David Dunham Selection

For my son-in-law Rocky who knows rough mountain roads like the back of his hand. From a one-off recording session with fine guitarist Curtis Gremmel, the talented ten fingers on the left side of the mix.

Rocky Road (with Curtis Gremmel)

I see him each morning, hair askew, face needing to be mowed with an electric razor, a face wrinkled and weathered by experience and decisions good and bad.  None the less, I am thankful he is looking back at me; I'm still alive and thankful to have another day.  
Peter's poetic meditation begins like a prayer and becomes deeply introspective into how life has changed the man looking back at him.  His initial inspiration was Arvo Part's "Spiegel im Spiegel" but for this reflective journey, he asked pianist Debra Buesking to accompany him which she does  with great feeling and eloquence.  I come into the picture as the one invited to bring them together for a memorable moment, a great honor and a labor of love for two of my favorite Soundcloud artists.  More of Peter's thoughtful music and spoken word can be found @https://soundcloud.com/user-264930040/tracks, and more of Debbie's beautiful playing can be found @debra_buesking.

Some Words for Mr. Part:

Dear God, just look at the state of you - what the hell happened?
Did time do that all by itself?
Chiselled and scraped with gentle, temporal strength?
Yesterdays now patterned well with telling tales of wear and tear.
Always took such good care that you ticked every health kick box
But all the ticks collect their tocks, bundling up the time we thought was
dangling spare.
And wrinkly skin comes out to play, crafting plots with crumpled neurons
badly frayed, and
Liver spots about the edges worn of happy recollections,
Waltzed away, invisible to the swinging of that penduled clock.
Take your eyes off it for just a minute and you’ve lost a day,
And then a decade’s worth of wry reflections,
Lovingly to fold them up and let them lie in memory’s pocket.
Those lines that contour of your brow, a biography of creases now
And all cut down so very deep.
Each epidermal void crevasse life’s stylus tracks a scratching past
Evinces of a record no mortal hard re-format could delete.
And of your eyes, sallow yellowed at the margins, framed by corvid feet
Rigid-set to well outlast whatever bargained span of life your good Lord
deems replete.
As if your face lampoons of age itself, wrecked and bent
Of scars that trace minutiae, carved in master sculptors’ stone
And none too soon, for just that task and that alone, recording compressed
of the past..
We both know well which ones are smiles and which the pain that heaven
sent,
The former few, soft of the flesh, the many others sunk unto the very bone,
The harshest welt of any sole upon the universal cobbler’s last.
But does it help to so reflect, or but to hurry time’s neglect?
Of such consideration circles wrapped in worry tearing down
All edifice of self respect, the towering pit of pity comes once more to town,
Parades a circus fine of talents, self deprecating jestered clowns
And galloping horses all the while stampede about the rounded ropes
Vespered peace forever sought, just out of reach, concedes of futile, now
confounded hopes.
So what of forward self projection, folding the creases back behind
And out of sight to speculation on future solaced peace of mind?
Perhaps again the crashing wall of fast reality, solid bricked
Determines upward focus but to fall, as if to gravity’s grounded truth
Tricked of consequential solitude, rimed of age, aching of the aged sick
No respite there nor rectitude as once you found in torrid youth.
But perhaps I’m speaking out of turn and out of place,
For though your memories sear and burn as if to carbonise some
worthwhile trace of validity
On that unholy visage lit by lives lived long before….
It matters not and changes nought, not a jot nor yet a thought
For you and I know better than to seek a settled score from comment fair
After all, you are I, staring back at me from the mirror mounted there.

Inspired By Mr. Pärt's "Spiegels" (Peter, Debra Buesking, David; final production)

I wrote this forty years ago as part of the "Scenes of St. Francis" small-town song anthology and thought it might be fun to post as fall is winding down but before the Christmas season gets into full swing.  St. Francis, Kansas is a little prairie town nestled in a shallow river valley and has an abundance of trees, mostly cottonwoods, but a few hardwoods that stand out especially in the fall. And with the trees was an abundance of squirrels always playing chase or hide and seek when they weren't getting into mischief.  They needed a song, and with my daughters being so young, I wanted to make it in the form of a children's song that they could sing along to.  As adult women, they still like to sing along when they hear it which is a good thing since my own singing voice has largely depleted with age.  But it is a nice reminder that once upon a time I could sing:) Rescued and remixed from an old but faithful cassette tape.

Squirrel Song lyrics:
Hop, skip, and jump, and away they go,
Haven't got a care in the world.
Playing hide and seek 'round an old tree trunk,
I'm talking 'bout my friend the squirrel.

Gathering nuts is a way of life,
But even they know when to play,
And though winter's coming before too long,
They still live life day by day.
Chorus:
Just let their antics entertain you,
From a high-wire act to a tree-top stunt or two,
There's not a dull moment when you see them around,
There's fun wherever they're found.

Instrumental hums then repeat chorus

Hop, skip, and jump, and away they go,
They have something we need to learn;
That a happy life is made of work and play
When each one gets a turn.

Squirrel Song (from Scenes of St. Francis)

Between writing sermons as a small-town pastor, I was also engaged in writing songs, some you have heard in my "Scenes of St. Francis". This particular song came to me after reading an article about love and marriage--ministers do a lot of reading for sermon preparation--but this one knocked me a bit sideways.  Turns out men on average will fall in love between five and seven times before meeting their wife, and then 1-1/2 times afterward!  This song is about the 1-1/2 times afterward, a little different kind of love song for Valentine's Day. 
I have sat on the text and melody for over forty years but thought I better do something before time overtook it as it had overtaken my singing voice.  I heard Axel sing in his magnificent song with Sarah Paradise-Brown "What We Still Feel" and felt he could give the song the vocal it needed, an international voice of "everyman".  When he received the guitar parts he set to work on it and gave the song a stunningly beautiful orchestral setting as well.  Thank you dear Axel for lavishing your vocal and orchestral skills on a song that needed both. I am deeply honored and indebted.  Hear more of Axel's beautiful music @axel-m-501052973.
"Faithful and True" lyrics:

I recall the day I said "I do",
I never thought that I could love anyone
Like I love you,
But of late I'm really not so sure
That the promises we made can hold
Us together as we both grow older
With each day.
Is it possible for love to endure?
Chorus:
But I've made up my mind.
I've made my choice,
This feeling will pass but never the voice,
That tells me I must remain,
Faithful and true.

Bridge:
It doesn't stop the pain of admitting what can never be,
But if love has any meaning it is found in trust,
And not in what we feel.

Instrumental break...

Repeat bridge:

There's a sadness as I say farewell
To a love that promised more than I could ever tell,
Or at least that is the way it seemed
To a man who found himself in love
With another 'till he counted the cost of fantasy.
It was more than he ever dreamed.

Repeat chorus and end.

Faithful And True (David Dunham with Axel Menningen)

Chinese Moon Puzzle

What happens if "Dust In the Wind" meets "Classical Gas"?  I sought to answer that profound question one morning when I was riffing on an A-minor chord and couldn't think of another way to describe this acoustic concoction. I couldn't think of a better name for it either, but seemed to have a "ballad" feel to it, either about a hero or villain, I'll let you decide, and maybe catch a "catnap" thinking about it:)

Ballad For Acoustic Guitar

Years ago, my brothers and I had spent several weeks getting my dad's house ready to sell after he had passed. I was in the realtor's office ready to sign the paper work when the prospective buyers asked why I wasn't buying the house I grew up in.  I said (not thinking) "Too many ghosts".  The realtor immediately jumped in and said, "he means memories" to which I smiled confirming the needed clarification:)  It does beg the question however, how many "ghosts" haunt our lives; bad decisions, fractured relationships, things we did or failed to do.  I have found hope and forgiveness in the Christian faith, others have found healing in the passing of time, others still carry a heavy burden of what could have been or should have been.  Peter explores the theme in poignant verse to Seagull's quixotic soundtrack.  I am honored to  contribute a few colors to the tapestry;)
Acoustic guitars left & right; David Dunham; @david-dunhamuser589535203
Superb Poetry/Lyrics, Narration; Peter the Poet; soundcloud.com/user-264930040/tracks
Master of the music, lead guitar solo, mix & production;  Seagull @farout-music-studio
Wonderful voice: Clara Sorace
Track art: Bing images
Ghost of a Sense:

Yes, I know you.
I can feel your presence.
I can touch you, smell you.
I see you not by sight of eye
And yet I ken that you are I
That vespered wraith that writhes within
To test my faith, try my sin
Push the bounds to cause offence
A moral, soul thing, ghost of a sense recalls myself, so well defined
Entrenched, walls behind, built so sound of dust that crowned the pity, falling soft amiss,
Deep inside the tears I cry as here I find my self-abyss.

Whispers bringing shadows, filled of secrets therein held,
Memories, morose, piece me still, to wear in time, my wasted face.
And now reside, cast aside, to forge and ever meld,
Of haunting, ringing echoes, that will alone their chime erased.

Ah! But you won't twist me, nor bind me fast, to the sandy doctrines of the misty past,
With its beards and staffs and crinkled testaments.
My future's sprinkled here present with your crass irrelevance and matters not that sat right there,
The blackest chasm in my simpling world so spare,
Where space and time have overspilled the leaking psyche of a crippled mind,
That barely copes, unfulfilled, a crooked, limpid moral health of broken shrines
That hopes to find ....
.......some worthwhile inner self.

Ghost of a Sence (Seagull, Peter, David)

Howdy,

Welcome to TBD.

All these creations are made by hard work and years upon years upon years of practice and trying to explain this world and the human condition to myself in the process through poems & songs.

Thanks for all of your wonderful support.

Peace and Love to Everyone,

🫛



What playing music does to your brain

https://youtu.be/R0JKCYZ8hng?si=KJt33NWjUo63ieAm



A nice David Bowie Interview here:

https://youtu.be/JRtZc_Nmo5w?si=1g1Wag87NdEumAc4

David Dunham Selection

The Beautiful Dark