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Poetry

Buffalo

2022-05-15 by Dan Steven Erickson

Buffalo, Buffalo
I’m so sad to my soul
Buffalo, Buffalo
It’s such a senseless thing, I know

How long will it rain?
How many days of pain?
How many hearts must be broken?
How long will the fires burn?
When will we finally learn?
When will this world be awoken?

Buffalo, Buffalo
I’m so sad to my soul
Buffalo, Buffalo
It’s such a senseless thing, I know

How many lives must end?
How long will we pretend?
That weapons have ever been the answer?
When will we stop the hate?
Never retaliate?
When will we cure this cancer? 

Buffalo, Buffalo
I’m so sad to my soul
Buffalo, Buffalo
It’s such a senseless thing, I know

Buffalo, Buffalo
It’s such a senseless thing I know

Lyrics Copyright 2022 by Dan Steven Erickson

Filed Under: Music, Poetry, Thoughts

Maybe an Eagle

2022-05-08 by Dan Steven Erickson

I saw a dead bird
floating down the irrigation canal
this morning.
And I couldn’t help but wonder
how it met its end.
Was it an electrical wire?
A barnyard fire?
Agricultural spray?
Or just plain old age?

And then I wondered
if its little soul had come back again?
I thought
maybe that little bird came back as?
Maybe a dog or a cat?
Maybe a little ant or the tiniest of gnats?
Or maybe that little bird came back
as an eagle,
and I pictured that. 

The look on its little face
when it realized it could soar,
or when it discovered
that its wingspan
was six feet more.
It might have scared the shit out of it for a minute.
But then I’ll bet that little bird
had the most fun
it’s ever had in its life,
soaring and gliding,
swooping and diving.
Boy, I’d like to have seen that.

And then I thought
what’ll happen to me when I die?
I guess I don’t get to decide.
They say that’s God’s job.
So, I said a little prayer.

I said, God,
When I die
I know you probably won’t make me an angel
because, well,
I might have smoked
and drank too much.
Maybe, you’ll make me a dog
or a weasel or something.
Then I pleaded just a little bit
and asked, God, if you see fit,
maybe an eagle?

Filed Under: Poetry

It’s Only Life

2022-04-25 by Dan Steven Erickson

A friend of mine came to me with trouble
I asked him, Joe, what’s going on?
He said, my life is just so filled with worry
It keeps me up all night until the dawn
Every day I wake afraid today’s the day
That I might just get hit by a bus
I told him, Joe, you’d better look both ways
And stop yourself from making such a fuss

Cause it’s only life, we’re all gonna die
Might as well have another piece of pie
So go ahead and live out on the edge
It’s only life and then you’re dead

Joe looked at me as if he’d just been baptized
Like God himself had touched his heart
He said thank you Dan, it’s just what I needed
And starting now my life is going to start
He bought a ticket for a plane out to Vegas
Spent six hundred dollars on the slots
And goddam if he didn’t win the big one
And someone asked a penny for your thoughts

He said it’s only life, we’re all gonna die
Might as well have another piece of pie
So go ahead and live out on the edge
It’s only life and then you’re dead

Then old Joe bought himself a hooker
And they had sex up in his hotel room
When he woke all his money was missing
And he wished that he could fly to the moon
And you know there is no moral to this story
Just live your life and don’t be dumb
And never eat the whole damned pie
Or you’ll just wind up with the crumbs

It’s only life, we’re all gonna die
Might as well have another piece of pie
So go ahead and live out on the edge
It’s only life and then you’re dead
It’s only life and then you’re dead

Lyrics Copyright 2022 by Dan Steven Erickson

Filed Under: Music, Poetry, Thoughts

The Heart

2022-04-03 by Dan Steven Erickson

spring of 2001, touched down in Kansas City,
stepped out of the airport and breathed in the air.
the heart knows its home.
tragedy struck, sadness knocked,
picked up and left, leaving the heart
behind.

throughout the years, through hardships and beers,
the heart’s remained planted
right here in the heart of America.
where everyone waves on old county roads,
and the eye can see for miles and miles
on end.

where Woody once sang of this land as ours.
where night gets so dark you see billions
of stars. where the Flint Hills roll and
the Missouri winds. where an angel is resting
up on a hill, the heart has remained and will
always.

Filed Under: Poetry

A Little Hope

2022-03-17 by Dan Steven Erickson

walked beneath the smoke-darkened sky this morning,
ashes falling.
three crosses on a car’s window sticker looked like the devil’s pitchfork.
the catholic church bells started ringing,
sounded like the beginning of Hotel California.
got my coffee, went back home,
closed myself in, thought about life, and wrote this poem.
there’s still a little hope.

Filed Under: Poetry

Broken Arrow

2022-02-14 by Dan Steven Erickson

Valentines is a lonely place
A distant love, a persistent face
Draw the bow, aim it true
Miss your target and it comes back on you
And there’s a broken arrow on the ground

Promises lie stony cold
Light of mornings we tried to hold
Now you’re gone, now I see
A lonely prison is the price to be free
We shot a broken arrow to the sky

What were you looking for?
Something I could not give
Your parting words were question marks to me
So why did you leave?

Valentines, living still
I’d like to bury them but I never will
Call it love or a desperate need
I call it you and I call it me
You shot a broken arrow through my heart
You shot a broken arrow through my heart

Copyright by Erickson & Graham, 1997

Filed Under: Music, Poetry

Crazy Old Man by the Sea

2022-01-30 by Dan Steven Erickson

he was down by the waterfront
dreaming of being a captain
in the navy, wearing his old
captain’s hat and smoking his
corncob pipe. the crazy old man
said he was part of a special
mission to bomb the shit out
of those Chinese commies,
as he wildly waved his arms
and gestured toward the sea.

suddenly, he said it was cold
and he had to go to a funeral,
his car full of old garbage
and his few belongings.
he climbed in and shifted into
drive as I shook my head
and talked to myself in the rain
walking back to the hotel,
just a few years younger
and a couple more marbles.

Filed Under: Poetry

Change Time

2022-01-22 by Dan Steven Erickson

somehow the winter knows
when to subside
and the grass knows
when to grow.

they know it’s change time.

no questions or fears,
no pondering, wandering
or hesitation.

they know it’s change time.

the rain knows when to fall
and the sun knows when to shine.

they know it’s change time.

today, i feel like winter, frozen,
yet starting to thaw.

i know it’s change time.

Filed Under: Poetry

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