The grass was blue… the sky pink. Wait, that couldn’t be right. Aoife stared down at the bluegrass beneath her and then craned her neck to goggle in astonishment at the pink sky as her head and shoulders drifted sideways through an orange cloud. Was she doing this? Was her magic changing the appearance of the world as she knew it? But how was she floating and where had everyone gone?
“Cadova Sansom, let me down now!” She screeched, and then realised what she was saying.
“As you wish,” Cass’ amused voice laughed from somewhere, nowhere and everywhere.
Aoife felt herself falling. “Stop!” She screamed. “Stop!” She tried again, the ground rushing towards her.
Bluegrass is a concept I don’t really understand. I am from California, the mountains, and even now, living in Texas, I don’t really understand the Southern life style. It doesn’t feel quite rural, just redneck.
I walked along the edge of the faded barn. The white paint was missing and flaking in most areas. The music from inside managed to squeeze through the cracks between the planks, the notes spilling out and crashing on the breeze. I could hear all the boys in there practicing. They stopped for a moment and all was still. Then, they began. The leaves seemed to dance, the trees swaying to-and-fro with each other. I started stepping along with the music, creating my own dance. I twirled, my footsteps echoing the banjo, my voice hummed the guitar. The makeshift drums made the stars bounce. “Bluegrass, stay to your roots. Indigo, and strong,” I sang my own words.
play that thing buddy! pluck the shit out of those strings. why a bluegrass band is playing here in this sad city is beyond me, but you brought the country with you tonight, boys and girls!
The Bluegrass band had an amazing performance last night, that had everyone rocking. Mama always said that, “There is nothin’ like some good ole Bluegrass music.”
“You listen to bluegrass music?” I laugh aloud as Jeremy glares at me. “Who on Earth listens to bluegrass?”
“I do,” he scoffs, his dark eyes narrowed in a teasing way. “And you really should too, it’s pretty freaking amazing.”
“Maybe I will,” I muse, and as I said this his face lights up, and I know I will most definitely listen to this weird music genre if only I can get him to beam like that again.
When Andy turned to the window again, the rolling fields of dry grass had all turned blue. He blinked but the scene stayed the same; the wind bent the grass stalks into deferential bows, heedless of their color. He turned back to the girl he was talking to, but she, too, was gone; he was standing in an empty farmhouse.
blue grass… grass is green you say , although in this world of misery and torment .. nothing is the way it should be , its blue. not the nice calm blue of the sky or ocean but that miserable blue that murders the beauty of any lively thing. Blue grass…. that depressing and deliriously tragic blue grass.
bluegrass and greensky. One eye and two mouths. She had been told that she always got it wrong, but that had never stopped her. So when she appeared to go backwards, she was actually going forwards.
“Here take some of this young lady,” whispered the old haggard woman.
“What is it?” I asked curiously.
“Its a concoction that I made. A real punch to your lemonade,” replied the old woman.
“I remember two years ago, I was picking lemongrass in the Wilkes field when I suddenly had an idea. An idea to genetically create a new plant with a bitter taste. Try some,” explained the old woman.
The bluegrass playing on the radio jangled along with the static and hum of a universe lost in thought. Intermittently the door creaked opened and slammed shut, customers talked and laughed, and the steam of the coffee machine roared fading the surrounding sounds.
He explained all the different indicator species, pointing out the way the blue spruce was stunted at lower elevations, almost sickly, and how bluegrass in turn lost its bluish hue when you traveled up the moment. However, in between notes she couldn’t help focusing on the way the sun clipped the tree tops and set the needles alight, burning the shadow’s of two distant bunnies into the ground.
The twang in his voice was just one thing I never got used to
Or tired of
He’d read his poetry out loud
While we sat on his porch
The one with the tin roof
Listening to the rain and sharing a cigarette.
He always had that bluegrass drawl
And that southern twang
And I’ll never forget the way his voice sounded
When he rattled off those rhymes
and stole my heart in the process
There was a tape of bluegrass music blasting out of the car stereo. Only Joe and the three cows in the field could hear it, and the cows did not seem to be impressed. He shook his last drop, zipped up his fly, and got back in the car. On a whim, he saluted the cows, who did not respond, and then drove off toward the setting sun. For the first, and last, time, he had made his mark on the state of Texas. Now Hollywood lay ahead.
The Bluegrass music swept out the doors and to the cars sitting in the parking lot. The woman, who was sitting on her hood, smiled in spite of her desire to stay upset. She couldn’t tell you what it was about Bluegrass that was uplifting, only that it was and that there was no denying the power of the music that caressed her ears and soul.
Oh, I didn’t want it to be bluegrass. I’ve thought about blue grass way too many times. I think I really have to move on now. Maybe to some “outside” jazz.
Smooth Jazz is not for this girl.
Blue grass music just has to be some of the happiest music in the world. I used to be a snob about it but then I moved to the part of the world where this music just oozes up from the ground and makes your feet move around. The fiddlers are kind of cute too.
Deep within the valleys, beauty for all of us to see. Why do you take advantage of all the natural beauty around us in the world? Don’t you see, what I see? The burning bluegrass, tears of the children begging for a resource that seems abundant. You don’t see what I see.
I don’t really know what kind of music this is. I’ve always thought it would be the kind of thing they play on the porch of a homestead down in the South or the Midwest. I’ve never heard it and I don’t think it will necessarily spike my interest but I like the word.
The first person I spotted at the Lexington bus station was a man in overalls with a bit of hay poking out of his lips. He had to be my uncle. Nevermind that I’d never met him or seen his picture. He was the countriest man on this curb; the one radiating banjo-fueled, feverish “BLUEGRASS!” vibe while everyone else whispered a cool, smooth “Jazz.” But at least he was here.
bluegrass is beautiful like red leafs and swirls of wind. it is autumn and winter and ice. the spiders that crawl in it are purple with little black spots.
Hanging in the balance, the wine began to take its toll and I let my mind wander. The cool breeze came off the ocean and kissed my bare shoulders, promising more. My eyes drifted closed, my lashes touching my cheek. The bluegrass continued on and the darkness came.
The bluegrass music played as I watched the sunset go down. This scene makes me remember Savannah, and how I saw my love for the first time. His blonde hair, his preppy style; the saying is accurate. Opposites do attract.
I love bluegrass. Merlefest is the time of year that I look forward to the most. The dancing, the playing, the southern, down home blue grass is what my soul longs for every day. My town is full of it and my heart squeals with joy to hear its lovely sound.
I’ve written a thing for blue grass. Bluegrass is different, but I’m not sure what it is. Fields of wheat, pretty sunsets, sad people. Sad people are always drawn to fields, I find. Something about the solitude and the impossibility of ever being really alone. Anyway, I wrote an entry before I signed in. The problem with this website is I always forget to sign in.
She lay on the blue grass, staring at the sky. The afternoon blues painted the stretch above, the soft sunlight highlighting the edges of the treetops. Birds chirped from their nests, bidding hello to passersby. But the clouds in the sky took no forms, and she got up to leave, hanging her head.
Blue grass, green sky. What people forget is I can redefine the world if I so desire. They only exist because I believe they do; trees only have leaves because I let them. Flowers don’t grow from the sky because I made it that way in a dream once upon a time. Blue grass, green sky, soliloquy of a solipsist.
giving way to the harsh winds and swaying in them the grass looked like the ocean, blue like the sky and moving flowing wanting to be something that its not being what the world wants it to be. it bluegrass, like the ocean being something its not.
She had heard the wind sing many types of music, but that specific night, it sang bluegrass.And the music filled her dreams with sweetness, embraced her in a dance, as it used to when sang by her mother.
Blue grass green I wanna stay up all night wahahahaha this is grass blue grass in the amazon forest or the meadow of cows and horses and carabaos and birds. Trees
blue grass in the forest Harvest moon can be eaten. Harvest moon friends of mineral town dog gift to elli she likes it recipe for herb salad
Bluegrass bloom.
Bluegrass seed.
Feel beneath the blades
The full and warming spring.
Love the way the flowers grow,
between the roots beneath the soil.
This is where you and I collide.
Begin again. Seed again.
Then stay and grow.
Bluegrass bloom.
Bluegrass seed.
Feel beneath the blades
The full and warming spring.
Love the way the flowers grow,
between the roots beneath the soil.
This is where you and I collide.
Begin again. Seed again.
Then stay and grow.
My feet were soaking wet, probably should have worn something besides sneakers. No time though. It was a grab-and-go situation. The urgency of it all was overwhelming to me. He was running ahead, looking back, slowing just enough for me to almost catch up. Stupid bluegrass was so tall, wrapping around my ankles and slowing me down.
He was laughing, but not at me. We were both laughing because we knew what was finally going to happen when we got to the edge of that field. Months of sexual tension and flirtation was about to disappear when we surrendered to the temptation.
His fingers grew blistered under the strain of keeping up the melody, but the sun was warm, and the whiskey was strong. It was a good day to be out on the deck. His trusty shotgun lay close to his chair, moving with it’s rocking motions, while his dog Jax played in the tall grass down below.
Everything is green in my fantasies, the grass is rich and lush.
You wrap your arm around my waist, so soft it makes me blush.
The grass was blue… the sky pink. Wait, that couldn’t be right. Aoife stared down at the bluegrass beneath her and then craned her neck to goggle in astonishment at the pink sky as her head and shoulders drifted sideways through an orange cloud. Was she doing this? Was her magic changing the appearance of the world as she knew it? But how was she floating and where had everyone gone?
“Cadova Sansom, let me down now!” She screeched, and then realised what she was saying.
“As you wish,” Cass’ amused voice laughed from somewhere, nowhere and everywhere.
Aoife felt herself falling. “Stop!” She screamed. “Stop!” She tried again, the ground rushing towards her.
Bluegrass is a concept I don’t really understand. I am from California, the mountains, and even now, living in Texas, I don’t really understand the Southern life style. It doesn’t feel quite rural, just redneck.
I walked along the edge of the faded barn. The white paint was missing and flaking in most areas. The music from inside managed to squeeze through the cracks between the planks, the notes spilling out and crashing on the breeze. I could hear all the boys in there practicing. They stopped for a moment and all was still. Then, they began. The leaves seemed to dance, the trees swaying to-and-fro with each other. I started stepping along with the music, creating my own dance. I twirled, my footsteps echoing the banjo, my voice hummed the guitar. The makeshift drums made the stars bounce. “Bluegrass, stay to your roots. Indigo, and strong,” I sang my own words.
play that thing buddy! pluck the shit out of those strings. why a bluegrass band is playing here in this sad city is beyond me, but you brought the country with you tonight, boys and girls!
There is a perfume called bluegrass. Not sure who makes it but possibly Estee Lauder – one of the more traditional perfumiers. Is it perfumiers?
The Bluegrass band had an amazing performance last night, that had everyone rocking. Mama always said that, “There is nothin’ like some good ole Bluegrass music.”
“You listen to bluegrass music?” I laugh aloud as Jeremy glares at me. “Who on Earth listens to bluegrass?”
“I do,” he scoffs, his dark eyes narrowed in a teasing way. “And you really should too, it’s pretty freaking amazing.”
“Maybe I will,” I muse, and as I said this his face lights up, and I know I will most definitely listen to this weird music genre if only I can get him to beam like that again.
When Andy turned to the window again, the rolling fields of dry grass had all turned blue. He blinked but the scene stayed the same; the wind bent the grass stalks into deferential bows, heedless of their color. He turned back to the girl he was talking to, but she, too, was gone; he was standing in an empty farmhouse.
blue grass… grass is green you say , although in this world of misery and torment .. nothing is the way it should be , its blue. not the nice calm blue of the sky or ocean but that miserable blue that murders the beauty of any lively thing. Blue grass…. that depressing and deliriously tragic blue grass.
bluegrass and greensky. One eye and two mouths. She had been told that she always got it wrong, but that had never stopped her. So when she appeared to go backwards, she was actually going forwards.
“Here take some of this young lady,” whispered the old haggard woman.
“What is it?” I asked curiously.
“Its a concoction that I made. A real punch to your lemonade,” replied the old woman.
“I remember two years ago, I was picking lemongrass in the Wilkes field when I suddenly had an idea. An idea to genetically create a new plant with a bitter taste. Try some,” explained the old woman.
The bluegrass playing on the radio jangled along with the static and hum of a universe lost in thought. Intermittently the door creaked opened and slammed shut, customers talked and laughed, and the steam of the coffee machine roared fading the surrounding sounds.
It’s a bluegrass gig. At bluefrog. Should be good. Will be crowded though. But the music will make it worth it.
He explained all the different indicator species, pointing out the way the blue spruce was stunted at lower elevations, almost sickly, and how bluegrass in turn lost its bluish hue when you traveled up the moment. However, in between notes she couldn’t help focusing on the way the sun clipped the tree tops and set the needles alight, burning the shadow’s of two distant bunnies into the ground.
The twang in his voice was just one thing I never got used to
Or tired of
He’d read his poetry out loud
While we sat on his porch
The one with the tin roof
Listening to the rain and sharing a cigarette.
He always had that bluegrass drawl
And that southern twang
And I’ll never forget the way his voice sounded
When he rattled off those rhymes
and stole my heart in the process
There was a tape of bluegrass music blasting out of the car stereo. Only Joe and the three cows in the field could hear it, and the cows did not seem to be impressed. He shook his last drop, zipped up his fly, and got back in the car. On a whim, he saluted the cows, who did not respond, and then drove off toward the setting sun. For the first, and last, time, he had made his mark on the state of Texas. Now Hollywood lay ahead.
I just think about how beautiful is that grass, I mean, it’s always blue. It looks like the sea. But it is in the earth. Is… weird. I love weird.
The Bluegrass music swept out the doors and to the cars sitting in the parking lot. The woman, who was sitting on her hood, smiled in spite of her desire to stay upset. She couldn’t tell you what it was about Bluegrass that was uplifting, only that it was and that there was no denying the power of the music that caressed her ears and soul.
Oh, I didn’t want it to be bluegrass. I’ve thought about blue grass way too many times. I think I really have to move on now. Maybe to some “outside” jazz.
Smooth Jazz is not for this girl.
Blue grass music just has to be some of the happiest music in the world. I used to be a snob about it but then I moved to the part of the world where this music just oozes up from the ground and makes your feet move around. The fiddlers are kind of cute too.
Deep within the valleys, beauty for all of us to see. Why do you take advantage of all the natural beauty around us in the world? Don’t you see, what I see? The burning bluegrass, tears of the children begging for a resource that seems abundant. You don’t see what I see.
I don’t really know what kind of music this is. I’ve always thought it would be the kind of thing they play on the porch of a homestead down in the South or the Midwest. I’ve never heard it and I don’t think it will necessarily spike my interest but I like the word.
The first person I spotted at the Lexington bus station was a man in overalls with a bit of hay poking out of his lips. He had to be my uncle. Nevermind that I’d never met him or seen his picture. He was the countriest man on this curb; the one radiating banjo-fueled, feverish “BLUEGRASS!” vibe while everyone else whispered a cool, smooth “Jazz.” But at least he was here.
bluegrass is beautiful like red leafs and swirls of wind. it is autumn and winter and ice. the spiders that crawl in it are purple with little black spots.
Hanging in the balance, the wine began to take its toll and I let my mind wander. The cool breeze came off the ocean and kissed my bare shoulders, promising more. My eyes drifted closed, my lashes touching my cheek. The bluegrass continued on and the darkness came.
The bluegrass music played as I watched the sunset go down. This scene makes me remember Savannah, and how I saw my love for the first time. His blonde hair, his preppy style; the saying is accurate. Opposites do attract.
I love bluegrass. Merlefest is the time of year that I look forward to the most. The dancing, the playing, the southern, down home blue grass is what my soul longs for every day. My town is full of it and my heart squeals with joy to hear its lovely sound.
I’ve written a thing for blue grass. Bluegrass is different, but I’m not sure what it is. Fields of wheat, pretty sunsets, sad people. Sad people are always drawn to fields, I find. Something about the solitude and the impossibility of ever being really alone. Anyway, I wrote an entry before I signed in. The problem with this website is I always forget to sign in.
On the foggy night an old man sat by the bridge playing his banjo, and it was a catchy bluegrass tune.
She lay on the blue grass, staring at the sky. The afternoon blues painted the stretch above, the soft sunlight highlighting the edges of the treetops. Birds chirped from their nests, bidding hello to passersby. But the clouds in the sky took no forms, and she got up to leave, hanging her head.
She walked into the field of bluegrass and it mesmerized her senses as she walked, for it had the fragrance like a fresh flowery breeze.
Blue grass, green sky. What people forget is I can redefine the world if I so desire. They only exist because I believe they do; trees only have leaves because I let them. Flowers don’t grow from the sky because I made it that way in a dream once upon a time. Blue grass, green sky, soliloquy of a solipsist.
giving way to the harsh winds and swaying in them the grass looked like the ocean, blue like the sky and moving flowing wanting to be something that its not being what the world wants it to be. it bluegrass, like the ocean being something its not.
She had heard the wind sing many types of music, but that specific night, it sang bluegrass.And the music filled her dreams with sweetness, embraced her in a dance, as it used to when sang by her mother.
Blue grass green I wanna stay up all night wahahahaha this is grass blue grass in the amazon forest or the meadow of cows and horses and carabaos and birds. Trees
blue grass in the forest Harvest moon can be eaten. Harvest moon friends of mineral town dog gift to elli she likes it recipe for herb salad
Bluegrass bloom.
Bluegrass seed.
Feel beneath the blades
The full and warming spring.
Love the way the flowers grow,
between the roots beneath the soil.
This is where you and I collide.
Begin again. Seed again.
Then stay and grow.
Bluegrass bloom.
Bluegrass seed.
Feel beneath the blades
The full and warming spring.
Love the way the flowers grow,
between the roots beneath the soil.
This is where you and I collide.
Begin again. Seed again.
Then stay and grow.
My feet were soaking wet, probably should have worn something besides sneakers. No time though. It was a grab-and-go situation. The urgency of it all was overwhelming to me. He was running ahead, looking back, slowing just enough for me to almost catch up. Stupid bluegrass was so tall, wrapping around my ankles and slowing me down.
He was laughing, but not at me. We were both laughing because we knew what was finally going to happen when we got to the edge of that field. Months of sexual tension and flirtation was about to disappear when we surrendered to the temptation.
His fingers grew blistered under the strain of keeping up the melody, but the sun was warm, and the whiskey was strong. It was a good day to be out on the deck. His trusty shotgun lay close to his chair, moving with it’s rocking motions, while his dog Jax played in the tall grass down below.
It was a good day for bubba ray.