Bluegrass Rumors, Gossip, Lies and Dreams

By steve wardrip

There’s a little sign on an old post,

Down by the road that plainly says,

“Eggs, Milk and Cheese” For Sale Here!

Around back, Granny wears her bonnet,

Carries a bucket of coal past the tool shed,

Past the well and grape arbor, coming in the back door.

Across black and white tiles,

Up the one step to the front room,

Sits it down behind the “Warm Morning” Coal stove.

Granddaddy sits in his easy chair,

Prayer book on his knee,

Reading “Progressive Farmer Magazine”

“HeeHaw” is on the TV tonight,

Walter Cronkite on the news,

Kittens are knocking things over on the porch.

Ronnie Lynn is in the bedroom,

With the big old radio on,

Listening to her favorite Bluegrass songs.

It’s Bill Monroe and The Bluegrass Boys,

On the Grand Ole Opry Show,

Nashville, Tennessee on 650 WSM Radio.

She longs to lay her head on Big Mon’s handsome chest,

When he hits those high notes,

It put her heart to flutter. She has a crush.

Somebody stole the corn out of the crib,

In the middle of the night. They got some diesel fuel too,

Everybody knows who did it, Sherman.

Sold it at the feed mill, everyone in town knows,

Saw him at the liquor store buying whiskey,

This is before old Sherman’s liver goes.

Then there’s old Blackie who runs the general store,

No one knows Blackie’s sex for sure,

Part boy, part girl. Single and private, alone at home.

Bluegrass Music changes the world,

Sings it from a higher place,

Puts the life into words. Fills an empty space.

Now, it’s my duty to see that the rules are enforced,

I play air fiddle and I dance to the mandolin,

The guitar burns a riff, bass and the banjo comes in.

There’s a kitchen full of Christmas cards on the wall,

There’s a broken down old limousine in the driveway,

Half rumor, half gossip, half lies, half dreams.

Red Rooster crows when the dawn breaks tomorrow,

Old dogs sleep in the barn, on the back porch for breakfast,

Off in the distance a cow moos. A car flies down the gravel road.

The day lilies line the old path to the swimming hole,

The bees hum like busy little engines,

The birds fly high and sing sweet.

Spring puts Winter to rest in the Bluegrass State of Kentucky,

The festivals dot the map and the notes fly off the neck,

The strings and vocal chords get all tangled up. Feet stomp good.

There is a perfect world in the works today,

There is gentle life of joy to be lived. It happens,

Every time the old Bluegrass Music is played.