Wolf Notes

Meet You In The Morning

She’s looking for solace 
She’s looking for sunshine 
She’s out of seasons 
She’s out of time 
Winter runs its course 
Like an old October horse

He’s only a pony
He’s only a Mustang
He’s a July moonbeam
He’s got his own gang
Summer runs its course
Like a slow October horse

I don’t have an answer
I don’t have an aim
I can’t tell what you need
I know it’s such a shame
Love runs its course
Like a cold October horse
Oh love runs its course
Like a cold October horse

October Horse

Vincent (Cover with Joliz)

The Jersey streets are alive tonight
And the bridge is flooded with rain
The city’s coming through the windshield
And the wind howls like a train 

Headlights bounce off the gutters
And the girls on the boulevard
A siren closes the distance
And cuts off all the cars

The Red Bank rain hits me
Like a hammer from the sky
But the radio pulls me close 
Lays me out for another night 

The streets lay down so quietly
Like a promise left for dead
And the station’s fading fast
As the hours tick ahead

The screen door’s blowing open
And the headlights disappear
The DJ says the songs are coming
Like some turntable Paul Revere

The Red Bank rain hits me
Like a hammer from the sky
But the radio pulls me close
Lays me out for another night

Yeah, the Red Bank rain hits me
Like a hammer from the sky
But the radio pulls me close
Lays me out for another night

Red Bank In The Rain (with Joliz)

Inspired by the courage and determination of Linnea along with her dog Akela on her Youtube channel, she share stories of van life, DIY builds, and the real day-to-day of off-grid homesteading in the high desert of Colorado. From planting a permaculture food forest to DIY projects, everything here is rooted in sustainability, simplicity, and self-sufficiency. If you're drawn to raw, real storytelling and the quiet power of doing things your own way, you're in the right place. https://www.youtube.com/@Linneaandakela

Courage is Reborn in Hearts Forlorn

Desert Bloom

I had the privilege to have a few brief encounters over the years with the great poet, educator and activist Nikki Giovanni. She passed away last December. If interested there are many videos on YouTube about her. 

“Mothers” passage sung by Joliz going into the break, Copyright © 1972 by Nikki Giovanni.

I saw Nikki Giovanni outside the A train
She was reading a book by Baldwin and whispering the quotes
She had that Harlem quiet
The kind that makes you feel loud, even if you haven’t said a word all day
She looked up at me once
Like she already knew the next ten things I would say
And of course none of that mattered

She wrote poems like switchblades
And carved song verses on subway tiles
With truth tucked in the chorus
Love poems for the revolution and letters to the dead
All written in lipstick and ink
Some folks talk about hope
She talked about survival
Anyone knows there's a difference

“I see the moon
The moon sees me
God bless the moon
And god bless me”

I asked her once, I said Nikki, do you still believe in change
She half smiled and said, “Man, I believe in kids, I believe in rage,
I believe in writing it down so they don’t forget our names.”
“You either speak up or get buried under someone else's story.”
Then she walked into that bookstore on 125th like it was a church 
In a way I guess it was a church

I ran into her much later at a reading downtown
Tiny room, bad mic, nobody listening but the ghosts
She read a line about her grandmother’s hands
The room went quiet like it finally remembered what hands are for
The words, not angry, not loud, but like a bullet that only hits the guilty
Truth is a loaded pistol

But Nikki
She’s in the cracks
She’s in the ink smudge
The subway echo
The line you wake up hearing but don’t remember writing
Nikki
She’s still walking this city
Just quiet enough to make the truth sound loud

Nikki (with Joliz)

The Soul of 'Man' under Conservatism

In outskirts dusted, cracked and worn, there lived a man named Eli,
A carpenter whose rugged hands had tilled beneath the burning sky.
His eyes, though aged with countless years, still held a restless flame,
A ghost of dreams once vivid, now subdued by dust and shame.

At dawn the fire cracked its bones, stale bread breathed heavy sighs,
The muezzin’s call would echo through the canyon’s silent cries.
Beneath a sun that kissed the earth with tongues of molten flame,
Each day repeated like a curse, yet nothing stayed the same.

Today the wind bore whispered tales across the arid street,
Of one who came from distant lands with wounds he chose to meet.
A man called Jesus—miracle-sung, whose touch could heal and save—
But burdened eyes betrayed a weight no mortal strength could brave.

Eli watched him approach the town; soft prints upon the sand—
A stranger cloaked in shadowed light who bore no sword or brand.
The folk drew near with whispered hope while Eli’s heart grew cold—
For in those haunted eyes he saw old battles dark and old.

Ten days beneath the ruthless sun—the hunger deep and bare—
Jesus stood alone in silence, shrouded more than clothing’s wear.
His cloak hung loose like broken wings; his skin as taut as drum;
A war between temptation’s grip and something far more glum.

The townsfolk came with crippled faith to beg for healing’s art;
Their shattered limbs and broken dreams lay heavy on their heart.
Yet Jesus turned away from all—the crowd dissolved to doubt—
Was this a prophet sent to save, or lies that whispers shout?

Eli felt within those depths the storm no eyes could see:
A fight for life beyond his own—a fierce new birth to be.
From ash of desert’s ruthless breath and trials forged unseen—
Would darkness yield to fragile dawn where hope might bloom between?

The dusty town lay hushed again—a place half left behind,
Yet stirred was something tender there—a seed within man’s mind:
Though barren land may crush the soul beneath its cruel reign,
New life clings tight within despair… waiting to rise again.

A Moment Between Temptations Grip and Something Far More Glum

My Tribute to Sir Derek Alton Walcott, KCSL, OBE, OCC (23 January 1930 – 17 March 2017) was a Saint Lucian poet and playwright. He received the 1992 Nobel Prize for Literature

The time will come 
when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other's welcome, 

and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 

all your life, whom you ignored 
for another, who knows you by heart. 
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 

the photographs, the desperate notes, 
peel your own image from the mirror. 
Sit. Feast on your life. 
Derek Walcott

Recorded  & All Instrumentation by 2TEC at ARNTEL Studios UK 
Mastered by The Technician (DUB) at the Lab2 Studio Australia

Derek Walcott - Tribute -  Love To Love,  Recorded/Mastered by 2TEC

Gabriel Brox is a versatile multi-instrumentalist, an accomplished songwriter, and a music journalist who has made contributions to prominent publications such as BBC, No Depression, Louder Than War, MEN, Fatea, and many others. Since the mid-nineties, he has been actively engaged in both performance and songwriting, particularly with the esteemed Manchester band, 22 Strings. Gabriel is excited to announce his plans to release multiple albums and five singles across a range of genres, in addition to a solo album that will showcase his musical fusion and written works, which delve into socio-political and quasi-spiritual themes. Thank you for your interest!

A Moment Between Temptations Grip and Something Far More Glum

Gabriel Brox

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