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.'
Categories:
woody guthrie, america, identity, political, western,
Form: Free verse
Woodrow Wilson Guthrie
sang about the people who lived roughly
he wrote and sang earthy songs a plenty
and he was friend and mentor to many
Categories:
woody guthrie, music,
Form: Clerihew
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
Categories:
woody guthrie, war,
Form: Alliteration
John Steinbeck wrote the story
Of the Okie family Joad as they
Travelled down their bleak
Hard California bound road.
Tractored out by the Cats
After the bank had foreclosed,
No feelings of welcome as
They’d hoped and supposed.
Woody Guthrie sang the ballads
Of that desparate Dust Bowl
Spoke of the period
From the heart and soul.
From those depths of despair
Solidarity brought hope
Gave the Okies some comfort
Perhaps helped them to cope.
Were lessons learned
Could it happen over again,
With global warming is it just
A case of not if but when?
Have we learned any charity,
Would we understand the situation,
Or would it sadly be as before
That same old case of exploitation?
Categories:
woody guthrie, class, humanity, philosophy, power,
Form: Rhyme
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:
woody guthrie, appreciation, art, gothic,
Form: Lyric
Purring and Stirring
While my pretty cats had both been purring
Up so much trouble Don Trump was stirring
For those down and out or no longer hearty
Can go ahead and join the Trumpeteer Party.
Talking about somebody tooting their horn
Does it all day long beginning in early morn
To dead end were led with BS he had said
Could not slide downhill so left sled in shed.
All of his BS were bothered with wallowing in
Each new day growing more did start to begin
Joke is can you imagine anyone sympathizing
With a big batch of loud blasting Trumpetizing.
He was great dodging bullets and being erratic
Not only that sure threw around a lot of static
Then when my ballot to box I began to bring
It did not go down suffering from static cling.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Was tagged and had been it
not Tony.
https://theconversation.com/woody-guthrie-old-man-trump-and-a-real-estate-empires-racist-foundations-53026
http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2015/11/23/ike-didn-t-like-trump-s-dad-at-all.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/woody-guthrie-trump_us_56a18e5ae4b0404eb8f11bb3
Categories:
woody guthrie, humorous,
Form: Couplet
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:
woody guthrie, adventure, america, beautiful, introspection,
Form: Lyric