“And When the Band Played Hail to the Chief…” is the Third Line of the Last Song I Heard and I Thought What Is Our Chief Going to Do. I Hail Him But This Should We or Shouldn’t We Go to War Thing is , Well, It’s Old. Vietnam War Old. And As I Listened to Credence Clearwater, I Spied the Hummingbirds Sucking Away at the Trumpet Vine Bar, Er, Trellis. (Another 420 Character 9 Line Poem by Patty)

Hard to swallow

is how I describe the ideas in regard to attacking Syria.

What sweetener will it take for me to get the logic of dragging out the big guns yet again?

It’s like with the hummingbirds I see

burying themselves in the blossoms of the trumpet vines, inhaling the nectar

so as to wash down a nasty bug

or that spoonful of sugar Mary Poppins wielded

in order to get the kids to take their medicine.

It’s hard.


Credence Clearwater’s Fortunate Son

Some folks are born to wave the flag,
Ooh, they’re red, white and blue.
And when the band plays “Hail to the chief”,
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord,It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no senator’s son, son.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me; I ain’t no fortunate one, no,
Yeah!Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,
Lord, don’t they help themselves, oh.
But when the taxman comes to the door,
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes,It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no millionaire’s son, no.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me; I ain’t no fortunate one, no.Some folks inherit star spangled eyes,
Ooh, they send you down to war, Lord,
And when you ask them, “How much should we give?”
Ooh, they only answer More! more! more! yoh,It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no military son, son.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me; I ain’t no fortunate one, one.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate one, no no no,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate son, no no no,


WP Blogger Michelle W. says: Take the third line of the last song you heard, make it your post title, and write for a maximum of 15 minutes. 

Summer’s here and the time is right for dancin’ in the street.

I was an uptown teenager with a small portable record player. And lots of albums ~ The Miracles, the Four Tops, the Marvelettes, Martha and the Vandellas.  Under my pillow I had a six-transistor radio for late-night ~ the Supremes and the Temptations, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder and Mary Wells. At parties, we sang and danced to “Where Did Our Love Go,” “Baby Love,” “Come See About Me,”. The hits just kept coming. My friends and I listened on tinny radios in cars as we cruised and ate burgers under golden arches ~ “My Girl”, “Stop! In the Name of Love”, “Back in My Arms Again”, “I Hear a Symphony” and “I Can’t Help Myself”. Psychedelic soul and funk overtones, it was the Magic Era of Motown.

Ready for a Brand New Beat

Voices at full throttle, impeccable harmonies, precise dance routines, landmark songs that were colorblind. It was the sound of young America. And it brought so much joy.

Music, sweet music, indeed. 

What was your Motown Moment?

Toni 8/29/13

Click Here for other responses to this song line/15 minute prompt.


There’s a conversation going on over at Writer Site.  Blogger Luanne commented here on the Sunday Coze that she “will be really sad when humans no longer have actual books”. I agree. Bookstores are being replaced by a digital, portable, e-mailable, disposable, downloadable mash of content.

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Luanne recently had a poem published in the Antigonish Review, a print journal. That’s special. These days, most print versions have been cancelled if the electronic version is available on a website. Readers are choosing to read e-journals, especially students who would rather stand in line to use a library terminal than walk up a flight of stairs to get the paper copy.


There’s a growing concern among professors that students rely too heavily on e-documents and are now giving assignments specifically designed to direct students to print. Their collective statement: “Print is the doorway through which students enter a field in its broadest context, and understand the scope of the field. Electronic is how they find specific bits of information.”

My Hero. Romney Wordsworth.


So, let’s just have a brief word here. You, me and Luanne.

 She poses these questions:   

If the poem isn’t in an actual book or magazine, if it’s only in an e-book, does it really exist or does it fade out of the mind? Is it “over” too quickly? Will we no longer have actual books?

Watch this short fable. The Last Bookshop was filmed in bookstores around London and Kent and takes place in a dystopian future world without books. (I love the very obviously-placed Jasper Fforde titles.)


The future isn’t what it used to be. Or is it?

Toni 8/27/13