“The American Dream is freedom, prosperity, peace-and liberty and justice for all. That’s a big dream. It’s not always easy to achieve, but that’s the ideal. More than any country in history we’ve made gains toward a democracy that is enviable throughout the world. Dreams require perseverance if they are to be realized, and fortunately we’re a hard-working country and people. We are the luckiest people in history, just by the fact that we are Americans.” – Donald Trump
“He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
All The Days Are Gone
by Michael Doyle
Listen a little closer to the song,
Tell me, does it somehow belong?
It's not a case of stump the band,
But it's a memory of favorites across the land.
Standing ready across this promised land,
What you want to hear, a wish becomes a command.
Happiness in a song isn't so hard to find,
It's the memory dedicated to those left behind.
Death's final gift to those left living
Is the memory of what life keeps giving.
It may be hard. It might be demanding.
But we do what we do to still be standing.
Standing as the lights go down,
Somehow we wear victory's sweet crown.
A salute to our friends lost along the way,
The truth has run us down to this day.
There's a pounding in my chest,
As I fight to live, like all the rest.
Playing it out to the very end.
We find our memories are our last best friend.
A hushed kind of whisper shines its light
On our every wrong we thought was right.
On the back streets of our fallen night,
Man, what a mess we were in God's full sight.
The last chord played in our heart,
Was the lost chord we searched for from our start.
A tear of happiness rolls down a wrinkled face
Of every broken heart that remembers the place.
Tramps like us, we were born to run
As we chased after our place in the sun.
We really had quite a lot of mischievous fun.
Let's have one more day before all days are gone.
...There's no one left to carry on.
My heart was sold down at the pawn shop and is gone.
... There's no one left to lean on.
It turns out life's fairytale was no once upon...
(c) September 5, 2025 Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved
“Hope — Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope! In the end, that is God’s greatest gift to us…A belief in things not seen. A belief that there are better days ahead.” – Barack Obama
Bari was again entirely wrong on this one. God’s greatest gift to mankind is salvation. But he was right, considering how his administration dragged America downward; better days were found immediately after Bari left office.
“If you want children to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibility on their shoulders.” – Abigail Van Buren
Syncopated Anticipation
by Michael Doyle
The music, any music, has its own flow,
Leaving behind the day as we dance.
We enjoy the moments as these flow,
As if inside a fluid sense of trance.
The audience is part of the show.
The thunder roars across the road.
We share a laugh as if we know,
Maybe it is a mystery that didn't need told.
Sleeping sitting up as the day goes,
Somewhere into the nether world of shadows.
These were the rituals of transference
That breaks our way, despite its appearance.
Despite the days that seamlessly roll on,
No one ever really dies if their memories go on.
Our hearts are revealed in every audible line;
Music caresses our ears like a forever Valentine.
I look into the loneliness of the night,
Wondering if tomorrow will be all right.
My soul has peeled away into the darkness,
No longer able to hold back life's harshness.
No one writes the diary of the endless road,
Except page by page, it cannot be foretold.
There's bound to be a nightly miracle displayed.
If you listen closely, you'll hear it in every note played.
Tapped into the gospel's not-so-hidden slipstream,
Its improvisation becomes our fulfilled dream.
Everyone's moments spill into bringing pause,
As hot jazz slides past its own regal laws.
We never know past the contrarian fascination,
How it will come out beyond the syncopation.
Approached with madness and deliberation,
The sum of all parts is felt with dedication.
(c) September 4, 2025 Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved
“The peaceful transfer of authority is rare in history, yet common in our country. With a simple oath, we affirm old traditions and make new beginnings.” – George W. Bush
“A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence.” ― Leopold Stokowski
Making Early Connections
by Michael Doyle
Growing up, living in the shadow of war,
There was hope, but little more.
Utopian dreams grew from anxiety.
There was no surrender to the complexity.
America offered her roots, rock, and blues.
Trains were rolling over blue suede shoes.
Memphis electrified its rocking guitars,
While young British boys dreamed of being stars.
Lonnie Donegan with his skiffle beat,
Took the folk into rock, lifted off the streets.
Transfixing country and blues into freedom,
It was an offering of hope to the United Kingdom.
Allowed or not, guitars brought music to the rise,
And with a few melodic runs, there was no real surprise.
Vaudeville and music brought the boys from the start
Until it caught on in their stalwart hearts.
With no disrespect meant to the fathers,
Little Richard's voice knocked it out of the water.
Shaking all over as the girls moved closer to connect,
It was a shuffle that came to dramatically affect.
There were songs played with a sultry roll,
From out of the backbeat, the Shadows stole the show.
The church of the corrupt souls led to the slam,
Most of it was an improvised, deeply felt jam.
Something was rocking and always going on,
From the rhythm to the harp of Sonny Boy Williamson.
No one could keep this business to themself,
And records kept selling like hotcakes off the shelves.
James Brown's drums held the feel of the hard beat
That brought a musical riot to the city streets.
Two sticks beat the tempo, pound after pound.
John Bonham knew exactly what was to be found.
Here came the players with their electric guitars,
With stars in their eyes, they dreamt of being stars.
Whatever it took to find the height of that beat,
These boys would rock, hanging out on the streets.
Studio sessions were magical and somewhat legendary
To be played out accurately and with efficiency.
Cutting teeth with improvised parts in the section,
This was the beginning of many a connection.
(c) September 3, 2025 Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved
“One of the most sincere forms of respect is actually listening to what another has to say.” – Bryant H. McGill
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