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CHINA BLUE & MAHOGANY

SMOKING FIRESIDE, ANOTHER MOONLIT RIDE
NORTHWINDS BLOWING IN, HERE I AM AGAIN

ALONE IN THOUGHT, PATHS TAKEN, LESSONS TAUGHT
THE COUNTRY SOUNDS AT NIGHT, LOVE IS A BIRD TAKING FLIGHT

MY EYES ARE CHINA BLUE
AND MAHOGANY FOR YOU

EVERYDAY IS A SUNDAY, WISHING YOU'D PASS MY WAY
THAT OLD FEELING AGAIN, YOU'RE SO FAR AWAY MY FRIEND

GO BACK AND RIGHT THE WRONGS, POUR IT ALL OUT IN MY SONGS
BLINDING BLACK VELVET SKY, WAIT FOR SUNRISE TO TELL ME WHY

MY EYES ARE CHINA BLUE
AND MAHOGANY FOR YOU

WALK TOGETHER HAND IN HAND, MAKE SOME CASTLES IN THE SAND
WAVES BRING THE DRIFTWOOD IN, OUR STEPS ON THE BEACH AGAIN

THESE DAYS AND NIGHTS, FULL OF TEARDROPS, THE RAIN NEVER STOPS
FIND YOU IN MY DREAMS TONIGHT, YOU'RE HOLDING ME, I'LL BE ALRIGHT

MY EYES ARE CHINA BLUE
AND MAHOGANY FOR YOU

MORE THAN A MEMORY SET FREE, ONLY LOVE CAN DO THAT TO ME
YOU WALK INTO MY DAYS, AT NIGHT I REMEMBER YOUR WAYS

WIND TELLS A STORY I CAN SEE, IT BLOWS YOUR SPIRIT BACK TO ME
BUT IT'S AN AFFAIR OF THE MIND, LOCKED AWAY AND LOST IN TIME

MY EYES ARE CHINA BLUE
AND MAHOGANY YOU

SITTING BY A FIRE WATCHING THE SMOKE RISE
WITH THE STARS AND THE MOONLIGHT IN OUR SKIES

BECAUSE WE'RE MILES AWAY
IT ALWAYS FEELS LIKE A SUNDAY

MY EYES ARE CHINA BLUE
AND MAHOGANY FOR YOU


*A LITTLE MOODY SUNDAY POEM FOR YOU

BY: NANCY G "FIREFLY"
WWW.NANCY-HEARTMUSIC.COM

 
FLAT BLACK FORD..SHE'S A 31

YOU CAN SEE ME IN MY FLAT BLACK FORD 31
LITTLE MODEL A, JUMP IN FOR SOME FUN
BABY, BABY SHE'S GOT FOUR ON THE FLOOR
BABY, BABY SHE'LL LEAVE YOU WANTING MORE

SO IF YOU TAKE HER OUT FOR A SPIN
WELL, SHE'S TOPPING OUT ABOUT 110
BABY, BABY DON'T NEED NO FOUR WHEEL DRIVE
BABY, BABY LOVE'S FUEL KEEPS HER ALIVE

SHE'S A RETRO GIRL
BEEN ALL AROUND, AROUND THIS OLD WORLD
BABY ON A STRAIGHT- AWAY OR DEADMAN'S CURVE
BABY HOLD ON TIGHT SO I DON'T SWERVE
IN MY FLAT BLACK FORD..SHE'S A 31

WHEN MY LIFE SEEMS LIKE A TUG OF WAR
I TAKE HER TO THE STREET, PEDAL TO THE FLOOR
BABY, I WISH I MAY, I WISH I MIGHT
BLOW A CORVETTE STRINGRAY RIGHT OUT OF SIGHT

IN MY FLAT BLACK FORD 31
LITTLE MODEL A, JUMP IN FOR SOME FUN
BABY, BABY HOLD ON TIGHT
BABY, BABY I'LL BE DRIVING ALL NIGHT

IN MY FLAT BLACK FORD..SHE'S A 31

* I have been getting retroflective. I just dig those old
hotrods....especially a 1931 Ford coupe Model A..

**A SPECIAL THANK YOU TO A SPECIAL LIFE LONG LOVING FRIEND FOR HELPING ME WITH THIS VERY RETROFLECTIVE HOTROD
POEM...:-)

Nancy G "firefly"

 
VIVA TERLINGUA

I drove to Terlingua, TX. On the border of Texas and Mexico in the desert mountains in the Big Bend National Park area.
It was a gathering for the world's biggest chili cook off and a total happening place for sojourning musical artists. Campfire heart music was shared and received.

Here are some thoughts I wrote down as I watched the sunset one evening over Terlingua. The sun does an awesome dance there for sure as it says good morning or good night and melts its way into someone else's sunrise or sunset on the other side of this world.

All my new dents on my guitar are there because I went to Terlingua.

A Terlingua sky, under a desert star that followed me everywhere I went, was comforting and enlightened me.

Desert canyons and desert flowers are so unique. The mountains reached out to me for my eyes to see their unusual images and their majesty.

When is the last time you took the time to sit by a campfire and watch the flames rise up with colors of
blue, orange and green? When is the last time you smelled the wood burning and felt the winds whistle on your face as the Spirit blows by?

Come and hold me deep inside! Walk right through me
Terlingua desert canyons!

Many searchers and some of God's creatures gathered around campfires that glowed and put out heat to warm the souls huddled together needing warmth because a desert is cold at night. Cold like ice. Cold like blue steel.

God's hands were holding us for this brief moment in time in the wide-open spaces of the Terlingua terrain of dirt and sand.

First seen desert flowers have risen up because of the bountiful rains. They have beautiful flowers there, yet the thistles and thorns protect them. Kind of a look, but don't touch me attitude they have.

There are miles of endless trails to explore probably only visited by ancient Indians that were pushed away by this thing we call civilization. They are pushed far away into nothingness now. Sure they can say they are Indians and be proud. They can wear their ceremonial garments as well. Their new homes are sometimes called gambling casinos, but their sacred places, their real homes were stolen from them. It is strange how the strong ones swallow up the weak. Greed is a powerful thing. What ever happened to meekness and kindness? "Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth." I think that is the right quote from the Bible.

The clouds sure do kiss the sky with hues of pale pink and blue. Eye candy for sure. I could see the sun setting in the dark sunglasses of the other sun watchers. I liked that view as well.

This moment in time, as time fell off of my wrist when my watchband broke as I first entered this place, was a sign to lose time to me. Just "be here now" kind of feelings were the words whispered to me in the silent haven called Terlingua.

You know your soul's seed is only as deep as you plant it, so dig deep into rich fertile soil so your soul can grow to its fullness.

Lay down; lay down your weary soul at the foothills of the Big Bend mountains under a Terlingua sunset. Let it take you to heaven for a brief visit on the other side of this thing we call life. It can take you there if you relax and fall into its arms of tranquility and everlasting holding.

All I know is I have no home, no place to call my own right now. I am just a tumbleweed in time pushed by a Spirit wind. I do have plenty of room to be me and breath in and out. I let these precious moments hold me deep inside. That way when I am held I don't feel like I am falling, only climbing.

Viva Terlingua

Nancy G. "firefly"

I am thinking, are these words a song or a poem? Only time will tell me. Whisper in my ear the notes or the rhythm of a prose, dear Spirit winds of Terlngua.