Storms of Life

Storms of Life

Solemn suddenness scattered

as stones and sticks of brokenness

by storms that twist in knots

the fragile fabric

of life’s securities;

the safety of sheltering arms;

the walls of protective safety; to

fragments within moments

of terrifying destruction. . . by

winds that carry away

like brittle leaves

the hopes and dreams

of places and persons held dear-

gone into the arms of God

who only knows they live.

That life matters not for the surviving

and what remains of struggles

to sustain selves in a

world of shatteredness. . .

un-secured by ones held sacred.

Love bent and broken

by the sullen winds that shake

and break with violence. . . binding

the will to survive with cords of

hopeless desperation.

So the remaining walk stunned

among the debris of what remains

in piles of what was

and will be no more.

Storms prevail where no will

can resist such force,

but to protest in sadness

and with fists shaken against the

glowering sky the

damning winds that destroy

and demonize with dogged wrath

the never to be again.

Phil Leftwich

April 18, 2011

(Posted in memory of those who were lost, or who lost much of their lives as they have known them during the tornadoes that swept across the Southeast.)

Music for some change

I have a good friend who's a musician. He works a lot of part-time gigs, but can't make a living this way. He talks about a buddy in his men's support group though, who's a street busker. This guy works everyday from mid-morning to early evening on a street corner in downtown Nashville for whatever people toss in his open guitar case. He lives in one of those "quarantine" housing projects from the 1960's where "out of sight is out of mind" for most of us. Plenty of folks, including the cops, stay away from this area at night because of the guns, the gangs, and the dope. The police cruise the borders and come in only if there's gunfire which is just about every night.

This man's lifestyle woke me up in the middle of the night like a bad dream. It sent my mind on a trip into what life is like on a daily basis for men like him and thousands and thousands of others in our cities all across the country, We often refer to them as the "working poor." My friend has fnally broken the poverty cycle with a full-time job and benefits, but not as a musician. He's a building manager. He holds a college degree in music, however, which is his true gift and first love. There are more out of work musicians in Nashville in any given week though, than those who make a living in the "music business."

But, I digress. The songwriter in me found it's spot at my computer at about 3:17 AM. This is what I wrote.

Rice and Beans

Verse 1:

Got some dollars in my wallet

Got some quarters in my jeans

Gonna walk myself to WalMart

To buy some rice and beans

Gonna eat ‘em for my supper

Maybe lunch and breakfast, too

“Cause I got no more money

And the rent is overdue.

Chorus:

Oh, I’m eatin’ dirty rice and canned red beans

My life’s the biggest mess that I have ever seen

I wish the Lord would come on down and carry me home

I’d rather be with him than feel so damned alone.

 Verse 2:

I’m living in this project- public housing 101-

I wish I had the money to buy myself a gun

I’ll be munchin’ week old crackers

Til’ my foodstamps come next week

And hope to hell the days are warm

Cause I don’t got no heat.

Verse 3:

Yeah, they turned it off at Christmas

And said I’d have to pay

To have it turned back on again

But springtime’s on its way.

So I can’t watch no TV shows

Or read in bed at night

I hit the hay when it gets dark

and hope the moon is bright

Chorus:

Oh, I’m eatin’ dirty rice and canned red beans

My life’s the biggest mess that I have ever seen

I wish the Lord would come on down and carry me home

I’d rather be with him than feel so damned alone.

Verse 4:

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

When gunfire haunts my dreams

And hit the floor when windows break

It makes we want to weep

This ain’t much life I’m livin’

But it’s the best I’ve got

It beats the Union Mission

And sleepin’ on a cot.

 End:

Next week I’ll start it all again

And buy more rice and beans

With some dollars in my wallet

And some quarters in my jeans.

Yeah. . . some dollars in my wallet

And some quarters in my jeans.

Now, I know, Jesus told his disciples that they would always "have the poor" with them. I've never read that verse as a carte blanche that poverty is O.K., but only as a way of Christ telling his followers that his time among them wouldn't be much longer. I think a lot of people, including good church people, use these words as an excuse for permitting poverty to exist. So we "warehouse" the poor and ignore them if we can. You know, I'm damned glad I'm not one of them!