Bowling Green             (Part 3 of my Bluegrass State Trilogy)

 

Original poetry by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro

 

Please read along to my Spoken Verse Performance.

 

 

HOOK

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

 

VERSE 1

 

Of all the places we've stayed,

 

On the trips which Mom had planned.

 

Nothing beats the ones we've made,

 

To Kentucky's promised land.

 

 

VERSE 2

 

While it's pretty much agreed,

 

There's no toppin' Nashville.

 

I can assure you there's no need,

 

For you to stop in Nashville.

 

 

HOOK

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

You can hold it 'til Bowling Green.

 

 

VERSE 3

 

If heading north,

 

Past the Mason-Dixon.

 

Folks often gas up,

 

Where they make cool Gibsons.

 

 

VERSE 4

 

If heading south,

 

For a Gulf Coast thrill.

 

Yankees can't pass up,

 

A stop in Louisville.

 

 

VERSE 5

 

But in between,

 

A city like none other

 

In the U S,

 

Or anywhere in the world.

 

 

VERSE 6

 

Go on and tell your Queen,

 

To keep texting her mother.

 

As on you press,

 

With white knuckles curled.

 

 

Around the steering wheel,

 

Hell, I know how you feel.

 

You dig the BG area's appeal.

 

 

CHORUS

 

It's Corvettes in a sink hole.

 

Kentucky Wonders on a bean pole.

 

Red clad Hilltoppers,

 

In full stride.

 

Bad ass choppers,

 

The official ride.

 

Where Lex Luther learned to play mean.   [Note: Michael Owen Rosenbaum]

 

I'm talking 'bout Bowling Green.

 

 

HOOK

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

 

 

VERSE 7

 

My kin folk had a farm in Sunnyside.

 

Not far from the Old Glasgow Road.

 

Private First Class Warner Marshall Kimbro of the US Army who served during WWII on the Pacific campaign against the Japanese.

So Kimbro Clan members quite often ride,

 

To Bowling Green by the car load.

 

 

 

VERSE 8

 

My father, Warner Marshall, was there,

 

Until he headed off for World War II.

 

Of his military service, he didn't much care.

 

'Cause he was stationed on friggin' Attu.

 

 

 

VERSE 9

 

While often wet and freezing on patrols,

 

He realized that others had far worse fates.

 

Nights were spent listening to Tokyo Rose.

 

His feelings for her were kind of love-hate.

 

 

 

VERSE 10

 

But when he returned to Mid-South Kentucky,

 

The pastoral life couldn't hold his interest.

 

For me, his Indianapolis choice was lucky.

 

He met Edna there. They adopted two infants.

Mr and Mrs Warner Kimbro of Phoenix, Arizona with children Marshall and Sharon.

 

 

 

CHORUS

 

It's Corvettes in a sink hole.

 

Kentucky Wonders on a bean pole.

 

Red clad Hilltoppers,

 

In full stride.

 

Bad ass choppers,

 

The official ride.

 

Where Lex Luther learned to play mean.

 

I'm talking 'bout Bowling Green.

 

 

 

VERSE 11

 

I once took a detour,

 

Along Highway 68.

 

I sought out grooves more pure.

 

Than in the Volunteer State.

 

Where the sound they manicure,

 

Don't get me wrong, it sounds great.

 

But there's a new scene as of late.

 

 

VERSE 12

 

The temp there is hot,

 

In terms of auditory.

 

Let me tell you what,

 

It's like a laboratory.

 

Cause the music they got,

 

Don't fit a category.

 

 

If you yearn for the best,

 

And have tried all the rest,

 

Put groovy Glasgow to the test,

 

And experience Edmonton's glory.

 

 

VERSE 13

 

The Metro Glasgow scene's inviting,

 

With three cool and studly frontman.

 

The drummer's licks keep things exciting.

 

As do Hollywoood's greatest stuntmen.

 

When rockin' the bars, groupies can't resist.

 

The rhythm guitars are granny apple crisp.

 

'Cept when pure power chords are pounded.

 

The bassists keep everything grounded.

 

It's only lacking when it comes to keys.

 

What they need is an organ with a Leslie.

 

That warble would drive all the fans to their knees,

 

Like nothing seen since Elvis Presley.

 

 

VERSE 14

 

The fact is that Otis,

 

Is the biggest thing out of Glasgow,

 

In at least the last 50 years.

 

 

Riding on the LP's,

 

The Headhunters have crafted. You know,

 

Edmonton folks are raising their beers.

 

 

Guitar picks of guitarists Ben Wells and Chris Robertson of the Kentucky band Black Stone Cherry, given to me by Joe Miller and Jonathan Taylor of the band's road crew.

And Black Stone Cherry fits,

 

The mold for success, even though,

 

A talk box fosters oral hygiene fears.

 

 

Ha, ha. You know I'm just playin'.

 

Yee-haw! It's like I been sayin'...

 

 

CHORUS

 

It's Corvettes in a sink hole.

 

Kentucky Wonders on a bean pole.

 

Red clad Hilltoppers,

 

In full stride.

 

Bad ass choppers,

 

The official ride.

 

Where Lex Luther learned to play mean.

 

I'm talking 'bout Bowling Green.

 

 

HOOK

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

You can hold it, you can hold hit, you can hold it, you can hold it.

 

 

The End

 

 

Copyright Michael Kimbro 2017.  All rights reserved.

 

 

PS - Following some of my poems, I like to include what I call "Poetic Remnants".

 

These are sections which were omitted from the final cut.

 

Here are two such verses for this poem:

 

 

Leaving Chi-town,

 

On a Friday morn.

 

Got the pedal down,

 

Passin' rows of corn.

 

and

 

Along I-65

 

Past the oval track.  [Note: Home of the Indy 500]

 

By lunch I'll arrive,

 

Wanting more than a snack.

 

 

Thanks for your time and consideration.

 

Mike

 

Keywords:  Poems about Kentucky towns, Poems about Kentucky music.