~ Man, No One Understands Me ~ Blues

bjf ©

When he played the blues, it was always in that “man no one understands me” key of “D”

a mournful melody that strikes the chord of sweet sorrows

as if there wouldn’t be a tomorrow

His sound was intoxicating, more powerful than strong booze or weed, yes

When he played the blues, it was always in that “man no one understands me” key of “D” ~ bjf © ~

~ Cold Moonless Night ~

bjf ©

With long notes

his harmonica moans a

blues tune, like

a train whistle’s

lonesome sound, morose

as the hobo when his

fireside has gone out

no warmth, no soft light, on

a cold moonless night — bjf ©

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Funky Music Listen — Blues (Racial Profiling)

bjf © abstract

From a local club

funky music listen

dig the beat, dig the beat

I could so much better

if I wasn’t feelin’ the heat,

feelin’ the heat

as the cops flashing lights

reflect off rain drenched streets

Burden so heavy on me

Won’t let me be

Just can’t win

the man judges me by

the color of my skin

I try to listen to the music

in this cold alleyway, to those cool sounds when they drift my way. Oh, I

could so much better if I wasn’t feelin’ the heat, feelin’ the heat, as the cops

flashing lights reflect off rain drenched streets — bjf ©

Cop — “What are you doing?” Gentleman — “Nothin’ Sir, nothin’”

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~ Harp Songs Drown ~ Blues

rod adcox ©

Harp songs drown this frightened child’s lies, hide daddy’s bottle, so mama won’t cry.

Harp songs drown adults ugly words, as cotton in ears so they won’t be heard.

Harp songs drown screams in the night and muffles the sound as they once again fight.

Harp songs drown this frightened child’s lies, maybe mama won’t cry if daddy’s bottle I hide.

Where’s the bottle? I do not know? bjf ©

p.s. when a parent suffers from alcoholism, the entire family suffers

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~ Listless Green Leaves ~ Blues

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Still,

still listless

green leaves, sadly

sit as if dead on the trees

for lack of a breeze. Ah,

if only, if only Sky,

she would

sneeze

bjf ©

I’ve got the doldrums

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~ Card Dealer’s Blues ~

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Only to the ladies he came across as nonchalant, but if you looked close you could see that he was uptight as guitar strings that snapped when too much torque was applied.

He was an expert at putting on a suave Bond appearance, the 007 lie. In reality, he was beyond tired of the subterfuge requirement & hated to see people lose their paychecks $, even though their addiction was self-inflicted, mesmerized by the (card) decks.

That’s right, the Jack of Diamond’s disloyal, the Queen of Hearts always cries, the King of Spades abdicated and the Ace of Clubs hides and the Joker, well the Joker was never really funny and all his punchlines died.

The only thing that’s real my friends, yes the only thing that is true, is that he suffers greatly from the Card Dealer’s Blues ~ bjf ©

~ I Miss the Excitement ~

record from my parent’s generation — bjf ©

What happened to enamel table tops that held record players (not turn-tables or stereos) those magic boxes where splendid black vinyl disks spun our favorite tunes, the tunes we also heard away from home on transistor radios, where the DJ in those days announced the song, artist and/or group with a howl (Wolfman Jack). We kids (that is everyone under 30) ran or rode bicycles to the local music store (Tower) to buy the Top 40. Oh sure, everything is more convenient now and sadly boring. With everything “instant” what is there to look forward to? God, I miss the excitement! — bjf ©

So Long (fiction) Relationship Blues (w/humor)

bjf ©

She’s got the blues
cuz her man has done her wrong
Girl, it’s time to tell him — -
So Long

She’s hangin’ out with girlfriends
but all they talk about is men, men, men
& how they have to be strong
Girl, it’s time to — -
move along

I know she’ll find one
that’ll treat her right
One that will hold her
throughout the night and then
she’ll sing a — -
new song
 
She’s got the blues
cuz her man has done her wrong
He’s runnin’ ‘round with every
Scarlett O’Hara & Mistress Wong (<<< some humor here)
Girl, it’s time to tell him — -
So long — bjf ©

p.s. I don’t know is this slam blues, is there such a thing?

~ Health Care Center for the Poor Blues ~

rod adcox ©

They scribble & write, cross the t’s and dot the i’s and continue the LIE while the patient will soon die (if lucky) from neglect and on a thin mattress bed reside, on sheets of his/her own piss, while no staff member comes by to check or say “Hi”, but they sit in another room, the one where the records are kept, the ones filled with papers the doctor pencil whipped, yes, he doesn’t even know his patient’s first name, nor cares, for him just another work day, as long as he gets his big $ pay. Did he see the patient, well, no, why, there’s one registered nurse for 50+ patients, but don’t worry, he’ll call for the hearse and his lame response “well he/she could be on the street & that’s far worse” Yes, hippocratic oath long forgotten, indeed their souls are Rotten! — bjf ©

~ Blues with happy ending ~ can’t always be sad

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When from dark clouds falls not sky’s snow, when boat has lost it’s oars to row, when wind falters, soul’s sun has cried. Innocent ones were falsely tried. I’ll sing no more

When from rivers flow waters not, dank rubbish blooms, brilliant flowers rot. Smug willows laugh, wild surge subsides. When hearts crumble and peace has died. I’ll sing no more

but — -

While hawks still soar, while green grass bends. When man forgives, hearts will mend. I’ll sing some more.

When love lends a hand, while lambs still bleat, when there is hope, there’s no defeat. I’ll sing some more ~ bjf ©

~ Falling Time’s Painful Sigh ~

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Dream ache, oh yes, the heart’s raw cry, in falling time’s painful sigh, where mute in fog rests ocean’s harp, beneath her gray misty tarp.

That was where she found his note, in the shipwrecked bowels of his boat. The captain wrote of the gale, the breaking sea’s razor sharp swells.

The anguish of his loyal crew and of the hell they went thru, beneath her gray misty tarp, where mute in fog rests ocean’s harp. Dream ache, oh yes, heart’s raw cry, in falling time’s painful sigh — bjf ©

~ I’m all Alone ~

bjf ©

Wind over water
Water over stone
Sun over land
I’m all 
alone

Sand under boulders
Soil under tree
Mountain under moon
and you’re out to sea

Sun over land
Water over stone
Wind over water
I’m all 
alone

bjf © ~ my temporary feel sorry for myself poem, when my sweetheart is away on his fishing trips

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~ That’s how it Is ~

bjf ©

Face masked in sorrow, night eyes distant rimmed, tears fell where once bright pupils are now dim

That’s how it is when the blues sinks in

So I’m gonna walk down this long dirt road, that’s all that seems to lift this heavy load

Tears fell where once bright pupils are now dim, face masked in sorrow, night eyes distant rimmed

That’s how it is when the blues sinks in

Gonna lift this heavy load, so tired of too much talk, yes, I’ll head down this dirt road on a long long walk ~bjf ©

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~ Coal Train ~

bjf ©

He was a train alright that carried the coal, you need the coal to make the heat & man he was “hot” He was a coal train & on his instrument wail, like riding on those steel rails, yes really get loose, for after the boxcars comes the caboose, “but” his end came too soon, way too soon. He was a train alright, that carried the coal, he was a coal train. Tribute Jazzman John Coltrane, RIP

John was only 40 years old when he passed away, that is so young. ~

~ Anyone can get the Blues

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Anyone can get the blues regardless of the path you choose. It don’t matter if you’re poor or rich, the blues man, she’s a real Bitch.

Anyone can get the blues. Ah man, she don’t discriminate, cuz we’re the fish and she’s a hook with bait. Yeah

Anyone can get the blues regardless of the path you choose. Anyone can land in the ditch, cuz the blues man, she’s a real Bitch — bjf ©

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~ Chief Red Fox’s Lamentations (non-fiction)

bjf ©

Cut down have been forests primeval. One-by-one the trees did fall. In fair mountain Big Horn where under constellations coyotes once called. Polluted are rivers, lakes and seas. Mustangs enslaved no longer are free. From sky hawks have been shot, bison skins removed and their bodies left to rot. Once spiraling in sky was campfire smoke, now life of earth mother has been choked. Oh where, are clear waters running, dammed up by men evil & cunning, but you can’t take wind and stars from me, for they are the companions of eternity ~ bjf © Chief Red Fox — To-ka-Lu-Lu-Ta — Lakota Sioux born at Thunder Butte, Pine Ridge, Dakota Territory 6–11–1870 son of Newwaw (white swan) mother & Wan-Ble-Sapa (Black Eagle) father, nephew of Crazy Horse, who was his mother’s brother. His autobiography is recommended reading.

~ Blues Rhythm Home ~ loneliness & poverty

bjf ©

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An evening drum beat, blues rhythm home, bourbon barrel deep, steady metronome inspiration of a Langston Hughes poem. Melancholy times, aching gospel roots never enough dimes, holes in old work boots. Music heals the pain of loneliness inside. It keeps the mind sane, on life’s long train ride. An evening drum beat, steady metronome bourbon barrel deep, blues rhythm home bjf ©

p.s. I’m thinking the Hughes poem is

“The Weary Blues”

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~ Sore Feet Blues (USA — The Great Depression)

bjf ©

It’s better to thumb a ride & hop in the back of a jalopy than to shuffle along in worn out shoes. God knows it heals those sore feet blues.

It’s better to jump in a boxcar & from the train conductor hide than to shuffle along in worn out shoes. God knows it heals those sore feet blues.

It’s better to ride a stubborn mule that takes too many stops, yes than to shuffle along in worn out shoes. God knows it heals those sore feet blues

It’s better to thumb a ride & hop in the back of a jalopy than to shuffle along in worn out shoes. God knows it heals those sore feet blues.

bjf ©

~ Under Railway Trestles ~ Homeless

bjf ©

He existed under railway trestles unwelcoming places of cold steel & concrete, a grocer’s shopping cart was his wardrobe that’s rolled over way too many unforgiving streets

He was, however, curious as to why there were few names (labels) for those who lived in comfortable homes, but way too many for those like himself who roamed — -

bum, hobo, gypsy, migrant, nomad, outcast, vagrant, itinerant, derelict, vagabond, dispossessed, abandoned and worst of all — friendless.

Yes, many negative labels for homeless. The outdoor world was his choice and he preferred — rover, roamer, adventurer, traveler, voyager & wanderer.

If you carefully listened to his stories your heart would stir, for a grocer’s shopping cart was his wardrobe that’s rolled over way too many unforgiving streets, he existed under railway trestles unwelcoming places of cold steel & concrete. — bjf ©

~ Escape to Paris (Domestic Violence) ~

bjf ©

~He got all puffed up when he watched her shimmy across the stage, even though it was just her job (dancer) he always got enraged. He assumed she was coming on to all of the men every Sam, George, Adam & Ben. He hated how she powdered her face, all the same she had to, not to make herself look finer, but to cover up yet another shiner. She planned her escape, yes, how she’d leave him behind, there was jazz now in Europe and she just wanted peace of mind. Then one night, with a guy he got into a heated fist fight, she slipped out of the nightclub,out of sight. Years later a lady acquaintance spotted her under a Left Bank street light, laughing with a girlfriend. Man, what a beautiful sight. ~ bjf © ~ note — domestic violence sadly happens everyday, it can also be woman on man, man on man and woman on woman (non-fiction) ~

~ Ode to Otis Redding ~ (Unemployment)

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~ When it’s Saturday and you’re at the bay’s dock there ain’t no good reason to watch that ol’ clock from sunrise ’til sundown the boats go in and out then you’ll know damn well what Otis was talkin’ ‘bout.

When there ain’t no jobs to be had, it’s a waste of time to get too sad, this is what I do, and you can do it too. Jus’ start real slow & get your voice down real low and sing the blues, pick any song you choose, cuz with music man, you never lose — bjf ©

tribute Otis Redding

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~ Nothin’ Bluer ~ Broken Relationship(s)

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He said “There’s nothin bluer than a bluebird in the big blue sky, but

I recall when his love ran cold and he made me cry

Guess you can say he lied, when he said “There’s nothin bluer than a

bluebird in the big blue sky — bjf ©

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~ What Shade of Blue is “The Blues” ~

bjf ©

I wonder which shade of blue is “The Blues” It can’t be Royal or Sapphire — Nah, too showy. Azure? Not even. Indigo? Getting there. Baby? Nope — too cheerful. Navy? Maybe. Midnight? Yes, that’s it for me, that’s the one, as in, you’ve missed the train, and you’re all alone, you have to wait ’til up comes the sun, to get back home ~ bjf ©

~ Blues from A-Z ~

bjf ©

The werewolf of London with no howl, yes, no Awoooooz ~ alcoholic with no booze ~ ship that never goes on a cruise ~ union worker too broke to pay his/her dues ~ girls watching a horror flick and “not” shrieking Eeeeyouz ~ dynamite stick with no fuse ~ Elmer without glues ~ seeing monochrome and no hues ~ movie night without bees of Juju’s ~ Holmes & Watson with no klues ~ never win only lose ~ poet without a muse ~ never any good news ~ yellow pus ooze ~ church with empty pews ~ endless Disneyland qeues ~ butt of someone’s ruse ~ hit with lawsuits & never the one who sues ~ solo surrounded by twos ~ a user with no one to use ~ rooms without views ~ seasickness wooz ~ Trump’s constant (excuse) xcuze ~ “My Uncle Vinny” without his famous word ”Youse” & all earth’s animals kept in zoos — it’s the A to Z Blues — bjf ©

~ Blues Singer Mademoiselle ~

She seduces her sorrows, lamentations cobalt blue, in solemn quivering moans, lyrics not drawn from the well of the heart, but from the soul, lips always parted, eyes closed. Stories as heavy as stone, pulls you in the undertow, songs of those lost and alone, scouring down sad empty lanes, in search of love and a home. When she sings her head hangs low, for it is her story too, she seduces her sorrows lamentations cobalt blue ~ bjf © ~tribute Bessie Smith

~ Katrina Blues ~

Her treacherous winds impaled there was no place to hide the ‘safe’ levees failed & the gov’t lied. Crooners sang ‘bout her waters muddy, couples danced deathly slow, while others drank with their buddies. There was no place to go, what could anyone do, sufferin’ & feelin’ low, from the deep Katrina blues. Yes, the gov’t lied when those “safe” levees failed, but somewhere in the Ninth Ward a sax still wails — bjf ©

~ Lightly Hold Me ~

Lightly hold me throughout the harsh night the outlook is bleak and the past can not be erased. I pray only for the first light of day, but for now, for the present, although the freezing wind bites, lightly hold me throughout the harsh night — bjf ©

~ Play all day ~

Wasuuup whachew dune, come on ovah, up to my room, cuz the rain’s pourin’ down & I’m filled with gloom. We can listen to some crazy wild tunes. Wasuuup whachew dune, come on ovah, up to my room, cuz the rain’s pourin’ down and I’m filled with dread. We can play all day in bed and let the music dance in our heads. Wasuuup whachew dune, come on ovah, up to my room, cuz the rain’s pourin’ down & I’m filled with gloom. We can listen to some crazy wild tunes. Wasuuup whachew dune, come on ovah, up to my room. ~ bjf © p.s. obviously slang for “What’s up, what are you doing?”

~ Trash Can Blues ~

I’m feelin’ in the dumps, this here blues got me down. I’m in that ol’ trash can, my soul’l pull me out, when garbage man comes ‘roun’. Seems like I have no friends, a can kicked ‘cross the ground, I’m in that ol’ trash can, my soul’l pull me out, when garbage man comes ‘roun’. I’m feelin’ in the dumps, don’t hear no happy souns.’ I’m in that ol’ trash can, my soul’l pull me out, when garbage man comes ‘roun’. I’m lost, done thrown away, just waitin’ to be foun.’ I’m in that ol’ trash can, my soul’l pull me out when garbage man comes ‘roun’ ~ bjf © get the feelin’ he’s friends with the trash collector, he’ll be alright.

~ Port Arthur Blues Gal ~

Janis didn’t sing the blues. She belted it. Vocal karate chops from a black belt. Knocked you flat on your ass it did, but you didn’t want to get up, happily passed out in cool sounds. She sang how she truly felt, sincere, how life kicked her around and how some folks put her down. She made whiskey her friend, but mixed with the drugs, it was her
end. I hope in heaven, she really drives a gold Mercedez Benz. — bjf © tribute Janis Joplin

~ Her Haunting Mood ~

He leaned hard against the open door frame to listen to the melancholic Blues refrains, which came from those sorrowful fields of cotton and cane. When you’re neither in the bar, nor out, there’s no need to zigzag your way through a crowd. In the meditative blue smoke you can brood, he mused, over her haunting mood. Why into the club barge when you ain’t got the cover charge $, still the bouncer’s your friend, meanwhile down octaves the trumpet descends. He had to move to let people out and in, but grateful to his friend, for when the music is live, why settle for jukebox jive. He heard this particular song many times before, that in his head he memorized the score, but the tune, well, it never gets old, no it sinks deep within your soul. To listen to the melancholic Blues refrains, he leaned hard against the open door’s frame. In the meditative blue smoke you can brood, he mused, over her haunting mood. — bjf ©

~ Blue Love Syncopation ~

Drums boom in musty cellars on those melodious floorshow nights, while his blue love syncopation promenades in neon light. Sometimes on stage shrines cymbals flash, during jumbled wet cognac dreams, then recollected once again surrounded in hot shower steam. Orchestra pits and ballrooms bare, once filled with spectacular sounds and on immaculate floors, men swirled ladies in glamorous gowns. As his blue love syncopation promenades in neon light, drums boom in musty cellars on those melodious floorshow nights ~ bjf ©

~ Blues submerges your Soul ~

The Blues don’t splash her liquid notes ooze. She don’t race, but goes on a slow boat cruise. She’s not flames, but circling smoke, submerging your soul,a dark rum & coke. She’ll bring you down her wounding voice. Man let your tears flow, you’ve got no choice. She don’t race, but goes on a slow boat cruise. The Blues don’t splash her liquid notes ooze — bjf ©

~ Blues Singer ~

Haunting voice, thick as Mississippi mud. She sings the blues, her words give me chills, they hang on your soul, like a smoldering fire, then when she’s through, she has her bourbon, throws back a shot or two and a smoke, says it’s for tears to choke, but ya know God almighty that’s when mine flow ~ bjf © ~tribute Billie Holiday

~ The Woes ~

When the river’s stagnant. When the waters don’t flow. That’s how it is with the blues. What I call the woes. Sometimes, well, you know, that’s jus’ how it goes. When the money barely pays for the roof over your head. When sometimes you jus’ don’t wanna get out of bed. That’s how it is with the blues. What I call the woes. Sometimes, well, you know, that’s jus’ how it goes. Still, I have hope & I know things are gonna change. There’s always sunshine, after the rain. That’s how it is with the blues. What I call the woes. Sometimes, well, you know, that’s jus’ how it goes ~ bjf ©

~ Midnight Blue 88 Point Three ~

It’s midnight blue and I’m all alone no one calls me on this damn phone, that’s how it be, same ol’ story Radio station 88 point three. Got my paper and my ink pen, gonna write my woes down again. I’m all alone, that’s how it be ~ Radio station 88 point three ~ bjf © p.s. Jazz/Blues 88.3 AM, one of our local radio stations here Insane Diego, Calif.

~ Dig It ~

Blues she’s still water ~ Jazz the wave ~ glad I dig both before ~ they dig my — — grave! ~ bonnie j. flach © ~

~ Two Joplin’s ~

One belted out blues with robust lungs, the other ragtime hits on piano keys and both died young. The rest is history ~bjf © Janis & Scot

~ Gambling Theme ~

Poker Player ~ I never draw the Queen of Hearts, I never pick an Ace, I always get the Jester and he’s laughing in my face, guess I better hit the road and leave this bad luck place. I never draw the King of Spades I never pick a Jack, I always get the Jester, now he laughs behind my back, I better hit the road, my duffle bag I’ll have to pack. — repeat stanza #1 — bonnie j. flach © ~ Seven, seven & a Bell (One Arm Bandit) ~ Seven, seven and a bell, too many drinks, I feel like hell. When all my coins go, the Mississippi she still flows. Yes, that paddle wheel the water pounds, I hang on, because I love that sound. I can sell my leather coat, because I don’t want to leave this boat. — repeat stanza # 1- bonnie j. flach ©~ Roulette Wheel ~ When I pick red, the ball falls on black, but I have hope my luck will come back. I like the liquor, lights and sounds, because when I’m home there’s no one ‘round. When I pick black, it falls of red, but going home is what I dread. I like the liquor, lights and sounds, because when I’m home there’s no one ‘round. ~ bjf © ~ I Might Crap Out ~ See the dice, watch them fly, luck is with me, but I can’t lie, despite the smiles and the happy shouts, I worry that, I might crap out. I should leave, while I’m hot and just collect all I’ve got, but there’s no one, back in my room and the thought of that fills me with gloom. repeat stanza #1 — bonnie j. flach ©

bjf ©