Broken Hallelujah

in the stillness, i take down my dusty guitar and rest it's hollow body on my lap. fingers quick to find old tunes from years ago---"don't think twice, it's allright", peter, paul, & mary version; jumping over to 'stormy monday', always love playing the blues. strings squeakin', thinking of joey and all the other guitars and fiddles he's made for us. now there's a story. fingers tender, remembering a time when they stayed calloused. every callous and every song tells a story.



the holiday inn, the old vfw, or even standing on the back of a flat bed truck, pluggin' in amps and guitars, takin' the mike with my blue jean mini-skirt and red boots on; hair streaming down, looking hotter than a fresh f%$ked fox in a forest fire. (to be young and naive again) i'm ready to belt out some grace slick or janis or fleetwood mac. can we do some 'jefferson airplane' tonight, guys? but you said we'd be doing.....ok. i'll sing 'rocky top'---one more time.



The lady who wrote 'Rocky Top' (together with her husband), died last week. It's a old bluegrass standard that every Tennesseean knows well. You'll hear it played at inaugurations, by marching bands, at your neighbor's back yard bbq.



I so appreciate your point of view that I almost regret dismissing it.