The Second Journey to CaveJam
We left on Friday, wheels to road,
Six hundred miles in travel mode.
Eight hours, forty-two to go,
But lighter hearts than last time’s show.
No winding stops through Brooksville’s bend,
Nor Doyle’s hills where past roads end.
Sparta stayed behind this round—
A newer path, more silent sound.
The Moon Mats stayed in memory’s dust,
But bought me time I knew to trust.
To pack with peace, not hurried hands,
To leave with rhythm, not demands.
No stretching breaks at every sign,
My thoughts were set on crossing lines.
With gates to close by nine o’clock,
I let my instincts set the clock.
We rolled in sharp—eight thirty-eight,
Two minutes shy of sealing fate.
The party loomed in twenty more,
A spark of thrill, a whispered roar.
We pitched our tent by headlamp glow,
The darkness thick, the setups slow.
Yet time was kind—it didn’t bite,
We guessed it still was early night.
Chairs unfolded, shoulders eased,
Beneath the stars, the body pleased.
Campfires danced from near to far,
A flickering sea in heaven's yard.
The early birds already gone
To dreams of music, dusk to dawn.
While final few like us rolled in—
A quiet peace, where beats begin.
A Beautiful Day in Tennessee
The morning stirs at sixty-five—
A tender chill, alive, alive.
We rub our feet in blanket’s plush,
And unzip the tent in dawn’s soft hush.
Around us campers start to rise,
With sleepy hearts and dreaming eyes.
The buzz begins, the day’s begun—
Adventure waits beneath the sun.
We toast Italian bread with care,
The scent of cheese perfumes the air.
Colby Jack and cheddar sharp,
Melting like a work of art.
A sprinkle here—red pepper heat,
Steak spice bold, chipotle sweet.
Three sandwiches, a holy trinity,
For a breakfast made in revelry.
We sip V8s, a citrus zing,
While cold showers promise a sparkling spring.
Hair in braids, with glitter gleam,
We shine like stars in the morning stream.
Neighbors laugh, a generous hello,
The bond of strangers in the know.
Clouds roll in but hearts stay dry,
We post at camp ‘til Cheese swings by.
At 7:45, the world aligns,
And through the gates we walk in time.
A path of woodchips, trees that sway,
Tennessee breathes a song our way.
We spot the sticker, still held tight—
A Stealie face in Zoolander light.
Ben Stiller in his miner’s role,
Still cracks us up, still warms the soul.
Down the trail, the rhythm grows,
Our feet align with nature’s prose.
The Caverns rise with hidden grace,
A maze of levels, a sacred place.
Each ledge and hill, a portal view,
To sky, to stage, to something true.
Behind it all, the mountains stand,
A painted dream, a promised land.
The sun dips low, the moon ascends,
And something in my spirit bends.
I bloom beneath the cover dark—
My truest self begins to spark.
No eyes on me, I break away,
And dance in night’s most fearless way.
The crowd ignites, a swelling sea—
A shared and rising symphony.
And in that pulse, that rising tone,
I find a space that feels like home.
A beautiful thought, a sacred zone—
The lights dim down, the show is on.
The Band Plays On
More vivid than ever, the band plays on—
sound swirling like paint across the dawn.
Certified badasses, every last one,
lit up from within like the fire of the sun.
So awesome, so full of soul and might,
they crack open joy and flood it with light.
I love them dearly, to the ends of the stage,
each one a chapter, together a page.
Individually, they shine like stars,
a sky full of solos, hearts without bars.
But together? A universe spun from strings,
from keys and skins and thunderous things.
To hear them again, to be here once more,
surrounded by friends I’ve danced with before—
what delight, what a beautiful spin,
to find myself whole where the music begins.
They play to my heart like they know the tune,
like they’ve read my thoughts under a silver moon.
Each note a mirror, each song a sign,
reminding me gently that joy is mine.
Their instruments sing, and so does my frame,
I move without shame, without needing a name.
They summon the rhythm that sets my soul free—
a boogie, a bounce, a prayer just for me.
I’m filled with glee, with wide-eyed thanks,
for every twist that brought me up these ranks—
from the past that pushed, the tears that taught,
to this very second, this perfect spot.
Oh, the nostalgia—how sweet, how true,
our first Cheese show when the world felt new.
Now again we gather, as stories expand,
at the feet of this legendary band.
Michael Kang with strings that soar,
a mandolin cry, a violin roar.
Travis, the heartbeat, the deep steady guide,
Bill Nershi strums with mountain pride.
Kyle’s keys float like watercolor dreams,
Moseley’s bass a thunder that beams.
And Jason Hann—percussion's fire—
a groove so clean, it climbs higher and higher.
They give it all, every ounce, every part,
and in return, I give them my heart.
As long as they’re playing, I’ll sing along—
and more vivid than ever, the band plays on.
What’s Happenin’?
He calls—
and the words ripple out
like sparks through the halls.
We roar back loud,
rowdy and right,
a crowd on fire
in the Tennessee night.
He grins, says chill—
“Let us play y’all a song,”
and we laugh
because it’s what we wanted all along.
It rings so true,
that moment of grace—
after a week where a neighbor
was up in my space.
For falling asleep,
Music humming too late,
like joy's volume
was some kind of weight.
But here—
here I’m invited to rise,
to be loud,
to unshackle,
to open my skies.
A hoot shoots up,
like the forest exhaled.
I stretch out my arms,
where freedom prevailed.
The band tunes up—
a sweet ritual hum,
and my chest thumps to life
like a newborn drum.
We boogie, we bounce,
our stress released.
The beat is communion,
our joy—unleashed.
Forever lover,
a whisper, a truth
Then the drop hits again—
and my soul lifts up
from the depths of its bowl.
They call me Boo Boo—
my mom, my crew,
and knowing it here
makes everything true.
I’m dancing in joy,
in my own little crown,
grooving and shaking
my Boo Boo self down.
