Purchase So Far, So Strange
Get the new album "So Far, So Strange"
Purchase Songs of Ignorance and Experiments: Poetry and Lyrics by Jeff Thompson
Get the book "Songs of Ignorance and Experiments: Poetry and Lyrics by Jeff Thompson"
Best of WNC 2013

Best of WNC 2013:
Local Singer/Songwriter & Acoustic Folk

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

St. James’ Infirmary #soulonola

Posted on: January 19th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

Three “Me”s

Posted on: January 19th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

There are at least three “me”s,

And they each do as they please,

Taking turns making decisions for the whole.

One is worried sick,

One is calm and slick,

One addicted to appearance of control.

But they rarely meet.

Usually two are fast asleep,

While the third takes the steering wheel a while.

That this triumvirate

Hasn’t killed me as of yet

Is enough to make you scream

(Or maybe smile)

#soulonola three mes

(photo by Casey McMurray)


Maybe the Moon #soulonola

Posted on: January 16th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

These streets are so familiar and so odd.

But then again, everything is, I guess.

Why talk about the afterlife? Or God?

When, in all honesty, I must confess:

I really haven’t got the slightest clue

What any of this is, or who I am.

What is a blue bottle? Or even…blue?

And from this basis, who am I to plan?

Or feelings in my body, what are those?

So commonplace, I barely know they’re there.

Or sounds, or sights, or smells? What is a nose?

Or fingernails, or skin, or eyes, or hair?

Even this sidewalk, which I know so well

May be the moon, as far as I can tell.

#soulonola Blue Bottles

Rainy Day, Dream Away #SOULoNOLA

Posted on: January 15th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

The morning grey, the rooves all slick with rain,

The gutters improvising fountain sounds,

The church-bell chiming time, and once again:

The smell of chicory and coffee grounds.

The people here wake to the fantasy

Of pastel houses, brass bands, booze, and food,

And ever present, recent memory

Of drowning, while the world watched on the news.

Another rainy day in New Orleans—

The city always almost washed away

By river, rain, and ocean, and by dreams

Too many times deferred, ignored, delayed.

For better or for worse, these people stay,

And store up soul to meet these rainy days.

#soulonola rainy day, dream away
©2015 Jeff Thompson Music #SOULoNOLA

My Home Beyond

Posted on: January 14th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

My home beyond the home where I was born

Is not a place to which I can return.

My shoes, from trying, though, are old and worn

From roads I’ve walked, and bridges long since burned.

When I look down, it gives me vertigo

To survey all the distances I’ve climbed,

Believing there’s somewhere I’ve got to go—

Some place other than here, some other time.

The paradox is that this home I seek

Is everywhere I go (nowhere at all).

Its silence is beneath each word I speak,

Its vastness dwarfs my most imposing walls.

In moments when I cease to long and strive,

My home is here, I finally arrive.

shoes in tree #Soulonola

Haiku, I like you #SOULoNOLA

Posted on: January 8th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

And thus it begins.

Strings of beads hanging

In expectant yards.



Posted on: January 6th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

The sound of my name

In a strange place where no one

Knows my name at all


I Wake To Sleep… #SOULoNOLA

Posted on: January 4th, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments
In the groggy early morning fog

In the groggy early morning fog

…And take my waking slow.

From the gates of dream’s magic kingdom into the

Other dream.

The dream of memory.

The dream of fantasy.

The dream of history.

#SOULoNOLA St Louis 1

#SOULoNOLA Taking Off 1


and Higher

#SOULoNOLA Taking Off 2

Like some snake-necked bird taking flight over a marsh

With harsh and exciting contact

Beating the air like a hose beats the sidewalk



The night is washed away

Fluid and chaotic and all unintentional

All at once

But precise in its way

Impressions of this city

Sucked into the eyes like air

Into the lungs

Like smoke

Like the words your parents said

Before you knew what they meant,

Messages mixed up always

With their opposite.

#SOULoNOLA St Louis 3



Made easier by the shared, endearing madnesses

Of friends

Like a glimpse of the boat

That might deliver you

Finally, into the most restful

And enduring of visions.

(This photo by Casey McMurray)

(This photo by Casey McMurray)

To sleep, perchance to dream.

For in that sleep of life what dreams may come

When we have uncoiled within our own mortality

Must give us pause.


A Slug of Turkish Coffee #SOULoNOLA

Posted on: January 3rd, 2015 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

Mona's Cafe on Frenchmen Street.

Mona’s Cafe on Frenchmen Street.

At Mona’s café tonight, long necked women with dark lipstick, black sweaters, and young faces congregate around a couple of pushed together tables off to the side. Waiters, tourists, and locals bustle languidly among the green vinyl and wicker back chairs and stick-on vinyl wood tables. The blue t-shirt and denim clad irishman named “Kev” waits on me like I’m visiting royalty.
Three boho gals with dark masquera, septum rings, and bindi tattoos discuss the menu and pass a phone around as if it were a joint from the sixties and Janis Joplin had rolled it. A slug of Turkish coffee is just beginning to hit the heart of the city, or maybe that’s me. The dark, electric bohemia of rainy hearted New Orleans has raised the goosebumps in my crazed, teenaged, hungover heart.
A Slug of Turkish Coffee

A Slug of Turkish Coffee


Posted on: December 24th, 2014 by Jeff Thompson No Comments

Back home. Here I am on the patio at PJ’s
Where I spent my teenage days
And parts of my twenties
Here plenty
Of iced mochas got imbibed.
While I extended my tribe,
Picked up habits, good and bad.
Went out at night and drank the best sounds
I’ve ever had—
Rebirth Brass Band,
Dr. John,
George Porter Junior,
And on and on.
With the sweetest group of soulful friends
Dancing all around me
Dancing through the haze of
Smoky, vague New Orleans boundaries.
So here I am, home again,
Old familiar zone again,
Checkin’ in with old friends,
Seeing how they’ve grown again.
Who they’ve become.
See, the one
Thing I count on is
Year after year
Aside from the obvious things like Po boys and beer
Is that everything
Becomes more itself with time.
But a riper, fuller version,
Like fruit on a vine
And I’m
painfully, blissfully aware
That this decades long affair
With these memories,
With this life
Is so brief and fleeting
And balanced on a knife
And so sweet
To taste
I’ve chased down enough tragedies
With ineffective strategies
of denial
That I’ll be the first to admit:
I can’t make sense of it.
I don’t know why I was born here
Or why I had to leave
Or why I’m back here now
Or where this path I’m walking leads.
But this much is clear:
I’m here.
And I don’t know that I know
Of any place I’d rather be
Than right here on this patio.
©2014 Jeff Thompson Music