#johndenver
Words by Elizabeth Hensley
To John Denver's
Potter's Wheel
The Universe is rolling onwards
Round and round the Wheel of Time!
Every trip the Potter's Fingers
Get a little closer to His grand design.
Though its still a place of misery
He smooths more with every roll
So have Faith to share the struggle
The Master Potter's in control!
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 12:19 PM UTC
always
poking
at the sky,
waiting for the signs,
to change,
crashed through a mile-
stone marker,
foolin' with life,
hands on the wheel of
what is broken down,
dark, dark, dark like area
fifty-one
grams are instant,
you might figure it out,
then again, whenever...
first heard of denver,
rhymes and reasons,
eagles and hawks,
music to my ears,
oh then came the tears,
Road Weary too early
in this Rotten World,
but rw came along,
and laughter filled
this heart,
to over flowing,
until tears
came from every laugh
and ... then...
only the tears.
A r m, there was no
harm, only a heart
for God,
step by step you
brought me closer,
if i stand,
brought
me to my knees,
understanding your love
for the Navajo
nation.
Too hard to be a bard,
all the waves that
sound like me
are hammered flat,
sharply.
Too soon.Wanted to grow
old with all of you
even though we share so little
phil-o-so-phically,
but here it is play
with words,
sun still rises
and watching flights
of birds and
dragonflies
make me pause;
from the shape of the sky
to a colour of the paint
that comes from the sun
in the clouds.
Then walking with ugly
toes with feet and
knees,
older than they should be,
seeing
people on the street,
who
love to hate,
hate to love,
each day is a wrestling
match in an atmospheric cage,
that puts ufc to shame,
seeing way more
than can be put on
parchment,
the will, be tried.
roof over my head
like a hat hanging
on an empty coat
hook
between the ribs
tearing at a heart
that refuses to
stop
beating while
being beat up by voices
that keep coming out
of the dark, dark, dark
shhhhhhhhh
whispers,
wisps
of hope
that knowing
as long as the
sounds of music
from many artists
find the ears
and,
able to feel,
lines of tears
and too
the laughter
echoes,
echoes in the
empty hallway
that swallows
red and white
and clear,
I live to write
another
day.
Take courage
to Play
the ukelele
if may I
by deSign.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
He could sing,
Songs did bring,
Stirring to my soul.
Played the two eight
track tapes, until late,
with headphones,
surrounded but alone.
He could lay out lyrics,
a bard, a poet, a musician
that rasied peoples spirits.
Like "The Eagle and The Hawk"
That voice still echoes.
Played many instruments,
like they were extensions
of himself, fine implements.
Never I thought,
Would I see him,
sing
In a big concert hall.
Or hoping, finding out that, "Country Roads Take Me Home"
I was right.
But was I ever part wrong.
That voice still echoes.
Summer in Prince George,
He was coming to town.
A concert series across the land,
not in an arena but
an outdoor bandstand!
There sat my hero, less than fifty feet away,
His fragile humanity, let the "Sunshine on My Shoulders",
Through times of my youth.
I don't remember the songs in order,
he did some favorites and some new,
he played his twelve string and the six,
that night was amazing so much so is sticks.
The resonating vibrato,
The notes pitch perfect,
The...times when I am down,
Then I listen to his music and it reminds me of my home, my youth, far away.
That night looking east, I could almost see the "Rocky Mountain(s) High"
His life changed direction,
maybe some misdirection,
He was different,
Or maybe I became indifferent,
His passing was tragic,
But nothing...
will ever erase the magic of that night,
under the stars,
out in the open
to where the singer and songs carried far,
by that voice, his voice that still echoes.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC