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I just heard one of my favorite bass players has passed away and it reminded that I haven't looked at or been chordie for a while.  I don't really have anything of value to offer this site nowadays but I thought this poem that came into my head might give someone something to read on here.           

                    Herbie Flowers On the Radio

Most times I don't want nothing but my central nervous system to respond to me.

Tidal triggers sometimes high sometimes low remind me to extend my reach.

Outside of my walls is a cat catching a rat while a lazy dog wags its tail head held high chasing the wind still loyal to a human.

Not saying hello not saying goodbye.

Warming sun a winter fire  a choir of birds surrounding me exempt from humans and invasive political words.

As I open my eyes in the morning to winter and summer invisible messages with no visible means of suport in my mind start to race all over the place after I hear a storm warning.

My thoughts wanting to conquer some unfathomable disgrace telling me when waking up the only boost  I need when tired is coffee beans and water.

Medical advice has turned me from coffee to tea blocking tiredness in my brain.

Blood boiling while hearing on the radio many humans are treated like lambs sent to the slaughter.

I hear a somber radio voice  announcing sad news, Herbie Flowers is no longer playing bass for some new recording.

Thoughts enter my morning space making me wonder what can I do that's good for the human race before I am called to that other place.

I hear a classical voice from an old playwriter of generations back saying in my head to me,  "to be or not to be" followed by a rock and roll intrusion into my thoughts a tune blasts out of my wife's radio telling me to "take a walk on the wild side".

After checking my  letterbox walking back up my path a idea springs out of the air reminding me its has been a long time since I have gone on my computer with thoughts of music and what's happening on chordie.

Finding no one is on chordie today  I ask myself who sang that song  "Where Have All The Flowers Gone".

Winter is coming around my way
I’m starting to spend a bit more  time at home
I roam to find what makes people
Move away from their home
The internet for some is
An escape from the world.
For me the real world
Is my escape from the internet
A digital native
Or a digital nomad
Not for me

Harmonica Man
Ronald Sterry is his name
He is 74 lives alone in his home
Doesn't drink doesn't smoke
Loves talking to people
Loves to joke
Plays his harmonica
Dingo is his other name
Because harmonica is his favourite game
Most know him as Harmonica Man
I tell him I sing and play guitar bad
He plays the harmonica 
We laugh that is ok
He knows many songs 
He knows how to joke
Many  from all walks of life
Stop for a chat
To hear him play
In our city 
Most days
Before he retired
He worked as a garbage collector
Running around Wellington streets
Now today part of his permanent beat
Is Cuba Street
Playing harmonica while tapping his feet.