John P. Creekmore
Just an artist trying to make it as a writer in a world full of idiots.
- Top Story - December 2023
10 YearsTop Story - December 2023
I can feel their eyes on me, people looking me over as I speak to them wondering why I haven't shaved or look disheveled. It's because I can barely look in the mirror anymore, whenever I do all I see is you. As I brush my hair back it looks like your hair, I grow a beard and it's your beard. Even the bags under my eyes are exactly like yours, it's inescapable.
I was fortunate enough to have a great Father, not perfect but great as in he taught me well. He taught me great music. He taught me great stories. He taught me how to work with my hands and too put in an honest days labor. But most of all he taught me how to love myself by loving his family in such a way that when I think back on it now it brings a tear to my eye. He gave of himself not just when needed but every moment of every day, making sure we all had what we needed to get by. We were not rich by any means but we were very happy. I hear so many stories of people who could not relate to their parents and I never have anything to add to the conversation because I never knew what that was like, of course I like many kids didn't always get them or they me. But we laughed so much, all the time. They were so much fun.
Marvin Gaye's "Inner City Blues."
I've always taught my kids and grandkids that history repeats it's self, always. No matter if we want to acknowledge that or not as human beings doesn't matter because it's a fact that cannot be ignored and the absolute truth I have of that is one song, "Inner City Blues" by Marvin Gaye.
A Life of Music
I feel that I'm only alive because of music. Let me explain, most of us love music and a lot of us feel like we're the only one's that experience music on a deeper level than most. But I can honestly say that music affects me so deeply that it has literally saved my life on a number of occasions, I have suffered from depression for as long as I can remember and I remember the feeling of wanting my life to end around the age of 15. At that time I was on my way to becoming the artist I am today and doing so with my music always in the room or on the go, (it was 1984 so yeah, I had a boom box don't judge.). I had to have it on all the time no matter what to the point that it made my parents crazy, even though it was really their fault. I grew up with my mother playing Fleetwood Mac "Rumors", Chicago's Greatest Hits or James Taylor all over the house, while in the garage on any given Friday or Saturday night, my father would be listening to Merle Haggard, Waylon & Willie, B.B. King, The Rolling Stones or he would have WYSO radio playing bluegrass. I loved all of it and I couldn't get enough of it.
Revenge of The Frogs
In the middle of Critteden, Kentucky is a small but very fine pond. A pond that is home to some of the largest and loudest Bull Frogs in the state, Nay, the country. It is a pond that on a very late drunken Friday night my Unk said, “I’m gonna learn ya somethin’ Nephew.” Unk enjoyed the simple things, Bluegrass music, beer, bourbon, women and frog legs. The latter being one of his favorite of activities because it could be done in total darkness while enjoying many a cold fermented beverage. Too many at times.
An Irish Mother
My GTO was always parked the same way in the garage every night and I always kept the mileage written down because my job had me traveling a lot, not to mention I had a teenage son at home that would stare at it like it was the hottest girl in school and he was gonna take her out one night and prove to her why she should be with him. One key was with me and the other, well the other was with my hot tempered Irish mother in the bottom of her purse. A place we both thought would be one of the safest in the world for it. For to even contemplate reaching into her most sacred of items and digging to the bottom to find anything when you were not authorized to do so was in its self a way to ensure the wrath of God in the form of a four foot eleven inch tall woman to come down upon you. To actually do such a heinous act was not only stupid, but signing your own death warrant.
The room was pitch black Jason couldn’t see anything, as he stumbled in the dark he could hear crackling like the sound of a low flame burning in a fireplace but still no light to be found. He called out for his wife and children but received no reply. “Stacey! Ella! Bobby!” he screamed. Only hours before they had been resting comfortably in their beds dreaming of times long past, of green fields, people and dogs playing in parks and the lovely hello’s of friendly people walking by one another on the streets. A time before the darkness of war, the horror of the screams in the distance of someone in agonizing pain then softly drifting off into nothing. The silence sometimes worse then the screaming, because at least you knew they were still alive.