Welcome to the Electronic Warehouse

I’m honored to have my demo track “8 Minutes” on the compilation Demos for a Difference. 

The Demos For a Difference Project is a new benefit album created by Brian Erickson, of Asbury Park, NJ, that is completely crowdsourcing its music (with over 190 different artists), all in the name of raising funds for the NAACP Legal Defense Fund.

Our art is what we give to people. We're using it to help those who need the most.

http://demosforadifference.bandcamp.com/album/demos-for-a-difference

Here is a link for my new album available on all of the streaming services . Here is the link to Spotify

 https://open.spotify.com/album/2YU6QNGieHs4rIk46aMNoL

Here is the link to my new single called Moving In Time, available now on all of the streaming services. Click one of the links below to listen to Moving in Time.

https://open.spotify.com/album/6n3XB55w6h5ZdqKe8CtQgc

http://itunes.apple.com/album/id1557083502?ls=1&app=itunes

SIDE BY SIDE (The Side Within) 

forests, mountains, rough seas

single lane highways

New partners, and priorities 

We are not that different after all

Like summer turning towards fall

cold mornings ahead 

Awaiting your call

You will always be

A part of me

Blood sweat and tears always flowing singularly 

But there you were 

Side by side

In my heart, in my soul

side by side

I look back on the younger me 

Realizing the older version was really never free

You were always the younger version of me

And you were standing there, but I can’t see

You 

Side by side

Thru sorrows that take me away 

Thoughts of you -I really can’t say

But I always feel you in that loving way

your presence felt within me

Always near,  in my mind too and as I fall away from you

By my side

You will always be inside

All of me

By my side 

side by side 

we followed different paths 

We wrote our own stories 

Page by page 

It’s a new age

and ended with you

Side by side

ABABCO

The tides rise,  and the currents flow, but 

No one alive really knows,

why history repeats itself,

like the currents, ebb and flow. 

From the Atlantic, into the bay,

into the mighty Choptank,

the tide rises, tribes are washed away,

The past rises up just like before,

 so much more is lost, than just water,

 washing it all away, 

This is a story of a tribe,that was here long before, the colonists’ washed up here,

 up on the eastern shore. 

Ababco lived there,

One nation, one land, one with water, 

Surrounded by many a hostile tribe. 

 New settlers’ arrive 

beginning their new lives,

who would survive?

Murders were common there,

but one stood out. 

An English Capt Odber did not survive, 

The settlers’ wanted the Ababco tribe,

dead or alive. 

The slaying of Captain John Odber,

an English official said, 

was not by the hands of the Ababco tribe, but the neighboring tribe instead. 

Ababco turned over some of the Indians to the whites, evidence of their loyalty,

they did what was right. 

Instead, the settlers were

poised for a fight. 

A reprieve arrived for the time being,

an English official said. 

Until agreements were broken, the tribe of Ababco, were all dead. 

The ghosts of Ababco tribe would say, to this day, that the Choptank flows with their spirits,

 taken far away. 

In the year of 1699, a favorable decison came down,

Decreed by the government, that Ababco 

Peace should rule all around.  

 Loyalty was rewarded, 

Ababco and colonists lived side by side. 

Decreed by law in 1699,

Both sides were aligned.

It declared that the English settlers had no right,

to encroach on their territory,

or put up a fight

“Sitt down amongst them in their clear fields." 

the settlers were known to say, they sat with the elders of the tribe, back in the day. 

“Sitt down amongst them in their clear fields." 

but words have no meaning,

action rules the day. 

The English looked with favor on the Ababco’ plea, and on May 7,  1699, a “League of Peace" was the decree. 

The  mighty Choptank still ebbs and flows free,

Who know what would have been, and what

Is, and what should never be?

“Sitt down amongst them in their clear fields”

that’s what they say,

Sit down amongst them in their clear fields,

today, just like yesterday.

Downstream

Are we living downstream?

Where we travel into a reality never seen?

A younger me, flowing free

downstream (repeats)

Are we from another dream?

Your never ending dream

Meets my Journey not yet complete

Our Hearts and minds meet

Flowing downstream

Living downstream

Have we arrived?

Are we alive?

Traveling downstream

Nothing as it would seem

Downstream 

Into reality

And out of the dream

I’ll meet you there

downstream

Where rivers meet the stream

And lovers never say what they mean

downstream 

Where rivers flow green,

Like our oceans once clean

I filter out the pain and suffering with you,

Downstream

Everything now as it should be 

An ending from a beginning. 

And you will see

I’ll meet you there, 

Our Hopes and our fears

Flowing thru the years 

Downstream 

 Utopia

(A song for the future)

Utopia-a place, an assembly line for the human race

And we are free here in this place?

Food provided - work no more 

The calluses of my hands fade like the lines on my face 

living in Utopia

They build ,they drive ,they work, they do everything for us here   It’s Utopia. 

A new economy without anyone near.

They are the new machines,

Big Data, and AI 

robots for you and I

Utopia- a new land of the free, or a dystopian highway of fantasy ?

Are we free to live like we once lived?

When we walked and lived and tried to DREAM 

we didn’t text and

Post and we didn’t SCHEME , against each other from a platform of nothing as it would seem. 

They are the new machines,

Big Data, and AI 

robots for you and I

Utopia- a new land of the free, or a dystopian highway of fantasy ?

A place where the fields are harvested

The cars are automated, humanity separated and tech re-invested 

A new world order in this place 

Asks the question, who do we TRUST

Our lovers, our friends, our government As our lives’ fade into the DUST

the grass is greener 

The sounds of the farm once providing food and respect for the working Man,

Now looks likes like only the  machines Can

The machines are well oiled

All shiny new in a row 

Factories once shuttered now feel the machines' ritualistic flow

Utopia-a place, an assembly line for the human race

And we are free here in this place?

Food provided - work no more 

The calluses of my hands fade like the lines on my face 

I work no more

A Utopian place

My respect for a decent wage,

Fades into this robotic space 

Dancing in the streets and everything exists and tries to

LURE you away from what’s real 

What's the remedy do we need all control  and fear?

We are the Utopians We are living in this New economy this new marketplace

Livin' in Utopia affects everything except my humanity my love and my human race. 

i am a man

I am a man, hear those cries?  

I am a man. I am a man. 

Without equal rights, as 

long days turn to violent nights, 

and we can see it with our own eyes,

I am one man. I am one. 

Tyre Nichols, and many like him, a reflection of past injustice, never undone. 

we are many, I am a man. 

Generations of injustice, never undone

Thousands before,and thousands after,

In a system that breaks all of us down,

I am a man. 

It’s all too much, and too late,

no end in sight to stop the systemic hate.

I am a man. I am a man.
Is it too late?

It’s all too little and too late, I am a man. 

living in a system of oppression, surrounded by  blue, enforcing systemic oppression again me and you. I am a man.

I am a man. I am a man, now without rights. 

I am a man who will fight for peace and justice, and do what is right. 

I am a man who faces injustice, I am a man,

through these long and dark nights. 

I am a man 

I am a man. 

I am a Man. I am a man. 

Tyree Nichols,

a man just 

like him, i

The system is broken from within. 

Tyree Nichols was a man, a man murdered on an ordinary day, 

a video like Tyree’s, more videos on repeat every day, and I am a man. 

Tyree Nichols, and many more,

You I Here no more. They were all men, victims of

A broken system,

Bringing us no closer to a cure. 

I am a man. I am a man. 

I am a man. A man no more

Stripped of justice , racism hiding behind a broken system, without any cure. 

Fill in the names, but leave room for more. 

new faces, in familiar places

Systemic racism for all races,

We are men no more. 

I am a man, I am man, 

I am a man. I am a man, many walked before me, 

satisfied with laws, unable to here the cries from within, to be a man, they must strive and 

for change to the system,

Or they will end up like Tyree, and like you, and likme. 

I was a man.

 This is the story of the long ago Ababco tribe,

the Native American tribe that lived along the shores of the Choptank River region of the Md eastern shore, which is now Cambridge,Md. 

ABABCO

The tides rise,  and the currents flow, but 

No one alive really knows,

why history repeats itself,

like the currents, ebb and flow. 

From the Atlantic, into the bay,

into the mighty Choptank,

the tide rises, tribes are washed away,

The past rises up just like before,

so much more is lost, than just water,

washing it all away, 

This is a story of a tribe,that was here long before,

the colonists’ washed up here,

up on the eastern shore. 

Ababco lived there, but 

One nation, one land, one with water, 

Surrounded by many a hostile tribe. 

New settlers’ arrive day 

beginning their new lives,

who would survive?

Murders were common there,

but one stood out. 

An English Capt Odber did not survive, 

The settlers’ wanted the Obanco tribe,

dead or alive.  

The slaying of Captain John Odber,

an English official said, 

was not by the hands of the Obabco tribe, but the neighboring tribe instead.

Obabco turned over some of the Indians to the whites, evidence of their loyalty,

they did what was right. 

Instead, the settlers were

poised for a fight.

A reprieve arrived for the time being,

an English official said. 

Until agreements were broken, the tribe of Obabco, were all dead.

The ghosts of Ababco tribe would say, to this day, that the Choptank flows with their spirits,

taken far away.

In the year of 1699, a favorable decison came down,

Decreed by the government, that Ababco 

Peace should rule all around.  

Loyalty was rewarded, 

Ababco and colonists lived side by side. 

Decreed by law in 1699,

Both sides were aligned.

It declared that the English settlers had no right,

to encroach on their territory,

or put up a fight

“Sitt down amongst them in their clear fields." 

the settlers were known to say, they sat with the elders of the tribe, back in the day.

“Sitt down amongst them in their clear fields." 

but words have no meaning,

action rules the day.

The English looked with favor on the Ababco’ plea, and on May 7,  1699, a “League of Peace" was the decree.

The  mighty Choptank still ebbs and flows free,

Who know what would have been, and what

Is, and what should never be?

“Sitt down amongst them in their clear fields”

that’s what they say,

Sit down amongst them in their clear fields,

today, just like yesterday.

Utopia

Utopia,

an assembly line for the human race.

Are we free here, in this place?

food provided, work no more, blister upon hands fade like the lines on my face.

Utopia. 

They build, drive, work, everything done for us here,

in Utopia, what is it I fear?

Utopia.

They are the new machines, big data, and AI,

robots for you, and I

A new land of the free? 

A dystopian highway turning into a fantasy for me?

Are we free here to live, like we once dreamed?

When we didn't scheme against the ways it seemed, hope for a survival  in a place  

A place as nothing as it would seem 

They are the new machines.  

Place where the fields are havested, the cars automated,

a new world order in this place, as our lives fade into the dust

Who do we trust here  in this ritualistic flow?

The machines are well oiled all shiny new in a row,

factories once shuttered, now feel the machines' pull and tow.

I work no more, a utopian place, my respect for a decent wage, fades into this robotic space.

I miss my old Utopia, dancing in the streets, and everything just exists.

Bourbon Street

Pavement below my feet on Bourbon Street

French roast, stronger than my dreams,

Nothing is as it seems,

Down on Bourbon Street

I remember a place like this, 

from my dreams,

a long lost host,

A long ago toast, 

a promise

not kept so it seems,

Here on Bourbon Street

Craw daddy in my mouth as glasses clink,

Bourbon Street doesn’t stop to think.

So I make my way down to the Rue this morning, 

to toast  those in mourning,

Here on Bourbon Street

I see the night, I feel the heat

I feel the morning , as we meet,

Here on Bourbon

I had to write something about all of the marches we either witnessed, or participated in, over these last few weeks, months, and years. It’s great to flex our muscles to try to make changes for racial equality. I’m proud that we have these freedoms. We will continue the fight! 

THE  MARCH

Marching as one to make things right,

Hands linked together, 

like a chain of love, so bright. 

Sounds of a million souls, fighting the good fight,

Town to town, city to city, long days turn to night.

Heart to heart, marching in step,

The progress of our history so inept. 

Each American story, a reflection of our times,

We march for equality and justice, in

unison and rhymes. 

A reflection of a million lights,

Hope begins a movement towards 

Equality and Rights. 

A government without justice fights an unjust fight, while the masses light up the night,

Being on the right side of history makes it alright. 

You fight for what’s right, and it’s alright. 

We fight for our freedoms, marching one step 

at a time. 

You fight, you march, you hope, one story at a

Time, cities march in unison, and in rhyme. 

You fight for what’s right, and it’s alright. 

Our stories are amazing, incredible to behold. 

Soldiers of equality, marching to a story untold. 

American freedoms already bought and sold.  

Our voices are heard within a nation, divided within our sight.  

So many young, and old, black or white,

Ready for a fight, defending those who can’t

 put up a fight. 

You fight for what is right, and it’s alright. 

The past has taken its toll 

on the American 

Psyche, tearing America’s sole 

Government inaction, leads to action, 

Do they hear the actions of a million feet, two by two,

Black and white together, it’s me and you. 

You fight for what is right, and it’s alright.

8 MINUTES LONG

8 minutes in time, a long,long time 

Does an American life matter?

8 minutes is a long, long time. 

The long blue line has no limits,

8 minutes , no justice in our time.

1968, 2020, an inhuman race,

American lives unprotected, not safe

8 minutes turn to years,

I drop my head, and shed American tears. 

Seconds to minutes, time moves

forward thru the years

feel our pain, feel our fears,

“I can’t breathe”, and no one hears. 

George Floyd, burning in our hearts,

and the others thru the years. 

“I can’t breathe”, and no one hears. 

8 minutes

A long, long, time

8 minutes,

A very long time

As I watched  the USS Comfort embark on its journey to help with the Coronavirus, I wanted

to write her something for her

journey. 

Mercy Onward

Give her a Wide Berth,

Batten Down the Hatches

The west coast  fast approaches,

Humanity appears beyond the horizon,

Struggling in the deepest of water. 

Comfort Onward

Give her a Wide Berrh,

Batten down the Hatches,

The east coast fast approaches,

while humanity looks to her for comfort

Like ships that pass in the night,

We are following your passage

Onward Mercy, Onward Comfort,

You are a beacon 

Of shining

Light.

This is a poem in tribute to Claudia Patricia Gomez Gonzalez, who was shot and killed at the US border on Wednesday, May 23, 2018.
Claudia

Claudia (Claudia Patricia Gomez Gonzalez)

Her journey ended here, somewhere between Laredo and the Rio Bravo,

A 1,500 mile journey to find Americana.

Her passing through did cause a violent death, 

and our hands' are now bloodied ,as she was unable to cross.

Now we are only able to make the sign of the cross,

We can pray, or we can change policy, so we don't have this loss.

Her name was Claudia

Traveling from the Rio Bravo, in search of nirvana, 

or just a job, from Guatemala.

She was stopped in her tracks at the border, 

now forever marked as a border crossing, lacking any social order.

There was no weapon, 'they were hiding", locals say,while the others said they had weapons, and used them that day.

There was no weapon, "they were hiding", locals say,and the others said they had weapons, and used them that day.

The bloody hands of Uncle Sam, etched in a policy where leaders' don't give a damm.

She did die a violent death, by bloody hands of a government policy,

that supports the American dream.

She was gunned down, the useless loss of life,a dream unfulfilled, a murder as it would seem.

What are we without our American dream?

She was Claudia, shot down at the border, trying to flee a place with no law, no order.

The story goes that she "hit him with a blunt object, or "they" hit him, as the border patrol will say,

and the locals dispute this account to this very day.

'there was no weapon,

 they were hiding, is what the locals say.

See what happens when all people take a stand,

instead of listening to the words we here so often in this great land,

"This is what happens with you people,

but now it's time and

"We will take a stand, 

"By the people and for the people"

for life, for liberty, and the pursuit against a policy, in this great land.

Treetop


No stop until I spread my wings,
yes I'm climbing to the place.
I won't stop until I'm there.
 I'm high above the treetop at last tonight,
at the first light, and the  last light.
My  last stop below everything that seems alright.

But I'm above all the that now.

Up here it's all so clear
 You are always near,
You are down and out,  but no doubt,
but down below my pain won't go.

But I’m above all that now.

So rise up , climb up, look up, open up and go above it all.
In this tree top  where an empty nest turns to a long and peaceful place
without a fight to be the best.
In this place amongst the hurting that need rest.     

   Stay above it all.   A place to rest. A place to fail.  Fall with me to a place where you get it all.

No trouble here high above it all in this place where you never fall except into my nest. 

Down there
 You are always near,
Like the tops of trees , I see above it all
down and out,  but no doubt,
but down below my pain won't go.

But I’m above all that now.
My arms open and your wings spread.   Fall into my arms open your heart and spread love and feel me. Open your wings and fly to me. In the treetop built for you and me. 

OCCUPY

Occupy, Intensify, electrify, ask why?
It's our occupation.
Occupy Wall St encompasses the Nation.
On any street, on any road, America is locked down, ready, but already sold.

My place, my country, at what price? At what cost?
It never gets old.
Banks too big, politics all rigged
people fail, while fat cats' sing.

Occupation of a nation - to take over comes from within

I changed my place in life today
without my own doing, let's say
I never asked for this, and I asked for help in haste,
from within this national space

Occupation against the ones who say
that freedom is the price to pay
The only way to occupy the mighty on high,
is to get to the place that they will not try

Occupy. Ask why?
And you say that this place is taken,
by the god-forsaken
Why not an occupation of the places that ruined this nation
A boardroom, a congressional hall, - any place where men dare to stare,
at the plight of our nations' despair.

45 (America on Fire)

Michael Flynn, Kim Jong Un, Robert Mueller, Vladimir Putin.
Puerto Rico, Mexico, Charlottesville, and Otto.
Israel and Jerusalem, Border wall mayhem,
NFL, Russia probes,
travel bans, who the hell really  knows?

He was always tweeting, while the world was weeping, he was always tweeting,
The electoral college elected him, but the world's light is burning dim.

Border Wall, Russian Probes, NFL, Trumps' summit not going so well,
Mueller investigating, Congressmen procrastinating.
He was always tweeting, while the world was sleeping, 

he was always tweeting,

This place is burning down just like hell,

 I'm not feeling so well.
We started the fire, but the time will come when this will all be done.

Sessions, Melania, Cohen Tillerson, Kelly Ann.
Spicer, Mar-a-Lago,
Electoral college got us into this, don't you know.

Kushner, Manafort, Kavanaugh, Pruitt, Ross,
Zinke, Price, Papadopoulos, DeVos at a loss,

Page, Stone, Bannon, Pence,
where is all the common sense?
Fake News, nothing as it seems to be,
Trump Foundation, Stormy D.
Russian loans, Executive privilege,
free press groans.

Right now, it's all for one and one for all, but there's is trouble at the Border wall.

He was always tweeting, while the world was weeping, 

he was always tweeting.
Though the electoral college elected him,

 but the world's light is burning dim.

End of part 1, to be continued....

Count on It

Can't count on my woman, can't count on my boss.
Can't count on my ex, can't count on anything else,
just counting time as it goes, count me out, know one really knows?

Only thing I can count on are the fingers on my hand,
Can't always count on the people in this land,
sometimes they appear weak and frail, and it hurts
like my hand is held down with a nail.

Can't count on family, can't count on my car,
can't stop counting all the relationships that ended with a scar,
some even
ended right outside my door,
They ended as fast as a country going to war.

Can't count on my doctor, can't count on my health,
can't count the good times,
can't even count my wealth.

I keep counting but I can't even count on that,
the fingers are frozen, and I can't even put on my hat.

Cant count on my I Phone, my computer, what Twitter said
Can't count on American Idol,my war heros,
Even all those who are dead
Politicians counting those medals
their policies are the same words that
keep "getting said"

Can't count on the IRS,
Can't count on my overdue loans,
Can't count on the military, and their low flying drones.
Can't count on my music, not the Beatles', or the Stones,
Asked my neighbor what she could count on,
she told me that she would get back to me,
"that I could count on it", but I'm still standing here alone.

Can't count on my neighbors, all those TV talking heads,
I lost track of time after the 60's I can't count on my meds,.
Can't count on the mailman, the undertaker, the shrink,
Not even my eye doctor, now I can't blink,
because if I blink I would probably miss the end of the world,
Does that kinda make you think?

I'll even miss talking to you about all the things I can't count on,
All of the things that you wanted, and all of the things that you miss.

Can't count on the Millenniums, can't count on the Boomers,
or generation X, can't even count on the next generation, or what
their generation will even try to fix

One thing is for certain, I can count on my fingers
all the things that i have lost,
I tried finding it,
but all this counting costs way to much,
So I keep counting, counting down this rhyme,
one thing for certain, I wish I had more time.