He loves the whistle on the plains
when feral winds blow
The feel of sand on a beach between his toes
Loves the postcard beauty
of mountain winter snows
or when spring comes around
and lush hill grass grows
By: J.N.R Dutton
Tag: travel
Jessie
Jessie made her living
With a fiddle and bow
She grew up in
a travelling show
That seems to her now
like it was forever ago
But the music she made
She says she’ll always know,
Because it came from a place
Deep in her soul
She never wrote notes down
She just let her music flow
By:J.N.R Dutton
@ The Bus Stop
Just a poem that popped in my mind while thinking about when I used to travel by greyhound buses.
He was sitting on a bus stop bench
In the cold Mississippi rain
It was coming down like crazy, man
Soaking through everything
including the last bit of road food
he’d thought to bring,
It was half a breakfast burrito
it was just leftovers anyway,
He was relieved at last,
when his bus finally came
He said one more hour of that
torrent would’ve driven me insane
By: J.N.R Dutton
The Poetry Of J.N.R Dutton 