Song Journal Portal

Noble Cat and other Miscellaneous Thoughts 

I started making music when this noble cat was still alive and my first fan (perhaps my only fan at the time). Music making has always been a hobby to satisfy an impulse to learn cool things related to music tech and to get the creative sprites dancing inside my head out into the world. It was a pathway of discovery on multiple fronts discussed below.  

One: Learning to understand and perform on a real instrument. In my case on one called a synthesizer. Practice….Yes, I am afraid you must do this relentlessly. This is job one.

Two: I can remember learning about music technology (i.e. Midi, DAWs and plug-ins) for the first time around 2008 and being fascinated like an Alice in Wonderland walking through the briar patch. My vague understanding of these concepts and this software slowly, through trial and error, bloomed into skillful means to an end. This is not for the faint of heart.

Three: The technology was cool but learning the craft and nuance of recording, mixing and mastering even more challenging. This is an art. I still have much to learn. 

Four:  These skills coupled with a burning desire and belief that I could now create my own musical masterpieces (at least according to me ; ) was inspiring. This desire, however, is not enough.  You must act even when you do not necessarily feel like creating. Sit down and arrange, form, mold and forge music. Just Do It. 

Five: The ability and means to share this music with the world via distribution services and streaming platforms or, at a minimum, with attentive, appreciative nearby friendly animals.



Poem of the Week: Gate A-4 

Gate A-4
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, after learning
my flight had been delayed four hours, I heard an announcement:
"If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please
come to the gate immediately."

Well—one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just
like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing. “Help,”
said the flight agent. "Talk to her. What is her problem? We
told her the flight was going to be late and she did this."

I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke haltingly.
"Shu-dow-a, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway, Min fadlick, Shu-bit-
se-wee?" The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly
used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled
entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment the
next day. I said, "No, we're fine, you'll get there, just later, who is
picking you up? Let's call him."

We called her son, I spoke with him in English. I told him I would
stay with his mother till we got on the plane and ride next to
her. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just
for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while
in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I
thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know
and let them chat with her? This all took up two hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling of her life, patting my knee,
answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool
cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and
nuts—from her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the
lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered
sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie.

And then the airline broke out free apple juice from huge coolers and two
little girls from our flight ran around serving it and they
were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—
by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag,
some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country tradi-
tion. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and I thought, This
is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that
gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—seemed apprehensive about
any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too.

This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.


I stumbled across this poem and first I experienced déjà vu. I must have read it before in the not to distant past. It is a contemporary poem written in a free verse style. The poem made me feel more hopeful about humanity. A message delivered not through sermon but through the lived example of just being a kind human being in the world. 

Thank You for this gift Naomi Shihab Nye. The world needs more of you. 

Naomi Shihab Nye, "Gate A-4" from the book Honeybee. Copyright © 2008


Photo by Connecting Flights Guide: 

Word of the Day: Ouroboros 

A prolific and talented songwriter and musician known as Lammbone from the Soundcloud community recently commented on one of my song's released several months ago called Sapiens

He said: "A thought provoking song David.... and reminded me of the parable of Gaia's dangerous Ouroboros…"

I replied: "Thank You and Absolutely and Ouroboros is now my word of the day. Though I new the symbol, that word and the symbol did not click until your comment ; )....Thank You for that"

Thus, it was decreed: Ouroboros is the word of the day.




Ouroboros Picture Credit Here

Three Bells Toll 

Greetings, the cover band I perform with called WildGood played at a fancy schmancy private party last week. What a blast. However, It went from a super fun weekend to a tough week. I found out I tested positive for COVID-19 Wednesday and I have been doing my best to recover since. The smiling face is not smiling as I write this. I will spare you the four page holiday catch-up letter play by play like your Aunt Mathilda and Uncle Ebenezer sends BUT suffice it to say it has been a slog.

On a positive note; I do plan to release a new song next Friday 09 February 2024. It is called Three Bells Toll. The song is about time, destruction and transformation. This feels ominously apropos given my week. Here is a link to the Music Video which will premiere on the same date.


Thank You. Honestly, never take your life for granted. I am super appreciating a little more strength in my body, my family, the sounds of the birds outside and the feel of a fresh breeze on my face. 



Poem of the Week: "53"  

by E. E. Cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
for even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile


"53" by E.E. Cummings, from 100 Selected Poems. © Grove Press, 1954.  (buy now)




The following phrases from the poem resonated for me today in this moment and that is my criteria for a poem to land today in this moment: ring the bell.

“whatever they sing is better than to know”
“and may myself do nothing usefully”
 “there's never been quite such a fool who could fail” 
“pulling all the sky over him with one smile”

Why did these words resonate? I do not know and I do not care that much. They just did.

Thank You and have a fantastic end to your weekend. It is very cold outside today in Southern Maryland : ). Stay Warm. Make a bowl of hot soup or a cup of good strong tea or perhaps a cup of delicious hot chocolate or, if so inclined, that just so perfect craft beer…….You get the point. Have a good relaxing day. Keep creating.

I wish you well.










Photo by daniyal ghanavati 



I hope all is well with you. Here are a few things going on in my world of music making:

I am now finalizing my next music creation. I expect to officially release the song on Friday, 9 February 2024. The vibe and lyrics of the song circle themes of time, destruction and transformation. Song development was influenced by a plug-in instrument I acquired that enables me to create rhythms and textures using both tabla drums and the sitar. This is not my typical music genre but I was very happy with the outcome. I am looking forward to sharing it with you.

Ed Bejzak co-produced a song with me called Even Fail that was released in late December and is still fresh. Ed created a video to accompany the audio. This video is presented here. Deep Bow of gratitude to Ed and to his video production team, including Lauren Bejzak and David DeFord. You have all put a bit more sparkle into a terrific song. Thank You. 

Final thought regarding my craft of music making, I can write whatever I want, whenever I want and however I want. I write music that resonates with me in the moment of creation. It makes me happy and this is enough. I realize that I am fortunate to have the opportunity, financial means and time to create. I am very thankful for this and try not to take it for granted. I understand that many other talented artists do not have this access and these luxuries. I continue to be a seeker of musical gems existing and to be created. 

Thank You 





Photo by Dr.Herumb Sharma: drums
Photo by cottonbro studio: cat on piano



This Top 25 is populated with music by artists from around the world. Indie singer-songwriters, hard rockers, and a few newly formed bands are all served up. This is a great podcast and the voice-over at 16:03 into the podcast makes it especially noteworthy!  

Here is an Apple Music Link to the Podcast (you can also find it on Spotify): Turnip Music radio: January 2024 A Countdown Episode.

Poem of the Week: Evolving 


Pay attention to the smallest
expressions of change,
How slowly the leaf
unfolds. There is no
fast track here, only
The trudging orbit
of our newness. Learn
the perfection of pace
that gives us time
to dig out wisdom,
eons of effort per inch.
Yet, deep secrets may
reside in the lines
on your palm, better
seen when dirty from work.

-j. suskin
April 2018


Jacqueline Suskin is a poet and educator who has been teaching workshops, writing books, hosting retreats and creating spontaneous poetry around the world since 2009