An American Poet

Throughout most of my life I have been a huge Doors fan. I remember hearing their first album when I was only fifteen, but it sent chills up my spine when I heard Jim Morrison’s deep baritone, and his intense passion and dark undertones made me feel as though there was someone else out there who understood what I felt on such a gut level, even at such a young age.

Ever since then I played their debut album over and over, and became obsessed with Morrison’s music and poetry. Strange Days also blew me away the first time I heard it. The Doors had an amazing ability to capture the macabre and darker side of life, while at the same time revealing a timeless truth that has stood the test of time.

There is no question that The Doors were one of the most important bands in the 20th Century, and were years ahead of their time. In the summer of 1978 I went to Paris and stood over Morrison’s grave. I will never forget how I felt, and the tears that welled up in my eyes. The world had lost a true genius, but he died on his own terms, even if the cause of his death is still mysterious.

I still listen to The Doors on a fairly regular basis. Their self-titled debut album is by far my favorite, but I have every album they ever produced, including the ones after Morrison’s death. There are so many songs I love so well, and it is just too hard to say which is my favorite, but I will post one that I feel touches me in a truly special way.

Love to all!

James M. Weil


Peace Frog

There's blood in the streets, it's up to my ankles
She came
Blood in the streets, it's up to my knee
She came
Blood in the streets in the town of Chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, it's following me
Think about the break of day

She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair

She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets it's up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs red down the legs of a city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin'

She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair

Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind

Blood in the streets in the town of New Haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of Venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of Phantastic L.A.

Blood screams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union

There's blood in the streets, it's up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, it's up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of Chicago
Blood on the rise, it's following me