Prison Walls by Kippy 'Troubles' Treble

Remember all them silver rings?

And all them perdy, flashy thangs?

And all them strings of telephone rings?

And endless nights with him and them?

Was cursin' loud such a sin?

And losin' my temper in a drunken night din?

Ugly prison walls

Barren prison tall

Ain't nothin' like havin' no one at all....

To see all the laughter comin' to an end

Not even a dog to call friend

Tell me honey baby, is it ever gonna end?

Now I see myself so bright

It's only me, myself and I

Searchin' for distraction from my cotton-pickin' plight

Ugly prison walls 

Barren prison tall

Ain't nothin' like havin' no one at all....

Years in prison life I wonder:

How'd I go so far asunder?

All that junk I pillaged and plundered!

All my sass is done and gone

But, Lord!  Now something's come!

I know myself now, honky tonk honey bun.

Nature Speaks

I was called into existence by a dancer’s dream. Do you not run to the window during every windstorm and watch my movements? Yes, I am the one you watch. I provide safe haven for Nature’s creatures at such times, as expected. But I also provide a stable base for you during the inevitable life-storms that blow. At those times, drawing upon my essence of stability, you are helped to express this sometimes misunderstood quality. Do not make the mistake of confusing the weakness of stubbornness with the strength of stability. For you may never be so wrong as when you are so sure you are right.

When a book crossed your desk this month, revealing my name after these long years, that was my doing, my gift to you. Names seem to be important to you, but do you love me more or less now that you know my name, Norway Spruce? My name is ‘your world’ info to be used as a ‘your world’ reference point. At the core of ‘our’ being, yours and mine, we are no names.

And so you sit and look up to me with renewed stirrings of understanding and wonder. I reveal my branches as angel wings - uplifted, feathery - as an expression of gratitude to you for acting as recording messenger. Although my surface message is one of stability, try as one might, none stays in one place ever-long. My core message is simply this: home is of the heart.

I was the first on this property, I will be last.

Nature loves limericks with lessons

Nature’s hardly rude brash or garish.
In fact, she is what we should cherish.
Regard the lush land.
Keep gentle your hand.
Or else we may untimely perish.
.

Jessie Velvet Byrd

Grandma, tell me something 'bout grandpa.

The man who's blood brings color to my skin.

She said child don't you ever tire?

I'll tell you the story just once again.

They called him Jessie

Jessie for the outlaw

Velvet for his southern drawl

And Byrd for the way he flew away.

He left his people on the reservation

To pick cotton in the hot Arkansas sun.

I was just a silly southern farmgirl

Thinking maybe, Jessie was the one.

We lay beneath the stars that summer season

Lost in a sweet lovers fantasy

I gave everything a girl could give him

And he gave something special to me.

They called him Jessie

Jessie for the outlaw

Velvet for his southern drawl

And Byrd for the way he flew away.

They came for him one night with shotguns loaded.

A bastard child he was forced to claim.

He left me with my heart and pride both broken

I knew my son would never have his name

They called him Jessie

Jessie for the outlaw

Velvet for his sourthern drawl

And Byrd for the way he flew away.

The Story behind the song

My grandfather was Jessie Velvet Byrd. We know very little about his heritage other than he was of Native American descent. Nothing romantic: we suspect he was Creole. When Jessie was in his fifties he got drunk one night with a couple of his buddies and ended up on a rail road track. A freight train plowed into his car killing his friends on impact and leaving him with traumatic brain injuries. One of his many offspring (he had been married four times) came to my Grandmas farm in Arkansas to see if my dad would possibly help in caring for their father. Dad wasn't home so when the young man approached grandma she pulled a gun and ordered him off the property. She never mentioned the incident to my dad. Jessie survived the injuries dieing at last at the age of seventy four, in a mental institution.

Queen of Everything Country

No gimmicks
No limits
Her heart’s in it
Committed
To Everything Country
She’s the Queen of Everything Country
She’s the Queen of all she sees
All she sees is her Everything Country
Country, try country

No gimmicks
No limits
Heart wound 'round her man
Good thing he’s her King
And good thing she’s his Queen
And good thing they agree
On Everything Country

Sunday backyard chillin’
Beer can grillin’
Pool-side sippin’
Time to slip in
Immersed in
Everything Country

Cares float away
As the music plays
Right what’s wrong
With the right country song
Keep strong with the lifelong
Queen of Everything Country
She’s the Queen of all she sees
All she sees is her Everything Country
Country, try country

Kids all raised
Country craze
Carried on by little grandbabes
Little cowboy boots
Little cowboy hats
A little country fun
At the old barn dance
Form a line
Now dance! Now freeze!
Y'all* lookout for these
Next little Kings and Queens
Of Everything Country

No gimmicks
Sky’s the limit
Her heart’s in it
Committed
To Everything Country
She’s the Queen of Everything Country
She’s the Queen of all she sees
All she sees is her Everything Country
Country, so try country

*All love and thanks to Daniel E for this suggestion!

Country Lyrics

I have written out the lyrics to two country songs I wrote a little while ago. The first song has a pretty unconventional structure as far as "country" music is concerned. It doesn't have a chorus. The second song is written in the style of late 50s, "to the point" honky tonk music. One of my personal favorites. Be advised that this song was written with my tongue firmly in my cheek. With that said, I can't help but agree with the point of view of the character in the song. Be proud of where you come from. Being from "somewhere" is one of the only certainties in life. If you would like...and for full effect, you can listen to these songs while following along with the lyrics. All you have to do is go to myspace.com/horsecapture and find the song titles in the music player. Hope ya'll enjoy!


"If You Show Up Late"

My stomach is in knots.
I see the men and their cots
Lining the church house floor.

If you’re late for the sermon they won’t even open the door.

As if things couldn’t be
Any harder for me,
I found out at the gate…

Even Jesus Christ turns you away if you show up late.

You can see it in their face.
To wind up in this place,
Just ain’t the life these men chose.

If they had for a fact, they would’ve packed warmer clothes.

These ain’t the steam-pot days.
Throw out all your rules and ways.
There ain’t one ounce of brotherhood left.

You get stabbed in the back for half of a cigarette.

I grappled the rails and
Andy came from jail.
We tread down ol’ Tulare street.

When I missed the line he saved me some bread and meat.

I had it in my mind to come back home.
But things hardly ever turn out the way you plan.
Those stones killed my feet every they touched down.
The softer the spirit, the harder the ground.
I wonder if they even notice that I’m not around.

Five o’clock comes too soon
When you’re waking up under the moon.
Sierra winds always blow the cold around.

You can choose the germs at the mission or the dirty ground.

The bottom, it’s easy to see
Is a hell of a place to be.
When you’re shit out of luck and have nothing left to sell.

Just a hope and a prayer you can hitch a ride out of hell.


"Southern Blood"

Ever since my maw gave birth to me
My life’s been getting shorter.
I grew up in a town so god-damn small
Every house is on the border.

My daddy looked me in the eye
And said, “You’re my second son”.
“But if you treat me with respect I’ll treat you like you’re my only one”.

It’ll take a thunderstorm across this land,
To move me from the place I take my stand.
It’ll take a hurricane or a flood, oh my lord
To wash away the southern in my blood.

My grandpa showed me how to find
Every back road on the map.
When a woman walks in to a room I’m in
I stand up and tip my cap.

The kids at school made fun of the way I talk
And my kind of clothes.
But if you make fun of my family, I’m gonna punch you in the nose.

Repeat chorus 3x

The Winds' Secret

The wind whispers, "I know a secret", and the supple branches of the trees bend to hear. The leaves quivering in anticipation. Even the robin stretches from her nest hoping to catch the words of the wind.

The daisy tosses her lovely head impatiently, "Tell us the news. Oh please tell us! Are there lovers coming to pluck me so that I may answer their foolish questions? She loves me.

She loves me not. I would gladly give myself for love."

The thistle bristles and sends it's seeds soaring on the breeze, straining to hear. "Will my seeds find root in the soil and become purple with splendor like myself? That's no secret, for I am strong and sure in my survival."

The creek bubbles with excitement. It has always loved secrets and the joy that comes from babbling them as it winds through the wooded community. "Tell me wind and I will spread the news."

The wind breathes gently and shares its secret. "Someone comes today to our woods. A person seeking peace and comfort and perhaps answers to problems they cannot solve out there in their concrete prisons. Tell all to prepare the way for them. Show them your beauty, give them the escape that only we can provide. Cushion their steps, quench their thirst, dazzle their eyes with heavenly visions. Send them on their way with renewed hope. "

Entering the woods, my soul rejoices.

July Sub-Topic: Country Lyrics

July Sub-Topic:
Write lyrics to a country song.

July Topic: Of Nature

July Topic:
Let Nature tell the story. You're just the messenger . . .

Did I Ever Tell Ya the Story . . .

“So, jest how long is this Appalacian Trail, anyhow? I’m gettin’ hungry.”

"Hungry already! We only been hikin’ fer an hour!”

“Whatcha got in that knapsack a’ yours?”

“Got some Tarnation breakfast bars.”

“Did I ever tell ya the story of how, years ago, I aimed to improve on those Tarnation bars by inventin’ the first granola bars? I shur loved the convenience a’ breakfast bars, but needed some dang variety! So when I seen me an ad for a recipe contest, I doctored up Ma’s oatmeal raisin cookie recipe into bars, adding a drop of Vermont maple syrup for authentic breakfast-y flavor, a’ course.”

“So, you won yourself the recipe contest, did ya?”

“Nope! And what’s worse, come to find out, I ding-danged signed away the rights to my recipe by entering the contest in the first place! Never saw a nickel fer my efforts.”

“Nowadays there’s aisles ‘n’ aisles of granola bars in every grocery store in America."

“Yeah, well, don’t I know it. So, jest keep your stinkin' Tarnation bars. Somehow, I’m not so hungry all of a sudden. Got anything to drink in that there knapsack?”

“Just some bottles of Slake water.”

“Did I ever tell ya the story of how Pa invented bottled water, but done got cheated out of making his fortune? For years and years, he was the one to go way out to the flowing well to fill pint dairy bottles on those hot Fourth of July celebration days. Then he’d come back inta town and ever'body’d gather ‘round and he’d hand out them bottles t' anyone cravin’ a sweet sip of cool spring water.”

“So, jest how’d he miss out on his fortune?”

“Seems one summer Pa was feelin’ poorly. Jest the chance sneaky Ol’ Jake Slake was awaitin’ for! Jake hightailed it out to the flowing well alright, but he did not pass out the water for free to the thirsty townsfolk, no siree! He charged two cents per - three cents if’n’ his ol’ lady added a drop of flavoring to it! The kids’d go crazy for it!”

“Sounds like Ol’ Jake had the market cornered!”

“From that summer on, he shur ‘nuf did!”

“Whatever happened to Ol’ Jake?”

“The Mega-Giant-Ultra Foods Corporation eventually came ‘round, sniffin’. Jake sold ‘em the Slake brand for a nice tidy sum. Then he up and died of a heart attack, but don’t you jest know how it goes sometimes. His wife and his lazy-bones kids inherited ever'thing and are probly sittin’ purty right now on their own tropical island, or some such place! Somehow this Slake water don’t taste so good right now . . . “

“Yeah, I know watcha mean . . . So, I suppose now yer goin’ to tell me how yer Ma invented somethin’?”

“Yup, let me tell ya the story. Along with Granny’s help, they was the first t' ever splash clever sayings right across the front of a T-shirt - they both always was good with words. But ya see, the idear took off so fast - ever'body started doin' it - they never had a real chance a' cashin' in. Nowadays, it's a standard way a' gettin' a message across. But if Ma ‘n’ Granny coulda peeked into the future 'n' seen that somebody woulda ever made a T-shirt proclaimin’ Jesus Loves the Hell Outta Me, they might never a' got started in the first place.”

“What about yer Grandpap? Invent anythin' earth-shatterin’?”

“Nope, Grandpap never did go in for innovation. Fact is, rumor has it, he was the very last man 'round these parts ever t' wear knee britches.”

Warrior Daughter

My dad wanted me to be a warrior. I wanted to see his smile after a footrace more than any ribbon or trophy. When it was cold, or a Saturday, when my body was in recuperation mode, my finish line frown always matched his own. For training, he would lift me up to the pull-up bar in our garage. I remember seeing the bald gym teacher's eyes light up when I pulled my shaking chin over the bar for the ninth time, sure my face was red for all my classmates to see sitting Indian style on the lacquered gym floor below.  He would pat me on the back for beating all the boys and tell us all to run laps and I pretended to be as out of breathe as the other girls so they wouldn't hate me so much.  My dad also taught me how to lift weights in our concrete basement. We ran a half marathon once with one day of training and I wore my toe bruises as victorious warrior paint. Sometimes we'd ride bikes together and I'd cry on the homestretch when the wind was a bear and there were hills and my water bottle was empty. After those day-long rides, we felt like we'd earned the right to make popcorn and watch an old Hollywood classic in an exhausted stupor.
One summer day, my dad and I participated in one of the Breakaway Bike Club's long distant rides. We were trailing a little behind the other fifteen or so spandexed bodies and somehow we took a wrong turn and got lost. We arrived at the parking lot finishing much later, the gang all stood around, squirting Cytomax into their sweaty mouths, clicking around in their florescent clip shoes. My dad then said something I didn't comprehend: that we'd fallen behind so bad on account of me being slow; a girl. It was then and there that I learned to lie.
I started getting lazy and didn't care if my dad smiled or frowned anymore. So when he asked me why I didn't push myself in a 5K, I told him being mediocre felt good. When he asked me why I was gaining weight, I told him I wanted to try new foods and needed to stretch out my stomach. My Spartan, on-the-ready body took the brunt of my flabby adolescent rebellion.
As for our athletic relationship all these years later, let's just say that all that energy is still spinning somewhere in the ethers. We don't live in the same town anymore, but sometimes when I call him up, he tells me he had a dream we were doing yoga together. And I always think of him when I go for a soft and long bike ride alone.

A Sincere Apology

I just want to apologize for not writing anything for the June topic. The month kind of got away from me and before I knew it, July was here and I hadn't written a thing. Please understand that I didn't completely forget about Ditalini Press during the month of June. I thought about sitting down and writing a fib few times throughout the month, but every time I did, something prevented me from following through.

I actually had something written fairly early in the month, which is rare for me. I’m not too proud to say it was a masterpiece, some of my finest work. I was in the living room making the final edits to my epic tale when my laptop crashed. It completely froze, and I had to take out the battery just to get it to shut down. When I turned the laptop back on, my operating system wouldn't even load. The laptop was dead and my whole story was gone; I was too devastated to start writing again. So, I abandoned that idea and waited for inspiration to strike again.

It was about two weeks later when I finally had another idea for a story. My laptop was still inoperable, so I had to type it on my desktop computer. When I got to the computer, the keyboard was gone! I looked outside and saw the kids swinging by the cord over their heads as if to use it as some sort of makeshift weapon. I ran outside to stop them and was struck in the head. When I regained consciousness, I was no longer in the mood to write, so I put it off for another few days. The kids said the whole ordeal was an accident, but the 'destroy dad' carvings on the keyboard hinted otherwise. I guess I spend too much time on the computer.

With the end of the month looming, I decided just to type my story at work. Not the most inspirational of places, but at least I'd get something done. I logged on, got situated, and then, out of nowhere, the bio hazard alarm sounded. I spent the rest of the day crammed in a tiny room with all my co-workers until we were told the alarm must have just malfunctioned. Hooray. On the bright side, I at least got to help tape the doors to prevent any airborne pathogens from getting in; and was able to see my family again, too. Needless to say, I didn't get my story written that day either.

So, here we are, July first, and I still am without a story. It's not like I didn't try though; a few extenuating circumstances just got in my way. I hope you understand.