I’ve been told more than once that my poetry reads like a song. People ask me if I’m a musician, if I’ve ever thought about turning Hillbilly Tales into an album. And to be honest, I take it as a high compliment, because music was my first language long before poetry ever was.
I grew up on front porch guitars, dive bar jukeboxes, and car rides where the radio was always just a little too loud. Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, Janis Joplin, old blues singers wailing from worn-out tapes, those voices lived in my bones. They taught me rhythm before I ever learned meter. They taught me to feel something in my chest when a line hits just right. So yeah, my poems sound like songs… because I write like I’m trying to sing.
I Write with My Ears, Not Just My Hands
I don’t sit down with a dictionary or try to impress anyone with fancy words. I write with my ears. If a line doesn’t sound right, it doesn’t feel right. I say it out loud. I mumble it in the kitchen. I test it like a lyric. And if it flows, if it hums in the gut the way a good line of blues does, that’s how I know it belongs.
Poetry Should Move Like Music
A lot of my poems have a beat to them. A sway. Some of them stomp like boots on a wooden floor. Others whisper like a slow dance at closing time. And that’s not by accident, it’s because I believe poetry should move. Not just emotionally, but physically. The same way a song makes you tap your foot or close your eyes and lean back.
Take a piece like “Countdown to Zero” or “Comanche Queen”; those weren’t written to sit still on the page. They were meant to breathe, to howl, to be felt. When I write, I think about breath and pause the same way a singer thinks about when to hold a note or let it drop.
It’s Poetry for People Who Feel in Their Bones
I think that’s why a lot of folks who don’t usually “like poetry” connect with Hillbilly Tales. It doesn’t talk down to anyone. It doesn’t hide behind big academic walls. It sings straight from the gut about lust, loss, rage, addiction, love, and survival. It’s poetry for people who’ve lived a little rough, loved a little wild, and still believe in the power of a good line to hit home.
Songs and Poems Come from the Same Place
So no, I’m not a trained musician. But I’ve danced through pain and shouted into windstorms. I’ve cried in the middle of a song that knew my story better than I did. And when I write, I’m just trying to give that feeling back to someone else.
My poems sound like songs because, in my world, there’s no real line between the two. They both come from the same place, truth set to rhythm.
