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User Name Thread Name Subject Posted
GUEST,Tony 'no love' from a woman's perspective (30) RE: 'no love' from a woman's perspective 26 May 14

Acres of Corn by Tom Russell

When I was a child, I spoke as a child.
Now I'm a grown woman, but my thoughts are still wild.
I thought I'd see London, or maybe Paree,
but I'm starin' at cornfields, that are starin' at me.
But dreams are just things, that you keep in a jar.
You bury your dreams, or you wish on a star,
Or an ocean line ticket, back to where you were born,
and away from these hard times, and the acres of corn.

Every now and again, I take a small drink
from the blackberry brandy hidden under the sink.
And I pull out that steam trunk, I put on my gown,
and I walk through these cornfields till I fall to the ground.
But dreams are just things that you keep in a trunk
till the men are out workin', or you're on a big drunk.
Then you unlock your dreams, but they're tattered and worn.
So you stare out the window, at the acres of corn.

Childhood Memories by Iris DeMent

Fireflies inside of a mason jar. Acting big behind the wheel of Daddy's car.
Playing church around the old piano stand;
you were quite a preacher, and we sang so grand.
I remember every night what we would say and do:
"If you've forgiven me, then I've forgiven you."
And now, when life begins to get the best of me,
I reminisce these childhood memories.

We built a raft and travelled all around the world
and stopped for penny candy at the corner store.
You let me fly your kite, but then I dropped the string;
I thought my life was over, but Mama rescued me.
When I was just a kid, you taught my prayers to me;
Then you turned around and told me about those birds and bees.
Come what may, you've been endeared to me,
because we share these childhood memories.

Time, it moved so fast; those days are over now.
We've all gone our separate ways, but still somehow
I often need to telephone and talk to you,
to see if you remember things the way I do.
It won't be much longer till we're old and gray,
winding up our travels on life's highway.
But no matter where I roam, I've got you here with me,
when I reminisce these childhood memories.

Morning Glory by Iris DeMent

Morning glory. Fuchsia and green.
You sweet little Jezebel in my garden of dreams.
Petals wrapped tightly in the late morning sun.
My day is just starting. Your day is done.

A bright monarch butterfly alights upon you.
Again and again he probes, trying so hard to get through.
He dances and somersaults, then floats away blue.
His golden ambition could not sway you.

Vines choke the south side porch. Up the lattice they climb.
The clothes nearly touch the ground on that sagging clothesline.
Paint's peeled and screens are torn. I've got so much to do.
But I just want this morning of glory with you.

Sweet Old World by Lucinda Williams

See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world.
What you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world.

The breath from your own lips; the touch of fingertips;
the sweet and tender kiss.
The song of a midnight train; wearing someone's ring;
someone calling your name.
Somebody so warm, cradled in your arms.
Didn't you think you were worth anything?


Millions of us in love promises make up;
your own flesh and blood.
Looking for some truth, dancing with no shoes;
the beat, the rhythm, the blues.
The pounding of your heart's strum, together with another one.
Didn't you think anyone loved you?


Tears That She Cries by Stacey Earle

Oh, girl, well, here you go again.
Today what world are you livin' in?
Does your world just tickle you pink?
Or is it as blue as an ocean, where your little boats sink?
While little Miss Denial is sittin' in high cotton.
All goes well, as long as forgotten.
Go wipe off your walls, then pick up your tin pans
and run to the sink, now, wash off your hands.
Then up on your high horse. Is your ride just too short?
The same little girl wouldn't jump off the front porch.
So afraid we might see eye to eye,
and I'll see that gleam was just tears that she cries.

All the tears that she cries, that rain on parades, and trickle on down.
Someone open the gate, til the streets all run dry, and the whole town is saved. While under the ground, to the ocean with rage.
Why, who's making waves? I said "Not I." It's the girl with the gleam in her eyes.

While sleeping beauty gets her sleep tonight,
wake up in the morning and everything is snow white.
Only one thing in her garden will still grow.
My, what could it be? Smells like a rose.
But she will soon snatch it there, straight from its stem.
And a thorn will then prick her, just like a pin.
And as the water fills up her eyes,
she's making up all those tears that she cries.


Lorraine Lorraine Lorèe by Charles Kingsley

"Are you ready for your steeple-chase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorèe?
You're booked to ride your capping race today at Coulterlee.
You're booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see,
To keep him straight, and keep him first, and win the run for me."

She clasped her new-born baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorèe.
"I cannot ride Vindictive, as any man might see,
And I will not ride Vindictive, with this baby on my knee;
He's killed a boy, he's killed a man, and why must he kill me?"

"Unless you ride Vindictive, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorèe,
Unless you ride Vindictive today at Coulterlee,
And land him safe across the brook, and win the run for me,
It's you may keep your baby, for you'll get no keep from me."

"That husbands could be cruel," said Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorèe,
"That husbands could be cru - el, I have known for seasons three;
But oh! to ride Vindictive while a baby cries for me,
And be killed across a fence at last for all the world to see!"

She mastered young Vindictive – Oh! the gallant lass was she,
And kept him straight and won the race as near as near could be;
But he killed her at the brook against a pollard willow tree;
Oh! he killed her at the brook, the brute, for all the world to see;

And no one but the baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorèe.

The Three Fishers by Charles Kingsley

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
away to the West as the sun went down.
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
and the children stood watching them out of the town.
For men must sail and women must weep,
and there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbour bar may be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
and they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
and the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
But men must sail and women must weep,
though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay on the shining sands
in the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
for those who will never come home to the town.
For men must sail and women must weep,
and the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep;
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

Did Jesus have a baby sister?

Did Jesus have a baby sister? Was she bitter? Was she sweet?
Did she wind up in a convent? Did she end up on the street?
On the run? On the stage? Did she dance?
Did he have a sister? A little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister? Did they give her a chance?

Did he have a baby sister? Could she speak out, by and large?
Or was she told by Mother Mary, "Ask your brother.
He's in charge. He's the chief. He's the whipped cream on the cake."
Did he have a sister? A little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister? Did they give her a break?

B theme:
Her brother's birth announcement was pretty big, pretty big, I guess.
While she got precious little notice in the local press.
Her mother was the Virgin, when she carried him, carried him therein.
If the little girl came later, then was she conceived in sin?
And in sorrow? And in suffering? And in shame?
Did Jesus have a sister? What was her name?

Did she long to be the saviour, saving everyone she met?
And in private, to her mirror, did she whisper, "Saviourette"?
"Saviour woman"? "Saviour person"? Save your breath!
Did he have a sister? A little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister? Was she there at his death?

And did she cry for Mary's comfort as she watched him on the cross?
And was Mary too despairing: "Ask your brother. He's the boss.
He's the chief. He's the man. He's the show."
Did he have a sister? A little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister? Doesn't anyone know?

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