Best Redding Poems
Music comforts the soul, cures that restless spirit.
Some songs will make you crank up the volume so everyone can hear it....
Music can alter moods, and talk to you.
Some songs have the remedy for what you're going through....
Music is good medicine for a broken heart,
and yet some songs can turn around and tear it apart....Music has brought people all
around the world together;
And some melodies will keep playing on forever....
Music adds to the intensity of making love.
Fuels that fire, you can't seem to get enough of....
Music makes me sad, glad, happy and mad.
Some songs make me pick up a pen and pad....
Music makes me wanna pull a woman close, kiss her nose, remove her clothes,
suck her toes,
And with Janet Jackson still singing "That's the Way Love Goes;"
Me and her make our own music video until her sweet nectar overflows!!!!!
Note: To my fav. soupers, I don't know your preferred genre of music and sometimes age
plays a huge role in a persons tastes in music. Since I don't know everyone's age, I'm going
by gut feeling and the personalities I read on my comments and my soupmail. If you guys
download music; I've written one song for the following people. A song from me to you, so
to speak. Be open minded and listen to the whole song. Enjoy. #1 Marty "Devil Woman" by
Marty Robbins #2 Carol B. "These arms of mine" by Otis Redding #3 Charma "Words" by
Anthony David #4 Raiin "Undead" by Hollywood Undead #5 Patty "Insatible" by Darren
Hayes #6 Lolita "I Believe" by Blessid Union of Souls #7 Ladybug12 "Turn Back the Hands Of
Time" by R. Kelly #8 Sue M. "As of you" by Raphael Saadiq #9 Highlander "Folsum Prison"
by Johnny Cash #10 Sara "Sweet Dreams" by Patsy Cline #11 Brandee A. "I need you right
away" by Smokey Noval #12 Donna "Unchained Melody" by Righteous Brothers #13 Linda-
Marie "Bonita" by No Mercy
Got a party coming up
I need to learn some moves
so I listened to the all-time greats
for tips on how to groove.
These music legends from times past
should know the moves to use
but what they say is conflicting
and now I'm just confused.
Curtis Mayfield sang 'move on up'
Dobie Gray sang 'get on down'
but someone else says 'get on up'
can't argue with James Brown.
'Let your backbone slip' says Otis Redding
(he sat on the dock)
but last time that I tried that move
the darned thing went and locked.
Chubby Checker did the twist
but that just gives me gyp,
Van Halen reckon I should jump
more likely that I'll trip.
On second thoughts, I'll sit it out,
ignore the dance floor action.
If I take on all of this advice
I'll just end up in traction.
Some dancers are pure naturals
it's how their body's wired,
in my case it's much simpler-
I'm getting old.
And tired.
Ordinary words cannot express the glimpse, this strange eclipse of wonder
Driving over hills, just north of home, it captures first my curiosity
Amid the landlocked green of rolling hills, trees and rocky tundra
Could it be, perhaps a sailor gone astray, whose ship has grounded
Upon the rocky valley floor....so far from sea?
With mast, the sail that hangs so high...pointing sharply to the sky?
This mystery of amazing engineering artistry!
A bridge!....yet, not so simply said, as to be described as bridge alone
A masterpiece, ... as if a giant human hand
Arrived upon this northern California land to craft a timepiece
A sundial, fit to mock, ...fit to rock your faith in any other clock
Where no spring will break, or battery will fail
Where motion works a shadow, which will run as silently as the sun
With a spire that one can see, for miles north and south, over trees and me...
And as the earth rotates the axis on this day
I will walk on glass, across the cantilevered span
Over river wild, and blue and green where salmon run
It gleams as if a giant alabaster sail rules the sea
And when there are clouds it will rest, and all night it will sleep
When the sun lights the earth, then across the land the time will keep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
For Brian's Everyman's Ekphrais contest
To see a virtual tour of the Sundial Bridge, http://www.virtuar.com/california/sundial/
Or type in Sundial Bridge, Redding, California
This bridge is about 25 miles north of my home
AntiPoem 2
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Let us march now inside St. Mary’s,
March reverently through these green repentant doors,
These holy portals to grace and absolution,
Into a stain-glassed sanctuary of sinners kneeling in disguise,
These sullied souls coming in through the out door again,
Figuring death is furloughed from the crucifixion business,
Two thousand blurry years later.
Let us still march forward now to the glassed tabernacle,
Resting up there ensconced upon the marble altar,
Beyond human touch;
The host inside now transubstantiating as with earthen time,
From dry crusty oatmeal,
To omnipotent King of the Universe.
The boy holds his new Sunday missal,
As the family drives to ancient St. Joseph’s,
Up the asphalt hill, there on Gold Street,
Amidst the tentative Yuletide presentations,
Of tinsel-lit trees and blinking avenue abodes.
In the distance Lady Lassen wears a white bonnet,
As the Redding Christmas Tree stands exuberant,
Seventy-three feet into the icy air on Market Street,
A rainbow-glowing giant with a thousand staring eyes.
Brenda Lee is singing,
Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,
From blaring radios inside Oldsmobiles and Studebakers,
Cruising Placer Street to the Cascade showing Butterfield 8.
The boy is counting the neon cocktails,
While riding in the backseat on blue polyurethane,
His father is intently driving the blue ’58 impala,
Into a gravelly hilltop parking lot.
Blaring outward from the church there I heard voices,
A bubbling sacramental bouillabaisse of silent
Parishioners all genuflecting in pristine Latin confusion.
The girls choir wearing skirts of curious plaid, is
Singing loudly and softly their angelic vocal renderings:
“Gloria in excelsis Deo"
Father Elliot is extending his arms outward now,
Bestowing the final expectant blessing;
He is giving absolution to the captives driving Cadillacs.
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Lazy days in fields of bluebonnets;
lost in romantic, Shakespearian sonnets.
Sipping blueberry wine neath a sky blue dome,
on this amazing blue planet I get to call home.
Voyages across the deep blue sea;
pale blue moon lights the way for me.
Blue whales spew mist upon my sails.
Feast on blue crab and lobster tails.
Chillin' on the porch in faded blue jeans;
bluegrass strums across banjo strings.
Frisky blue heeler dancing at my feet;
bluebirds sing along; tweet tweet tweet.
Old Blue Eyes crooning on the radio.
The Blue Lounge was the place to go.
Oddis Redding with those rhythm and blues;
Elvis jirates in Blue Suede Shoes.
All these blues are truly grand,
but baby, when you take my hand;
your touch, delicate as bluebell flowers,
Yet strong as bluestones of castle towers.
When I feel the blues start creeping in,
I gaze your baby blues again.
To my soul and spirit, you are leaven.
You, my love, are my blue heaven.
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
His eyes afire and shining
And he sang...
He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all
He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all
He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo
He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang
He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all
He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song
He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.
4/12/14
On the Seventh Day,
it is often written,
often said,
that the creator rested.......
I BEG TO DIFFER!!!!
Fore I believe that on the seventh day,
that he set at the helm of his creation called mother earth,
thinking humm what's missing?????
let me look ,let me search.........
He contemplated for a minute or two....
then he said I think I got it!
I want to create someone, some things that will be moving,
yet soothing and UPLIFTING
ENCHANTING!!!!
I want someone that the world will forever behold,
as the birds were singing and chirping ,
Ahhh music and notes!!!!!!!!
He created music and musicians!
Spread them all throughout time
with voices that could never be forgotten,
tones that still move,
melodies that fit every single mood!!!
Here's a little proof
He created
BACH, BHETTOVEN, MOZART, classical kings!!!
DUKE ELLINGTON, LOUIS AMSTRONG, ELLA FRIZGERALD and their jazzy legacies.
He was just getting started,
warming up.
He created ANITA BAKER, PATTI LABELLE, AND LUTHER VANDROSS TOO,
went on to make PRINCE and MICHEAL JACKSON, JAMES BROWN, AND ELVIS ALL NEW!!!
THE ROLLING STONES, OTIS REDDING, DINAH WASHINGTON, and of course a lady by the
name of Billie Holiday!!!!
When the angels ask are you done????
He said NO WAY!!!!
I got SO much more to make and include,
this could take a lifetime
relax and enjoy.
STAY TUNED!!!!!!!!!!!!
"When I was a kid my dad left me in a bad way .... he was
in the lives of my sisters and brothers but he wasn't in mine."
Quote by - Beth Hart
Her voice has an innate, inborn, visceral grittiness
dusty, raspy, raw with emotions of pain, aching, torment
and agony, an unstained contralto deep and low, and you
get lost in her voice, gliding on the waves of life with her
her name, Beth Hart, an American blues musician and singer
Born in 1972, Elizabeth (Beth) Hart is from California, USA
at 4 years old she played the piano concentrating on classical
music, like Bach and Beethoven but as she got older she
was playing artists like Etta James, Otis Redding, and Led Zeppelin
she has a magical voice like Janis Joplin and Tina Turner combined
As a young teen she was singing in open mic nights
and was playing clubs at fifteen, in 1993 band search she won
best female vocalist but her success went nowhere as she
became drug addicted, she spent all her winnings and hit bottom
even spent time in a psych ward for bi-polar and drug addiction
Beth has had ups and downs and she managed to have lots of hits
too many to list in this poem, but there are many hits that I fav
like LA Song, Don't Explain, Am I The One and many, many more
she collaborated with Joe Bonamassa and went on tour with him
and together they had hits, she also collaborated with Jeff Beck
Beth controls her addictions with religion and meditation now.
Joe said in an interview," I am totally knocked out by Beth. Here
is a lady who's acting like I'm the cool one and meanwhile I'm thinking
Man, she's got it all ... the next Janis Joplin . . the real deal, you know."
Random lyrics
War In My Mind
by Beth Hart
hollerin' all the time
black in my soul
and its ugly when I cry
there is a war in my soul
blood on the wall
hiding
making love to the
war in my mind
_____________________
May 09, 2023
Poetry/Bio/It's Ugly When I Cry
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1546-229-09
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Beth Hart Inspiration
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged05/09/2023
First Place
“I’m just sitting on the dock of the bay, wastin’ time.” Otis Redding
Don’t quit your daydream, son.
You’re just so good at it.
Each day we watch you go
down to the dock and sit.
Your friends have left their homes.
To college most have gone,
but you just like to go
down to the bay at dawn.
What do you dream about
while looking out to sea?
You can’t forever stay
at home with us for free!
Whatever would it take
to prompt you to do more
than keep dreams in your head
and not to let them soar?
Our ultimatum is
find work or go to school.
If not, don’t quit your daydream.
Be a homeless fool.
11/25/2022
(the son of this poem is fictional)
The lines are blurred when blended
I know first hand that govenment grilled cheese sandwiches
are delicious as I shared them with Phillup my best friend,
black as night and true as time...he was my ace
His mother, my godmother Lucille, chased us out to play
in streets equal parts innocent and villainous
Street kids busted hydrants in blazing summer days
we ran through the water blasting sideways cooly
There was no race-hate-ignorant-violence
Black and White children playing with only the care
of our next adventure and the dread of a setting sun
All poor, all struggling, all trying to get by
lines were blurred and blended splendidly
playing a Guns N Roses tape for Lucille
as she laughed at the wailing voice
shaking her wise head saying "Here honey"
...."Listen" replaced with Otis Redding
the pain and passion in his voice
hung in the hot air adding to the summer soundtrack
I moved to a whiter and "higher" place
better schools and cleaner streets
the children echoed their parents ignorant
hate filled diatribe...Ni**er this and Ni**er that...
...I visited Phillup as he moved to a rougher hood
the children echoed their parents ignorant
hate filled diatribe...Honkey this and Honkey that...
Not one of those knowing the other...the lines
clear and defined. Seperate and scornful
...I miss that beautiful blurred time in my life
...I wish everyone knew such a place existed
me and Otis Redding
we have a thang
usually meet up
about nine
sometimes he invites
Billie Holiday
we all sing
as I sink
into my bath
bubbles overflow
to that rhythm
and blues
and I sip my wine
and discuss that
crazy love thang
that has me
eat up inside
you see they
been there
been where I am
twisted up in love
they sing those songs
and we get it
all straightened out
Redding Poem 4
“Flying Down Interstate 5”
We departed Redding at 3:45,
In the dead of an October night.
Those tumultuous streets were morgues then,
As we raced to the deserted Interstate 5,
Zooming across the snoozing Sacramento River,
Going at a constant speed of 85,
Passing the snoring cities of Red Bluff, Chico and Yuba City,
Slicing through the darkness of early morning,
With the tule fog scratching over the countryside,
Shrouding the distant lights like blinders on a roan.
One city after another, my speeding treads arriving
In dark sleepy Sacramento in two hours.
With the sun not waking yet, but stirring,
The internal beast passed Stockton as a blur in time,
With other speeding drivers merging onboard,
As insistent captains of their own landlocked ships.
Then looming before us, the San Joaquin canvass;
A devouring flatness five hundred miles long,
Of faraway farmlands sleeping overtime,
The majestic surreal banality of Central California,
Magnetizing us, hypnotizing us to the hastening flow,
Of southern currents and windy traipsings;
This caravan of one, this golden fueled protrusion,
Of the nomadic heartbeat; the inertly-moving soul search;
This final journey to the rapids of my youth,
Where undead ghost boys still climb the rebar rungs,
Atop the old tower on the water’s edge,
Still spit into the blue, slow-paced river below.
I was sitting on the dock of the bay listening to a song
when Otis Redding happened to come walking along.
He said, "You watching the ships roll in?"
I said, "Yeah, and then watching ‘em roll away again."
He said, "That stuff's really dug by some,
but I think it’s all pretty much ho-hum."
Redding Poem 1
"Oh Noisy Redding"
There at the Thunderbird Lodge in downtown Redding,
I heard the gods screaming from steel axles with rubber
Claws, scratching the timeless asphalt streets with mayhem.
I heard the sirens from the mysterious distances on Market Street,
As monster machines hovered above with roaring determinations,
And the rumblings of the trucks shook the building I slept within,
Like a raging stampede of stallions, coming through the canyons,
In search of prairie grasses and the sap of a million pine trees.
Oh noisy Redding,
You finally drift to sleep in the late hours,
But your Kansas-like silences seared my soul with your plaintive noises,
Something you could have whispered perhaps, but were not inclined to try.
Then in the wee times at vulgar five o’clock, they come asunder again!
The madness machines with roaring engines about to explode like maniacs
On hyper-drugs, make their appearances with screeching brakes,
And grinding steel nerves and hydraulic sinews made of entwined madness;
And time stops, as we wonder what monster has arisen from its grave.
Oh you, detestable ghoul from the grave, why must you scream?
There at the Thunderbird Lodge in downtown Redding,
Oh noisy restless Redding,
You belch loudly as you drink to the new day, and to the last.
Oh Noisy Redding, your maniac trains rumble and massacre the silence
As your old streets grumble like something wanting to get up and dance,
Shaking old hips, as with the tremors of the deep land, the sacred land.
Redding Poem 2
"Sacramento River WordScape"
These descendent waters swim like mad lagoon fish,
Heading decidedly south with a fiery mindless turn,
Their cool liquid urgencies reaching to all sides enticing
The bosomy turning earth and its pectoral indecencies,
With an impotent power unknown to anyone alive now,
As watery signatures knife their way into the crestfallen sand bars,
Adrift in an ambiguous undertow of death-marked reticences;
Swimming and floating lazily as a red lily floats downstream,
Enveloped cooly in blue clarity, absorbed by diamond sureness,
These arching trees lapping inward the reeking salmon atoms,
As rippling currents of heaving hands and wild bone sneezes,
Salvage the unsalvageable, and a solitary blue bird
Jiggling a crimson ring, as it bobs upon its ascended perch.