One a Day in May: Spring Cleaning

[annaswirls]

Anna, Metronome, E Minor is extraordinary.

bj

thank you! I think this edit actually worked. I generally screw up my work if I edit it too much. I needed a few years between myself and this one.

 

[annaswirls]

ohhh I remember this one! Lordy man, you capture the heartbreak so well..... good to see you here!

Violets 2/6/2005




**********************************


Violets


Fatherhood has much to offer to men
who like to be sad. Creating
what you cannot keep haunts,
the inevitable reduction to ghosthood.
Everything you make gets taken

 

[annaswirls]

Poem-a-day #2

unburied


arthritic sycamore knees bend
around rocks of the eroded river bank,
exposed roots gasp for soil
unburied alive, gnarled fingers
claw the air



unburied
2006

nothing moves in the sky
three ferns hold their green
arthritic knees of sycamore bend
around rocks of the eroded river bank
where exposed roots gasp for soil
unburied alive, gnarled fingers
claw at the air
nothing moves except this river
that defends its borders
on a relentless patrol

 

[champagne1982]

May Edit-a-Day, #2

The quick edit for upbj.

Beltane's Witch

Natural hemp hem down past her knees
just above ankles swathed in hennaed
swirls to tease the grass to growth.

She curls each step in glad graceful
dance and blesses seeds below,
until the magik glimmers all in dew.

Breasts bared in goddess moonlit night
she rises up atop the mount that, rounded
low in age and forest, sighs in welcome

to the king. They join in joy to greet
the spring until the flowers' bruised
petals scent the ancient rite for merry

begots born midwinter's day. These shall smile
their blessing on the feast of vanquished
night and dance, in turn, one day in May.

 

[TheRainMan]

ohhh I remember this one! Lordy man, you capture the heartbreak so well..... good to see you here!

you do? -- i barely remember it myself.

good to see you back here, too.

nice thread. you're so smart.

i'm telling you in advance i will not be on this thread every day this month, boss, so don't you go raising your voice at me. or your cane.

 

[Angeline]

ooh I never read this one, good Ange!

I don't know if you are looking for comments, but I like the shorter lines in the start like you had in the original. It gives the reader an easing into the poem and then gets rolling along.

Glad I got to read the dust poem!

J

I am always looking for comments! Thank you. I am happy to say I have not a single suggestion on Metronome except to say that it's wonderful, and you did a great job of editing it. In fact, it sort of reminds me of this Billy Collins poem,though yours has an intimate quality his doesn't. See what you think.

As far as the dust poem, I'm not sure which version I like better. I think when we get to the end of this exercise, it'll be very interesting to look at all these edits and see which are the keepers. I see your point though. I know I made it look neater and more like a poem (whatever that means), but better? I need to process.

I predict this will become a long-standing thread in this forum, like 30/30, Ten Words, Poetry in Progress, etc.

Ok. Today's is a jazz sonnet. I have labored over this thing for around three years. I love it, it's one of my favorites, but I've never gotten it to a point where I'm satisfied with it. Any suggestions (esp. from the sonnet lovers) are deeply appreciated.
-----------------------------------------------------
Tenor Man
V2: 2008

Ghostly tenor moan, oh why must you blow
so mean to me baby? Why do you lilt
whisper hollow but insistent as though
every star tumbles from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed to pour out from your bell?
Your breath to my soul, harmony in blues,
and your spirit still casts me in a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, pasted to the bar
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near and far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.



Tenor Man
V1: 2005

Plaintive tenor man, oh why must you blow
so mean to me baby? Must your sound lilt,
whisper hollow and insistent as though
every star tumbled from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed to pour out from a bell?
Your breath to my soul, harmony in blues,
and you a ghost that casts me in a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, drinking in the bar,
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near and far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.

 

[Angeline]

unburied


arthritic sycamore knees
bend around rocks of the eroded river bank,
exposed roots gasp for soil
unburied alive, gnarled fingers
claw the air



unburied
2006

nothing moves in the sky
three ferns hold their green
arthritic knees of sycamore bend
around rocks of the eroded river bank
where exposed roots gasp for soil
unburied alive, gnarled fingers
claw at the air
nothing moves except this river
that defends its borders
on a relentless patrol

This is probably more a preference suggestion than a "fix" one, but you could move "bend" up to the first line. That shortens up that second line which is longer than the others. Otoh, "arthritic sycamore knees" is a wonderful image. Adding anything to it maybe weakens it. Might be six of one, half dozen of another as they say, but I noticed it so I thought I'd mention it.

 

[Anschul]

I am always looking for comments! Thank you. I am happy to say I have not a single suggestion on Metronome except to say that it's wonderful, and you did a great job of editing it. In fact, it sort of reminds me of this Billy Collins poem,though yours has an intimate quality his doesn't. See what you think.

As far as the dust poem, I'm not sure which version I like better. I think when we get to the end of this exercise, it'll be very interesting to look at all these edits and see which are the keepers. I see your point though. I know I made it look neater and more like a poem (whatever that means), but better? I need to process.

I predict this will become a long-standing thread in this forum, like 30/30, Ten Words, Poetry in Progress, etc.

Ok. Today's is a jazz sonnet. I have labored over this thing for around three years. I love it, it's one of my favorites, but I've never gotten it to a point where I'm satisfied with it. Any suggestions (esp. from the sonnet lovers) are deeply appreciated.
-----------------------------------------------------
Tenor Man
V2: 2008

Ghostly tenor moan, oh why must you blow
so mean to me baby? Why do you lilt
whisper hollow but insistent as though
every star tumbles from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed to pour out from your bell?
Your breath to my soul, harmony in blues,
and your spirit still casts me in a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, pasted to the bar
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near and far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.



Tenor Man
V1: 2005

Plaintive tenor man, oh why must you blow
so mean to me baby? Must your sound lilt,
whisper hollow and insistent as though
every star tumbled from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed to pour out from a bell?
Your breath to my soul, harmony in blues,
and you a ghost that casts me in a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, drinking in the bar,
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near and far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.

Tenor Man
V2.a (for anschul): 2008

Weary tenor moan, oh why do you blow
so mean to me baby? Why must you lilt,
whisper hollow but insistent as though
every star tumbles from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed so sweetly from your bell?
Your breath on my soul, harmony in blues,
and your spirit casts over me a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, pasted to the bar
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near yet far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby,
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.


I listened to the Langston Hughes poem six times before I did anything to this. It's sooooo cool (yours!--his goes without saying), but seems to me this beautiful homage to Hughes could stand to lead off with his word--to me, it fits better than either of your word choices. Since you so clearly admire his work, why not honor him?

I read aloud, so these comments come from my ears to my brain, not my eyes. I hear stuff.

Lines one and two, v.1 has must twice; v.2 has must, then do. I switched them. I think the second line has more urgency. To me, must fits better there.

Try my suggestion in line five (so sweetly) aloud a couple of times before you reject it. Blues horns are nothing if not sweet!

Line six, (your breath to my soul...) the word "to" sounds too hard. I tried "in" and "on," liked "on" better. It's an auditory thing.

The "ghost," "spirit" thing is truly evocative. I love it. Again my comment is about how I hear the words.

"So near and far", "so near, yet far" is terribly trite, but I think it advances the meaning better. Just me.

And I added a couple of commas, again because in hearing, I heard pauses where I put them. Reading them without commas affected MY sense of understanding the thoughts, because MY brain heard pauses in the words.

Just my awful thoughts. You knew I couldn't resist a sonnet, didn't you?

 

[Angeline]

Tenor Man
V2.a (for anschul): 2008

Weary tenor moan, oh why do you blow
so mean to me baby? Why must you lilt,
whisper hollow but insistent as though
every star tumbles from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed so sweetly from your bell?
Your breath on my soul, harmony in blues,
and your spirit casts over me a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, pasted to the bar
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near yet far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby,
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.


I listened to the Langston Hughes poem six times before I did anything to this. It's sooooo cool (yours!--his goes without saying), but seems to me this beautiful homage to Hughes could stand to lead off with his word--to me, it fits better than either of your word choices. Since you so clearly admire his work, why not honor him?

I read aloud, so these comments come from my ears to my brain, not my eyes. I hear stuff.

Lines one and two, v.1 has must twice; v.2 has must, then do. I switched them. I think the second line has more urgency. To me, must fits better there.

Try my suggestion in line five (so sweetly) aloud a couple of times before you reject it. Blues horns are nothing if not sweet!

Line six, (your breath to my soul...) the word "to" sounds too hard. I tried "in" and "on," liked "on" better. It's an auditory thing.

The "ghost," "spirit" thing is truly evocative. I love it. Again my comment is about how I hear the words.

"So near and far", "so near, yet far" is terribly trite, but I think it advances the meaning better. Just me.

And I added a couple of commas, again because in hearing, I heard pauses where I put them. Reading them without commas affected MY sense of understanding the thoughts, because MY brain heard pauses in the words.

Just my awful thoughts. You knew I couldn't resist a sonnet, didn't you?

Not awful! Wonderful! You rock! (Okay that's enough with the exclamation points.) Now you can probably see why I got all excited like when I saw you writing those sonnets.

This is actually a hommage to the one true love of my life: Lester Young (uh after eagleyez). But yeah I'm very influenced by Langston Hughes, too (also Gwendolyn Brooks though obviously not when I write sonnets). I love all of your suggestions but one. "Weary" is inspired and I can't believe I never thought of it, but that's why it's good to have fresh eyes on one's writing. I'm not wild about "casts over me" because the whole line sounds awkward then, though that makes it correct (I know "casts me in" is wrong). Maybe I'll say "wraps me in" to get around it.

Bless you, sonnet guy.

PS I have some other jazz sonnets that may or may not show up here.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

May #2

Begin

Remember
that shallow breath and
the way it felt like a birthday,
like a quick cloud over hot sun,
that sudden grasp of hands, the first
bright binding of fingers.

I remember
it felt like a full mouth
to say the names of you,
to hold all your sounds
and your tongue
while your hands
shaped me with breath.

 

[loststar]

day 1 and day 2

day one

Hot wax and nails
teeth
music
they take over
oh the sweet tempation
I like the pain
I like the pair
she who fills my days
she who fills my nights
the bittersweet
of them both

 

[loststar]

day 2

we sleep entwined
every inch touching
sharing the same breath
slow rythmic
sharing the same heat
warm comfortable
sharing the same space
small soft
sleep drags us under
the quiet longing silenced
by the deep need to simply be
so close
for so long
happy
content
peaceful

 

[Anschul]

Not awful! Wonderful! You rock! (Okay that's enough with the exclamation points.) Now you can probably see why I got all excited like when I saw you writing those sonnets.

This is actually a hommage to the one true love of my life: Lester Young (uh after eagleyez). But yeah I'm very influenced by Langston Hughes, too (also Gwendolyn Brooks though obviously not when I write sonnets). I love all of your suggestions but one. "Weary" is inspired and I can't believe I never thought of it, but that's why it's good to have fresh eyes on one's writing. I'm not wild about "casts over me" because the whole line sounds awkward then, though that makes it correct (I know "casts me in" is wrong). Maybe I'll say "wraps me in" to get around it.

Bless you, sonnet guy.

PS I have some other jazz sonnets that may or may not show up here.

I'll be watching. When I'm not writing (yawn)
Actually, my favorite suggestion was the "so sweetly." How you feel about Lester Young is about how I feel about Chet Baker.

Click the "Play" button

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Since I won't be here tomorrow - May #3

Sapphic for Rain

Late at night, the frogs and the owls are with me;
In the shadows, dogs and coyotes argue.
It's the solitude that defines my actions,
All unfettered in the cathedral midnight,
Restless contentment.

On the land, the living and dead spirits wander,
hardly different in their respective shadows.
Do the ghosts of dogs and raccoons keep faithful
company with curious child spirits
deep in the forest?

Thorns and flowers wind in the shifting crossroads
gathering the lights of the elementals.
Does she play with the sparrows in the branches,
hide and seek with the cats who lived and died here?
Deep Earth, her nursery.

I believe that the visible and the ghostly
each in turn attends to her entertainment.
Raised by mice and spirits among the grasses,
off she flies, unhampered by living danger,
child of the tallgrass.

Let me feel her sometimes among the branches,
catch a glimpse of limbs in the shifting moonlight,
see her grow and play as a mother wishes,
feel her vital heart in the wild roses,
ghost of a daughter.

 

[Anschul]

#1 Here's one I particularly like...

Xining, China
by Anschul©

Close your eyes.
Listen.
Sounds like home, honking, clanging,
The dull hum of a million voices.
Breathe.
Smells like home, exhaust,
Food frying, smoking rancid grease.
Too many unbathed people.
Lick lips.
Tastes like...nowhere else.
It's even in the air. Bitter.
The air is thick and gray.
Visceral industrial waste.
Like old Bethlehem.
Open your eyes now and look.
Too crowded streets.
Trolleys. Buses. Too many cars.
Roads. Trains. Bridges. Skyscrapers.
Murals painted on endless concrete villages.
Mosques and temples and cathedrals
Side by side. But not.
Golden arches. Here too?
Many, many people.
Suits. Fashionable shoes. Hand-painted silk ties.
Fine dresses. Leather handbags.
Designer? Maybe.
Maybe not. Maybe made here.
Impossible to tell.
Beyond the skyline, mountains in all directions,
Shrouded in gray-brown air.
Smokestacks above miles of buildings
Making toys for American boys,
Fashions for American girls.
Blazing nights, awash with neon,
Blaring nightclubs, pounding music,
Carny barkers hawking American names.
New York Subway, Manhattan Transfer,
Gold Rush Club, Chicago Midway.
Women wait on every corner.
Scantily-clad, young but haggard.
Amid the hustle, bustle,
Children run with my every step.
When I stop, kneel at my feet
Gazing up with sad brown eyes,
Looking for, hoping for, yuan.
An apple? A banana? he pleads.
Looking at my shoes, A shine?
Speaking barely familiar words.
A puck? she offers, getting the word wrong.
You got money? I got time. Quick puck?
Broken English. But English.
Even the children.
Not the place of newsreels.
Different here, the real country.
Not what the leaders want America to see.
Fueled by American dollars,
The sleeping giant has awakened.

 

[annaswirls]

you do? -- i barely remember it myself.

good to see you back here, too.

nice thread. you're so smart.

i'm telling you in advance i will not be on this thread every day this month, boss, so don't you go raising your voice at me. or your cane.

you know, the parenthood thing is memorable for me-- I am a daddy's girl too. You don't have to be here every day, Mister Carrington, but you can stay late on the days you are to catch up.



see me for extra credit

 

[annaswirls]

welcome lost star! Way to jump on in double style

day one

Hot wax and nails
teeth
music
they take over
oh the sweet tempation
I like the pain
I like the pair
she who fills my days
she who fills my nights
the bittersweet
of them both

 

[annaswirls]

Thank you! I have really worked on that one. A lot. I think I am finally happy with it and blushing at the comparison to Collins! His poem cracks me up!

There was a course I took called "Living by Heart" based on the premise that elderly, often altzeimers patience, forgetting everything else, remember the words to their favorite songs, poems... based on the importance of living... by heart... taking the things that are most meaningful and committing them to memory.

Thanks for the hint on the unburied alive poem! I took it and ran! You are right, much better

I am always looking for comments! Thank you. I am happy to say I have not a single suggestion on Metronome except to say that it's wonderful, and you did a great job of editing it. In fact, it sort of reminds me of this Billy Collins poem,though yours has an intimate quality his doesn't. See what you think.

As far as the dust poem, I'm not sure which version I like better. I think when we get to the end of this exercise, it'll be very interesting to look at all these edits and see which are the keepers. I see your point though. I know I made it look neater and more like a poem (whatever that means), but better? I need to process.

I predict this will become a long-standing thread in this forum, like 30/30, Ten Words, Poetry in Progress, etc.

Ok. Today's is a jazz sonnet. I have labored over this thing for around three years. I love it, it's one of my favorites, but I've never gotten it to a point where I'm satisfied with it. Any suggestions (esp. from the sonnet lovers) are deeply appreciated.
-----------------------------------------------------
Tenor Man
V2: 2008

Ghostly tenor moan, oh why must you blow
so mean to me baby? Why do you lilt
whisper hollow but insistent as though
every star tumbles from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed to pour out from your bell?
Your breath to my soul, harmony in blues,
and your spirit still casts me in a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, pasted to the bar
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near and far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.



Tenor Man
V1: 2005

Plaintive tenor man, oh why must you blow
so mean to me baby? Must your sound lilt,
whisper hollow and insistent as though
every star tumbled from the sky, spilt
in measures coaxed to pour out from a bell?
Your breath to my soul, harmony in blues,
and you a ghost that casts me in a spell
of pain and past and nothing left to lose.
Prez at the window, drinking in the bar,
or scraping heels along an avenue
stretching to timeless years, so near and far
away from me into the fog of you.
I ain't got nothin but the blues baby
bitter deep and sweet as muse baby.

 

[annaswirls]

May #3

.........

 

[annaswirls]

May #4

.........

 

[TheRainMan]

2

. . . .

 

[Guest]

..........

 

[Angeline]

Jazz Sonnet 2

V2: 2008
Lady sends me singing fine and mellow,
and Mister Five by Five told me the news.
You slip hips and wiggle like you're jello.
That ain't no jive alive, my friend, it's blues.
Heard it told the blues is just a bad dream
that creeps into your bones when times is bad.
Weepin willows ain't the whole of blues theme--
that soul cry means to lift you outta sad!
Trouble and toil worry your sweet soul,
a weary day will well up tears like rain,
but wail your sorrow, climb outta that hole.
You'll lose them devil blues by the refrain.
Open your mouth and sing your sorry heart,
your lonesome jones will beat retreat and part.

V1:2003
Lady sends me singing fine and mellow,
and Mister Five by Five tells me the news.
Cool lemon pie or steamy hot bellow,
it ain't no jive alive, my friend, it's blues.
Heard it told the blues is just a bad dream
that creeps into your bones when times is bad.
Baby, sadness ain't about a blues theme--
that soul cry means to lift you outta sad!
Trouble and toil worry your sweet soul,
a weary day will well up tears like rain,
but wail your sorrow, climb outta that hole.
You'll lose them devil blues by the refrain.
Open your mouth and sing your sorry heart,
your lonesome jones will beat retreat and part.

 

[Anschul]

Xining, China
by Anschul©

Close your eyes.
Listen.
Sounds like home, honking, clanging,
The dull hum of a million voices.
Breathe.
Smells like home, exhaust,
Food frying, smoking rancid grease.
Too many unbathed people.
Lick lips.
Tastes like...nowhere else.
It's even in the air. Bitter.
The air is thick and gray.
Visceral industrial waste.
Like old Bethlehem.
Open your eyes now and look.
Too crowded streets.
Trolleys. Buses. Too many cars.
Roads. Trains. Bridges. Skyscrapers.
Murals painted on endless concrete villages.
Mosques and temples and cathedrals
Side by side. But not.
Golden arches. Here too?
Many, many people.
Suits. Fashionable shoes. Hand-painted silk ties.
Fine dresses. Leather handbags.
Designer? Maybe.
Maybe not. Maybe made here.
Impossible to tell.
Beyond the skyline, mountains in all directions,
Shrouded in gray-brown air.
Smokestacks above miles of buildings
Making toys for American boys,
Fashions for American girls.
Blazing nights, awash with neon,
Blaring nightclubs, pounding music,
Carny barkers hawking American names.
New York Subway, Manhattan Transfer,
Gold Rush Club, Chicago Midway.
Women wait on every corner.
Scantily-clad, young but haggard.
Amid the hustle, bustle,
Children run with my every step.
When I stop, kneel at my feet
Gazing up with sad brown eyes,
Looking for, hoping for, yuan.
An apple? A banana? he pleads.
Looking at my shoes, A shine?
Speaking barely familiar words.
A puck? she offers, getting the word wrong.
You got money? I got time. Quick puck?
Broken English. But English.
Even the children.
Not the place of newsreels.
Different here, the real country.
Not what the leaders want America to see.
Fueled by American dollars,
The sleeping giant has awakened.

v.2 Xining, China

Close your eyes.
Listen.
Sounds of home, honking, clanging,
The dull hum of a million voices.

Breathe.
Unique fragrance, industrial.
Food frying, smoking rancid grease.
Too many unbathed people.

Lick lips.
Tastes like...nowhere else.
It's even in the air. Bitter.
Visceral industrial waste.
Like new Bethlehem.

Open your eyes and look.
The air is thick and gray.
Waves of heads bob on the sidewalks.
Trolleys. Buses. Too many cars.

Skyscrapers that look like home.
Murals painted on endless concrete villages.
Mosques and temples and cathedrals
Side by side. But not.
Golden arches. Here too?

Many, many people.
Suits. Fashionable shoes. Hand-painted ties.
Fine dresses. Leather handbags.
Designer? Maybe.
Maybe not. Maybe made here.

Beyond the skyline
Mountains in all directions
Shrouded in gray-brown air.
Smokestacks above miles of buildings
Making toys for American boys,
Fashions for American girls.

Blazing nights, awash with neon,
Music pounds, assaults the senses.
Carny barkers hawking American names.
New York Subway, Manhattan Transfer,
Gold Rush Club, Chicago Midway.

Amid the hustle, bustle,
Children shadow my every step.
When I stop, kneel at my feet
Gazing up with sad brown eyes,
Hopes for yuan.
An apple? A banana? he pleads.
Looks at my shoes, A shine?

Women on every corner.
Scantily-clad, young, haggard.
Speaking barely familiar words.
A puck? she offers.
You got money? I got time. Quick puck?
Broken English. But English.
Even the children.

Not the place of newsreels.
Different here than what we think.
Not what America sees.
Fueled by American dollars,
The sleeping giant is awake.

 

[Anschul]

V2: 2008
Lady sends me singing fine and mellow,
and Mister Five by Five told me the news.
You slip hips and wiggle like you're jello.
That ain't no jive alive, my friend, it's blues.
Heard it told the blues is just a bad dream
that creeps into your bones when times is bad.
Weepin willows ain't the whole of blues theme--
that soul cry means to lift you outta sad!
Trouble and toil worry your sweet soul,
a weary day will well up tears like rain,
but wail your sorrow, climb outta that hole.
You'll lose them devil blues by the refrain.
Open your mouth and sing your sorry heart,
your lonesome jones will beat retreat and part.

V1:2003
Lady sends me singing fine and mellow,
and Mister Five by Five tells me the news.
Cool lemon pie or steamy hot bellow,
it ain't no jive alive, my friend, it's blues.
Heard it told the blues is just a bad dream
that creeps into your bones when times is bad.
Baby, sadness ain't about a blues theme--
that soul cry means to lift you outta sad!
Trouble and toil worry your sweet soul,
a weary day will well up tears like rain,
but wail your sorrow, climb outta that hole.
You'll lose them devil blues by the refrain.
Open your mouth and sing your sorry heart,
your lonesome jones will beat retreat and part.

V2: 2008
Lady sends me singing fine and mellow,
and Mister Five by Five tells me the news.
Yo' slip hips and wiggle like you jello.
That ain't no jive alive, my friend, it's blues.
Heard it tol' the blues is jus' a bad dream
that creeps into yo' bones when times is bad.
Weepin willows ain't the whole of blues theme--
that soul cry means to lift you outta sad!
Trouble and toil worry yo' sweet soul,
a weary day will well up tears like rain,
but wail yo' sorrow, climb outta that hole.
You'll lose them devil blues by the refrain.
Open yo' mouth and sing yo' sorry heart,
yo' lonesome jones will beat retreat and dart