RAGWEED RUTH
Ragweed Ruth was unmowed maze
She was nightshade in the morning
Her ragged flag was often raised
But she raised it like a warning.
No mate had she but emptiness
No family filled her time
She sipped instead on bitterness
Just like it was sweet wine
like it was sweet wine
She soothed her throat with emptiness
Just like it was sweet wine.
The best spread once found anywhere
Was left by her old man's leaving
But she farmed those fields like a fool at prayer
And watered them with dreaming.
Her hay was wind and wanderings
Shocked up by forked rakes
Her grain was threshed by thunderings
Her trees were tangled snakes
trees were tangled snakes
Her grain was threshed by thunderings
Her trees were tangled snakes.
Each spring the farmers from around
Brought axes and advices
But Ruth would firmly glare them down
To forge her own devices.
For she was plenty to herself
She survived the seasons through
She was dark bread dipped in health
She was her own strong brew
was her own strong brew
She was dark bread dipped in salty health
She was her own strong brew.
Then came the dry when the farming men
Failed and cracked and fled
Ruth invited all the families in
And somehow all were fed.
Plow never cleft her bottomland
Nor harrow stroked her sod
Still, golden ears and marzipan
Up sprung from where she trod
sprung from where she trod
Golden ears and marzipan
Sprung up from where she trod.
The passing of her wandering walk
Could fill a tree with fruit
At her glare the shriveled stalk
Would straighten, stand and root.
The dry time passed as all times will.
Back to the crippled county
Returned the rain, the sprouts to till,
And seeming endless bounty.
The guests all gathered up and left
With their advice and axes…
Old Ruth ragdanced on to death
Her land was sold for taxes
land was sold for taxes
Ragweed Ruth danced on to death
Her land was sold for taxes.
PACK OF WALNETTOS
Sister Lou had a shop on the corner
Four kids and a veteran in bed
All day to the old she sold dresses made over
And dressed soldiers all night in her head…
God grant me a pack of Walnettos
And the Good Book to sermon upon
Let me shine like a flash through the trash in the ghettos
And I'll light those darkies' way home.
At the keyboard they found the professor
Done in by downers and wine
The bottle still cold on the old walnut dresser
The metronome still keeping time…
God give me a pack of Walnettos
And the Good Book to sermon upon
Let me burn like a beacon for the weak in the ghettos
And I'll light those darkies' way home.