#reece sullivan

Written September 3rd to 17th in Baton Rouge and Lafayette

‘

Saddled with a burden 

I never asked for

My faith at times seemed small

‘

But thinking through my options

I couldn’t see much

That appealed to me at all

‘

I struggle to recall

Last time I held hands

With a girl I really cared for at all

‘

Which might explain my misery

Or my soft spot for alcohol

‘

Then I saw you there

Reading all alone

With your golden hair

With your glasses on

‘

Tnd the words you shared

From your secret pome

In the evening air

So simple et bonne

‘

Considering the failure

I’ve had to deal with

You’ll excuse my rattling on

‘

Perhaps I’m just too petty

Or unappealing

And display too little brawn

‘

I struggle

 to recall

Last time I held hands

With a girl I really cared for at all

‘

Which might explain my anger

Or my soft spot for alcohol

‘

Then I saw you, babe

With your glasses on

And it seemed ordained

That I had chanced upon

‘

Joy has filled my day

Day is filled with song

I could sing your praise

Written Summer 2021 to early 2022, Louisiana

Maybe for after I'm long gone

Yes, maybe for after I'm dead

I might pen some well-written swan song

God willing, that way I am led

If only I keep myself guarded

And away from what the normies are fed

Perhaps after long years of hardship

And at the end of some lonesome path tred

You really can't say much of value

When you have nothing to say

When nothing weighs heavy up on you

And too easy you glide through the day

You're likely to just wind up boring

Unless you've been dealing with pain

Unless there is something you're mourning

This much to me does seem plain

*********

I allowed for my heart to be broke for if only to find

The words at the end of a rope; yes, I've suffered for rhyme

And even for throwaway songs, I've wound up in a bind

*********

But how can one live in these strange times

And have nothing of interest to say?

Unless one is willfully blind

And believe they alone know the case

When so much seems done by design

And right in front of our face

*********

There's more than enough to be done here

There are plenty more words one could say

Anything that adds some real value

In any real meaningful way

To those who will listen, I speak now

To those who have grit in their bones

To those who can draw some conclusions

Yes, simple enough on their own

Who can make out some truth through the drone

Written January 17th to April 22nd 2018

Once on a time in the spring

Our town was teeming with life

Bursting as though from the seams

Not the first sign of strife

To market our merchants would bring

Such things as mark oversupply

It seemed that we had everything

That townsfolk could buy

Some fit for a king

Stacked as high as the sky

*****

Many years now come and gone

And the young folk have changed

With little steps nothing seems wrong

Till you looks back down the range

When something within you now longs

For something you cannot now say

Something in the bloodline was strong

But's now fraught with decay

Till in our own father's homes

We as renters behave

*****

It seems all is lost

And to think that some fought

And that blood was once spilled

So now

I don't care what is thought

Or if it means I am killed

Or if it all comes to naught

For I can't tell what is real

And even old folk were bought

So I'm remaining here still

Prepared to die on this hill

*****

All those around me have caved

To an easier life

And my woman will so oft behave

As though this all were her right

Never a penny was saved

For they've never known a dark night

I'd rather my son die by the blade

In the king's war one night

Than live as less than a knave

And as a fat little wight

Wordsmith (2018) … tragicomic modern folk …

Little Rock circa 2004 to Lafayette May 22nd 2016

It’s hard to go

When the path’s unknown

When the way is dark

When the scent is cold

Though the spirit moves

And the will is bold

It’s hard to go

When the road’s unknown

     But I tell ya, though

     What I want to find

          Which is you to hold; young, black mistress mine

It’s hard to row

When the water’s strong

When the gales are high

When the signs are wrong

Though the sea will call

In the sailor’s song

It’s hard to row

When the current’s strong

     It’s hard to say

     How far off course you’ve gone

          To the leeward way; into a dark red dawn

It’s hard to grow

And not to die

When the wine is weak

When the cup is dry

Though the tongue may speak

Of thoughts so high

It’s hard to grow

And not to die

     Oh, I want to sow

     The ancient seed, divine

          And I think of you, oh, young black mistress mine

It was off the trail

That he was concieved

Now I pray like hell

He survives the ween

If my blood line fails

If my family tree

Were somehow felled

If it ends with me

     If I had to dwell

     And bear this kind of scene

Written late July, Dallas, TX to September, Lafayette, LA 2016

Your Irish soul

And Irish eyes

In ways untold

So deeply pleased

With action bold

Again I’d seize

You Irish soul

And Irish eyes

         A Girl with red hair who was humble and cared is on my mind

     A long time ago she was fully mine, though I crossed some lines

     Now I can feel a wound that won’t heal and a pain inside

     It stays on my heels; it’s here with me still; it walks by my side

     My heart is enflamed; for rapture I pray drunk on altar wine

     A girl with red hair who was humble and cared is on my mind

Your Irish grace

I should’ve had distilled

With care in place

To preserve your feel

So in drunken rage

I could drink at will

So in older age

I could taste you still

    A Girl with red hair who was humble and cared is on my mind

    A long time ago she was fully mine, though I crossed some lines

    Now I can feel a wound that won’t heal and a pain inside

    It stays on my heels; it’s here with me still; it walks by my side

    My heart is enflamed; for rapture I pray drunk on altar wine

    A girl with red hair who was humble and cared is on my mind

          A girl with red hair who was pretty and fair all the time

Written June to July 13th 2016, Lafayette LA

There are far off places that lie over the hills

Unknown for the most part, even still

If you have the time then I will cook you a meal

If I can further help somehow, I will

On the road to your fortune you got lost for a spell

And your true love abandoned you, as well

And you feared that like others you would falter or fail

And collapse in the snow along the trail

     Yonder, stranger

     Is the way to go

     Though there are dangers

     There’s much less snow

          Now the sky is dark and gray

          And your heart’s heavy as a stone

          And there are bandits who will prey

          Upon those traveling alone

          But there are Christians down the way

          Who offer shelter when it’s cold

          May good fortune find you, babe

          A little further up the road

There are infinite worries that’ll have you succumb

And question what in God’s name you’ve begun

There are fears you live with when you’re on the run

And you can fret too much o’er what’s to come

     Yonder, stranger

     Is the way to go

     Though there are dangers

     There’s much less snow

         Now the sky is dark and gray

         And your heart’s heavy as a stone

         And there are bandits who will prey

         Upon those traveling alone

         But there are Christians down the way

         Who offer shelter when it’s cold

         May good fortune find you, babe

         A little further up the road