The Watcher

A ghostly hand
A skeleton key
A ghostly man
Staring at me

Startled, surprised
I asked "Can you hear?"
His lips whispered something
And then disappeared

I didn't believe
What happened was real
At the Bodie Morgue
There are ghosts you can feel


Clouds

Cloudy thoughts
Cloudy days
Bottled up
Inside

Desperate days
Desperate ways
A means
To an end

Bottled message
Can't get out
Don't know how
To tell you

So instead
It will remain
My secret
My pain

Mrs. Treloar

Mrs. Treloar
Run out of Bodie Town
On the rails
After her husband
Was shot down
Her lover escaping jail

She had found
Her Sugar Daddy
But kept another lover
Whom she kept warm
While her husband
Mined gold 100' under

Banished to Virginia City
She spent her life
In anonymity
No trace left behind
To find out
Her new identity

Bodie 601

Mr. and Mrs. Treloar
Attended the ball
Joseph de Roche
Had some gall

After dancing with
The married mans wife
deRoche shot Treloar
And ended his life

A posse assembled
Called the Bodie 601
6 ft under. 0 judge. 1 rope
And deRoche was hung

His body lie still
In Bodie Town
A top of Boot Hill
6 feet down

Living Daylights

Scared to death 
Mid afternoon
When They appeared
Upon a room

I was taking
Photographs
Bodie ghost town
Aftermath

This mining town
Closed in 45
But some say
It's still alive

From the morgue
The coffins empty stare
There's no body
Left in there

The bodies gone
Their spirits free
Up in the windows
Staring at me

Bodie Telegraph

An incoming message
On the telegraph sounder
From a high desert ghost town's
Skeleton brass pounder

The wires have all disappeared
So how can this message be?
Maybe E. Clampus Vitas
Has the answer for me?

Years have gone by
Lives lived and died
The news about his accidental death
Deep down in the mine

Our Endless Numbered Days

I wrote this in a daze
In an old soul haze
Out the window she gazed
Her endless numbered days

What is real seems not
A fleeting moment is caught
Existentialist thoughts
Our days cannot be bought

Here we are today
Time means our decay
A passing cloud each day
Yesterdays already gone away

E. Clampus Vitus

E. Clampus Vitus
Means nothing
A country form
Of DADA

Preserving history
Is their mission
Like Bodie, CA
Just splendid

I want to join
The ECV
Their mission and fun
Appeals to me

Music is The Heart of My Soul

It must be a primal instinct. Music. The rhythm, sound, melody and all other aspects can influence how you feel, and deeply. I think only love is like it as far as the affect it has on your soul.

I make music mostly to try to communicate thoughts and feelings that course through my brain. I'm a thinker - nothing too deep (like studying philosophy) but since I've been a computer programmer for 41 years, I do like the logic in philosophy.

I absolutely love learning how things work. Mechanical, Electrical and the most complex of all, human things. Music has a logic but is much more human than mechanical or electrical things.

I also love the romance of history and definitely am an "old soul". I love old things that evoke feelings and moods and spark imagination. Rust and cracked old composite things and paint patina to me are things of great beauty and which have soul. Very few things in life have soul, but when you stumble on one of these, you just know it.

My reentry into playing music and writing songs - after being away for 30 years has just reached the point where I can easily take an idea or vision and set it to sound. I'm not the best musician, but in the last two years since picking this up again, I have grown greatly and I'm very pleased and proud of that.
My guitar, bass and keyboard skills have improved noticeably. Learning Cello has been addicting and in November it will be one year playing that. My lap steel, dulcimer, mandolin and violin skills are very basic, but I find that those instruments are secondary to my main musical interests.

I suck as a singer, but while I will never be known as a song writer / singer or artist, attempting to sing is really important. Some of the best tin pan alley song writers couldn't sing if their life depended on it. I have heard covers of songs that were better than the original. Some famous artists are pretty poor singers but exude feeling and emotion that makes up for it. Examples include Jonathan Richman, Dylan or Jeff Mangam from Neutral Milk Hotel. I'm trying to suck as bad as their singing! My dream would be that a decent band or artist would take my song idea and make it great.

Music, every single day has always (and now even more so) been a very important part of my life.

Rock Pile

Ephresiens 23:12
And the Devil
Came unto him
And anointed him
With rocks

Not just any rocks
But columns of basalt
Chiseled to a grey blue
Perfection

The columns above
Rejected these rocks
After being admonished
By the Devil