"All Manner of Miseries, Topics, and Themes"


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Last post about 10 hours ago

Posted by SusyLuvsPaul


      Original post

      You can put all manner of miseries, topics and themes in blue grass songs. The Carter Family went about collecting old obscure tunes in the 1920s and '30s in the American Blue Ridge Mountains--old timers placed their own lyrics to ancient Celtic folk song melodies whose actual authors, their identities, had long been lost in the mists of time, the original scribes gone to the Great Beyond and these ditties much later given a mournful cajoling blue grass fiddles flair.
      Or they composed their own melodies. I've heard many of those early Carter Family songs which deal with all sorts of woes, all kinds of hard sad rough tough subjects and themes.
      So I placed some of my own endless deep grief which can suddenly surface and overwhelm me into these bluegrass ditties for acoustic guitar, fiddle and banjo, dulcimer and harp. You can put words to happier more frivolous even silly subjects as well. 'Anything can be sung to their tunes--these can be about anything.
      Some I composed follow.--Susy

        The Mourning and the Grieving At the Leaving

        This life, this life, this life
        is the hardest thing I ever could see,
        O this journey here the thorniest path
        on which I could ever be
        My mother and my father were
        taken away from me

        And now God, Supreme Creator,
        I'm still supposed to believe in You--
        Yes Vishnu in your highest heaven
        I'm still told to worship and
        glorify You,
        though you took my dear mother,
        my dear father, from all they
        ever loved and knew

        Heat lightning flashes in the heavens
        electric jagged streaks shoot across dark skies
        but there's still no sign of rain,
        and there's still no indication You
        will relieve me of this pain

        My Lord my Sweet sweet Lord
        I will go on worshiping You,
        still bow down and kowtow
        for I don't know what else to do
        The only way to see them again is through you,
        and I love you, but
        O the mourning and the grieving
        at the leaving,
        the grievous, hopeless moaning
        with no illusions deceiving--
        they return to me in dreams,
        perhaps in this earthly life
        few things are as they seem

        --SUSY 2016 copywrited

          Shabby Old Trailer

          Her shabby old trailer's a castle to her
          she's under an enchanted spell,
          says it's "good cheap living"
          a fine country place to dwell
          she's hiding her light
          views the world through satellite
          t.v., can't come out of the house
          she's brave, to be so different
          yet frightened of a mouse

          Can be a wild cat too, Sister, I never ever met anybody
          like one of a kind you
          (but I wish she'd come out of
          that old shabby trailer
          seems that's just the way
          God made her, to be
          one of a kind
          enthralled by her own brilliant mind

          She's stuck in that shabby old trailer
          under an enchanted spell
          "hey Prudence won't you come out to play"
          she will always say
          not today, not today"
          wish there were a different outcome to tell
          but there will never be,
          at least she's knows she's something different
          not the same old thing,
          She's quite a mystery

          Susy 2016 copyrighted

            Hill and Bill and the Orangeman

            Hill and Bill, O Hill and Bill
            They got the way if we got the will
            two Presidents for the price of one,
            Billary and Tim can get it done
            rooting for them to save the day
            The Orangeman said Hillary
            ain't got that Presidential look,
            a rich old white man the
            best kind of American in his eyes
            A pseudo-successful crook
            and he, the ultimate prize
            well it's President Hillary Clinton, in my book

            Hill sent Orangeman an icy vibe
            flashed a wry sarcastic smile
            must have frozen him inside
            thought to herself all the while,
            "My woman power is second to none
            I'm tough and got what it takes
            I can conquer all West Wing trials
            that would give ya the Blue Meanie shakes
            As Prez you'd be nothing, Orangeman,
            but disasters and mistakes

            "My intellect shines bright as the sun
            I got smarts you can't hope to possess,
            if you wanna push someone around
            you better find someone else"

            (chorus) O he's an Orangeman, an Orangeman
            but not from Newcastle in the U.K.
            He's an Orangeman, he's orange
            but not one from Newcastle U.K.
            He's a cold cold boogee
            fast talkin' con artist from the USA

            Hill was sleekly cat-like, feminine and feline
            the Orangeman, a scruffy wild tom cat
            all hissy fits mean and too green
            A know nothing puffed up with false pride
            we'd be in for a very rough ride

            Hill and Bill, O Hill and Bill
            they got the way if we got the will
            two Presidents for the price of one
            Billery and Tim will save the day
            send Orangeman on his grouchy way

            He's an Orangeman, an Orangeman
            but not from Newcastle in the U.K.
            An Orangeman, he's orange
            but not one from Newcastle U.K.
            He's a cold, cold boogee
            fast talkin' fraud from the U.S.A.

            --Susy 2016

              The Little Toy Town Was a Boom Town

              Back in the 30's and 40's
              the pretty little town was a boom town
              because of the tobacco leaf,
              and a train went by every day
              and the Raleigh paper daily came down
              they had a movie theater even in tiny towns,
              and famous entertainers performed
              in the old county seat town
              while Golden Age Hollywood
              appeared on our movie screen,
              and the countryside and parts of
              our village looked so lush and green

              The grown ups wore classic 40's garb,
              movie star hairstyles, Ava Gardner makeup
              and they held their King, Jesus, dear,
              on the surface all could seem placid
              with no obvious societal shake ups
              but the races were kept apart in
              restrooms, at water fountains, in schools
              our black people and Indians often
              made to feel like scorned inferior rejected fools,
              it was almost apartheid, it was cruel
              though they all worked side by side
              in the tobacco field,
              what a bitter harvest the racism
              would yield

              until 60's civil rights later happened
              to give people of color relief
              like so much green splashed across palms
              streaming from the glory of
              the almighty King Tobacco leaf
              you could even ride to the county seat town
              on trains back then, I'm told,
              and the colors and sounds
              of spring, summer and the fall
              were beautiful and vivid and bold
              but lest we not forget
              all those quaint old timers
              didn't have the Internet
              and feared the Germans and Japanese
              and Hitler might storm our
              shores and take over
              ending glory days of certain ones
              being all in clover
              and the K.K.K then held more power--

              Even as the hottest summer days
              gained a respite by sudden cool rain showers
              the fresh air and water were free from pollution
              so that nature's workings ran
              smoothly in execution, and
              global warming did not seem a threat
              but lest we forget
              they did not have the Internet
              or cell phones or video games,
              which seems quite a shame
              still they did have telephones and
              cars and airplanes and later
              the secular god T.V.
              and even the county's little villages
              were still tobacco boom towns,
              which must have been something to see

              And today, here's another good part of the story
              our Southern county retains much of
              Nature's beauty and glory--
              Instead of thousands of buildings,
              cars, and vast hordes of people you see
              in the big city,
              we have so much rural land
              which looks so green and pretty
              and isn't that better, you know
              to live so close to the land and
              big skies and witness
              up close all the beautiful plants and trees
              that still continue to grow
              and replenish and renew each year,
              even as we must exist with the threat and great fear
              of losing all this by getting nuked and
              then nuclear winter
              right now we still are bedecked
              with all of nature's splendor

              SUSY copywrited 2016

                Hurricane Matthew Roared Through

                Hurricane Matthew roared through
                and was unlike anything our county ever knew--
                I don't like nature when it gets like this,
                gives you a savage bite instead
                of a sweet soft kiss,
                when you hear that people in the county have drowned
                that their dwellings were destroyed
                and cherished pets and belongings swept away in
                a vast rushing flood
                and beloved cars and trucks
                submerged and ruined, gone,
                filled with mud

                A furious mother of all storms
                swept through that
                afternoon and night to inflict
                its perilous wrath
                and once again Nature had the last laugh
                showed us that humans are not
                so all knowing and great,
                and that Mother Nature can show love,
                but can also show anger and hate
                I saw all the trees and bushes dancing around
                almost merry and gay, in a way,
                all the flora rockin' and rollin' all night
                the mighty wind giving them fits
                but it did seem peaceful.
                and still when the chaos finally quit
                and died down

                but all that murky muddy dirty water
                was still here, not yet receding
                and we were left shell shocked and needing
                the farmers' crops were left in
                sad weeping droopy ruins
                we beheld the impressive effects
                of Mother Nature's doings--
                humans and animals tossed about
                like helpless paper dolls in its
                mighty fearsome wrath,
                yes once again Nature
                had the last laugh
                making huge trees topple
                over in its path
                leaving us to ponder the huge storm's
                obvious yet mysterious musings

                --SUSY copyrighted 2016

                  Do you have enough poems/songs for a book?

                    Hailey, yes I have, thanks for your interest

                    Jesus Was a Genuis

                    I read lurid kinky tales in the
                    Bible, and ultra-violent ones
                    and eye accounts of UFOs
                    my eyes grew wide in wonder
                    that the Christ story co-exists with those
                    in the Good Book
                    as a bored child in church I sat reading them
                    It's amazing, take a look

                    Child nightmares entailed Satan,
                    the Boogy Man who chased me through
                    halls of the house of the Lord
                    pounding after me, terrified me as I ran
                    what was I running toward?
                    In church I pretended a man singer in the choir
                    was secretly the Devil, when I got bored
                    He came to infiltrate
                    why was my imagination captivated more
                    by the Devil, Hell and hate
                    than by Jesus the Genuis Lord, his love
                    and the heavenly light of the Pearly Gates?

                    Jesus was a Master mind on top
                    of everything else,
                    when he spoke about Satan
                    he meant he fought the Devil in
                    the bad part, his bad side
                    while in human form
                    he had both good and bad
                    from the day he was born
                    while at the same being
                    Lord, Saviour and King--
                    sent to conquer our fear of death,
                    the main reason he makes us sing--
                    he showed no matter how it
                    may look or feel one's demise
                    is not the end and death not
                    really real
                    even at the last breath
                    and that everyone gets treated badly,
                    life not all cherries and roses
                    meaningful glances, striking dramatic poses
                    all sweetness and light
                    that we can feel life's sweet soft kiss,
                    then cry out from its sudden savage bite

                    and still somehow be alright
                    I tired of hearing about Jesus,
                    too much made me long to take a look
                    at all the other Holy books
                    you fancy yourself a mystic,
                    one strains to see beyond the Veil
                    O but don't go too far
                    lest you stray beyond the pale
                    where the zany deluded ones are
                    then you find your own way to God
                    and want to do it in your own style,
                    not tread a path previously trod
                    and have your own personal Jesus,
                    make it all personal to you--
                    and not have to fear Satan and Hell
                    some things are just too personal to tell
                    can you confide what seems to you to be true,
                    or is your view too original for them to take--
                    at least now they merely shun and run
                    and don't burn you at the stake

                    (repeat first verse)

                    SUSY 2016 copyright (Bluegrass song)

                      Plenty to Lose
                      (a folk song, has an original melody, for guitar)

                      You're fearful of what you revealed to me,
                      forgetting what you concealed from me
                      I didn't know you love her,
                      you didn't tell me
                      now you put me in the role
                      of wicked seducer of your soul

                      So why did you want me,
                      because she wanted him?
                      it's a sordid web you spin
                      and if you ever call me again
                      I'll say I know that you have a lover,
                      you probably don't need another
                      so I'll be takin' a little time
                      to get you out of my mind

                      Yes I know that you have a lover
                      so why should you need another,
                      I'll be takin' a little time
                      to get you out of my mind

                      I was so open, and so feeling , then
                      if you touched me I might bleed
                      or I might bruise
                      I might laugh, I might cry
                      who knows the reason why?
                      but I know I have plenty to lose

                      Yes I know I have plenty to lose
                      oh I'm sure I
                      have plenty to lose
                      yes I swear I have plenty to lose,

                      because I know that you have a lover,
                      you probably don't need another
                      so I'll be takin' a little time
                      to kick you out of my mind

                      yes I know that you have a lover,
                      so why do you need another
                      I'll be takin' a little time
                      to kick you out of my mind

                      --copyright 1978

                        I'm going to read a couple of these at a poetry reading, a spoken word poetry contest actually, at a local Arts center Friday. I don't suppose these will be popular and well liked enough to win anything. I anticipate really enjoying and appreciating this cultural gathering.
                        April is Poetry Month. (In my case, it's Bad Poetry Month. LOL, maybe mine isn't all that awful.)

                          Good luck. It doesn't matter if you win anything. The important thing is to share and enjoy.

                            To A Dancer

                            Can I find the words to say
                            how your dancing made me feel?
                            Of all the false, the phony dreams
                            it alone seems real,
                            you were up there on the stage
                            a stranger from the skies
                            sending poems from your eyes

                            Angel from the city,
                            don't look down at us with pity
                            we're gonna be alright,
                            we're all dancing to the light
                            and your dancing said to me
                            what in the world are we doing here?
                            each so full of mystery,
                            dancing to infinity
                            each so full of pain and shame
                            we need your dance to give
                            our dreams a name

                            you don't even know it,
                            but dancer, you sure show it
                            you're so full of grace
                            that it's shining from your face

                            but even agile dancers
                            get caught in the web of "I"
                            caught in that illusion
                            trapped until you fly
                            until you fly

                            can I find the words to say
                            what your dancing made me feel?
                            of all the false, the phony dreams
                            it alone seemed real,
                            you were up there on the stage
                            a stranger from the skies
                            sending poems from your eyes

                            copyright 1987

                            This is actually a song, with a lovely melody, I wrote for a male ballet and modern dancer I met long time ago when he was a visiting artist in a small city-- I was a general assignment newspaper reporter at the local daily and interviewed him. He talked about himself so much, even when not being interviewed, but in the latter case really went to town for hours. He was completely immersed and absorbed in his New York City dance career. He was very handsome, too.

                              Rich Old White Men
                              a song

                              Rich old white men get to run everything,
                              rich old white men always get to be King
                              But hey I don't go by what you say,
                              you're neither the future nor the Now
                              you ain't gonna make it with anyone anyhow

                              Darkness gonna swallow you up
                              and you'll be gone
                              finally leave the little children and the females and gay people and people of color
                              and the planet alone
                              you won't be able to boss us around, curse, strut and shout
                              rich old white men gonna finally die out

                              rich old white men
                              nasty gremlins ruining everything
                              rich old white men
                              never made anyone dance or sing,
                              what ruin and devastation you bring

                              It's not always gonna be your day
                              hey we don't go by what you say
                              finally there will be no more delay,
                              and you'll all go away

                              (repeat first verse)

                              SUSY copyright 2017

                                You might get a kick out of this one.


                                  Wowza, Hailey...and I thought mine was bitter...his song sounds tough and cool, the rock music aspect, couldn't make out all the lyrics. Some of the images are offensive. His vocals are effectively scathing. The sound. In the new Time mag cover story, POTUS said he doesn't understand all the "hate" and anger "out there," as if he lacks self-awareness of the part he and his administration play in eliciting such strong negative responses. Said he's trying to protect the country and make it "greater." As I've stated before, he could dance this mess around, straighten up and fly right (fly left, rather), he could start to do better...the Time article states he's moved "to the center" on more issues, actually. On a few. I always heard Presidents gravitate to the center once in office. George W. didn't seem to, much, or not nearly enough and Trump hasn't done that enough so far, but he's starting to, some.

                                    Pigs (Three Different Ones)
                                    By Roger Waters

                                    Big man, pig man
                                    Ha, ha, charade you are
                                    You well heeled big wheel
                                    Ha, ha, charade you are
                                    And when your hand is on your heart
                                    You're nearly a good laugh
                                    Almost a joker
                                    With your head down in the pig pen
                                    Saying, "Keep on digging"
                                    Pig stain on your fat chin
                                    What do you hope to find
                                    Down in the pig mine
                                    You're nearly a laugh
                                    You're nearly a laugh
                                    But you're really a cry

                                    Bus stop rat bag
                                    Ha, ha, charade you are
                                    You fucked up old hag
                                    Ha, ha, charade you are
                                    You radiate cold shafts of broken glass
                                    You're nearly a good laugh
                                    Almost worth a quick grin
                                    You like the feel of steel
                                    You're hot stuff with a hatpin
                                    And good fun with a hand gun
                                    You're nearly a laugh
                                    You're nearly a laugh
                                    But you're really a cry

                                    Hey you, Whitehouse
                                    Ha, ha, charade you are
                                    You house proud town mouse
                                    Ha, ha, charade you are
                                    You're trying to keep our feelings off the street
                                    You're nearly a real treat
                                    All tight lips and cold feet
                                    And do you feel abused?
                                    Fuck you!
                                    You gotta stem the evil tide
                                    And keep it all on the inside
                                    Mary, you're nearly a treat
                                    Mary, you're nearly a treat
                                    But you're really a cry

                                    It was written about Margaret Thatcher, Mary Whitehouse and others, but some of it fits well with Trump. Playing it in Mexico was a good idea.

                                      In "Rich Old White Men" I just put "gay people" on the list that are harmed, forgot to, before ops:

                                        Burned me up when Trump said there are "some very fine people" among the racists including KKK and neo-Nazi marchers in the Charlottesville notorious haters gathering.

                                        "Some Very Fine People"

                                        "Some very fine people"
                                        among Neo-Nazi skinheads and the KKK
                                        that is such an effed up thing to say
                                        Makes you want to join the Antifa
                                        which seems inviting, at first glance,
                                        but there has to be a better way--
                                        to give peace a chance--
                                        though you want to burn down the mission
                                        cause their mission is bad
                                        and their threat of nuclear fires
                                        makes you so scared and sad
                                        and those words
                                        "some very fine people"
                                        get you fighting mad
                                        the way those people think
                                        raises quite a stink
                                        which they seem unable to smell,
                                        how it's all gonna shake out
                                        if more mass uprisings break out
                                        only time will tell
                                        but we don't have much time
                                        the nuclear clock keeps ticking
                                        utopian ideals keep taking a licking
                                        yes, those were fighting words
                                        but there's a good way and a
                                        bad way to fight
                                        "Resistance, Resistance, Resist"
                                        don't let the good dreams all take flight
                                        and disappear
                                        rise above our dire plight
                                        don't be frozen by fear
                                        fight the hate with love's strength and power
                                        which might just lead to our finest hour

                                        protest folk song for guitar by Susy copyright 2017

                                          (add to above lyrics)

                                          The orange pagan god of sinking ships
                                          deplorably uses race to stir
                                          up "the Base"
                                          will a hard rain finally fall--
                                          and, quite ludicrously, power-mad buffoons
                                          be the end of us all--
                                          at least two-thirds of us and much of
                                          our Earth left dead?
                                          I think I'd rather have been
                                          pinkish or even red
                                          than dwell in our fair land in a dire
                                          time like this
                                          can facebook positive sayings possibly work
                                          telling us "follow your bliss"
                                          when the nuclear clock only moves forward,
                                          ever closer,
                                          to the final blazing abyss

                                             b"To Lift Much of the Burden of Loss"

                                            (bluegrass song by me)

                                            I screamed like a Banshee

                                            when that big nasty wasp

                                            landed on me--

                                            stuck its pincers in, and

                                            caused such agony--

                                            felt its poison coursin' up through my veins

                                            after the tiny demon

                                            lighted on my tootsie

                                            and pierced the thin skin there--     

                                            it just kept on hurtin' and hurtin'

                                            and if I was allergic I would have had no prayer

                                            I'd be dead as a doornail

                                            hey that was a little too much nature for me,                                                                                                                                                        

                                            wild nature comin' to git me

                                            now that was a right pain

                                            that felt so wrong, 

                                            hey see now? you can take

                                            any ol' thing, turn it into

                                            a blue grass song

                                            Mama wore some hip sun glasses

                                            the day my sister drove her to

                                            Duke Hospital where they

                                            told Mama she was dyin'

                                            I didn't break down when she came

                                            back and told me, but inside

                                            I was cryin' and cryin'

                                            I wanted to scream "Mama!

                                            I wish it was me instead of you,"

                                            but just bowed down my head

                                            and said nothin'

                                            feeling shock waves run through

                                            Mama was layin' on the sofa,

                                            she peeked up to peer at me

                                            as I just sat there frozen

                                            like a big dumb silent bunny

                                            and didn't say nothin'

                                            after she told me she was

                                            gonna die, I don't know why,

                                            but I could not even cry

                                            life is like a nasty poisonous wasp

                                            can sting the unholy hades out of you--

                                            turn black into blues

                                            Mama said bitterly she'd be nobody

                                            just fall apart and disappear,

                                            why didn't I say "Mama! No you will always be here

                                            so vividly alive, I will still feel you near"

                                            she still comes to me in dreams

                                            many a night

                                            and I always love  to see her again

                                            it's always a delight

                                            I'm open to all that--

                                            don't want to miss a thing

                                            of the signs, portents and omens that

                                            take away some of death's sting

                                            God sends miracles and "signs"

                                            like St. John the Divine on the Cross

                                            to lift much of the burden of loss

                                            yes, the good Lord will send you

                                            some signs, miracles, surprises

                                            to let you know God is real,

                                            Can't even describe how that makes me feel

                                            like St. John the Divine on the Cross,

                                            a Christian mystic

                                            God lifts much of the burden of loss

                                            SUSY copyright 2018