The Filter


Today I don’t have much to say
Sometimes I just wake up that way
I’m a bit too serious for myself
Shove all the bullshit into cans on a shelf

Sometimes my filter gets turned down low
It comes from all the self-appointed experts that blow
Misinformation, half truths that won’t stand the light of day
To all the fools that believe them that can’t think anyway.

A population that can’t tell sheep turds from coffee beans
And too lazy to find out from any other means
Swallows all this bullshit hook line and sinker
Swept into a raging river of non-thinkers.

Hasn’t read any books in fifteen years
Fairly stagnant between the ears
Still know more than you do too.
Just ask them they’ll tell you.

All their sentences end in outright absolutes
Unaware of these redicoulous attributes
Ignorant that the universe contains different shades of gray
Unable to see subtle shades this way

Bumblestiltskins to an exponential degree
Spouting their horseshit to you and me
I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut today
No advice for them they wouldn’t listen anyway

Sends text messages to people ten feet away
Instead of having something intelligent to say
To people they’re supposed to care about
Their social skills to me I really doubt
Most of the time I let this stuff go
But today my filter is set pretty low
And that’s why I love all the people on this site.
Who sit down and take the time to write

Beautiful thoughts that captivate and mesmerize
All the wonders of life and being alive
Who have an opinion all their own
And not some dumbed down clone

Who couldn’t express their feelings if they had some?
Whose inner wonderment turned deaf and dumb?
A walking junkyard this human condition
A product of twenty first century attrition

So don’t talk down to me you walking piece of shit
I’ll clean you off my boot with an old hickory stick
Go peddle your horseshit to some other fool
Who came out of the same faulty gene pool.

Dave Proffitt
4/1/2014
7.33 pm

I Am an Old Gibson


I am an old Gibson born in 1959
My lineage comes by the Modernist line
I am made from ebony and Korina wood
And I sound better than most guitars should

Thru my humbucker pickups I sing
To thee I make the amplifier tubes ring
Anthems of hard electric blues
By skilled fingers that to the notes in me lose

Born off of my ebony fingerboard they come
Twisting and snarling, razor-edged and undone
In minor keys crying and weeping
From Celestions Vintage 30’s come leaping

By those who give birth to those notes
Circling like a predatory bird in the air they float
So I like being handled by the human touch
I like the limelight very much

They call me a Flying V
One look and that’s easy to see.
Between the sets hanging from my neck in the stand
In some smoky, dark club along with the rest of the band

In a place where we go for some mental rest
From the things that humans won’t confess
And my owner’s name is Albert King
And he really knows how to make me sing

A left-handed giant black man
Who makes me weep or cry because he can
I can feel Albert’s soul in his touch
And he loves me that much

I watched a beautiful woman sitting at a table one night
All alone with her sadness in the shadows out of sight
And Albert walked over to her table
Wiping her eyes, pulling herself together for this blues fable

And Albert asked for her name
For she was remiss to tell him just the same
So he sat down and comforted her
In her hours of woe that were

And I saw the tears flowing from her eyes once again
And Albert put his huge hand on hers trying to ease her pain
And her tears he was able to restrain
In this sad, dark night club refrain

He got up on stage and said “This song is for the lady in blue.”
“I wrote it myself, and it’s called I’ll Play The Blues for You.”
And Albert picked me up and I knew exactly what he wanted
So I gave it to him the notes of all the broken hearted.

His touch upon her hand put her perfume on my neck
And Albert’s toil and sweat keep me in check
And I’ve worn beer, blood, sweat and tears
Like a badge of honor all these years.

I’ve heard things I can’t repeat in English
I speak them to you in 12 bar blues anguish
Albert has this young friend named Stevie Ray Vaughn
To whom Albert thinks the sun rises and sets upon

And Stevie wanted to play me one day
When he picked me up I knew right away
His hands made the music in his soul
So from me brand new notes he did extol

But his heart to him was true
One side of rock and the other blues
And I could hear Albert in him
And in Albert, Stevie again

And so like the old man that plays me
I am the other side of the icon you see
For I have been played by the worst and the best
The spirit of the guitar is me, I put them to the test

I am an old Gibson guitar
I hang on their chests like a shining star
I am the Flying V
Who I am is easy to see

My scratched up gold pickups are my voice
And some choose me just for that choice
For I am the Flying V
An old Gibson Electric you see

And I’ve seen them all come and go
And I’m the one that makes the music flow
An electric machine gun for the notes
Their pitch and timbre no other guitar can quote

For I am an Electric Flying V
I am the famous Gibson sitting on a musician’s knee
I am here for all to see
Some want to be you and some want to be me.

Dave Proffitt
3/4/2014
12:37 am

We Call Her L


Her name is Laraine but friends call her L
I think she likes it this way as far as I can tell
Her hair is the color of autum leaves
Glints in auburn tones from autum breezes

Her beauty hiding in the shadows of her youth
Peering out thru times lines of truth
A good woman, she is what you see
An example for you and me

Soft spoken with a voice of velvet
Has an honest life most women would covet
Discovered later in life what she wanted to be
The music in her soul she plays for the world to see

Still an inspiration for old musicans like me
I love her wonderment for it is so easy to see
Makes me relive my musical past
She makes me re-evaluate and recast

Fourty years of music in my past
All of the friends and memoried amassed
That plays forward whenever I see her
In the times that are and times that were

There are good friends and best friends
And friends after their own ends
And there are friends like L that sit in your heart
That guides you thru life like some soul-steering chart

With friends like L it’s hard to be depressed
Their internal light shining on my soul so blessed
To Whom I visit when I’m feeling down
That keeps my chin up so I don’t drown

In a sea of worry sometimes hard to navigate
Discussions with her help me articulate
What I may think is going to befall
We end up laughing, not so bad afterall

Friends like L don’t come along every day
Her friendship is there with no price to pay
Except for the effort that makes me smile
When I think of her just a little while

Her beauty she does not realize
She’s true to herself and makes me analyze
If my musical endvours are rigorous enough
Or if time is tinting my notes all jaded and fluff

So I love this effect that she has on me
She is still lovely every time I see
Her with a bass around her neck
When she smiles at me can totally wreck

Any thoughts on what I was about to say
Not intentional on her part she’s just wired this way
Her name is Laraine but we call her L
She likes that as far as I can tell

Dave Proffitt
2/22/2014
1:02 pm

The Loss


We lost Sissy back in the sixties
A bad chapter to our families history
I saw the loss on my parent’s faces
The spark of life extinguished that this displaces

 

I walked into the kitchen one day
I saw my Mother sitting in an odd sort of way
She was looking out the window at the old hitching rail
Her shoulders were slumpted and she looked very frail

 

My German Shepherd with his head on her knee
She was petting his head her breathing I could see
So I stood there in silence not intruding on her grief
And her years of tears has given her no relief

 

And she said “Oh Sissy” thru a soft muffled voice
Overwhelmed with that loss she has no choice
So I looked out the window at the old hitching rail
I thought I saw Lois and her horse’s old water pail

 

The loss takes it’s toll and plays tricks with your mind
Things we want to see become things undefined
And I felt invisible to my Mother and my Dog
Neither had seen me thru this tear stained fog

 

A private viewing between Mother and Daughter
And the Dog was there the ultimate soul spotter
So I walked in and put my hand on her shoulder
And she stood up and turned to me the beholder

  

Of the tears streaming down from her large brown eyes
Once again she had watcher her little girl die
My own sorrow for her I had lost my own grief
These senseless deaths give no relief

 

To those left behind
To the tears that blind
The eyes that used to see
Lost ones now gone from her,from me

 

I gave my Mother a big hug as she cried
Then she stood up, and wiped her eyes dry
She smiled at me and said “you’re a good Son”
No words could I speak my tongue was outrun

 

This grief stayed with her thru her twilight years
She’d ride her horse Misty to drive away the tears
Mom got old and had to sell Misty one day
And more grief to her poor old heart did pay.

 

Mom used to visit Misty at her new home
The new owner said Misty used to trot and roam
Looking for my Mother the day before she came
Her heart broken and she became a little lame

 

One day my Mother got a call from the ranch
They were putting Misty down that afternoon
So I drove my Mother out to this place
And my Mother held her head as she passed.

 

And the tears fell again from her old ancient eyes
Onto Misty’s soft muzzle and I realized
No soul deserves this much loss
Testing your heart’s mettle across

   

Heaven and Hell
This story of her to you I tell
Bears heavy on my heart during the holidays
This time of year leaves me with little praise

 

For Yule Tide celebrations and family dinners
Thank God each time the memories become thinner
But time only makes them become a little dimmer
Never to go away finally just glimmer.

 

I am proud of my Mother and how she carried on
Losing Lois , Misty and her brother John
I remember her strength and that makes me smile
And how Lois and I teased her all the while

 

Loving her at the same time
“I love you Mary Emma” on the cards we would sign.
So at least at Christmas Mom knew
That was our way of saying “Mom we love you.”

 

Dave Proffitt
12/12/2013
9:53

Notes to Self


Sometimes I wake up with some answers
To the questions posed by yesterday’s dancers.
It’s not that I’m very smart you see.
And sometimes I wonder what the hell’s wrong with me.

What makes me wonder about the strangest things
An unquenchable thirst for the answers brings.
Me to the deep end of that subjects pool.
I jump in over my head like that day’s fool.

Sometimes I get what I’m looking for
And sometimes I open some other doors.
Once in a while that will interest me.
Just depends on what’s in there to see.

If I get answers that I understand
Makes me feel like I was told first hand.
By the person that wrote the book
Smiling they watch as knowledge’s hook

Sinks into my mouth like some fish in a river
These bits of information they deliver
Some hard fought to swallow
The others flavored false and hollow.

Some people ask “what good does that do you?”
“If it won’t make you any  money then say adieu”.
Their total being driven by the buck
When the guns of greed went off forgot to duck.

 

For all of my interests I’m not a wealthy man
This makes me wonder if I understand.
What I’m really doing with my life
Fueling mental arguments this strife.

I wonder if looking for answers becomes folly?
Or being sensible and hoity toidy like some tea trolley.
Then I realize that I don’t care what others think.
Reading the books fills in the link.

Of not having a clue.
Or at least some answers however few.
Instead of bluffing my way thru a subject
Being able to offer some truth with respect.

 I wonder to myself if I over do things
With my hopes, dreams that my ideas bring.
Does this make others uncomfortable around me?
Sometimes thru their eyes I try to see.

What I look like to others when they look at me
And if I should correct what I see.
Lately I’ve decided just to keep my mouth shut
The things I know not seen on prime time smut.

Some folks need to see letters after your name
Before you’re worthy of their question game.
Even then won’t take your advice.
Not really questions just validation of their vice.

If they don’t like what you say
Non-believers if that doesn’t go their way
So I recycle all of this on a daily basis
Some things stay and some are in stasis.

 To all my friends who are patience with me.
This my explanation for you to see.
So you can see what the hell’s  wrong with me.
I’ve just smoked too many leaves off information’s tree.

It’s true I have a lot of interests
Which some women meet with indifference.
But most I think become intimidated
Fearing that they’ll be inundated.

Buy something they know nothing about
“How can he be serious?” they have their doubts.
“He’s in love with his hobbies there’s no room for me”
That’s a part of my heart with lots of empty space you see.

I think I’d like to have a lady in my life
I wouldn’t even mind having a wife.
But some of them want to make a new model
Of me and my life they almost coddle.

 Not happy with the current Dave
Want something else their girlfriends crave.
But can’t have because of impossible ideals
From the men in their lives that doesn’t appeal.

To their current idea of a man
And what he can do for them they don’t understand.
When I consider this then maybe I should be alone.
Maybe this old dog won’t fetch any more bones.

 So I think about this and it makes me laugh
Society’s idea of the golden calf
There’s a lot worse things in the world today
Than if I over do things or my hair turning gray.

So I’ll continue to get lost in my guitar
And someone will bury me in my hot rod car.
And I’ll read at night about the wonders of space.
 When I look in the mirror I like my own face.

Dave Proffitt
12/5/2013
12:34 am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Cowgirl


A horseback Silhouette against orange skies.
She rides the fence line in as the day dies.
Been out in the south forty since day break.
Mendin fence with her Border Collie Jake.

 A roll of wire and a fence stretcher that flops.
Every time her Blue Roan’s back leg drops.
Seventeen and half hands high at the withers.
Raised him from a colt from ol Dan Smithers.

 

This cowgirl off the D bar D ranch.
Takes the west fence trail branch.
Would rather be on her horse than in a car.
Rocking horse motion takes her mind afar.

 

Straw-blonde hair under a black Stetson.
Freckles under green eyes call her Madison.
Thirty Seven years old and wonders about a man.
And she wonders if he can.

 

Be better than the last
Wonders if he can just get past.
Her tomboyish ways and calloused hands.
Just wants a guy that understands.

 

The ABC’s of life.
Would love to have her for a wife.
She’ll knock your eyes out in skin tight jeans.
This rough-hewn cowgirl queen.

 

Stands five foot ten a tad narra at the hip.
Broad shoulders and a vice-wound grip.
That’ll make you wince if she wants.
Green eyes that sparkle when she taunts.

  

Comes with working her hands.
 And with sweat from her hat band.
That streams down her dusty face.
Leaving trails of effort and grace.

 

That hard work brings she welcomes it’s embrace
Has no wristwatch, braclets or tokens.
No place for things on her that are easily broken.

 

Loves her dog and horse more than any man
A hard loving woman more than most men could stand.
Takes her men as serious as her work
Not looking for your average bar room jerk.

 

Can separate their wheat from the chaff
Tells them so while she laughs.
Madison the D bar D cowgirl
She’ll make your head swirl.

 

Rides up to the barn at the D bar D
Sees the sun die in a bleeding red sea.
Ties up her horse on the hitching rail
Lugs over a large water pail.

 

Lets him drink while she loosens the cinch
Pats him on the neck so he won’t flinch.
Walks around behind him to the wire
Pulls it off him and admires.

 

What a good, gentle horse he really is
She wonders about all the twentyfirst century whiz.
She pulls the saddle off of his wet saddle blanket
Removes the blanket, brushes him and notices her locket.

 

Pulls her gloves off as she holds it in her hands
Picture of her young smiling son to her heart demands.
A twinge of pain, as her memory bring him back again
His loss is her constant bane.

  

Lost to a drunk driver at the wheel
Looses her pain in fence wire and the feel.
As it creases her hands thru the gloves
A product of her toil she’s come to love.

 

This twenty first century enigma in  jeans and cowboy boots
Too broad-shouldered for any female business suits.
Would make her feel like a duck out of water
This female fatales’ western daughter.

 

She puts her horse in his stall
Pulls a fresh bail of hay from the wall.
Breaks off three flakes throws it in the manger
Some apples, oats and molasses she arranges.

 

“God you make them apples sound good!”
She tells him as he looks at her it’s understood.
He likes the way she laughs at him and her hugs
Around his big neck” I love you ya big lug.”

 

Words of endearment from this human
Tears in her eyes, from barn light lumen.
She holds his neck as she cries
Her other hand on her locket she sighs.

 

She stands up takes off her hat runs her hands thru her hair
I’ve never seen a soul finer or one so fair.
Wonders where she’s going in this life
Her Levi jacket wet with tears of her strife.

 

This happens once a week give or take a few
And it never gets an easier the pain always the same hue.
“Tomorrows another day,” she whispers to her soul
Thru shakey lips she hopes to extol.

 

Some sort of relief to her broken heart
Walks into the bunkhouse “Gimme three fingers Bart.”
She says to the ranch bar keep
“Yes Mam Miss Madison, her eyes no longer weep.

 

Tosses back a big shot of Jack Daniels
Slams the glass back down on the barrel.
Leaves it upside down and walks to her bunk
Peels off her clothes and walks into the shower.

 

Madison from the D bar D
Prettiest cowgirl I ever did see.
You can see her out on the fence lines
Listening to the wind as it whines.

 

Thru the barbwire and the windmills in her mind
Takes her someplace else undefined.
I surprised her one day on the east line
And the look in her green eyes, sublimed.

 

Until she came back to me
And the strangess I saw there did flee.
“Hey Dave you startled me!”
She chuckled as she slapped her knee.

 

I’m the only man on the D bar D that will work with her
In these times that are and times that were.
The other cowboys say she spooks their horses
Says she’s got  some kinda supernatural forces.

 

She works me into the ground
My horse is okay when she’s around.
And I get to hold her when she cries
She smells like leather, denim and the deep blue sky.

 

Madison from the D bar D
The prettiest cowgirl you’ll ever see.
I’ve ridden a thousand miles of fence line with her
In the times are that and the times that were.

 

Dave Proffitt
11/27/2013
10:39

Remembering Rich


Pictures of Cruise ins and motorcycle rides.
Filling spaces on friends comments inside.
Showing up on my network page.
Pictures of quality above the normal gauge.

 

Curiosity got the best of me.
This photographer I must see.
Clicking blue letters I meet Rich Duran
Eyes behind the camera, and the man.

 

This electronic introduction to a friend
Takes only milliseconds to send.
Dark complexion, sunglasses and long black hair.
Smiling back at me his image stares.

 

Out of my monitor and into me
More pictures of his I wanted to see.
Rich and I became friends
A view of Sourthern California thru his lens.

 

Sunset pictures of the beach
Or biker friends smiling within arms reach.
Hot rods, pictures of his “Black Mistress”
The classic muscle car in pitch black absoluteness.

 

Dearer to his heart than most women
“You care more about the car than me” the female acumen.
“Not really, just a different part.”
Plenty of room for her in Rich’s heart.

 

Rich understood things about muscle cars.
About pretty ladies and slick guitars.
And sometimes could manage both.
To loose one or the other he would loath.

 

And I saw these parts of Rich within me.
And I think about those too blind to see.
These things in life to this degree.
From the land of Douglas Fir , to rows of palm trees.

 

So I called Rich on the phone one day
And his raspy voice on my phone did play.
And we talked about crazy things.
Mostly from my mind they did spring.

 

And he laughed so hard I had to stop
And he told me “Bro you are way over the top.”
So I let Rich recuperate
So to my humor should I recalibrate?

 

“No that’s the funniest stuff I’ve heard in a long while.”
And I could from my phone see his smile.
From him to me over the miles
From me to him from life’s trials.

 

We laughed about the Eharmony women we met.
Their ten-year old pictures does no man get.
And we could not recognize these gals at lunch.
The ten years late for lunch bunch.

 

Rich became friends with the Pacific Northwest
And we considered him one of Southern Cal’s best.
Oregon and Washington respected him
So we invited Rich up on a whim.

 

Doni and I wanted to go riding with him
But the winds of change grew dark and grim.
The great cosmic symphony called him away
And I lost my friend on that day.

  

Rich Duran was a good man
Rich Duran was a wonderful father.
He was a loved human being
And he was my friend.

I shall miss him-
Dave Proffitt
11/24/2013