Archive for September, 2012

ever since i can recall

there ain’t been that much that i could change, at all;

clouds roll across the sky

january turn to april, then july,

and it don’t pause to ask me what i think.

as a child i had a puppy slept right on my bed

not so long a time and i was kissing his poor old gray-gone head;

then the first time i loved someone

such a short time and it was done

so it seems like hearts that rise are bound to sink.

but baby,

from the first day i knew your name

you’ve made me grin like a fool with the things you’ve always said

and when i’m broken hearted, when the world hurts me hard,

sweet honey, you are my balm in gilead.

it’s true it’s true

what that old bible always said,

that love can lift and love can mend–

sweet honey you are my

balm in gilead.


boosted love

Posted: 09/21/2012 in house of love

they say

you can never be mine…

they say

stuff i don’t listen to half of the time

oh gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme

what i want, and we can get along.

build a fence

build a door

if you’re buildin’ one,

what’s the other one for?

oh gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme

what i want

cos it can’t be wrong.

they say

my love might be better spent…

they say

a lot of stuff that don’t pay the rent

oh gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme

gimme please

these pretty dreams

they say can never be mine.


for Mary’s Mixed Bag “fences

as performed by Coal Black and Poison Apple at the Granger County Apple Fair and Outdoor Gun Swap, September 2012

beneath a crappy reproduction of some crappy Spanish scene,

you hogged the sheets and allowed as to how you dint think this was my first time to the dance.

“ain’t my last, neither,” I said, diggin my bra out of my boot and collectin’ my keys off the carpet.

(it ain’t the same bein’ cinderella

in texas.)


for Real Toads Sunday whatchacallit, and Fred Rutherford’s “firsts” thingie.


Posted: 09/12/2012 in house of music, house of women

i like janis–

sure like joan–

but marlene…mercy.

who told hitler to take his reich

and stick it where the sun don’t shine?

marlene got no mercy for a bastard like that.

who looked the same nine kinds of fine

in a gown and gloves

or tails and top hat?

marlene, you could charm any girl or guy–

think i’ve seen “morocco” twenty nine times…mercy,

make me lose my mind.

i like janis–

sure like joan,

but marlene…mercy.


for izy’s “out of standard” challenge at real toads: rebel girl

What a loser.

me and poison apple are settin up our stuff

on the stage at bayou pumpsie’s southern rib palace.

it’s late afternoon. the lights are on and the place is mostly empty

except for this guy at the bar wearin a wife beater and a bill cap.

he got hair in his ears and lots to say.

“what’s a purty little gal like you doin’ in a place like this?’ he say, grinnin like he just thought it up.

cos yankee stadium was booked, you dumb cocksucker, i think, but i’m too much the lady to say.

how come these guys hit forty,

get comfy at a gig in the shipping department at asshat & sons,

and all sudden like, they think god reached down and filled their bald empty domes with all the knowledge and wisdom of the freakin ages?

they start up with “what ya got to understand”

and wind up with

“see what i’m sayin?”

no, dude, you too deep for me,

like a stall ain’t been mucked out for fifty fuckin years.

i’m thinkin, mister, you the kentucky derby of bullshit.

you the super bowl of fuckin stupidity.

you the grand marshall of the talkin-out-your-ass parade.

the guy at the bar sips his beer,

and my ears almost stop bleedin.

then he’s off again, he knows every player on every team in every sport,

but can’t find his dick with both hands and a pack of hound dogs.

he in mid rant when it starts up from the stage–

feedback like jimi hendrix passin a kidney stone.

“oops” i say and

smile quietly to m’self, cos i’m

ever the fuckin lady.


for kerry’s challenge at real toads