Long Guthrie Poems
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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.
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
Here in Chicago, Illinois the landscape is flat
No hill or vale to break the monotony
A concrete jungle downtown, surrounded by highway
Leading to endless cornfields south of the metropolis
The suburbs and exurbs' main drags all eerily familiar
McDonalds, Starbucks, Walmarts, Athleticos
Bank of Americas, Chase Manhattans, CVS' and Marianos
Walgreens, 31 Flavors, Pizza Huts, BP's and Shells...
Would Woody Guthrie still sing 'This Land is My Land'
Could he, if he viewed Chicago firsthand...
Yet here in Chicago we have a Lake Michigan
which stops tornadoes in their tracks
turning them into harmless water spouts
and whose waters change hues with the wind's every move
Here in Chicago we don't worry about hurricanes or typhoons
Although we're a hotspot for displaced raccoons and financial tycoons
Here you can buy a brick house in a nice neighborhood for under half a million
Unlike Manhattan and San Francisco, where a tiny condo costs a zillion
Sure, we've got a crime problem, and it gets a little worse each year
But there's still many a corner tavern that'll cook you a meal with that beer
All I know is that I've lived here forever, and though I lock my door at night
Only once a year, on Halloween, does my neck-of-the-woods give me a fright
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
Alice passed away this week,
But it would just be wrong
If a Turkey Day went by without
Us listening to her song*.
For Arlo Guthrie wrote a tale
About her restaurant
And he started a tradition
Which, each year, I always want.
We’re sitting in the car, en route
To have our special meal
And at noon on classic radio,
My husband at the wheel,
The eighteen minute tune comes on;
We laugh at every word
Of this “massacree,” a story
Which, though true, is most absurd.
And when the chorus comes around,
We belt it loud and clear,
Reminding us that it’s Thanksgiving
And we’re all still here.
Today we pulled up early,
(Me, my daughter and my spouse)
To the driveway of our son
And soon he exited his house
In the pouring rain and climbed inside,
While Arlo did his thing
And he joined right in, so chorus time,
The four of us did sing.
More family waited in his home,
But they did not take part.
Still, this was the moment of the day
That really touched my heart.
*Alice’s Restaurant Massacree” by Arlo Guthrie
The unicorn magician with the slanted eye
Let out a peep, a whistle, a plaintive sigh.
Alerting two idiot villagers, name of Guthrie and Tie.
That things were changing for the worst, bye and bye
The unicorn magician is angry one said.
Maybe the village will be painted red.
Another surmised they should all go to bed.
While best dreams filled up rapidly in their little head.
The unicorn magician is excited, another one stated.
That’s what he does when life’s being extremely overrated.
If he whistles twice, the village will be minced and grated.
They listened, alarm and horror of all kinds anticipated.
I think that’s what he does when he has a dream,
A little boy said, whose name was Billy P. Ream.
The unicorn magician is fast asleep, everything is a gleam.
Probably high in the sky on a magic moon beam.
A whistle came, and the gossipers were in shock.
They began running amok, like cats in a flock.
What time is it? One yelled, looking for a clock.
If it is midnight, let’s meet down by the number two lock.
Let’s go ask the unicorn magician what the whistle doeth mean,
Said a three-year-old child, with some sense it would seem.
The gossipy rumor-mongers preferred to wail and keen,
Predicting the worst as they began to holler and scream.
The Unicorn Magician rolled over in his sleep,
Opened his slanted eye, and gave a little peep.
All was right in his world, peace he would always keep.
For he was a good guy, with a love for his sheep.
The gossipers stopped talking, waiting for the whistle.
Some hid under the porch, one hid in a thistle.
Silly sheep they were, expecting things to be bad.
Worst scenario thinkers, creating lives, so sad.
Kalamazoo kids went off to war
leaving giddy gals to go forward in fractured
factories ~from music to munitions
gay guitars would wait until battered boys
came hurriedly home...
or would they wait?
The thought was there but Gibson's gals
did not care for world war and behind
the building's walls would give guitars
attuned attention; first making munitions
then manufacturing those magical music guitars.
The Gibson Factory in Kalamazoo, Michigan is known for its iconic guitars... During World War II, many of Gibson’s competitors had switched to munition-making in an effort to support the war at home. Gibson followed suit—on the surface, at least. While it did hire more women than any other guitar-turned-munitions manufacturer, these women weren’t just making bullets—they were also making guitars. Specifically, the Kalamazoo Gals made Gibson’s Banner line of guitars, which were later used by musicians like Buddy Holly and Woody Guthrie. ~Atlas Obscura
As a child of the late1940s,
Heard Skiffle, Folk, Rock and Roll
Loved country and the blues
Loved the sound of soul.
Heard, Donegan, Perkins, Presley,
Make all those blues based hits
Heard Jerry Lee, Buddy, the Bopper
Guthrie, all those talented young Brits.
Suddenly we had a language,
A music of our very own,
Criss crossing the Atlantic
To mix with that home grown.
So many decades later,
My life having moved on,
I still listen to that music but
Most of the heroes are gone
Eyes closed, glass in hand
I listen at my leisure,
My music may be old but
It gives so much pleasure.
In my mind i see my idols
Strut and own their stage
Many died too young
That just means they don’t age.
Those very special people
Whose talent will not fade,
I have been so privileged to see
Music history being made.
A musical dinosaur maybe
But I don’t really care.
I heard the music change
And I was lucky to be there.
Whether the Indigenous People,
robed in leathers, head dressed in feathers,
who had their own sovereign nations,
wanted it or not,
June 2nd 1924,
U.S. President Calvin Coolidge
condescendingly signed the Snyder Act,
a.k.a., the Indian Citizenship Act, into law,
thereby conferring American citizenship
on American Indians.
He had it backwards,
it was no more than an affront
as, whether the Indigenous People
wanted them or not,
it was American Indians who,
altho' they made no claim to own Mother Earth,
should have conferred American citizenship
on the Paleface People,
who were mere trespassers on tribal territory.
And Woody Guthrie
(1912 – 1967),
another white man,
was not referring
to Native Americans
when he wrote,
'This land is your land.'
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