Snow white it’s Blue

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

Along the route of…

Old is new

Slate to tin roofs.

You can see dusky corn rows

and,

into the heart of tomorrow.

All the while,

snow white sorrow

Pretentious and antiquated and ancient and misspoken.

Glimpses of a past paid for in tokens.

Granite blue and red with sunset morale.

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

Deserted fields with one lone buxom cow.

Gingerbread, maple and fire sift the air.

It would seem the newest of England does not care.

A postal box envisioned by primitive design.

Last stop…missing the sign.

Wildlife encounters and other oblique…traveling shows

Mountains upon mountains of nowhere to go.

Snow white would only be fit the beguiled few

“Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”  ― Robert Frost
“Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”
― Robert Frost

A narrow state of mind…nothing new.

Grandpa’s Deere up on wooden blocks.

Too many, too many’s, pawned at the shop.

Looks like Poe’s the raven.

Feels like Frost’s haven.

Fierce farmland, as far as, the vulture flies

Windchill’s torment a native daughter’s third eye.

Styrofoam sounds like dripping mountain dews.

Underneath, snow white so blue.

Piney sap.

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

A Mother’s milk and Mother’s mishap.

Skin stretched out over a dimming fall

Stoned in granite over it all.

Scenic one leading to one more.

Agape, another English styled country store.

Clothes lines made up of crippled shaker chairs.

Bumper-ed Harley’s loosing their flare.

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

It is a granite state of mind…

Earthen embryo by design…

Snow white it’s Blue

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

Along the route of…

Old is new

Slate to tin roofs.

You can see dusky corn rows

and,

into the heart of tomorrow.

All the while,

snow white sorrow

Pretentious and antiquated and ancient and misspoken.

Glimpses of a past paid for in tokens.

Granite blue and red with sunset morale.

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

Deserted fields with one lone buxom cow.

Gingerbread, maple and fire sift the air.

It would seem the newest of England does not care.

A postal box envisioned by primitive design.

Last stop…missing the sign.

Wildlife encounters and other oblique…traveling shows

Mountains upon mountains of nowhere to go.

Snow white would only be fit the beguiled few

“Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”  ― Robert Frost
“Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”
― Robert Frost

A narrow state of mind…nothing new.

Grandpa’s Deere up on wooden blocks.

Too many, too many’s, pawned at the shop.

Looks like Poe’s the raven.

Feels like Frost’s haven.

Fierce farmland, as far as, the vulture flies

Windchill’s torment a native daughter’s third eye.

Styrofoam sounds like dripping mountain dews.

Underneath, snow white so blue.

Piney sap.

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

A Mother’s milk and Mother’s mishap.

Skin stretched out over a dimming fall

Stoned in granite over it all.

Scenic one leading to one more.

Agape, another English styled country store.

Clothes lines made up of crippled shaker chairs.

Bumper-ed Harley’s loosing their flare.

So snow white it's blue
So snow white it’s blue

It is a granite state of mind…

Earthen embryo by design…

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Catholic Rock Band Reunion Tour

 

I began my informal training as a songstress/vocal stylist at a very early age.  Most likely ten or so.  I would witness my mother on Saturday mornings as she put away her babushka and took off her shoes and sang like an angel to the oldies station.  All the while cleaning the house, making a meal and warning me of the hazards of running with staple guns.

YouTube Tube Socks
YouTube Tube Socks (Photo credit: Dan Patterson)

Like any child star, I hit the drugs pretty bad.  The fame and lack of fortune only added fuel to my chaotic frame of mal-contempt. The sing a long’s with Cher and Sonny and me…’I got you babe’ became a thing of the past.

My devoutly dramatic catholic parents felt folk group and a baritone named Ruth were just what the Pope would order and/or at least preach.

One thing led to another and I fit in with other proprietor’s in Name that Tune Christian style.  Jim Nabors ballads and John Denver‘s sunny lyrics replaced Iggy Pop, the Dead Kennedys and the Sex Pistols.

Now, years later, I find that I still have the knack for White Girl‘s Can’t Sing the Blues.  I’ve constructed a listing of the best songs to ride your bike to, spank the monkey with and pull a John Deere with.

Course, I never remember the songs and only part of the lyrics…must be that last hit of acid I did.  No matter even Brittany Spears had to start by being a mouse.

Lauryn Hill at Central Park
Lauryn Hill at Central Park (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Pressing Charges

by

Super Blonde

 

Last week she took all my money
And it may sound funny
But I come to get my money back

I got rhythm, I got music
I got my girl
Who could ask for anything more?

Throw a brick thru’ a sucker ass nigga glasshouse – wit cho’
I know the time comin
Child support gonna bust in and try to find something – but no!
My baby momma just don’t understand,
I ain’t rich bitch it’s just an advance – but she know
She better off wit some of these nigs
Whose baby dykes don’t even care for these kids

I got rhythm, I got music2006 reissue on Collectables Records.
I got my girl
Who could ask for anything more?

So you start walking over to her house
and you get over to her house
and you walk over to her door and
you start poundin on her door and you say
“Open up the door bitch!”
This is wooba gooba with the green teeth, let me in!!”

I got rhythm, I got music

I got my girl

Who could ask for anything more?

Film poster for White Men Can't Jump - Copyrig...

Jim Croce Live: The Final Tour

 

 

 

I ain’t innocent, Jesus walked me to the grammies
thank you god, now i can sin again

I ain’t innocent, Jesus walked me to the grammies
thank you god, now i can sin again

You don’t tug on Superman’s cape
You don’t spit into the wind
You don’t pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger

and you don’t mess around with Slim

……Que Sera, sera….

It’s Time to Open Up that Closet

learn to pick your battles
learn to pick your battles

More on how to pick your battles not only with spouse, partner and/or term of enchantment encampment!

After Forty this is what you will have to work with:

1. One ankle called Paul Bunion another named, Paul Ankle

2. Hammer toes and crow’s feet

3. An ice cream scoop handed down from your grandmother and two thin dimes.  If you are lucky you can learn the fine art of ‘scrapping’ metal…when jobs are few and tasks are many in the bank lack of booking department.

4. You will own two and a half riding and/or get you somewhere other than here, vehicles.  They will be the John Deere mower from 1963 and the old Dodge Pick Up you found in a pile marked FREE…via the side of the road.

5. Diplomas and educational experience will astound your closest four legged friends.  They will often use the excess paper to wipe the floor with your lowering self esteem.

 

6. Comfortable now, after many decades, in your own skin.  It will be that exact same skin that will sag and fall away to the floor and abandon you in your time of ‘low opinion of self’ need.

6. Learn to write everything down now!  Wait, what?  I forgot…was I suppose to write that down?

7. Affairs of the heart are soon to become what they have always been…eventually boring and not quite what you were looking for.

8. Love, if you are lucky, is deeper than sex and far better than foreplay, it is something that keeps you safe at night.

9. Dressing like your partner will sound fun but better left for the elite republicans that vacation at the Vineyard.

10. Eight hours of sleep, a Marlboro Red, a cup of strong but caring cup of Java and mild pain killers are all that I and you will need to get up and do it all again tomorrow.

 

 

I am what I am
I am my own special creation
So come take a look
Give me the hook or the ovationIt’s my world that I want to have a little pride in
My world and it’s not a place I have to hide in
Life’s not worth a dam
Till you can say, hey world, I am what I am

I am what I am
I don’t want praise, I don’t want pity

I bang my own drum Some think it's noise, I think it's pretty
I bang my own drum
Some think it’s noise, I think it’s pretty

And so what if I love each feather and each bangle
Why not try to see things from a different angle
Your life is a sham
Till you can shout out loud, I am what I am

I am what I am
And what I am needs no excuses
I deal my own deck
Sometimes the ace, sometimes the deuces

There’s one life and there’s no return and no deposit
One life so it’s time to open up your closet
Life’s not worth a dam
Till you can say, hey world, I am what I am

Why not try to see things from a different angle
Why not try to see things from a different angle