The Hayfever Blues

by jeanne rené

 The Hay Fever Blues

Well I,
Get up outta bed,
Go straight tah the head,
My eyes are a itch’n,
And my nose is a twitch’n,
Man, it’s bewitch’n!
Cause I got . . . those hayfever bah - looze.
Lord so many ah - chooze.
I don’t know what tah dooze . . . ya see
Cause I got,
Cause I got . . . those . . . May fever,
Day fever. Say what fever?
Hay fever bah - looze.

Well I’m,
Up in front of the class,
Don’t give this teacher no sass!
My eyes are all leak’n,
My ears are ah tweek’n,
The tissues a seep’n . . . now . . .
Since I got these hayfever bah - looze.
Can ‘ford no tissue to looze
And I just don’t know what tah dooze,
Since I got,
Since I got . . . this scratch in my throat
Class, now don’t rock the boat!
Just let me emote. . . these hayfever blues.

Lordy, Lordy,

Well I,
Throw open my door,
Just can’t take no more,
Leave all that pollen behind
But, Lord, what do I find,
My man, he’s a itch’n . . .
And ain’t that his nose a twitch’n,
Guess we can’t be a fix’n
The sneeze’n and sniff’n . . . with these hayfever bah-looze,
We’re gonna die from all dem ah-chooze!
We don’t know what dah dooze . . .
Cause we got,
Cause we got . . . those May fever
Day fever. What you say fever?
Hay fever bah-looze.

Hey . . . Where you go’n with that box of tissue?
I may be your woman, but it ain’t all about that.
You come back here, now. You here me?

Now what I am I gonna dooze?
With these . . . with these. . .
Hay fever blues.

We're talk’n some serious ah-chooze here, baby! 

 

copyright jeanne rené 2004 

Waters of the Spleen

 Note: I wrote this tens years ago.  Sometimes I believe "nothing has changed" and wonder "does it ever change?" .... I have no answers, just reflections.

 

It swaggers mightily
Over crossroads of contention
Spewing bitter herbs
Seeded deep
Into the memory of blood
Let into cups of loathing
And
Emptied by the drunkard sons
Of ageless ghosts

It rampages down highways
Of haggard faiths
Beating its chest savage
And spitting cries of revenge
On the lips of fathers
Who blindly usher their babes
Into the arms of pregnant harbingers
Manly wombs
Issuing imps, fear and greed

It feeds in delirium
Upon the hearts impaled by cowards . . .

Hatred

And swiftly returns the noxious beam
Into the eye of the grieved

Hatred . . .

Flowering hatred

It wears a heavy coat of conceit
Upon its bulging back

Carrying hatred

Hatred . . . Hatred

It stalks the voices of compassion
And cowers
Behind sightless justice
Scattering the faithful
Who wait upon the mount

“Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called the children of God”

We beseech thee

Laughing
Hatred 
Spreads its arms
Gathering all who will listen
Feeding them
With loaves of crowning retribution
And waters of the spleen

jeanne rene 3/04

... to have the moss grow over my heart by jeanne rené

 

public domain image

Every once in a while I feel it,
Slippage through a chink of actuality
Into a pinhole passage of the phenomenon,
To know . . . I am dancing.
I walk across the rift
To see. . . I am dancing,
I am waltzing with splendor as my partner.
I sally. . . . I whirl . . . . at times, I even prance
Upon the knolls of God's intent.
Lush, the hills, with bush and brush,
Grass and grain set in soil
And every once in a while I feel them,
I know them
To take root in my soul.

Every once in a while I wear it,
Upon my back a dress of flaxen rags.
In the moment that I stumble over the divide
I wear . . . . I embellish
The light in the darkness.
Throwing my arms in madness,
I am dancing in the gowns of consciousness.
A blink . . . . a flutter . . . . at times, a deep breath
Held beneath the waterfall.
Deep, my feet, sink into the earth.
The moss hunts my heart.
And every once in a while I know it,
I hear it
The reply sounding over the myst. 

 

 Copyright jeanne rené 01/04

 

Dance with Isadora ... by jeanne rené

Isadora Duncan’s dances by Arnold Genthe, 1919

                                           
 Close the distance
I tire
Of racing along side the frenzy
Baiting the magnificent
To consume me
But running shielded
In the sobriety of word and deed
Deadening the propensity of the passion

I must plant my feet in dreams
Let me hold
To the path of the fury
That it might overtake me
In an instant of irreversible finality

Let it snap my neck
In a act of simple punctuation
One by one tearing these flailing limbs
From my sanctity, my sanity
Pitching them upward
And
In the silence of the eye
Dropping onto soft pillows

Let my heart be decimated
Each atom cradled in the arms of the wind
Each dot kissed by the breath of the Almighty
And propelled beyond His galaxies

Torn from regret
Let my soul dance with Isadora
Upon stars undiscovered
Adorned in the rapture of many colored scarves
Whose silken threads kiss the inside of our thighs

And now
Chasing my dreams
Watch me
Surrender to the winds 

© jeanne rené 4/04