Blues on Monday.
The cats run to me
for pieces of chicken,
and a little B.B. King.
Blues on Tuesday.
I look in the yard for
rubies, and all I find are
hard-boiled eggs.
Pagans hid them in the
grass during their
Eostre festival.
Blues on Wednesday.
Muddy watered coffee.
I ain't even getting out of
this bed.
Thursday's blues bring
rain and that old
Robert Johnson.
Damn the crossroads and
all those poison bitches.
Grab Blind Lemon and help
him to the campfire.
Hey, Sonny Boy, get that
mouth harp out and start to
wailing.
Those fat frogs are hopping
around for them snakes at
the Friday barn dance.
Saturday is finally here.
Buddy Guy and
John Lee Hooker burning up
that devils note--the flat five.
You know you sold your soul.
Here comes Lightning.
Better take Sunday off, we need
some churching up.
Do some praying before we
all go to hell.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 23rd, 2025 22:46
- Comment from author about the poem: My recently published books, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and Jump to the Madhouse, are available on Amazon.com
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
lol I'd go to hell just for the company, after all Dante is down there. 🔥 Love your musical taste dear Thomas.
Thank you, sweet Teddy.
Gripping write🕊️🙏🏻
Thanks.
Welcome 🕊🙏🏻
I enjoyed this one Thomas I always loved the blues and the names just keep on rolling. Good write
Thank you.
Excellent write, Thomas. A week in the life...love the progression of this. Well done! 🌹🔥👏
Thank you so much.
You are most welcome, my friend!
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