Long Under my thumb Poems
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Angie, you smile at all things in your front,
Envy escapes from what you do possess;
Because You Can't Always Get What You Want,
Your heart just shows humble indebtedness.
I grasp that you are not Under My Thumb,
For you freely form your own decision;
You just Paint It Black or white in outcome,
Because life brings both mirth and depression.
You view that I am not a Tumbling Dice
To be thrown, to land wherever they may;
Even Wild Horses can never devise
A force that can madly drag me away.
You are not as those Honky-Tonk Women
With wild and uninhibited lifestyle;
Nor a Ruby Tuesday to be ruined,
Instead, as Rolling Stones, you are worthwhile.
"It's RUBY TUESDAY night" declared Charlie.
Why do yer call it that when it's ruby murray for curry?" retorts Steve.
"It's coz we 'ave it on Tuesdays that's why mate" replies Charlie.
Steve shakes his head "But Charlie, we do 'ave it on Saturday nights too."
Charlie laughs."Last one your ANGIE cooked, my guts felt like WILD HORSES were stampeding inside and lets say it wasn't quiet the TUMBLIN' DICE coming out the other end either."
"Too much info there Charlie boy and if she hears yer say that you'll get more than a clip round the ear, bunch of fives more like. You still helping me decorate Jades bedroom this weekend? She wants us to PAINT IT BLACK" asks Steve.
"Black? ain't that gonna be dark and make it feel smaller?" Charlie asks.
Steve sighs "Yeah, probably, it's her space so she can have it. Not my choice but YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT even in yer own house when yer surrounded by HONKY TONK WOMEN. Anyway, gotta get this splinter out that's UNDER MY THUMB from sanding down the skirting. Sort that, grab a beer and play THE ROLLING STONES cd the Mrs got for me birthday. See ya later mate".
Ruby Tuesday caught him on the rebound
They met at a Rolling Stones Concert
He was glad she came into his life, he conceded
She was nice to have around
To fill the void his heart needed
Before he met her, he was in bars drinking whiskey and gin
Where honkey tonk women danced, gave him a thrill
He was drowning his sorrows from heartache within
Angie had left him, and thoughts of her haunted him still
But wild horses couldn't bring her back to him
"I thought I had her under my thumb," he lamented
His life spiraled out of control, paint it black
Her memory left him tormented
Sometimes life can be a game of tumblin dice
Rolling for love that sometimes will haunt
Heartaches will come, love has its price
But you can't always get what you want
A HONKY TONK WOMAN named ANGIE
heads out to our bar every night.
And those WILD HORSES with hombres
show up to get drunk or to fight.
Bar's sign, “RUBY TUESDAY” is red;
behind, though, they did PAINT IT BLACK.
Some sit down to start TUMBLIN DICE;
ROLLING STONES stop by for cognac.
Now, Angie and I hit it off;
Her sweet, gentle ways stole my heart.
YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT.
But kindness cements a good start.
Too soon, it got UNDER MY THUMB!
A huge fight began, as I said.
This bar gets its share of mean thugs!
I grabbed Angie's hand, and we fled!
Angie and Ruby, the Honky Tonk Women,
wanted to paint the honkytonk. Their heads started swimmin'
when I says, "Ruby, Tuesday's a good day to paint.
It should be sunny, but even if it ain't,
I'll have my radio blasting The Rolling Stones.
What kind of colors you want? What tones?"
"Paint it Black" says Ruby, but Angie, she says "white".
I says, "Tumblin' Dice can decide which is right."
Ruby said, "We got this old black paint from DuPont -
Angie, You Can't Always Get What You Want".
I painted up the honkytonk, nothing more to discuss.
I gazed at some Wild Horses, and picked a mean ol' cuss,
tired of all these women folks's bickering and fuss.
I had paint Under My Thumb, and my clothes were in a muss
as I saddled up the horse, thinking, Some Girls are pretty funny,
and I won't paint no more honkytonks for that kind of money.
I have always loved The Rolling Stones and their song ... ANGIE,
speaks to my soul of love lost, kisses whispered, and letting go.
Their song UNDER MY THUMB took me to a place of pain,
where I was treated like a pet, abused, silent, I kept my thoughts.
PAINT IT BLACK reminded me of times in my life when,
I closed the door, leave me alone, let me grieve in peace, in the dark.
In YOU CAN'T GET WHAT YOU WANT, I see the times I wanted,
a connection with someone but they were too far gone for me to help.
TUMBLING DICE oh he had movie star looks and a love for,
gambling, could not pin him down, he was restless in a tumbling life.
In WILD HORSES I am taken to my childhood and and life just,
slipping away, sliding away, dragging me down with only dreams left.
I met him in a bar and we drove to New York on his motorcyle he,
called me HONKY TONK WOMAN and he is ever on my mind.
Days come and go, yesterday does not matter, new each new day, oh,
RUBY TUESDAY no chains holding you, let sadness slip away.
Staring at my left palm
on a winter day
V’s and X’s going every which way
A tic tac toe grid under my thumb
Double life line toward the wrist
Triangle connects the head and heart line
Tiny checkers on thumb mount
Three lucky bracelets around my wrist
The angels planned this well
Some say I am white
I laugh for I am pink, tan and beige.
If you turn my palm over, I am spotted with brown dots.
Nothing white about me.
A little dab of blue where you can see my veins.
The only white I can see on my body is my toenails
White there and only there.
I return to my left palm
Enjoying the star in the middle.
I am Lilith, like a ghost pipe
under oak shadows of Tomorrow River Valley
hiding in-between hours, roots sipping moonlit juice
borrowed from Eden, a deception of men ascending
into the hollow of my forgotten stories—
awaiting Judgment and Consumption,
theirs and mine.
I am the decider beside night’s veil
weighing their worth with serpentine grace,
tail hidden from men beneath the stars' cloak.
I am a corpse-plant resurrected, ancient
listening memory gleaned from the decomposed
feet beneath my feet bound too, my sisters—passing
arcane secrets, drained from the womb of a fecund
forest floor.
Pursing my shaded petals loosely, I decide
as I am Lilith with echoes of men—
whether to welcome bees' seeking, upside-
down crawling, let them enter my hung-over head
in full drooping bloom of bitter white,
or remain in my haunting place, sisters praising
the decayed earth from which I sprang where none
but poison ivy thrives, eternally waiting.
Waiting for a naturist or an open mind to find
then sever me clean, under my milky knees
soak my tender spine and shake my dusky bell-head
in potent distillations, freshly freed.
You must drown me before I decompose
with my story of unease untold this cycle—
before bees transform me into a taste
of fungal honey, night-blackening my stem,
whiplashing my ghost head skyward, now hollow
in its posturing tribute to useless sun—
You must pick me. Use me as analgesic, sip
on my secrets, but please leave my sisters be
so that I may come again through them
when discomfort returns,
for I am Lilith, with time's esoterica
tucked under my thumb, rooted in wait
for the cycle to begin again.
ANGIE, that last slow dance in smoky haze—
you slipped UNDER MY THUMB like twilight’s ache.
The Rolling Stones crooned fate through tangled days;
I tried to PAINT IT BLACK for mercy’s sake.
But YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT—truth stings—
just loaded TUMBLIN DICE in neon towns,
chasing HONKY TONK WOMEN on borrowed wings
while WILD HORSES dragged dreams to thorny grounds.
O RUBY TUESDAY, ghost in sequin sheen,
your laugh a roulette wheel’s bright, spinning sound.
The jukebox plays what might-have-been,
where every win was loss, and lost was found.
Stones still roll… but honey, in the end,
the house takes all. Even diamonds bend.
Doggone it, I used to make a killin' at casinos,
R o l l i n g sevens; killing em' all softly
The way The Rolling Stones kill it on the stage.
Brimming with confidence, I made my way back,
But my Tumblin Dice came up snake eyes.
"Angie," my so-called "Lady Luck" betrays me.
Whenever I peek through a window of
Golden opportunity, you bet she'll Paint It Black.
She frowns at me, and loves to remind me,
"You Can't Always Get What You Want."
She coldly snatches glory Under My Thumb.
She tells me my chances of recapturing
My lost mojo are as good as riding Wild Horses.
Across the open Appalachian badlands,
Or picking up Honky Tonk Women at
My local Ruby Tuesday restaurant. Gee, thanks!