Ph. Ness

We Live Around What’s Left

Americana

Verse 1

Six months since the night the bowl came down.
Blue ceramic — a wedding gift — above the sink.
The pieces are still there. We swept the floor,
washed it twice, put the mugs back underneath.
Two mugs dry beneath that shelf each morning.
Neither of us looks up.
We move around each other like we always have.
Careful. Not angry. Careful.

Chorus

The fragments of us still on the shelf.
Neither one of us moves them.
The promise bent — it didn’t break.
We live around what’s left.

Verse 2

I opened the drawer for a dish towel.
The receipt was there beneath the batteries —
Cedar Falls. I already knew every line.
You were watching from the doorway.
I closed the drawer.
You went back to whatever you were doing.
Neither of us said a word. We know how.

Chorus

The fragments of us still on the shelf.
Neither one of us moves them.
The promise bent — it didn’t break.
We live around what’s left.

Verse 3

You left the porch light on for me last Tuesday.
I bought your coffee, the dark one, without thinking.
Both our names are still on the grocery list —
your handwriting, then mine.
I put your clean clothes at the foot of the bed.
You folded the dish towel back the way I like.
The crack’s still there. I don’t know what we are.
Something that stayed. That’s what we are.

Bridge

The night the bowl came down,
it struck the floor and broke across the tile.
You knelt first. I brought the broom.
A shard cut one thumb.
We wrapped it in the blue dish towel.
Nobody remembers whose blood was on it.
We both stayed in the kitchen.
We finished sweeping in the dark.

Final Chorus

The fragments of us still on the shelf.
You reached for one this morning.
You held it to the broken rim.
It almost fit.
You left it there.

Outro

Coffee cools beneath the shelf.
The bowl stays where it is.
We move around it.
Same as yesterday.
Same as we do.

The Gulf Brings Me Back

(Gulf Coast Working-Class Americana — Maritime Folk / Country-Folk Ballad)

Verse 1

Three weeks offshore, diesel in my skin.
Shrimp packed under ice in the hold below.
Gulls follow the wake before the sun comes up.
Deck lights pale in the breaking blue.
Rope’s been at my palms since Tuesday.
We work the trawl in silence. No one calls.
I’ve been counting days since the last signal dropped —
her last message waits unread on my cracked phone.

Chorus

The Gulf brings me back through the breaking blue.
Bilge water seeps through the soles of my boots.
One dock light burns at the shoreline bend.
I’m coming home — don’t know what waits at the end.

Verse 2

The port trawl tore at midnight, current running hard.
We hauled what was left — half the catch gone.
Captain said nothing, marked it in the log.
I stacked the crates and kept my mouth shut.
Somewhere past Cocodrie, the signal came through —
messages stacked across the screen.
I let them scroll. I didn’t open hers.
Some things wait better for solid ground.

Chorus

The Gulf brings me back through the breaking blue.
Bilge water seeps through the soles of my boots.
One dock light burns at the shoreline bend.
I’m coming home — don’t know what waits at the end.

Verse 3

Shoreline rising — the water tower first,
then the cannery roof, then the bend in the road.
I know this approach the way I know her voice.
I look for the porch light above the dock.
It’s not on.
I keep my hand on the wheel anyway.

Bridge

The torn trawl lies across the stern in the dark.
I stitch the mesh where the panel tore through.
My phone stays face-down beside my knee.
I tie the last knot as the sun comes through.
What can be mended, I mend.
The rest can wait for solid ground.

Final Chorus

The Gulf brings me back through the breaking blue.
Bilge water seeps through the soles of my boots.
One dock light burns at the shoreline bend.
I tie her off — the window stays dark.

Outro

One foot finds the dock.
The other’s still aboard.
The phone’s in my pocket.
I haven’t opened it yet.

Digging for the Devil
(Blues — Country/Folk-Blues (crossroads/devil blues))

Verse 1
Every Friday, I took Route 9 home,
threw the empties past County 4.
That night, I put my fist
through the kitchen wall.
My daughter cried, “Daddy, stop.”
Her mother wrapped her in my coat
and the Buick backed down the drive.
Blood ran from my hand to the porch.

Pre-Chorus
Folks say the devil waits
where two blacktops cross.
I waited till sunrise.
He never came.
Sunday night,
I brought a shovel.

Chorus 1
Digging for the devil
in the red clay off Route 9.
Got one Friday night to trade back
for every year that’s left of mine.
If he can send that Buick backward
and put my daughter behind that door,
I’m digging for the devil
till my hands can’t dig no more.

Verse 2
Clay packed beneath my fingernails.
Roots caught hard beneath the blade.
At one foot, rusted cans.
At two, rain filled my boots.
At three, the shovel rang on glass.
One green half-pint.
Then another.
Same black caps.
Same cheap brand.
By dawn, seven bottles
stood beside the hole.

Chorus 2
Digging for the devil
in the red clay off Route 9.
Got one Friday night to trade back
for every year that’s left of mine.
If he can send that Buick backward
and put my daughter behind that door,
I’m digging for the devil
till my hands can’t dig no more.

Bridge
No hoofprint. No smoke.
Seven bottles by my boots.
Every one was mine.
I held the oldest to the sunrise.
My split hand doubled in the glass.
The church bell struck six.
I filled the hole.

Final Chorus
Done digging for the devil
in the red clay off Route 9.
Seven bottles in a feed sack.
Every one of them was mine.
No Friday night comes backward.
No Buick climbs the drive.
Done digging for the devil.

Outro
St. Mark’s basement.
Burnt coffee.
Twelve folding chairs.
I took the one beside the door.
When my turn came,
I told them about Friday.

The Note That Means Stay
(Comedy / Novelty Pop / Tragicomic Love Song)

Verse 1
I knelt to propose. She watched a squirrel instead —
gum-wrapper crown cocked sideways on its head.
Our grilled cheese cooled along the river wall.
I raised the ring. She hadn’t seen it at all.

She laughed so hard her upper plate came loose,
caught it and said, “My teeth refuse to choose.”
“I don’t debate my teeth.” She crushed my bread.
Cheddar climbed her heel. I raised my head.

“Marry me — you’re the one carb I choose.”
She stared at me, then stared down at her shoes.
The squirrel fled. My sandwich met its fate.
She tapped her teeth once.
I took that note as wait.

Chorus
Your chaos keeps me steadier
than quiet ever could.
Two mismatched socks, a little scorched,
still warm because the dryer understood.
Your chaos keeps me steadier.
That’s the note that means stay.

Verse 2
Third date, her kitchen, midnight after rain.
Our dripping coats made rivers down the pane.
She balanced one spoon neatly on one hand,
then drew with ketchup like she’d made a plan.
“The ketchup quit. My hope did too.
You didn’t leave. So what is wrong with you?”
I couldn’t find an answer worth the air.
Her spoon clicked twice. I laid my palm down there.
My hand covered hers. The silver stopped.
She stole one fry, then dipped it in the blob.
Two taps against my wrist. No grand display.
No speech.
Just the note that means stay.

Chorus
Your chaos keeps me steadier
than quiet ever could.
Two mismatched socks, a little scorched,
still warm because the dryer understood.
Your chaos keeps me steadier.
That’s the note that means stay.

Bridge
At breakfast, my cup chatters on its plate.
She cups my wrist before I spill my fate.
Then nods toward the toaster with a grin:
“It winked first.
I think it’s flirting again.”
The coffee settles. Neither of us speaks.
Her thumbs stay warm against my shaking wrist.
Outside, somebody starts their working day.
Inside —
that’s the note that means stay.

Final Chorus
Your chaos keeps me steadier
than I could stand alone.
Two mismatched socks, a little scorched,
still warm enough to make the whole place home.
Your chaos keeps me steadier.
That’s the note that means stay.

Outro
If I’m strutting like poultry after dark,
asking the fern which lonely root to mark,
don’t call for help.
Just pass the kazoo.
I’ll blow one note.
She’ll answer with two.
And somewhere between the wrong note
and the one she sends my way —
I’ll hear
the note that means stay.

The Pet Rock Has No Receipt
(Comedy / Absurdist Novelty / Tragicomic Pop)

Verse 1
The clerk asks why my Pet Rock needs a pool.
I say, “He gets dramatic when he’s cool.”
Blue dish, diving board, chlorine by the crate.
I bought a welcome mat and tiny gate.
She left him on the step and drove away.
I gave him my last name that very day.
Some people buy stocks. I insure him from hail.
His jet is balsa wood, with cardboard tail.
He never asks what happened to her key.
He never asks why there are plates for three.
Cold in my palm, he waits without a sound.
Best forty-seven cents I’ve ever found.

Chorus
I buy to drown the quiet —
my ridiculous riches climb the wall.
A diamond leash for something that won’t stray,
a doorbell for the one who went away.
I buy to drown the quiet.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Verse 2
Nine-hundred-dollar sneakers guard the rug.
Magnetic socks drag teaspoons like a drug.
Pink “Brosé” sweats beside two plastic cups.
One still has the price tag facing up.
My talking toaster purrs, “Good morning, queen,”
to empty cupboards polished hospital-clean.
I bought a pillow with a heartbeat beat.
The rock takes her old side and never sleeps.
I bought him shades. He cannot face the sun.
A treadmill too. He hasn’t used it once.
My ridiculous riches crowd the hall.
He owns the least and understands it all.

Chorus
I buy to drown the quiet —
my ridiculous riches climb the wall.
A diamond leash for something that won’t stray,
a doorbell for the one who went away.
I buy to drown the quiet.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Bridge
The toilet’s now a golf course — eighteen holes,
a sand trap by the flush, two putting poles.
Bigfoot briefs hang drying from the rod.
The mailman sees them, pauses, looks at God.
“Your rock wear those?”
“Investment clothes.”
I button up his little jacket slow.
At midnight, with my ridiculous riches stacked,
I find her coffee ring still near the back.
Every shining thing came boxed and priced.
Every stupid miracle cost twice.
I turn him over in my hand.
No barcode.
No return date.
No proof she bought him.
No proof she stayed.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Final Chorus
I bought to drown the quiet —
my ridiculous riches filled the wall.
A diamond leash for something that won’t stray,
a doorbell still expecting her someday.
I bought to drown the quiet.
The boxes reach the place her chair once stood.
The rock stays where her coffee ring still would.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Outro
The house still creaks where her chair used to sit.
Another package waits outside.
I leave it there.
The rock stays put.
No receipt.

I Left Your Mic On

(R&B / Soul — Gospel-Soul / Southern R&B Ballad)

Intro
I left your mic on.
Green light
beside mine.
Like your voice
might still come through.

Verse 1
First Sunday
since we buried you.
I stood where
we always stood.
Your mic beside me.
My mouth found
the verse we shared.
I sang my line.
Then waited
for yours.

Chorus
I left your mic on —
green light beside mine.
I sang the part
we sang for twenty years.
Then your harmony
didn’t come.
Just my breath.
Just the room.
I left your mic on
like love could keep
your voice alive.

Verse 2
The choir came in
behind me.
Strong.
Full.
Still, I heard
the place you weren’t.
I leaned toward your mic.
My ring touched the grille.
One little sound
through the speakers.
And everybody knew
I was listening for you.

Chorus
I left your mic on —
green light beside mine.
The choir filled
every note but yours.
I reached for
your lower line.
Nothing came.
Just my breath.
Just the room.
I left your mic on
like love could keep
your voice alive.

Bridge
After the last amen,
everybody went home.
I stayed.
Your mic still on.
Mine still on.
I sang your line.
Once.
Then mine.
Tried to make
the harmony myself.
But harmony
needs somebody else.
I stopped singing.
And for the first time,
I let your part
stay empty.

Final Chorus
I left your mic on
as long as I could.
Green light beside mine.
Waiting for a voice
I loved too much
to stop expecting.
Then I reached over.
No prayer.
No song.
No second voice.
Just my hand
and one small switch.
I turned your mic off.
Not your memory.
Not our twenty years.
Just the waiting.

Outro
I stood there
with no music playing.
Said your name.
Then mine.
And walked out
singing my part alone.

Hummingbird in the Storm



Intro
Hummingbird in the storm,
holding to the wire.
I’m humming your name
instead of saying stay.

Verse 1
Rain against the fire escape.
Your coat across the chair.
You stand beside it
already dressed to leave.
I keep my keys
inside my pocket.
Keep three little notes
behind my teeth.
You look at me.
I hum.

Chorus
Hummingbird in the storm —
holding on, holding on.
I’m humming your name
low beneath the thunder.
Three notes
where “stay” should be.
I could say it.
I don’t.
I hum your name
instead of stay.

Verse 2
Toast burns in the kitchen.
Somebody next door
holds a gospel note
through the wall.
You lean against me
for one slow beat.
Your forehead near my chin.
I feel your breath.
Then you pull away
and tie your shoes.
My mouth opens.
Nothing but the hum.

Chorus
Hummingbird in the storm —
holding on, holding on.
I’m humming your name
thin beneath the thunder.
One broken note
where “stay” should be.
I could say it.
I don’t.
I hum your name
instead of stay.

Bridge
You turn the bathroom lock.
Water starts.
I stand at the sink
with both hands flat.
Stay.
The word rises.
Stops.
I swallow it.
The water shuts off.
The door opens.
You pass me close enough
for your sleeve
to touch my arm.
I still don’t say it.
Then the front door closes.

Final Chorus
No hummingbird in the storm.
No humming now.
Your coat is gone.
Your footsteps gone.
And the word I kept
behind my teeth
finally comes loose.
Stay.
Stay.
I say it once.
Then again.
Too late.
No name instead of stay.
Just stay
with nobody there.

Outro
I stand in the kitchen.
Rain coming down.
My mouth still open.
For the first time,
I say exactly what I mean.
You’re already gone.

The Horse Grandpa Chose



Verse 1

Grandpa leaned across the rail
while horses circled round.
A little bay stood by the gate,
four quiet feet on ground.
He checked her teeth, he checked her legs,
sure his hand had picked her out.
She pushed her nose against his palm
before he turned about.

Chorus

She read the ground before he did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when he let go.
Grandpa never called it love—
he kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Verse 2

When Grandpa’s knees began to hurt,
I took her down the lane.
She knew the washed-out crossing spots,
could smell the coming rain.
I thought the reins were teaching me
which way a horse should go.
Then one day halfway through the creek,
she stopped and told me no.

Chorus

She read the ground before I did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when I let go.
I never learned to call it love—
I kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Verse 3

My boy was eight the summer when
her muzzle started gray.
He carried apples to her stall
at nearly break of day.
I watched him reach beneath her mane.
She lowered down her head.
He never had to pull the rein.
She followed where he led.

Chorus

She read the ground before we did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when we let go.
We never learned to call it love—
we kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Bridge

The winter that she couldn’t rise,
we bedded deep with straw.
Grandpa’s old bridle hung above,
the first thing that she saw.
My boy sat quiet by her neck.
I stood where Grandpa stood.
Three sets of hands had held those reins.
She understood us good.

Final Chorus

She read the ground before we did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when we let go.
We never learned to call it love—
we kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Outro

The bridle’s still above the door.
No hoof marks cross the green.
My boy grabs Grandpa’s old straw broom.
We keep her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.