Ranch Poem – “Sore Spots”


Sore Spots

A quiet birthday, a busted harmonica.
A long hard stare between two close faces.
Walking in on your friends jamming in the basement.
And it may finally be Spring but you’re still cold.
Sometimes you know you are ready but the stage lights aren’t on
Rage spot relics remind that we’re here to make people feel good.
Train on everyone, train on for the Big POP.
Lot of people don’t get to pop ever.
She can make ya feel from every angle, so you’re spinning.
C’est La Vie. It’s always too short. And it’s all happening.
Blacklight your blank pages and pour spit.
Make a sentence happen, make a measure appear.
Make a measure happen, make a sentence without fear.
Moons slipping out of coin slots on repeat.
Beat snares, grab hold of that which you care for
and produce lore from your friends and sore spots.





Ranch Poem – “7 Billion”


“7 billion”

7 billion people living at once.
Right now, there is someone
being murdered, someone being raped
someone is detonating a bomb
and someone is committing suicide.
But you can be sure that
there are, at any given moment,
an overwhelming majority of that
7 billion who are being hopeful,
creating and laughing
and above all
are loving purely
lost in wonder
and praise