"All Manner of Miseries, Topics, and Themes"
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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Do you have enough poems/songs for a book?
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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 himself 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)
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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 (chorus) 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
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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.)
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Good luck. It doesn't matter if you win anything. The important thing is to share and enjoy.
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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.
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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
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You might get a kick out of this one.
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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.
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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.
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In "Rich Old White Men" I just put "gay people" on the list that are harmed, forgot to, before
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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
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(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
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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
