How to give a ****?
******* plays no part in it.
It begins with love.

At 16 I met a Man who owned
A sailing Craft a 24 foot Yawl
A Polished Captains Wheel to Steer
Two Main sails a Jib and two Fore Sails
He had an Affair with a girl 18.....
And I was the Beard

He taught me to sail the craft,
Follow the wind with the Tell Tale
Fair Taught, you Kept the sail
Follow the wind till the End,
Swing the sail boom, to tack back again

He always bought Hot Peppered Crab
And a 12 pack of National Beer
Once he took it out the Middle River
He would take her below for whispers
With me at the wheel, I sailed the Bay
My Love of the Boat and he for her,
Were both, Same in a way

The Ship she was my lover
And to him I was his Cover
For a 30 Year old Husband
And an 18 Year old Girl
Sailing in the Summer Sun
I watched the sails a Furl

Taught with wind, she veered to Lee
Sailing till waves rolled up from the Sea
And that's when she Picked up Speed
I would tighten up the boom line.

The only sounds  flap of the Sails
And The creak of the Rope
Beneath the Moon so Pale
On a Warm Summers night sail

A summer I'll Never Forget
And the Tragedy of her Death
As she Drove for home her car crashed
Her hopes for her life Dashed
And that I lost my friend I regret....

Down in the Hills of the
Mississippi River Valley
Between the Bluffs and
The river bank in Lansing
Is a Friend named Joe Price,

Born to Play the Blue's
Raised on Farming as a Boy,
Yet was a need he could not lose
He listened to Muddy Waters
And ran out to buy a Guitar

An old 1947 12 String National
Resonator with the Steel Core
He rapped his fingers around
Till his blues skills got honed

He was Destined to play with
Legends like John Lee ******
Willie Dixon and Clifton Chenier
Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee
Along with Muddy Waters and Me

I know I'm no legend but I can't Refuse
When Joe ask me to Sit in on a Knee Slappin'
Hand Clappin version of the Hobo Blues
His work boot stomped a beat
On an old flat piece of wood
As that steel Slide made that Guitar Cry

A Legend behind the Scenes he's
Played from the North down to
The Louisiana Back Bayous
And everything in Between

You'll Never Know that feeling
As the Hair stands on your Neck
This hardly known old Hobo
Was a Legend what the Heck

Till you get a chance to listen
To his Train whistle slide Moan
That 12 string Steel Guitar Tone
That sounds so very Nice
From an Unknown Legend
Name of Joe Price

*His Music can be found on http://www.joepriceblue.com/

This is for the girls that have ****** you. This is for the pale girls with short hair, the "she could be a lesbian but I'm not sure" type, the beanie wearing bad ******* with heavy baggage and a surplus of bandages. This is for the sad girls, the shipwrecked sailors searching for a beacon, the bruised rib cages and ****** knuckles. This is for the condoms, the purple box you keep in the drawer in your bedside table that we have all seen, the repeated observation that you have no ******* clue how to put on a ****** without looking like a child trying to stuff a water ****** into a sock. This is for the silence, the overwhelming quiet made quieter by skin hitting skin, the active avoidance of eye contact. This is for the fact that you consider foreplay "stalling," the speed with which you can please yourself via another person's body, the ******* that we have all faked at least twice. This is for the general consensus that your performance in bed can be summed up in three words: insecure, selfish, and pretentious. You are the Kanye West of ***; I'm not sure if you are going to let me finish. This is for the sore muscled sweethearts that saved your self-esteem and reassured you of your ****** orientation, for the courteous cuties who carried on until you came, this is for the girls that have ****** you. Godspeed.

See, you lit my wick.
I melt to drip. I change form.
No looking back now.

There's nothing like the Feel
Of two wheels and the power
Between your Legs, The Pounding*
Of two  Cylinders, as the engine Revs.
Wheeling through snaking roads
Surrounded by Sunlight and trees
The intense smell of fallen leaves
On a cool nights ride. Feeling free
Blasting down a two lane road.
Rolling into a small town,you
Hear the Bikes Rumble, as you
Shift down, and throttle off the gas
The roar of your bikes sound, as
It bounces off the passing buildings.
You're out of town past the Last street light
As the Stars unfold in the stark black night
The feel of the wind's a sweet taste of freedom
Content for the silence and the Bike motors hum.
As an old Biker the ride is Past, but the feel of
The wind Flowing past my face, and the pound
*Of the Motors sound, still be mine, Till my Day is Done

amore hear the melody of....
       again again anon anon
bring a symphony of love
   to my ears sing with
perfect pitch the perfect song
     to the perfect end.

pause...... repose
   then here the flautist's
feathered twill
      the bass driving
the beat we tap our hearts
    together to

french horns and clarinets
     bringing fullness to the song of....
amore  amore...
  ever building the suspense

 to a mutual end.

Spent, we cry,

          Bravo!   Bravo!