A Group of Music Poems

This series of poems is from my upcoming novel in verse. The novel is centered on my brother, Drew, who died of a brain tumor at the age of 24. The poems will appear in the book in the order below, but not sequentially (i.e., other poems will be placed between these).

music was an important
part of life at the lake
mom's soothing sweet soprano
filled every idle moment
with song to ease the silence
it didn’t seem to matter
that she never knew the words

        almost heaven
        west virginia
        dee dum dee dum
        dee dum la la dee dum

dad wasn’t much of a singer
but that didn’t discourage him
he would sit and play his guitar
on the front porch of the cabin
playing and singing from the
tattered john denver songbooks
that littered the cabin floor

long before we were consumed
by the distractions of rock ‘n’ roll
we’d spend hours huddled around
drew’s portable cassette deck
listening to blood sweat & tears
the only tape we had
wishing we could hear the divine
sounds of david clayton-thomas
over drew’s joyful mocking croons

        and when i die
        and when i'm dead dead and gone
        there'll be one child born
        in our world to carry on
        to carry on

one weekend my friend wesley
and i drove his boat to visit
my uncles and grandfather
who were spending
a boys’ weekend
with dad at our cabin
we found something
we didn’t expect
four men sitting shirtless
in a row of rocking chairs
each with a beer handy and
one or two empties nearby
my dad played guitar
and my uncle jim led
the chorus in a collection
of songs that introduced me
to a bawdy side of growing up
that i had never imagined
wesley and i would never be the same
after that evening after hearing
uncle jim bellowing his version
of the opening lines of
take me home country roads
with an earnestness
only a fourth beer can bring

        almost virgin
        wet virginia
        blue rimmed eyelids
        hips wide as a river

        she’s so old there
        legs just like two trees
        tits as big as mountains
        but they hang down to her knees

and then the chorus of lucille

        you’re just a beat up old barfly lucille
        your lips are vermillion
        and your hair is unreal
        you’ve got halitosis
        and prob’ly cirrhosis
        and your stretch marks are starting to peel
        you’re just a beat up old barfly lucille

but the song of uncle jim’s that has had
the most profound and lasting effect on me
even more than the one with the lines
you’re the breast of venus king kong’s penis
or even the one that begins with the line
i want a woman whose body tastes like grits
was set to a rough adaptation
of the tune of amazing grace

        they call her axe handle annie
        all the boys down at old jim’s place
        oh they call her axe handle annie
        but never to her face

when my brothers cousins and i
got a little older these songs
became a staple of gray family
gatherings the gray family hymns
they were sung when people died
when babies were born
or at any family event
when it became time to get
polite company to leave the room

when i wrote my first song
four or five years later
i wrote it in hopes it would join
uncle jim’s song list

oh my baby she’s as easy as 1-2-3
that’s all right with me

to a bunch of small-town
alabama boys the green monster
didn’t refer to the leftfield wall
at fenway park or even to
some imaginary beast lurking
below the waves of lake martin
for us the green monster
was a stereo speaker
my dad had built in college
only it was mono
for there could be only one

it was about the size of
an old-fashioned cabinet tv
and was painted a shade of green
like pond scum in summer sun
like a wasabi dollop spread thin
and dried on a dinner plate
left overnight by the sink

it was a monophonic monstrosity
hooked up to an old
harmon kardon amplifier
turntable and tape deck
and was an important influence
in my musical maturation
it introduced me and miles around
to inflated sounds of early van halen
boston kansas zeppelin and styx

when our parents weren’t around
we moved the green monster
onto the front porch and cranked it
only to three-quarters never more
which still rivaled any spinal tap eleven

we turned it on for tunes to ski by
or for when we’d go across the lake
to the menzies’ over a mile away
only to have their parents make us
turn around and turn that damn thing down

drew loved to use it as his reveille
blasting out billy squire’s the stroke
first thing in the morning to make
everyone in the cabin jump three feet
in the air awaking from a deep sleep
praying not to pee in their pants
as drew danced around the cabin
acting out the words while screaming
the chorus stroke me stroke me

but best of all was listening
to carry on wayward son
loud and clear floating just off the end
of the pier a foot beneath the water

we spent our days
running with the devil
then we’d rock and roll
all night taking our time
moving on down
the highway to hell
with no stop signs
or speed limits
we’d dance the night away
and dream on about
loving touching squeezing
as the smoke on the water
dissipated into sweet emotion
that was more than a feeling
we’d shake all night long
past the point of no return
until 25 or 6 to 4
but no one really cared
what time it was
we just rambled on
blissfully unaware
it was all a grand illusion

it’s been a long time
since we rock and rolled
a long lonely lonely time

only one of the rock bands
i'd played in since junior high
had been called chopped liver
but all of them could have been

it took three years of college
to find the right mix of guys
and form a band worth caring about
worth pouring my heart into

we started rehearsals about
a month before i left for oxford
and it wasn’t long before people
would come over to check us out

drew was one of the regular visitors
sitting there in his standard dress
watching us work to master songs
other bands wouldn't dare

two such songs would become our
trademarks until we wrote our own
boston's foreplay/longtime and
kansas's carry on wayward son

these songs required hours of work
and serious musical chops
singing and playing
but all i can remember now is
watching drew singing along

        carry on my wayward son
        there'll be peace when you are done
        lay your weary head to rest
        don't you cry no more

music had for so long
been my mainstay
now it was becoming
my messiah
my way of coping with
drew’s illness and decline

when i was away from
the hospital or my family
i was always in search
of distraction and aside
from thinking about that
cute girl in latin class
i directed most of my
attention and energy
into music and the band

i played my bass until
the blisters on my fingers
became as calloused
as the blisters in my heart
i worked to become my own
distillation of geddy lee
and john entwistle with
a touch of eric clapton
on my new alembic bass

but mostly i was practicing
for those hospital hours
where i had to be
the family bass player
where my job was to be
the foundation that held
everything else together
to be strong
so others would be free
to take the spotlight and wail