Ain't Nothin' Out There Gonna Mess With Me
O lay me down this tired ol’ J
…..round yonder under miz ol’ willowtree
pondering what side of heaven this might be,
…..surely nothin’ out there gonna mess with me,
……….no, nothin’ out there gonna mess with me
O baby, I got the time an’ I was born free
…..only livin’ and lovin’ been on my mind
so leave me be
…..just leave me be
……….there’s nothin’ out there gonna mess with me
O lover boy mine, come on by, ’bout an hour or so
…..when my mind ain’t lazy
and my thoughts can flow
…..gonna give you what you need cuz my heart ain’t cold
my you’re such a lovin’ man
…..I’m a lovin’ woman
……….I’m told.
O darlin’ let me sing my tired ol’ songs
…..ones about loves
and ones about wrongs,
…..cuz I’ll never get tired of singin’ the blues
……….like I’ll never get tired of lovin’ you
So leave me be
…..just leave me be
there ain’t nothin’ out there
…..gonna mess with me
just livin’ on lovin’just livin’ as me
…..and nothin’ out there gonna mess with me
no honey
…..ain’t nothin’ out there
……….gonna mess with me.
Janet Leigh May 2008
3 comments:
Janet:
This poem truly sizzles. I re-posted it on FFTR immediately and found a great pic of a woman whose hair is also willow branches. Your commentors are bang on here. This poem is mississippi delta musings, and it is pure harmonica, slide guitar, and Indian flute, with the snake rattle sounding as you pommel us with your sensuality and heat. My God, this poem is so esoteric and erotic at the same time, and your narrator is all long hair pigtails, yellow ribbons, cruxifix shiny at her sun tanned throat, blouse tied up short with a flare, bare feet in the river grass, parting the lily pads and stroking the water with her shapely toes, dreamy, faraway looks, smoldering, steamy–and yes, as one has noted this heroine could be Janis Joplin, or Joni Mitchell at a blues juncture, her husky soprano pulling out the vowels and lines, and letting them drift into the hot wind shaking the willows over her head, your head, the narrator’s head; and yes, Billie Holiday is there too, sharing the pain and vibrant voice, and love what WHITE ROSE said, ” almost as if the words themselves were a raft floating down the river,” and imagine our surprise to envision Caroline Ingels crooning this to her Charles, hey, that is imagination in high gear…as your narrator is /pondering which side of heaven this might be/, touching one of those halcyon moments when your heart is inviolate, when no pit viper lurks, when love is the only hunger knawing at her gingham, and then to extend that wonderful invitation to her lover/ come on by, bout an hour or so/when my mind ain’t lazy/and my thoughts can flow/…hey, this is Porgy and Bess time, complete to the strains of SUMMERTIME and the long peals of jazz, low down and emotional, finding the joy in a handful of nothin and a heartful of everything; and yes, your protagonist is a singer/let me sing my tired old songs/one about loves/and one about wrongs/ and then you hit the coda, the punch up/cuz I’ll never get tired of singing the blues/like I’ll never get tired of lovin you/…Christ, what man has not dreamed of his woman uttering those words, or words like those, or lyrics like that? Your narrator leaps off the river bank, dances, twirls, seduces, cries, moans, croons and puts the love into the flow of the stream, into the very air, making the humidity double-thick sticky; and you somehow found a voice, a poetic lyrical voice that all Southern belles could transcribe, could identify with, and all those other belles too. Bravo, lady, you hit the mark again!
Glenn
Awww, Glenn, you always make me feel like I wrote some dern masterpiece of epic proportion. And you know what..? I like feeling that perhaps I have pulled something like that off, even if it ain’t so. Those few minutes of feeling high has to last for me.. get me through my stinky ones! So, many many thanks being sent your way for all your kind words, words that convey stories of their own, delight me with endless imagery and sensate imaginings, show me your emotional depth and generous spirit in praising other people’s work..:) Ohh, God, re-reading this sounds like we’re having a lovefest here. heh heh Sorry, folks! Just two olde pharts having a mind meld here. Quite harmless, really. heh heh really!
Janet
***Brought over from POETMEISTER.
****Brought over from POETMEISTER:
Scot said:
send glenn to clarksdale mississipp…juke joint festival—google it….wow
Janet said:
Do you mean Glenn of Feel Free to Read blog, Scot? Have you ever been to the Fiddler’s Convention in the Carolina’s?
Then I said:
Yeah, Scot, I’d love to make it to Clarksdale, Mississippi some day. Though I was raised in the north, I have juke joints in my blood, or genes, or visceral somewhere. Perhaps in another life I followed Robert Johnson around until the hell hounds pulled him down, or broke rocks alongside Ledbelly. But alas, I’m just an old fart poet white guy who works for a living, and those bucks don’t go far with gasoline at 4 bucks a gallon, and Mickey D’s getting 20 bucks for dinner out for me and my wonderful old lady, Melva.
Glenn
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