Best Guthrie Poems
Lamentation
born among the travelers of her day
she played in the sandpile with Woody Guthrie
sung in the chorus with Allen Ginsberg
walked in the way of The Weavers
and bathed in the rhythms of Miles Davis
she lived unconfined and dreamed of change.
today, we see her still betrothed
committed to this sacred ground
searching asking, questioning, ...
consumed with her desire to know
engaged to a doctrine as a lover's pledge
she marches, occupies, writes,
relentlessly struggles, driven to ask
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
her life defines her cogent mission.
she continues to flay against an unjust world
where equity kindness trickles down
and evaporates among negative forces.
shall she rage against God
for not eliminating suffering
in the details of man's creation?
shall she cry to the architect
who left man to face the agonies
of hunger, war, sickness,
and the loneliness of death?
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
will the glorification of beauty
love, compassion, and mercy suffice?
will her breath, touch, hearing,
sight or taste suffice?
will her ancestors, her tribes
her spouse, her children
rise up and see her as blessed?
or will a requiem be the one
purpose of her life's fulfillment?
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
C.A.K. 3-17-2013
Categories:
guthrie, america, conflict, feelings, life,
Form:
Light Verse
I made a trip to New York
and surely looked like a dork
staring at the sky
scrapery so high
(and sometimes ogled a nork*)
I took a walk to the dock
heard so many kinds of talk
from seething masses
(and some were asses**)
all I could do was just gawk
I went out to Ellis Island
'cause Woodie*** says it is myland
and it is yours too
it just wouldn’t do —
to exclude folks from the high lands
deserts, swamps or wherever.
I think we should endeavor
(since most of us once,
were just immigrants)
to welcome them forever
or give it to first peoples,
tear down our pious steeples.
Stop saying we care
(if it is hot air)
Stop our slaughter of sheeples!
I tend to ramble a lot.
My trip to the melting pot?
Was a WOW I’d say
and maybe one day
I will return at a trot.
Salute to souper Ilene
(a fan of, I’ve always been)
and to that Billy
who is so silly****
They live in that crazy scene!
~~~~
asteriskus explanus:
*aussie slang word (google it)
**not all were asses — overall I found New Yorkers much less rude than I had expected (based on what I’d been told)
***Guthrie - the folksinger
****According to hisself, souper Sillybilly Thekidster
Categories:
guthrie, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
Written January 8, 2013
The morning blues in a lily on the pond
Wake on the wrong side of the road
Penniless pockets play the vagabond game
Ride the tiger recently tamed
On a long road to nowhere, horizon's stain
All's my name sitting next to me
Lie down with graceful angels deep in the snow
Or on wet grass recently mowed
I've grown accustomed to the scent of your mane
Spelled chug-chuga-chug is my name
Oh why do flowers never bloom in the snow?
They never have a chance to grow
No, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore
The oaks and pines getting clearer
Much to a land unafraid to spread its wings
Listen to Woody Guthrie sing
Bacon sizzles in the rain and sunshine reigns
We've reached the line of no return
Of the big rock candy mountain we will sing
For the next week my phone won't ring
Categories:
guthrie, adventure, america, beautiful, introspection,
Form:
Lyric
I don’t get that much time alone these days but I’m not complaining.
She’s at the gym she says but who can say for sure; you know how they are;
But this isn’t about her it’s about me and I miss my little ditties.
Like the guy from Nantucket and the old man from bras;
While the iron maidens boyfriend picks at the hasp.
The young girls with dresses that they lift from the floor;
Having sex with the bad man and screaming for more.
Jill, she took jack; to a place on the hill;
But he couldn’t have her; because she ran out of pills.
Dylan and Guthrie; looking for jobs;
And the girls with their chap stick; all drunken on grog.
I could go on but what does it matter;
It’s all just some gypsum; apparently splattered.
So I’ll loan you these two packs; if you’ll pay me five;
And tomorrow it’s coffee and listening to jive. .
Categories:
guthrie, funny, me,
Form:
Rhyme
It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving,
Despite the turkey meal,
If I missed Arlo Guthrie’s song,
My husband at the wheel.
For every year, Thanksgiving Day,
As it approaches noon,
We find the FM station
That’s all set to play that tune.
It’s part of our tradition
As we take our turkey jaunt
To join with Arlo as he sings
About that restaurant.
The words are mostly spoken
And it’s twenty minutes long,
But it’s a way to join my past
And present, with a song.
For flashing to the 60’s
In the way that that song does,
Reminds me of those days gone by
And life the way it was.
If someone said one day I’d sing
With my kids ‘bout the draft,
It would have sounded crazy
And I’m sure I would have laughed.
On Turkey Day, we did just that,
Our voices at full blast;
And I thank Arlo Guthrie
For that linkage to my past.
(for Paula Swanson's "Traditions" contest)
Categories:
guthrie, family, holiday, music, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
“The Wolf’s Pockets”
Virginia knows
what’s written
in the mass of a rock
the heaviness of words
not soluble
anchored to life
that does not float
A Wolf swallows Woolf whole
Hungry for something -
“other than” ;
Submerged,
what is not seen
is swimming below
a sharp clean surface
her dissolving shadow
found through slender fingers
wide spread and ink stained
running through shallow waters and
swaying reeds, something forgotten
like touching her child’s hair
combed with a soft brush;
free diving deeper
baptised, she touches Heaven
baby’s breath and
almond scented
Erin lilies like milk,
the sweetest let-down,
she drinks it all in
ignored by charlatans all bored
with their own faux wisdom
apathy flexes fits and moulds
around a body of work
sinks in deep and dry
a sunken treasure
to be found
some time much later
bound to tell a story
that travels down stream
The Wolf’s pockets
weighted with black treasure
open wide and beckoning
arms cast wanton alms
for plenty dreams and
sweet reckoning
infancy embraced again
the sleep of sleeps
and candour
like opium is taken in,
read, edited,
then,
silently missed
a
Final Draft is written
Read again
Read again
;
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
for my daughter
Georgia
https://youtu.be/BpyR9VxRRUo
Freefall/Robin Guthrie
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Virginia Woolf
1. Virginia Woolf
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Woolf
2. The Let-down Reflex.
3. https://projectsemicolon.com/
https://www.facebook.com/projectsemicolon/
https://twitter.com/projsemicolon?lang=en
4. Beyond Blue
https://www.beyondblue.org.au/
Categories:
guthrie, birth, death, journey, love,
Form:
Free verse
Born in 1880
to a single mom
back in Maine.
He volunteered
in the army
after school.
He did many
robberies
bank's and trains.
He stayed in Oklahoma
but broke the law
in other states too.
His gang of jolly
men changed many times.
His demise
came from train
he went to rob.
Two demijons
and a watch
is all he got.
Asleep in a loft
the city marshall
and deputies came along.
Minutes pass by
but still alive.
Stinger Fenton got
the shot that count
that silenced his gun.
Being embombed
his body was a side show
for all to see.
In California one day
in the show
being a mannequin
his arm tore
as all were in shock
to see the bone.
McCurdy in a hearse
with gun riders beside
taken to boot hill in Guthrie
where he lay
Categories:
guthrie, history,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
They came from The South, The North and The West Coast
450,000 together for peace and music, half a million at most
Richie Havens inspired all while singing his "Freedom" song
Country Joe McDonald dropped "F" bombs his whole set long
Carlos Santana amazed us, as he gave all and sacrificed his soul
Arlo Guthrie with Woody's weed, packed his pipe and smoked a bowl
Canned Heat and The Bear asked us to work together united stand
Levon Helm pounded skins and sang "The Weight" with The Band
Joe Cocker warned us more than once that he might sing out of tune
One after the other, CSNY, Alvin Lee, Sha Na Na midnight 'til noon
Janis gave a piece of her heart along with a "Ball and Chain"
Jefferson Airplane sang about Alice out in the pouring rain
The Fogerty's sang about where they were born and two girls one proud
And for the life of me I can't figure out why The Who played to this crowd
Jimi capped it off with The National Anthem and "Purple Haze"
the perfect ending to four long daze of rock and roll blaze
So if your travels take you to New York Up State
Stop at Bethel Wood, the place where Rock History was written in
Slate.
"1969, when music was grooved in vinyl and carved in
Rock"
Inspired by the song "Woodstock" written by Joni Mitchel and performed by Crosby, Stills and Nash
Categories:
guthrie, celebration, culture, dedication, history,
Form:
Rhyme
He’d been on the trail many a month,
When he reached the town of Gulrith,
A mining village high in the peaks,
His named was Wainwright Smith.
He searched the west, looking for
A sister by the name of Henrietta,
Who’d been taken by men in old New York,
The search, he would never let up.
The men had been seen, to some were known:
Thugs who traded in lost girls,
But Henrietta had not been truly lost,
In her father’s eyes she’d been a pearl.
The daughter of a banker, on hard times,
He had not the cash for a detective,
So Wain went to the cops and there learned
What we could about his objectives.
Hannibal Mays was the man he sought,
Wanted badly in six different states,
Wain moved west from town-to-town,
Fueled by both love and by hate.
In Gulrith he’d heard Mays had set up.
Going under the name of Guthrie,
After eight brutal months he was now close,
So he went to where men got lucky.
But the cathouse hadn’t seen hide nor hair,
Though a young girl told him for gold,
That ever so often Mays found one,
That he didn’t see fit to be sold.
The whore made him pay for every word,
And told him where to find Mays’s house.
He paced up at night, Winchester ready
To rid the world of this damn lout.
He approached the house, and saw a light
Blazing away in a back room,
He approached slowly, readied his gun,
Kicked the door open with a boom...
CONCLUDED IN PART II.
Categories:
guthrie, adventure, brother, crazy, dark,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Last Train Runnin’
For Bob Dylan
The nickel-plated moon howled outside my window like a bullet missing from its sleeve
A lyric tore through the autumn wind on a smokestack through the trees
Like a ghost that whispers metaphors and won’t tell you what they mean
It fades into a whisper while you’re stuck with what you’ve seen
It was a song about a storyteller with a verse about the past
Hung long inside my restless mind and hid in shadows cast
The metal grinding six-string guitar like wheels on the tracks
A songster told of flights and journeys playin’ down the facts
I rose so slow from my humid sleep sat stone still on the bed
I just let that smokestack lightning ring inside my head
That blues harp whistle horizon deep, rumbled, then it rolled
Like that midnight hour at crossroads’ edge Robert Johnson lost his soul
I heard union men and the coal-black din of ******* on the road
Capos working a child to death, and never payin’ what they owed
I heard a folksinger storyteller whisper dreams inside his sleep
Hand out lighting from a whisky bottle with lyrics meant to keep
Its melody was awful sweet as that train rode through the dark
And the music from that locomotive left these visions on my heart
I saw lonesome hobos warm their hands saw travelin’ roads-men too
Saw Mississippi John leaving home before his song was through
Now that singing storyteller made me rise and through my window peer
I loved the sound that whistle made, the music I could hear
I looked through the high lonesome sound that made that whistle cry
I saw a train on the edge of midnight, I saw Woody Guthrie wave goodbye
Categories:
guthrie, poetry,
Form:
Ballad
Bob Dylan is great
And he is real mate
He started out like Woodie Guthrie
But only roughly
He told us the answer was in the wind
He was all so thin
He went electric and creative
It went hectic and stimulative
He was called Judas and booed off stage
The crowds were in a rage
He fell off his motorbike
And things changed again with a strike
He hid in a basement
Curing his ailment
Then he returned to the watchtower
With even more power
He knocked on heaven's door
And he was back to his fore
He split with Sara
And made a movie about a Clara
There was blood on the tracks
But he reached a new climax
He got lost in religion
And hovered around like a pigeon
He took a slow train
And soon started to regain
He became a shooting star
No signs of any scars
Even though the world had gone wrong
He still sang his song
Then came 'Time out of Mind'
Nothing like it of any kind
Lots of things had changed
But in a sense it was just rearranged
Roll on Bob
But watch your fob
Then came the Nobel Prize
For us it was no surprise
Bob Dylan is Great
And bloody real mate
Bob Dylan is great
Bob Dylan is unreal mate
Categories:
guthrie, celebration, celebrity, god, history,
Form:
Ballad
I hope to heaven that when I die
I meet Woody Guthrie in the sky
and then upon a dust-bowl cloud
we'll find the grace to sing aloud,
and that the Heavens won't debar
the using of a stringed guitar,
though usually the angel choir
prefers to play the harp or lyre.
When Woody asks how things have bin
in the world of strife and sin,
I'll say spud soup's 'bout just as thin
as when on earth he still could sing.
(Them politicians can see through it
Like a lump of mama's suet)
Robbers at home less often use
the six gun than back then
for they prefer the gentle ruse
and still the fountain pen,
and still the fountain pen.
Mick Jagger and Bob Dylan,
may join us by and by,
And though they sure are getting on,
may they live long ere they die,
may they live long ere they die.
And then we'll do an earthbound tour,
in stadium, field or sewer,
for like Joe Hill we'll return
from grave or tomb or dusty urn
as long as workers claim their right
and songsters yet acclaim their fight.
till everything is globalized
and unions have been pulverized.
Till then, till then, we'll sing along,
till then we'll sing our song.
Categories:
guthrie, appreciation, art, gothic,
Form:
Lyric
Remember when "Suzie" wore her dresses tight
When Elton John was Singin' 'bout "Saturday night"
Singin' bout the rocket man and his old blue jeans
While Arlo Guthrie sung a song 'bout a train down in New Orleans
Remember Led Zeppelin when they first came out
The Beatles were Singin' songs that would make you "Twist-N-Shout"
Pink Floyd was Singin' "Money"- wasn't off the "Wall"
But "Mandy" hit the top charts...if I do recall
Talkin' 'bout the era 'round nineteen seventy-five
Right before the disco music came alive
I don't know 'bout you, but I still like my Rock-N-Roll
Jerry G. and Johnny Cash and Billy Joel
Bruce Springsteen's got my number when I'm "Out On The Streets"
Rolling Stones- "Painted Black"...has some really cool beats
Elvis Presley was an influence ...he is said to be the "King"
But Charlie Daniel's "That Devil" Well, he sure could sing
Meatloaf came about like a "Bat Out Of Hell"
Neil Diamond sung "Sweet Caroline" and he sang it well
The Doors sung a song 'bout "The Soft Parade"
David Bowie's "Space Oddity" really made the grade
Eric Clapton picking on his lead guitar
People say Jeff Beck was the best guitarist...by far
So many great guitarist's it's so hard for me to to choose
Johnny Winter and Muddy Waters sure can play those blues
Remembering all the music from the good old days
Jimi Hendricks Sang a song 'bout some kind of "Purple Haze"
Jethro Tull was Singin' songs 'bout a "Locomotive Breathe"
And Elton sung a song about "Diana's" death
Bob Seger sang a song..."That good ole...Rock-N-Roll"
Gotta love that music, that just soothes my soul
Remembering all the music from my younger years
So many great musicians- brings my soul to tears
Categories:
guthrie, music,
Form:
Lyric
To my right is Tommy Two-Face
He murdered his wife
He is pleading insanity
I bet he gets life
To my left is Little Lenny
He weighs three hundred and four
They found him with lots of cocaine
I think that he had more
Over there is Billy Kid The
Dyslexic, I think
Robbing people at an ATM
Landed him in the clink
And there sits Mumbling Mo
Disorderly and drunk
Making snow angels in the highway
Wearing only his swim trunks
With these criminals I sit
For my dastardly deed
I was walking my dog
Without a dog lead
I know there’s an ordinance
Saying you must have a leash
But my dog is well trained
And by my side won’t release
The officer was a rookie
Making his first arrest
And slapped on the handcuffs
When his manner I did protest
As he tried to take my dog
I pushed him aside
Saying, “Just write me a ticket”
“Officer down!!!”, he started to cry
And now I’m in the slammer
With this violent crew
For not having my dog tethered
Singing the behind the bars blues
Based on a true story that happened to me many years ago. I felt like Arlo Guthrie in “Alice’s Restaurant.”
Categories:
guthrie, lifedog, dog, me,
Form:
Rhyme
MUSIC TO DRIVE BY
Manitoba. Dashboard music. The west ahead.
At last the sun is gone - relax my eyes.
Kinda half-dozing, eyelids of lead.
Now slow love songs, with lots of sighs.
At last DJ plays a quick-time wake-up piece -
Jerry Lee with Chantilly Lace -
And I reach for the the volume increase :
Heavier foot on gas pedal picks up the pace.
Kristofferson now with Bobby McGee :
In the dusk I start to sing along, all smiles.
Window down - cold air wakes me,
The rig starts to consume the miles.
Two hundred to go and alone on the road.
Distant lights: some small town -
Feel the wind push as I ease the heavy load -
Maybe it’s Brandon, of only local renown.
Now Manitoba - pool-table flat - disappears,
And the prairie landscape has a slight rise:
Grab the stick and shift down the gears,
Saskatchewan surely ahead now lies.
To Indian Head - Arlo Guthrie helps me make it:
Listen to last verse of City of New Orleans:
Pull in to the Voyageur Truckstop; hiss; brake it.
Steak, eggs, hash browns, coffee: that’s what it means.
Categories:
guthrie, travel
Form:
Quatrain