Listening to the whine of that old blues harp,
oh you play so well, my brother
So much heart & so much soul,
When one tune ends
I can’t wait for another
You make it sound so bittersweet
Get people rising to their feet
Dancing so happy & free
Your playing really is
breathtaking to me
By: J.N.R Dutton
Old Mac, old buddy, you’re looking quite gray
I remember the red hair you had back in the day
It really stood out, looked like
a hot raging flame
but beyond that, you stood out
for so many other things
like the poems and music you wrote
& how your fingers danced so beautifully
across a great multitude of guitar strings
& how you kept a firm grip on the sweet
down home way you were raised
By: J.N.R Dutton
A copper colored guitar’s
slung across a drifting picker’s back
He walks upon roads of old cobblestone
As the night soon fades to black
He is well on his way to where he needs to go
He’ll be there by early dawn,
then he’ll jump, jive, & jam
with all his friends, that’s the plan
until the day once again is gone
By: J.N.R Dutton
He’s a down to earth,
down home poet in boots
& old Ray-bans
Makes his living with his voice
& the guitar in his hands
He adores his family, friends, & fans
“These are truly my people” he says
For them he’d do anything he can
He’s a genius picker, and an even better man
By: J.N.R Dutton
Old man Joe, his storytelling’s superb
there’s never been an out of place word
Oh I love the tales he weaves
accompanied by the most brilliant
and lively melodies
He really knows just how to speak to me
and man can he ever set a scene
By: J.N.R Dutton
Inspired by & dedicated to one of the finest poets to ever pick up a pen.
Such a talent, Mother Maybelle
That’s all that I can say,
it was raw and unpolished,
but you know what?
That’s okay
there’s such resounding beauty
in each instrument,
and every note I heard her play
By: J.N.R Dutton
Mother Maybelle was gone long before I came along,
but her talent & her songs are a beautiful legacy.
I am glad for recording technology preserving such treasure.
A few good friends, gathered in the yard
Some playing with a brand spanking new deck of cards, the ones that are left, they’re picking guitars, pretending that they are Grand Ole Opry stars
If they really tried, their talent would take them far, but they’re free and content playing for the thrill of it, right where they are
By: J.N.R Dutton
Jimmy’s playing a 1950’s jam
he’s a special brand of
piano man
He remembers Milsap,
and old Jerry Lee,
The way that he plays man
it’s really something to see
By: J.N.R Dutton
He’s cranking the band, ready to jam, grabbing his lady by the hand
They dance together, birds of a feather
holding on tight through all kinds of weather
By: J.N.R Dutton
Thoroughly enjoyed my time away from here, glad to be back though.
Here is a poem I wrote while on my break.
A singing South Georgia poet
With a million songs in his head, He’s a hard working guy
Early to rise, and not shy to say what needs to be said
Everybody says he’s got a throwback sound and so much depth, that’s rarely found anymore..
Everybody loves to listen, and they gather round,
He’ll sing until the day they lay his body down
In that southern ground, hey, eh….
For now, he’s on the road again, big wheels spin,
he’s making his living, playing to win
By: J.N.R Dutton
The Poetry Of J.N.R Dutton 