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

I dream a reoccurring dream
One that luckily frequents
I walk into a little dive bar
It smells of smoke and whiskey
I sit a table with three gentlemen
They happen to be outlaws
These aren't ordinary outlaws
They are the men that set the bar

There is the Man in Black
Next to him is good ol Waylon
Next to Waylon is No Show Jones
These men have seen it all
I sit down and order a glass of bourbon
They treat me like an old friend

They share their stories
Imparting wisdom I could never imagine
From the pain, the woe and the happiness
I take a lot with me
They tell me not to go soft
Stay the course, be who you are
As I finish the bourbon, I shake each of their hands
Giving them my honest thanks
I am an outlaw
And I hope to fill their boots one day

Come see black night.  Black night proposes
                                                      mo­re
Than madness in a prophet's dream, sets free
A lean uncertainty, sweet taste of all
We dare not see.

My sweet Kathryn, you were older than me,
Knew all the black mountains--Olson, Creely, Duncan, Morley, Dorn... While I
                                           was learning
Levertov.  Your dark, unshaven armpits
Drove me wild.  I understood the honor
Of that crazy night--how could feather leave you--
               our dance at the outlaw bar,
Your sapphic gaze bemused by coal miners,
In cowboy boots, as the band played Haggard,
Coe, Willie, Waylon, Johnny Cash, Kristofferson
& Emmy Lou.  I wouldn't trade it for a date
With Miss Brazil, or Russia as it were--
Some people say you made that up,
Changed heritage and grew the hair to seem more European.  I couldn't care
Less. A great dark mystery I loved
Now thirty-seven years ago with me
Just old enough to drink and you come down
From Bingington, I loved the way you said
That frozen town, where your husband lingered,
Teaching English to native speakers.
I know you still loved him. I think you loved
Me, but needed a woman's touch the same
As I.  Strange how a night can be recalled
More than years, one drunken naked sunrise,
Pillow talk instead of class.  I ditched the speech
At PBK, can't remember what they
Fed us, coming for you in a straight shift
Chevy pickup, red as the night was black.

folks  
this is the last song of the evening  
time for one last round  
so pick 'em up and  
slam 'em down...  

couples headin'  
to the dance hall floor  
some lonesome doves  
walkin' out the door  
take a look around  
into the lonely fa-ces  
broken hearts  
yearnin' for tender gra-ces  

see the hopeful eyes  
lookin' back at you  
you've seen each other  
from across the room  
if you act now  
you wont be turned awa-y  
another day  
might be too la-te  
  
oh i know  
life ain't been kind  
we've got - wounded hearts  
but there's still time  
so - here's a chance  
ya never know  
tho it's  
just a dance  
it could be more
  
so ya  
take her hand  
pull her in real close  
music playin'  
soft and slow  
you close your eyes  
as she softly si-ghs  
  
starlit shadows  
from a disco globe  
we fade to black  
on this winding road  
lost and lonely  
we pay the toll  
just one last dance  
before we go  
just one last da-nce  
before we go  
  
and these bitter days  
we watch them waste away  
into the whiskey nights and  
the smoke filled haze  
we're singin'  
Willie -n- Waylon  
pray the music keeps playin'  
as we drift away  
into this whiskey haze  
shadows of a memory  
keep draggin' ya down  
one last round  
you slam it down  
you close your eyes  
as she soflty si-ghs  
gently swayin'  
across the floor  
  
starlit shadows  
from a disco globe  
we fade to black  
on this winding road  
lost and lonely  
we pay the toll  
just one last dance  
before we go  
just one last da-nce  
before we go

Cossack Cowboys
Riding Llamas
That they dress
In pink pajamas
Teeny boppers
Blowing bubbles
Biker chicks
Causing trouble
Nuns in Habits
Punks in chains
One or two
Of the deranged
Rubbing Buddha belly
Cravers
And the band
Harvey Danger
David Bowie
Elton John
Both of them
With Spacesuits on
Vegetarians
Eating chicken
Love it fried
Finger licking
In a line to
Meet and greet Obama
Now I wish
I'd brought my Mama
On the T.V.
Slicing, Dicing
Infomercials
Are enlightening
Lindsey Lohan
There's more trouble
Send the Police
On the double
Michael Jackson
With his monkey
Chandelier
Swinging junkies
Bottle Rocket
Ridding crickets
Dolly Parton
Doing dishes
Tubs of Crisco
Set for wrestling
Bee Gees do be
Disco dancing
With Bruce Jenner
Wearing makeup
Dolly's kitchen
Filled with soap suds
Rubber band
Bumper babies
Call me odd
Don't call me crazy
Shooting stars
Carry Uzis
Washed up stars
Drink beer in Koozies
Donnie Osmond
Singing show tunes
As Marie blows
Animal balloons
Circus Barkers
And their Minions
Waylon left us
Shooter Jennings
Heidi Klum
Without makeup
To say the least
She looks a bit rough
American flags
As rainbow banners
Peal, scratch, and sniff
Talking bananas
Hookha smoking
Manatees
Oh yea...
and then there's me
These are just a few of the things that lean
On the lamp post of my dreams

Just sittin' back.
And listenin' to good country music.
Not this rock country they singin' today.

I'm just relaxin' listenin' to George Jones.
Singin' about the race is on to get some white lightin'.

And by my side.
Is my one true woman.

We're just sittin' back.
And listenin' to good country music.

Listenin' to Mel Tillis singin' about that Coke Cola Cowboy.
He must be a true live fella.

And soon.
We're listenin' to Loretta Lynn singin' about she's not tough to take her man.
Which is followed by Tammy Wynette proclaim to Stand by her man.
And me and my love just sittin' back.
Listenin' to good country music.

Nothin' like the country rock they sing today.
Where many artists grew up on rock and roll in their youth?

Just sittin' here listenin' to Waylon Jenning.
Or maybe Merle Haggard.
Or that Bakerfield's fella singin' about just act naturally.

Which I feel he's talkin' about me.

While I'm just sittin' back listenin' to some Willie Nelson.
Another one of those outlaw fella.

This is music to my soul.
That I could hear all day long.

I'm not into Tim Mcgraw.
And might never be.
I'm not even into Faith Evan although country is a vital part of me.

Some might say, I'm missing a lot.
It's just not country music to me.
But acts trying to be rock stars.

Now, name the Statler Brothers or Mel Tillis.
Or Loretta Lynn to Reba then you talking directly to me.
I was country long before the change.

Can name legendary acts that others stars can't name.

Marty Robbons, Roger Miller and others isn't hardly mention today.
Unless someone's doing a tribute act to them.
But these was artist that contribute to the country music today.

They might have worn glitter suits and played guitars.
And yes, some probably was too conceited to be a true star.
I was country long before the change.

I remember Dolly singing upon the Porter Wagoner show.
Yes, long before she had her own personal show.
I even remember those artists Waylon, Willie and others being called outlaws.

And I guess this is when this field beginned to change.
Still I was country long before the change.

But in truth nothing ever remain the same.
We all must accept growth.
Simply for the facts it brings a growth to us.
Even if I'm listening to Carrie Underwood and that Jason dude.

I like to drink in taverns
Where you get beers and a shot
Where the glasses all are *****
And the women all are hot
Where there's blood stains on the dance floor
From a brawl the night before
And you know there'll be some more there
Before they close the doors at four

Line Dancin' Badonkadonks
or Boot Scootin' Prima Donnas
Are never on our floor
There's none of them among us
The good ol' Texas two step
Is all you'll  find round here
With both dancers smokin' smokes
and both holding a beer

We're not a bar for yuppies
We're a bar your dad would go
We're a bar with old time music
We're a bar you all should know
We're a bar with old time values
We're a bar with out a name
We're your bar son, your bar
We're your bar son, your bar


Umbrella drinks and blue lagoons
They can keep them in the city
For any guy who drinks that stuff
Well...to me...he's too **** pretty
A shot of Beam, a glass of draft
Waylon on the old juke box
Another shot, a few more beer
And this place really rocks

We don't serve drinks you can't pronounce
Or that take too long to pour
We like our music really loud
Hell...that's what country's for
You don't come here to sit and talk
You come to have a party
So, barkeep...one more time around
And lets start drinking hearty

We're not a bar for yuppies
We're a bar your dad would go
We're a bar with old time music
We're a bar you all should know
We're a bar with old time values
We're a bar with out a name
We're your bar son, your bar
We're your bar son, your bar

In stark liquid darkness I drown
Only the voices in my head to convince me
I'm still among the land of the living
One sounds like me
The other sounds like my dad
After his voice turned weak
Only two days into a hospital stay
When a blood clot killed him in the middle of the night
I was not there
I ask if he was asleep when it happened
He avoids the question
I ask if he died in pain and confusion, alone in the darkness
He wants to talk about George Jones
So I talk to him about George Jones
And Waylon Jennings and Merle Haggard
All the country singers I love in part
Because he loved them so
I stand outside and listen to the conversation
He never asks me why I wasn't there
I never tell him
I let him talk and talk and talk some more
Until his voice sounds even more sore
Leukemia had it's prize stolen from right before it's eyes
They'd only  had time to shave his head
He didn't look much like my dad
I ask him how he made it seem easier than it was
He seemed to take my mother's leaving harder
But that was a long time ago, those years
Probably taught him some tricks
He said it was easier
Because I wasn't there

Don’t waste your life on *****
Don’t waste your life on drugs
Don’t waste your life on women
Don’t waste your time learning a language you will never use
I did because I couldn’t be loved
Not when I wanted to
Not when I was young.
And I really needed to be loved
And as I grew up
I never stuck around
For people
I just kept riding off
Into the sunset
Trying to shake of a broken heart
They say forget the past
But the past has become so convincing
And the wound so pronounced
That its something I cannot overlook.
More like it creeps up on me
When I am alone with this mind
This mind that achieved alot
But achieved so little
Kissed so few women
Was loved so little
Had so few experiences in love.
It’s best to be stupid when you are young
And not have this pessimism hardening in your soul.
Like a dry bit of flesh
Protecting the tender wound
I’ve tried *****
I’ve tried laughing
I’ve tried staring at the ceiling
I’ve tried not caring
But this mother dies hard.
I can only survive
By listening to Waylon
And Willie
And Alan
And Merle
And David Allan Coe.

i didn't understand half
the words he said
and i don't understand half
the words you write

michael jackson
and waylon jennings
wrapped in a paper towel
"papa would be proud of you"
scratched in the back of
a children's book

it's the oddest thing
to no longer miss
someone who's been
gone so long

an odder thing to sit
in silence on your bed
with the fitted sheet all pulled
off the side next to the wall
feeling your best friend's
little sister's scratchy blue
nylon mattress rub
up against your sore feet

and open card
after card
after card
filled with glittering
words of praise and
monetary gifts

and then read about all
the things about you
that people think are
worthy of mentioning
and you start to
see a pattern

"thank you for serving"
"humor"
"creativity"
"imagination"
"let God lead you"
"keep rapping"

(thank you
and by the way
i don't rap only
occasionally slam)

it starts to feel like a
bulletpoint hallmark eulogy
like you've left your body
and are reading about someone else
reviewing all the better
more visible parts of yourself
the parts deemed loud
enough to be acknowledged.

and you start to see
what's lurking off
the edge of the card
and the words they didn't write
the places that you
went wrong

the question marks
behind their eyes
wondering why they
haven't seen you for two months
why your hair is a different color
why someone else is in your seat

and the semicolons in
your stomach
when you realize that
you've made a mistake
and even with all the hurts caused
you've still got a family out there.

i'll say this
when it comes to
graduations and funerals
you find out who your friends are

the people who matter
will show up in the end.

am i mislead in thinking
that sometimes people
don't say everything they
think or feel until it's too
late because it takes a
loss to make them realize?

Crank the truck
Radios up loud
David Allen Coe
Sings out proud

Put it in gear
Head down the road
Willie sings
And lightens my load

If that ain't country
And whiskey river Take my mind
Send me down the road
New places I can find

Clint blacks next
At the stop sign
I sing along
Just killing time

Commercials now
Never stop I think
Then merle screams
Think I'll just stay here and drink

Country music gold
Radio clear and true
Hank Williams wails
***** tonk blues

Miles go bye
Thoughts of love inspire
Big john cash tells me
About a ring of fire

My ride is long
Where too?
The oaks chime in
With Bobbie sue

Singing and riding
Let the music ring
Waylon tells me
Bob wills is still the king

That may be true
But not what I say
Now George straits
Marina del rey

Circling back to home
And the end of my ride
Kiss an angel good morning
With Mr.. Charlie  Pride

The fire in my belly
the boots on a dancefloor
the felt hat i wear.

Texas is my home
no one can take it away
lone star state of mind

Allan, Waylon, George.
my idols growing up.
Texas is home

frio river, gulf coast
fishing in summer
barbequing in spring.

my home sweet home
is the country music
in the truck

my home away from home
is in the shop
with my brother and a welder

That was before all the decisions.
Before the car was packed and
you drove with such a pain in your
knee.

That was the last time I was
thin and my hair was not yet
pink.

Before I knew you were around
the corner.  You were not yet
the last to set my mind reeling.

Tomorrow will see you wrapped
In the linen of your generation,
the symbol of a freed man.

Wallace Steven's predicted
you but I was not listening.
To be freed was not the point.
All that was before I saw the
exhaustion on my face.

Waylon Jennings here.
Full stop

Yet all my life foretold you.
The brave of you and the
blindness of my ever
singing anthem.

I leave you with s soft
flower

To

Wear

in your hair.

Caroline Shank
April of my discontent


4.20.2024

.  

Belly rubbing music in the que
everyone is ready, not just a few
after songs, no one on the floor
Mr. D.J. why play  more

Look around, at buckles and boots
cowboy hats,  get back to roots
play some George, Strait or Jones
let the music inspire their bones

Charlie Daniel's fiddle fire
Spinning two step it does inspire
Or how about Copperhead road
line dancing, empty chairs load

Rocky mountain jeans stretched tight
Cowgirls dancing, what a sight
Keep them out there on the floor
how about some Justin Moore

Slow it down, let them breathe
some Willie Nelson, is what you need
and when it's time to drink a beer
play  stuff, no one wants to hear

Then come back with Jerry Reed
Waylon and Merle is what you need
and when you want them all to sing
Friends in low places, the dance will ring

So look around and know your crowd
then you'll know, what to play real loud
In rural areas, club stuff don't work
Play us all some good red dirt

Waylon Jennings is twanging over the airwaves,
Asking me if I bore witness to the events unfolding between him and the Apple of his eye.

I can hear it though,
He's got a load of chew in,
And I'm jealous.

Quitting *****,
Doesn't matter if it is good for you or not,
It just *****.

Memories come rushing back in when I smell that minty tobacco.

A "graduation gift" from our Drill Sergeants,
Just offering us some if we wanted it,
Seeing as we were no longer recruits,
But honest to god infantryman,
The jolt of nicotine directly to the mouth after 4 months of nothing,
The head buzz hit me like a sledgehammer,
But thankfully enough I'm not alone.

Another memory,
I'm trying to get the taste of bile out of my mouth, as we're dumping our gear after a long ruck,
The blood seeping through the heels of my boots,
A familiar blue tin is offered to me by my team leader,
I nod to him in thanks,
As I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

A more painful one,
The lingering taste of midrange bourbon,
Mixing in with the harsh bite of  *****,
Toasting to friends lost.

The present time gently brings me back to my chair as the song fades out.

Yes Mr. Jennings, I can see what she's doing to you,
I'm where you're at right now.

it's been warm this December
and barely a snowfall touched the ground
they're saying in several Septembers
heat rivaling ol' helios'll be found
supposed to be like Luckenbach, Texas in my area
Funny, I always liked Waylon n Willie
can you imagine the hysteria
when's there's even more to be fighting for
dying over, and killing?

Unnamed

Unnamed she listened to the
unsung. No talent escaped
her no song unsung.

Only tomorrow was interesting.
The unbuds of Spring's tomorrow,

no

song of Engelbert’s or Waylon’s*
ever happened in the Time
of the fullness” of time

Did salvation arrive? What
was the white chariot being?

Elijah did not stop for her.

The dreams only patted her
head under the pillow

she placed

Over

her face


Caroline Shank
9.11.224

Our twin eyes peered blankly into a plug store that was Joan Rivers
of 81 spinal years on blown vinyl chairs & oak-knotted bone slivers
that scratch the front of her **** like cameras beaten by drone livers
with relish, reliant on the fairest blessings of toe-errant crone givers
crushed by avalanche & made salt-mine deaf by rod & cone shivers
Joan moisturized new plastical scar slits with needled sewn quivers
just like big boys do; like the toady of Mr. Burns, Waylon Smithers
durin' break, shakily swooning to a crooning of a Marvin Gaye tune
after Marvin junior was shot by Marvin senior who was a luny loon
Bein' married to you is better than pluggin' drains too big to expand
the number of turbo jet flights to affable Disappointment City Land
near a region-4 F.E.M.A. death camp where all parsnips are canned
'cause prisoners demandin' fresh parsnips are going to get beheaded

Our twin eyes peered blankly into a plug store that was Joan Rivers
of 81 spinal years on blown vinyl chairs & oak-knotted bone slivers
that scratch the front of her **** like cameras beaten by drone livers
with relish, reliant on the fairest blessings of toe-errant crone givers
crushed by avalanche & made salt-mine deaf by rod & cone shivers
Joan moisturized new plastical scar slits with needled sewn quivers
just like big boys do; like the toady of Mr. Burns, Waylon Smithers
durin' break, shakily swooning to a crooning of a Marvin Gaye tune
after Marvin junior was shot by Marvin senior who was a luny loon
Bein' married to you is better than pluggin' drains too big to expand
the number of turbo jet flights to affable Disappointment City Land
near a region-4 F.E.M.A. death camp where all parsnips are canned
'cause prisoners demandin' fresh parsnips are going to get beheaded