About Deeter

Music and poetry featuring some of the best musicians in metro Detroit.

Your eyes.

I wish I could have your eyes.

So when I look at you you could know true beauty.

I wish I could have your hair.

So you could smell your sweet aroma on the pillow next to me

And if I could have your skin

You could feel the soothing electric charge that comes from being caressed by you.

And if your lips were mine you would feel the warm gentle passion of kissing you.

Spam

Spam comes in a can

Or a laptop or a phone.

You’re never alone

With spam

You’ll never get lonely

If you can phonyly

Be liked

By friends you’ve never met.

Clicking with no regret.

Hoping through

this technological circuitry

And internet intimacy.

You’ll like them back.

An empty “like” lightens the mood

And for a moment…

You don’t feel

The deep deep solitude.

 

Choice

We’ve given you a choice.

You have no right to complain

Its as simple as day and night,

I won’t bother to explain.

One is garbage.

The other is clearly trash

This has sparkles and frosting.

That one is baited with cash.

And now we’ll serve you bullshit,

Skewered on a stick

Or would you rather have it baked

like a cake, three layers thick.

Its up to you

You have the freedom to decide

One or the other you must chose

From this decision you cannot hide.

You think there’s more to offer?

Things we do not show?

But we did not bring those choices to you

So how would you ever know!

 

 

 

 

I just watched part of the Farrah Fawcett Story documenting her struggle with cancer. I couldn’t watch it all, it was too emotional, What a brave and strong woman.
I wish Ryan O’neal could listen to this story and song, I think he could relate, as well as anyone who has lost a loved one to cancer. If you listen, listen ’til the end; it’s about much more than birds.
p.s. a special thanks to Josh Ford and Erin Elise Accomandofor help with the song.

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Angels Dance

Music pours from your soul as

Liitle angels dance along your fingertips,

Moving digits to a melody yet to be created;

Never fretting, only feeling the groove

Of your instrument.

They dance

Up, down, across and over they gently work the neck

Feeling each note as it is made,

making each note as it is felt.

Silly Old Widower

I see you

Walking through the mist of a lakeside morning.

The birds flutter and fly off as you stroll by.

Angelic silhouette piercing the blurring sky

A meandering gate, a step here, another there.

The way your hair falls, the bounce in your step.

It must be you.

But as you draw near I see it is not.

You have been gone a long time.

You would be old…different…like me.

But when I look at her

I see a little bit of you.

I do.

just enough to wonder

What would be you?