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She Hears Kisses

8/21/2018

She Hears Kisses

She hears kisses
She rides the wild horses
She dives into the rhythm
of the seven raging waters
She falls into her pillow
cries unto the morning
Take me where the rains blow
fine against my window
She hears kisses
She rides the wild horses
She’s blind but she don’t care

Her body is a prison
She bangs around inside there
until the walls go falling
to break the bonds of reason
Her blood becomes a river
She’ll ride it into freedom
The tears upon her pillow
are rain against the window

Her years are twenty-seven
She reaches out to hold them
They’re slipping through her fingers
sliding under shadow
The sun against her body
puts color in her rainbow
She turns away from sadness
flies across the shadow
She hears kisses
She rides the wild horses
She’s blind but she don’t care

She was born to suffer
and he was born to hold her
He’s the one who’s crying
She gets strong and stronger
God knows she hears his kisses
She rides the wild horses
He’s lost inside her rhythm
as they dive into the waters
She hears kisses
She rides the wild horses
She’s blind but she don’t care
No, she don’t care

http://wordwulf.com
Inquiries: [email protected]
© 2018 artwork, music and words
conceived by and property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2018 ©

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Into Black

8/16/2018

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Fugue

Pondering creativity, music, unsure whether it was the crowning glory of my youth or the toilet that swallowed it.

There are warts on their skin now, dragon nail breath, those fresh songs, a lifetime away. Momma used to come dance to my voice. First, she stopped dancing then she ceased to live or was it the other way around.

Those little girls, my daughters, who used to sing all my songs, have children of their own, husbands and careers. My sons make their own music

Stone damn markers in our lives, deaths of parents, assassinated politicians, elections and hurricanes, life experiences that bind us to a sense of purpose and expectations of ourselves and others. Canned laughter from the tv room makes about as much sense.

Other than duplicity, there is no actuality. Audiences expect to hear and see, experience a secondhand reality, what they are programmed to be comfortable with, hot and ready to do that thing everybody’s talkin’ about, whatever the hell it is. The room was empty when the pretenders left, possibly more desolate than before they arrived.

Beggars are the only liars that earn their keep.

Thank-you for the plays and requests. To those who have asked where to purchase our songs, we have uploaded a couple dozen them to https://store.cdbaby.com/cd/wordwulf
They are on sale there for .99 each. Welcome to all new subscribers. We appreciate the positive emails and spreading the word about what we do!

Tom, Tommy, Zedidiah, Kathy, WordWulf
[email protected]

Check out our songs and other endeavors at http://wordwulf.com.
https://store.cdbaby.com/cd/wordwulf
http://facebook.com/wordwulfmusic
https://www.facebook.com/tomsterner2/
http://instagram.com/wordwulf
http://youtube.com/zoodious
http://wordwulf.or

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Ode to Good Neighbors

8/1/2018

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8-1-2018

She spoke with him about traveling with the Lawrence Welk band, dancing while her husband performed with them. Eighty-seven years old, she closes her eyes, falls into a graceful pirouette. He catches her and she goes into her apartment, a tear in her eye. Her husband is long gone dead, Mister Welk too.

Ode to Good Neighbors

The man bought his son a dog when the boy’s mother left. She was white, the dog, a Malamute Husky. An elderly neighbor lady complained that the dog cried when he went to work and his son went to school. So, he put newspapers thick on the floor in the bathroom, also the dog’s water dish and food. He closed her in there whenever he and his son were not at home.

The lady was pleased by the return to peace and quiet. She asked the man how he had solved the problem of the noisy dog. When he told her, she cried, “That is an awful thing to do to such a nice dog!”

He agreed to leave the dog out, to let it have the run of the apartment, if the nice lady would listen for it and report to him as to whether the animal had learned to be quiet. Sometime later the lady reported, “The dog doesn’t cry anymore.” The man wondered whether the dog had taught them both a lesson of sorts.

One morning he heard her groan, the lady, when she bent over to pick up her newspaper. Eighty-seven years old, her back hurt. The man smiled her a good morning and went to work. The very next morning, and every one after that for eight years, the man picked up her newspaper and stood it on end by her door. He did this even on weekends, especially on holidays. He had to begin his day a bit earlier but felt better about himself for the effort.

She saved newspapers for the boy so he and his dad could line the floors of the bathroom so the good and quiet dog could do her business there. The lady had never seen such a nice dog.

One Christmas morning the man heard his neighbor outside. She was yoo-hooing and waving at the people who brought the newspaper. “Come up here, I have a gift for you!” She handed twenty dollars to the surprised girl. “You and your family are so wonderful,” she chortled. “To climb those stairs every day and stand that newspaper up for an old lady.”

The man, who had planned to tell the lady one day that he and his boy set up her paper, bit back his words and smiled. He waved at the astonished newspaper girl. He felt good about himself and life in general. The lady, not knowing about his daily deed, made the doing of it feel more special. She was not indebted to him. Quite the opposite, he felt he owed her for affording him the opportunity to learn and teach his son such an important life lesson. The recipient of his daily gift, unaware, somehow made his good deed feel extra good. The smile on the newsgirl’s face was his to share as well, a bonus. When he and his son went camping he enlisted the help of other neighbors to set the newspaper up. They loved sharing his good secret and never told the lady. They were gang members and true to their word.

Odd, the dog barked and cried on weekends but not during the week. The lady twittered and swore to the fact. The man met a woman on the internet. He and the boy moved away to be with her. The lady upstairs, a neighbor for ten years, wished them well, hugged them and cried. She knew if he kept messin’ around on that internet some woman would grab him up. He was good ‘un.

After fighting cancer for two years, weakened and listless from chemotherapy, the lady finally gave in and moved to another city to live with her son and his family. The man came back to check on her but neighbors told him she had moved away. The building where they had lived was filthy and rundown. Had it been this way before, he wondered. Had he and his son lived in such a place? He saw a newspaper on the sidewalk, picked it up and climbed the stairs. He stood it up by the door, took a deep breath and walked away.

They taught themselves, these good neighbors, listened to that voice inside that makes all the difference between good and better, to be well and let the deed be done.

http://wordwulf.com
Inquiries: [email protected]
© 2018 artwork, music and words
conceived by and property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2018 ©

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She Hears Kisses

Into Black

Ode to Good Neighbors

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