I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
My friends all liked the Beatles
But, that was not my thing
I liked to hear the fiddle
To hear the joy burst from the strings
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king

I remember me and Grandad
Listening to the radio
We would listen to the Opry
While my friends went to the show
Johnny Cash, The Gatlins,
Grandpa Jones, and Old Hank Snow
I was raised on country music
I just wanted you to know

I loved the feeling I would get
when I heard a country tune
Singing about trucks and girls
And a golden Tennessee Moon
Charlie Daniels, Jimmy Dean
The Judds, and Roger Miller
Willie, Waylon, Tom T. Hall
and Jerry Lee...the Killer

I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
My friends all liked the Beatles
But, that was not my thing
I liked to hear the fiddle
To hear the joy burst from the strings
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king



Country lost it's western
and Rock it lost it's roll
But, still old country music
Those tunes just made me whole
I learned all of the lyrics
And I love to hear them sing
I grew up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was King

I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
My friends all liked the Beatles
But, that was not my thing
I liked to hear the fiddle
To hear the joy burst from the strings
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king

This Ain't a ******* Country Song

You know I love my Rock and Roll

I wouldn't write a Country Song

'Cause that's not how I roll

This song it ain't bout country things

Like pickup trucks and cars

You'll never find me writing

About getting drunk in bars

There's no mention here of Taylor Swift

or The Charlie Daniels Band

I wouldn't write of how the banks

are taking our farmland

This Ain't a ******* Country Song

You know I love my Rock and Roll

I wouldn't write a Country Song

'Cause that's not how I roll

I don't know **** 'bout Redneck stuff

like hunting dogs and guns

I wouldn't write of Daisy Dukes

showing off some hot babes buns

I won't write 'bout the Opry

I don't know all that stuff

Of Minnie Pearl and Grandpa Jones

And Mr. Roy Acuff

This Ain't a ******* Country Song

You know I love my Rock and Roll

I wouldn't write a Country Song

'Cause that's not how I roll

There's nothing here 'bout Bourbon

or of Racing through the fields

I don't know much about farming

or crop futures or of yields

I listen to The Rolling Stones

Trace Adkins I don't like

Lady A can go away

Kid Rock can ride his bike

You won't hear much about Zac Browns Band

or of food thats Chicken Fried

I might go to a hoedown

If I'd  just  up and died

My music, it fulfills me

It makes me who I am

But I'll stay away from country

songs, Cause I don't give a ****

No Oak Ridge Boys or Hee Haw Here

Hank Williams I won't buy

I'll never buy a Dixie Beer

It's a drink I'll never try

I won't sing about Kentucky

or of a Texas Yellow Rose

you know this aint no country song

Good god I hope it shows

There's no mohter, dogs or applie pie

no  fishin' in the dark

No Everything is Beautiful

No songs by Terry Clark

I'm really open minded

My friends they are the same

We won't buy country music

To us it's just so lame

This Ain't a ******* Country Song

You know I love my Rock and Roll

I wouldn't write a Country Song

'Cause that's not how I roll

I won't mention stuff you'll find

in songs by Nashville bands

There's nothing here about

watching football in the stands

I'll never write a country song

Cause country just ain't fun

Oh crap I just read this thing

And I think I just wrote one

This Ain't a ******* Country Song

You know I love my Rock and Roll

I wouldn't write a Country Song

'Cause that's not how I roll

Thanks to that velveteen tone he
saves for me
And his turpentine diction,
The cliches that made my eyes roll
Now make my heart rush

Nonetheless, my thoughts riot as follows...

(When urged to call him something cheery
something no smile can wane at
like that fleck of gold in his left iris)
Well, "sunshine" should suffice
And Latin for that equals
"Apricitas"
Which phoneticized equals
"Opry cheetahs"
So the obvious endearment here is
Opry

(When urged to call him something pure
perhaps upon watching him blink
or blush
or blow
cigarette ringlets away from babies)
"Snowflake"?
No, that's a slang for ***** these days
So, "raindrop"
Yes
If Latin is dead,
It sure knows how to haunt me
"Gutta imbrium"
Ember
My little ember
The only glow in all this charcoal

(When urged to call him something pretty
when he's brushing his hair
or allowing me to arrange red clovers
in his sideburns)
Hm, let's testdrive "moonlight"
Let's shift into Latin, "luna lumen"
Thus the nickname I bite back is
Lulu

/Lulu/
While I hear darlings and dearies
on the daily
Why must I fail to mirror him?

(When urged to call him something sweet
like the butterscotch kisses he whispers
into my knuckles)
Like a honeycomb
Or as Ceasar would say, "cera mel"
Close enough?
Caramel?
Carousel?
Dizzy, then

We spin
In silence

(When urged to call him something cute
with his cap on sideways
and his head in my lap
and the world at my heels)
Kitten
Catalus
Catapult
Half of that backwards might as well be
Tulip
Two lips
Two tongues
Too much, yet never enough of his
Smoke bomb pomegranate mouth

For heaven's sake, see?
That's why I kiss instead of speak

That steel guitar has

cried it's last..



a shrill twang that

faded into a

chasm...



I followed that last

bitter note

until my legs struck.



A sharp crack..



As they tangled in a

heap of vinyls and

plastic cassettes.



Scratches.. white noise..



the film pulled out and

tangled in a ball.



Not that it matters , for the

only phonograph is

missing a needle...



and Post Malone is

stuck in the deck!



A  recording from the Opry...



The Opry?



No.. No...NO!



Not the Opry...



It must be mislabeled!



I must have

screamed for

hours as I played it

over... and OVER!



'The Grand Ole Opry welcomes....'



CRASH



the stereo hits the

pavement as it

shatters into tiny

fragments that fall

neatly back into their

original configuration.



'The Grand Ole Opry welcomes...'



I ran...



I ran...



but it followed...



and it consumed...



all.



©Nathan A. Brock 2024

Folksy blokes, like ya struttin’ ya thang
If you’ve come out of da Grand Ole Opry
But, won’t stay around for any old music sang
If it’s causing their head, to bob up and down and go all floppy
While rugged mountain men riding in some country rodeo
Can just step right up, to a Appalachia recording studio
Put down several tracks and become a worldwide pop star
They sing about hillbilly ways, while cogging or flatfooting from afar
Talking ‘bout wild hogs, gators, foxes & how so many more
Taste so great, using leftovers as bait & making real men roar
Old fables, told through pictures and patterns, upon knitted quilt
Even showing the feuding days of the Hatfields versus McCoys
From both sides of Tug Fork stream, with many unemployed  
Although Asa and Devil Anse, said, ‘they hadn’t much guilt’
All because of a judge and 5000 acres of unusable swamp land
Once owned, by a close kissin’ cousin named, Perry Cline
Who didn’t even get any blood on his hand
They started a war, that could’ve been stopped
By a bottle or two, of good ole mountain moon-shine
Both clans almost wiped out, if last man standing had accidentally dropped.

there was a little lark a music fan was he.
to be a great musician he just long to be
he took a trip to Nashville down in Tennessee
writing country songs and singing them for free.
hoping for a contract and be a country star
singing songs he wrote while playing his guitar.
lark he got his chance at the grand ole opry hall
a venue for the country stars the best one of them all
lark he was hit and got his record deal
overnight sensation and a country star for real

there was a little lark a music fan was he
to be a great musician he just long to be
he took a trip to Nashville down in Tennessee
writing country songs and singing them for free
hoping for a contract and be a country star
singing songs he wrote while playing his guitar
lark he got his chance and at  grand ole opry hall
a venue for the country stars the best one of them all
lark he was hit and got his record deal
overnight sensation and a country star for real

there was a little lark a music fan was he
to be a great musician he just long to be
he took a trip to Nashville down in Tennessee
writing country songs and singing them for free.

hoping for a contract and be a country star
singing songs he wrote while playing his guitar
lark he got his chance and at  grand ole opry hall
a venue for the country stars the best one of them all.

lark he was hit and got his record deal
overnight sensation and a country star for real

May 13, 2016
1:00 a.m.
"Grasping for straws, again!" It's amazing to me, that when we start aproaching  my age, how we start reflecting on events that, at the time of their occurence, were not important. Case in point:
Lubbock, Texas, September, 1953, if memory serves. During that time local television stations, at noon, always had a 15 minute newscast, followed by another 15 minutes of "public service programing, featuring upcoming events in the surrounding communities. This time of year, it was always the "South Plains Fair."
My brother, Bill, and I belonged to a volunteer service group that was scheduled to appear on such a program aptly titled "Hospitality Time." Also scheduled was a country western band that was to perform at the fair. I can't recall the name other than they were associated with a circuit called "The Louisiana Hayride",  similar to the "Grand 'ol Opry", both very popular on the radio, you do remember 'radio', don't you?"
Prior to the telecast, we got into a conversation with one of the musicians, who 'plunked' on his guitar while waiting for their call.He turned out to be the lead singer. Not being a country music fan, I  didn't pay much attention to them, after all, it was "just for the Fair." After they finished and were leaving, he turned to my brother and me, and said, "nice to meet you." It wasn't until a couple of years later, when I realized that we had met, and talked with, Elvis Presley.
copyright: richard riddle: 05-13-2016

On the road I give to long naps and drift
in sleep-time on asphalts of Tennessee.
You are not driving when yellow sun lifts
eyelids open for the Grand Ole Opry.
I spend an hour walking to a campsite
in Arkansas, where I ***** my finger
on a thorn-bush. Painful like our night
words in paper cuts, cradling our shivers.
When I reach Texas a cowboy hat at
the rodeo would look good on you and
now I want to call you, tell you that.
Body hot, sweaty, and I’m sick of land
when we reach Arizona. I can’t find
where you race rapids down rushing river,
carving canyons in the mud plates of my spine.
Desert sky can try, but can’t deliver.
This open road of freedom, letting go.
One day I chose to leave, then left. And so.

Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch

What is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash is gone,
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone
if his songs lift us closer to heaven?
Can the steel in his voice vibrate on
till his words are our manna and leaven?

Then sing, all you mountains of stone,
with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel.
Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home
through these weary dark ways all men travel.

For what is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash lives on—
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Originally published by Strong Verse. When I was a teenager Johnny Cash used to pop into the Nashville McDonald’s where I worked to buy burgers after the Grand Ole Opry let out. True to his nickname, the Man in Black always wore black. I think he’s as immortal now as human beings can become, since someone will be singing songs he wrote and and recorded till the end of time. Keywords/Tags: Johnny Cash, black, hair, clothes, boots, voice, rasp, gravel, steel, guitar, songs, music, mountain, stone, heaven, manna, leaven

The sign on the marquee says "Live Tonight",
But the lights they have been dimmed,
For the stage it will be empty,
And the curtains have been trimmed.

The plane was lost in Tennessee,
And the golden voice was stilled,
The disc-jockey held back the tears,
As he announced that Patsy Cline was killed.

Country stars and fans alike,
Were saddened by the news,
For a woman whose love of life,
Was to sing the country blues.

The Grand Ole Opry is silent,
At the loss of a good friend,
But the music from this country star,
Will last till time does end.

The sign on the marquee says "Live Tonight",
And Patsy Cline will sing,
For the lord so loved her beautiful voice,
That to heaven, Patsy, he did bring.

packed up my old truck and my guitar too
heading on the road to start my life a new
maybe sing some songs in some country bar
one day make the big time become a country star


take a trip Nashville down in Teneesee
the home of country music is where i long to be
write a country song of my very own
perform it the Opry.  perhaps i will get known.

be a country star in the hall of fame
join the country stars with a famous name.
singing at the venues every here and there
along with all the big stars singing everywhere

singing country music is all i long to do
be a star one day make my dreams come true
singing on Tv and the radio
they would know my name every where i go.

Israel one May, Shanghai the next,
the world shuddered as a phase passed,
an old nation groaned again,
and the lion seemed willing
to roar for the lamb.
Children were rewards from gods,
you must believe, if you fail
to feed them they allways
die.
-- The worth of lives, halved in time,

faster than any previous code,
television in similar solutions,
attempting to spur competition,

which functional way to see afar,
becomes universal signal in cable,
piped from big round sound eyes,
seeing some contact with knowns,
long hid from those with no time
of their own,
their station in life, dictating suffering
it to be so now,
toil 'til you drop,
earn each breath,
soon some knowers come and show us
whole new ways to see time from space.

2020 tech, take a look at all you may know,
as seen clearly all at once through the black
mirror we all take as natural right,
constant geo meo location,
here am I in the midst of you
gathered in the course of human events.
----------------

I wish I knew, on Hulu,
who knew?
Who knew then,
when this body was born,
who imagined we were sold,
to be Americans,
of the most modern sort.

Augmented minds, memories
at finger tips, tapping words
in codes too quick to disre-
gard as time in chance
bon journal always
boring, back when
time was told
in shadows.

Thrum of crowd,
very human noise, peace
in time tuned to a we,
an awesome state,
we imagine.
=============

Most certain am I of this,
I was born to live in interesting times.

Making no concessions for ancestry,
I was born to the new way,
the way of peace as bought with valor,
in opposition to the cry havoc,
all spoils to the victor,
historic rule of justice reestablished,
via a twist in the antidisestablishmentarian
clause for contention, stretch. stretch
to fit,
spandex,
at the Grand Ole Opry, ommygawhds
gracious sakesalive

there was an old way, where good is, yet
today, folks fib,
little lies, don't hurt, keep the secret,
that's the rule,
priest's rule.

Remember, first secret oath you made?
I don't believe you really do,
did you know the function oaths fill,
in social clumping butter churning
emotional usery acts, mixing us,
sifting us, sorting us, fat from whey.
Then curds from that,
to pigslop, fed to slaves, chittlin'grittywise

wish this all was over, ever over,
but it's not, no
yet if you wished you knew this peace,
said to be on earth, sometimes, as it is
in heaven, as you see,
peaceful, past the clouds, but for
the raging furnaces keeping things spinning
out of control,
no,
ah, it seems, order has been called,
the judge,
you feel the knowing, in yourself, you agree,
something is always better,
twice known.

Construction rules, measure twice, cut once.

I was taught to understand the wail of Jones and Owens -
The cry of the fiddle , Hank telling it right ,
the Opry on Saturday night
The necessity of a front porch
Steel toed boots , sun tea and sassafras root                                             A late night swing for two 'neath a bustling oak
Coonhound companions and old school-
blokes
We learned to catch our own minnows 'n
fry our own slabs
Sunday dinners turned into afternoon naps
Grief and gain walked hand in hand
Someday my body's corruption will be turned to sand
Left to blow across this hallowed land ...

Crouching Tigers
Dancing Shivas
Crawling King Snakes
Screaming Meemies

Inner turmoil
Outer edges
Lower worlds
Higher standards

Catch-22
****** One
Colt 45
Mustang 5.0

Secret Service
Mystery meat
Unknown soldier
Private property

Wise old owl
Little old lady
Same old sh*t
Grand Old Opry

Make shift
Make due
Make-up
Make me

Round up
Round down
Round about
Round off

Phone call
Cat call
*******
Curtain call

Mountain top
Muffin top
Carrot top
Rag top

Worry wart
Wet blanket
Spoil sport
Buzz killer

took a trip to nashville down in teneesee
home of country music that warms the heart in me
place where it all started all those years ago
that very special sound that we all got to know.

the grand ole opry hall where the stars all made there name
where they started from where they got there fame
with there country songs and there country sound
in nashville teneese.where country was first found

it reaches to your heart reaches to your soul
makes you feel alive makes you feel so whole
good ole country music that means so much to me
home where it all started in nashville teneesee

there is a video for this poem on youtube
i wrote the song for video
link https://youtu.be/QgAJTnPGINU
share if you like