For Roscoe Holcomb, Vocals Banjo


Fifth poem for Mendocino Blues
This is about Roscoe Holcomb one of the most transcendental, high pitched, claw finger banjo and guitar players discovered by accident in the Kentucky hills. One of the most moving musicians found in those early years of the 60s when people were searching our mountains for singers and story tellers who connected us back to Scotland and Ireland to the folk songs older than folk.

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Mendocino Blues


These are the first set of poems for a re-edited version with new poems, poems deleted and poems perfected. I hope you find something of the heart, the spirit in my poetry. It is alive.New recordings, edited and new poems out the life of Southern traveler, alone, searching out life in every avenue and spring, […]

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Coyote Prince Today


Yeah, and the night limped around like it was trying to go somewhere,
like out of Carrol County, but it didn’t and neither did I…
so it’s just me and the street lamps downtown cowtown 1 a.m.
Not a star in sight and nothing’s open all night but there’s some
eggs at Casa Huddle, been waiting all day by the week-old bacon
by the grease geyser and a tarnished Maxwell pump.
Home is sounding better by the minute, out there, self bound,
out there by the pines where the stars always shine
and the insects call and chant to the night.

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High Lonesome Sound of A Bad Son Trying to Be a Good Son


This is a simple yet complicated hillbilly kind of thing, High Lonesome if you will. I was surprised to find few knew the history of poetry, narrative, stories, singing around a fire, or just the singing that overlaps and develops through repitition and changes in pitch and range. As an overeducated redneck who frequelty seems to say, “look, I have over 600 published works and taught master classes in poetry during Pablo Neruda Literature Conference”; and sometimes I feel bad saying it. I feel like I am putting the other person down when all I want is to say speak freely, please, I starve for articstic conversation, for knowledge and exchange of experiment of idea and method. Some of us write and publish in the same style to the moment of death. I change stylyes and technique as a way of keeping from off the cliiff’s edge.

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