Who Is He
Who is he who has long white hair
Who is told it should be hanging down during a set?
Who is he who sometimes wears shades when singing
But, for the brand, never his readers? Oops he has them on!
Who is he who has a special redhead by his side
With the "merch" and calendar,
Who books his gigs, keeps him busy, and takes care of the social media footprint
And who I study to learn how to market my writing?
Who is he who travels the world
With a band waiting in every country
Or at least it seems that way from our usual front-row seats?
Well, tonight we're in the back, thankfully it's a small room.
Who is he who hit a bear in Alaska
Or according to the redhead, the bear hit them,
And I've heard open a set with a description of a
Thousand pounds on stage coming from southern Monroe County?
Who is he who can switch from the blues, to country,
To heartfelt originals in a flash,
And often travels with three pedal steels,
Plus two or more guitars that have names? One is Louise.
We can't put a date on when we met him
But we're sure glad we did,
Our music appreciation has expanded
And our group of music friends continues to grow.
We appreciate you Son Henry or
Karl Henry Mann, whatever your name is on any given day.
We love the boot stompin', chair dancin' singer man
We follow around town to old places new to us and new places to us all.
Thank you for the music that fills our souls.
Happy birthday our special friend.
We love celebrating with you and Carolina.
The lady wearing the fancy hat loves to clean.
Says you can eat off her floors.
Maybe that’s true, but standing next to her
The smell of Lysol and bleach gag me.
And that lady’s coat always has an odor.
It’s not totally unpleasant but made me wonder.
I took her some bread and found
She shares her house with ten cats.
How about the man over there?
Doesn’t he smell of an old fashioned pipe?
My goodness, Mom, get a life.
It’s Mary Jane and beer.
Do people know they carry their home odors with them?
Do I?
Written in response to Charli Mills November 28, 2023, prompt at Carrot Ranch Literary: In 99 words (no more, no less), write the smell of other people’s houses. You could compare your childhood home to friends’ homes; houses in different regions; houses on the same street; dorm rooms or public housing. Go where the prompt leads!
Twenty years ago, I made a quilt for radio station WBEE’s fundraiser using T-shirts that each on-air personality had signed.
This morning, a listener knocked on the station door and gifted that quilt to Terry Clifford as a retirement present. I don’t know where the quilt has been, but today, it came home to a lovable lady who has given so much to the community for the last forty-five years. Terry will cherish all the memories it holds from the maker, past fellow employees who signed it with her initially, her time on the radio, and at WBEE events.
Friday late afternoon my guests arrived. Of course they gathered in the kitchen until it was too full. They moved on to the family room to watch birds at the feeders, And got comfortable in the chairs. Conversations flowed, I couldn't hear them all. We are good friends with one new addition. When we are together we are usually writing, Not sharing general daily news. It was uplifting to become better acquainted With members visiting from out of town. When dinner happened we all fit around one table, With delicious food that was brought to share. The second book the group just published, Thank you to Chuck and Vaughn for all your work, Was handed out according to the first order And we all perused the pages to see our name. The evening ended too soon for me So I purposely left the wine glasses And dirty forks in the sink To view in the morning with a sigh. My friends are always welcome I enjoy being the hostess. This special group leaves an air of peacefulness In the house for days and days. I love my veterans as brothers and sisters. Please come again. Hugs, Sue and Bob too
When I'm a preschooler, I love my sandbox. Trucks go over dunes and airplanes crash into them. Sand gets in my hair, clothes, and cracks. As a blond teenager, I crave the sandy beach. Suntanned girls and volleyballs. I can't get enough. When I'm in Iraq. EVERYTHING is sand color except doors. Dunes don't offer reliable protection. I learn to hate the heat. Now I'm a veteran who hates the sand. My daughter's name is Sandy. I call her by her middle name. My head is shaved. There will never be sand in my hair, clothes, or cracks again.
Note: The author is not a veteran but spends many hours with them. This could have been written by anyone who served in Iraq
Written in response to Chaarli Mills June 20, 2023, prompt at Carrot Ranch Literary: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about grains of sand. Where are these grains and what importance do they hold? How many ways can you think of to use sand? Who interacts with the sand and why? Go where the prompt leads!
The town fair invitation said all artists welcome. Come for the day with your wares, show off what you can do, teach by example, and leave others remembering your creativity.
The potter came with her wheel and clay. A carver came with a piece of wood. A painter arrived. A jewelry maker and leather tooler set up. They all had the specialty tools only they needed. There were others.
The literary artist brought a pen and notebook. She took notes while talking to each person as they worked. Later, with words, she described everything that had aroused her senses.
Written in response to Charli Mills February 20, 2023, prompt at Carrot Ranch Literary: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about what it means to be a literary artist. You can pull from your own experience, re-imagine the idea, or embody something else in a character. Be playful, go deep, and let your story flow. Go where the prompt leads!
Sue Spitulnik 