Some cool changes to the home page.

Working on a laundry list of things.

Almost ready to send to my ones and zeros guy.

I'm excited!

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Ester Dean is a modern hit songwriter with a maverick imagination.

Interesting interview.

Now you all know I read Cosmo!

http://www.cosmopolitan.com/career/a62539/ester-dean-things-i-wish-i-knew-songwriter/

Check out Crazy Youngsters.

https://youtu.be/VUjshX3bUCI


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Leonard Cohen is one of my heros.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/08/07/so-long-marianne-leonard-cohens-final-letter-to-dying-muse/

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Tomatoes on Interstate 5 

Albert Garcia

Trucks roll down I-5, trailers full

of tomatoes. Almost always

they’ll spill a few as they round a corner,

hard, small fruit

bouncing over asphalt,

a bright scattering of red

on the road’s shoulder

of star thistle and tarweed.

Maybe you left the house

angry over an argument with your wife,

words in the air

like a whining fan belt. Maybe

you’re headed down the freeway

because it’s the fastest way out

of town and you’re suddenly sick

of the same streets and just have to drive

to something new. You’re in your car,

mind dulled by the flatness of rice fields,

their green monotony, when somewhere

in your vision’s periphery a pheasant

coasts over the road

almost hitting the big rig in front of you.

The trucker taps his breaks

and it happens: spilling, filling your view,

tomatoes bouncing around your car

in a flash of color so sudden

you wonder if this is real

or if it’s something else that’s made

your pulse quicken, your grip

tighten on the wheel. In the rearview

you see them roll onto the shoulder’s

hot gravel, and you can’t help it—

you keep glancing in the mirror,

feeling lucky, wanting to say something

though no one is sitting

beside you, and you drive

until the small red dots are gone

and the road bends

into the dreary gray grove of olives.

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About time!

https://www.yahoo.com/news/townes-van-zandt-join-nashville-songwriters-hall-fame-214333288.html?ref=gs

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https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/music/family-keeps-hit-songwriter-lori-mckenna-grounded-inspired/2016/07/27/adbcbeb6-53f8-11e6-b652-315ae5d4d4dd_story.html

Lori writes hits after she sends the kids off to school.

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At the Sunny Ridge Retirement Center 

Peg Bresnahan

During Harriet’s memorial service,

Frances leaned, put her head

on my shoulder and died—quietly

as if she didn’t want to interrupt

Harriet’s program.

The minister didn’t see us,

no one knew except me. At the piano,

Mary played the introduction

to Going Home. Everyone thumbed

their hymnals for page two hundred forty-three.

I didn’t know what to do, since Frances

still looked like Frances, only not quite

and she was ninety-five. I put my arm

around her so she wouldn’t fall

and waited for someone to notice.

Through the French doors

finches squabbled at the bird feeder.

The squirrel we call Rocky

contemplated his next move.

A laundry truck rolled by.

I looked down at Frances’ navy blue crocs,

the ones she claimed felt so much

like bedroom slippers

she could wear them anywhere.