Craig Does The Boss's Brilliant Disguise

Brilliant Disguise

Bruce Springsteen

I hold you in my arms
As the band plays
What are those words whispered baby
Just as you turn away
I saw you last night
Out on the edge of town
I want to read your mind
To know just what I've got in this new thing I've found
So tell me what I see
When I look in your eyes
Is that you baby
Or just a brilliant disguise

I heard somebody call your name
From underneath our willow
I saw something tucked in shame
Underneath your pillow
Well I've tried so hard baby
But I just can't see
What a woman like you
Is doing with me
So tell me who I see
When I look in your eyes
Is that you baby
Or just a brilliant disguise

Now look at me baby
Struggling to do everything right
And then it all falls apart
When out go the lights
I'm just a lonely pilgrim
I walk this world in wealth
I want…

Source: LyricFind

Circles And Lines, David G Hubbard

Circles and Lines

David Hubbard © November 10, 2019

In the meadow

A stiletto

I would bet, Oh,

I could get a word with her

She was older

But I told her 

I was bolder

I could shoulder anything

She held me like I was a child 

Unsullied, undefiled

Her eyes, they burned in me

And in the night we danced divine 

In circles and in lines

In time with everything

She was braver 

I could savor

The palaver

Of a raver high on X

In slow motion

A commotion

And the cold sun

On the ocean beating down

And in the night we danced divine 

In circles and in lines

In time with everything

She held me like I was a child 

Unsullied, undefiled

Her eyes, they burned inside of me

She was a dancer 

I was the dance floor

I was a copper 

She was a crime

I couldn’t stop her

But, man, I wanted her

To do it over 

So many times

She was a problem 

I was a problem

That simple math

Just couldn’t define

She lit a path

I followed, if awkward

And we danced 

In circles and lines

Craig Does Tragically Hip's Fiddlers Green

Arbor Day (Interrupted) By Gerry Hubbard, Performed By David Hubbard

Arbor Day

In the northwest Catskill mountains there’s a tree upon a lawn

And it must have had a million views of glee and rights and wrongs

Bore storms of rain and ice and sleet and winds that cut to bone

And all the while surveilled the stead that eight kids called our home

Near eighty years it stands there still, it’s drawn a lot of grief

From kids and cows and cats and dogs that used it for relief

To scratch and mark their turf and climb the shady branches high

To revel in the rustling leaves and sights of endless sky

Linemen cut a tunnel through to let the power run

It stands now like a “Pacman”, not having any fun

Susan’s leery of that tree since birds fell to their death

She thinks the power lines touched leaves and purloined their last breath

Thirty-thirties, twenty twos and shotgun slugs galore

Have pierced its hide and left the scars that fingers can explore

Almost girdled several times with axes, saws, and knives

It took it all and stands there tall, a sentinel of our lives

Dad got it from a rocky patch because of country lore

“Sown on stone, thrive in soil, it’s hardy to the core..”

Births and deaths and family rifts, it stood in silent guard

As family worked and wept and wed around and in the yard

Butchered pigs and deer and calves were hung from that old tree

It anchored wagons, cars and trucks and bulls that tried to flee

It shaded picnics, broken hearts and lots of books to read

It stood there silent, statuesque and never seemed to heed

The measles, mumps, and broken bones, pink eye, and ticks, and stings

Bruises, scratches, bumps and cuts, kicks and bites and dings

Eight kids living “country” and growing up real fast

Just looking to the future, not caring for the past

Marine Corps, Army, Navy called to get us off the farm

Five kids served and five came home safe and free from harm

Homecomings sweet and shaded all around that battered tree

It stood there silent, watching? I wonder, “Could it see?”

And did it revel in the joy and suffer from the sad

And did it comprehend at all the mere short time we had

While it could live two hundred years, standing tall and straight

The youngest son at fifty-eight passed through that final gate

About a hundred years from now with all great grandkids grown

When all of us and our kids are bare and silent bone

Will they go back up to “The Hill” to smell and feel and see

The wonder and the magic of that dauntless, scarred old tree?

Susan Ciacci Oh, I love that song about our tree we all knew so well.
It's part of us. In later years, when it was cut out for the electric lines,
I called it the Pac Man tree. When the branches touched the wires,
Mom and I would sometimes find a dead bird on the ground. We figured it had been electrocuted.
Since then, I never messed around that tree much.

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