afternoon, listening and singing at your house. I can't pass there without thinking of those times.

10 months ago   ·  1
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Greg KiserNothing like Dean Hall an the Loose Eels 😜

12 months ago   ·  2
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Amanda SuttonLet's go fishin!

12 months ago   ·  1
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Dean Hall added 4 new photos.

Amazing moments from the new Cirque de Soleil presentation of TORUK—The First Flight at Nashville’s Bridgestone Arena, inspired by James Cameron’s movie AVATAR. Great dinner with friends at Midtown Cafe too. First thoughts: I really need to bump up my stage show—like wear something besides a black T-shirt.
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Amazing moments from the new Cirque de Soleil presentation of TORUK—The First Flight at Nashville’s Bridgestone Arena, inspired by James Cameron’s movie AVATAR. Great dinner with friends at Midtown Cafe too. First thoughts: I really need to bump up my stage show—like wear something besides a black T-shirt.

Doug Kershaw Jr., Amanda Sutton and 17 others like this

Vickie Hollinger SwordsAhem, let's get crackin' on that stage show, already!!!

12 months ago   ·  1

2 Replies

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Jason FrancisI'd just like to see that stage show again one of these days.... Black T-shirt or no.....

12 months ago   ·  1
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Great excuse to stay inside and write a song, poem, or short story. ... See MoreSee Less

Great excuse to stay inside and write a song, poem, or short story.

Today is already the best day ever. I don’t know why, but it feels like one of those days.

I got a week of new classes under my belt, and my schedule is starting to take shape.

My last semester at MTSU is going to be awesome. I’m taking a History of Popular Music course, taught by eminent music history and Jimi Hendrix scholar Mike Alleyne. We should arrive at the 60s rock era around mid-October. Hendrix was one of my major rock influences. I can't wait.

My other class—I’ve got a light load this semester—is Advanced Songwriting taught by Music Row mainstay and Grammy-nominated songwriter Odie Blackmon. Odie is an amazing educator with vast experience in the music business. His CV notes that he has earned “more than 20 million in sales and the CMA's Single of the Year to his credit.” And that just scratches the surface of his achievements and experience.

MTSU’s Songwriting is on track to becoming one of the most distinguished programs in academia.

I get to wake up every day and be creative. That’s one of the things that make each day the best day ever!

BTW I started my RIM degree back in the early 80s. My first class was in room 101 of the John Bragg Media and Entertainment building. My last class this semester is in the very same room.

How's that for nostalgia?
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Today is already the best day ever. I don’t know why, but it feels like one of those days. 

I got a week of new classes under my belt, and my schedule is starting to take shape. 

My last semester at MTSU is going to be awesome. I’m taking a History of Popular Music course, taught by eminent music history and Jimi Hendrix scholar Mike Alleyne. We should arrive at the 60s rock era around mid-October. Hendrix was one of my major rock influences. I cant wait. 

My other class—I’ve got a light load this semester—is Advanced Songwriting taught by Music Row mainstay and Grammy-nominated songwriter Odie Blackmon. Odie is an amazing educator with vast experience in the music business. His CV notes that he has earned “more than 20 million in sales and the CMAs Single of the Year to his credit.” And that just scratches the surface of his achievements and experience.

MTSU’s Songwriting is on track to becoming one of the most distinguished programs in academia.  

I get to wake up every day and be creative. That’s one of the things that make each day the best day ever!

BTW  I started my RIM degree back in the early 80s. My first class was in room 101 of the John Bragg Media and Entertainment building. My last class this semester is in the very same room. 

 Hows that for nostalgia?

Phillip Hurley, Cristy Bullard and 23 others like this

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Amanda SuttonThat's too funny! Guess it was meant to be. You need your before & after pic 😀 ! Hendrix was ALWAYS my fav on your lineup!! Now I know why!

12 months ago   ·  1

1 Reply

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Robin B GibsonYou will do great....Go get'em!

12 months ago   ·  1
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Kevin M. CrawfordRock on.

12 months ago   ·  1
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Dean HallA GREAT COUNTRY ROCK SINGER,,,THATS FOR SURE

12 months ago   ·  1
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Dean HallROCK SINGER DEAN.....NOT DEAN THE SHUTTERBUG

12 months ago   ·  1
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Tiffany Mckeel BoucherI have a box full of lyrics I would love for you to create me a song . I know I'm not great but my only wish in life is to leave my kids a song their mama wrote. Let me know if you would ever be interested . Proud of all your accomplishments !!!!!😀

12 months ago   ·  1
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