Should I get lost, point me in the direction of a poem.

Bluesy Lady

June 30th, 2013 | Posted by bbleen in Broken Heart | Joy | Love | Poetry readings | Reflections | Romance - (Comments Off on Bluesy Lady)

That’s the good thing about women, man. Because they sing their $!#% insides, man.

Women, to be in the music business, give up more than you will ever know. ~ Janis


Love her or hate her but you can’t deny her

because deep down you knew she was the

free spirit you secretly wanted to be.

Maybe your mama didn’t like her an’ your daddy

called her white trash, but on that stage

she had a presence that couldn’t be denied.

Maybe you got high an’ maybe you didn’t

but you grooved right there with her an’ you

became her an’ she you because Baby, Baby,

when those bluesy notes rose up from her throat

you wanted to jump up on that stage an’ bawl

your eyeballs out right there with her.


Love her or hate her but you can’t deny her.

When she sang the blues you felt her pain right

down to your pretty pink painted toenails.

Talk about love, how it catches you on fire

an’ turns you inside out, well Janis wrote the

book on love Baby!

Whether that love was Southern Comfort or

Bobby McGee her emotions were out there

for everyone to see with no apologies or

pretenses;  writhing and wailing on stage till

you’d take that piece of her heart, that ball

an’ chain just to relieve her pain ‘cause

she shone brighter than any stars in your sky.


Love her or hate her but you can’t deny her.

When she was up there on that stage she was

bigger than life itself.

She made love to that microphone an’ her

deep raspy voice reached clear down to your

soul an’ you didn’t care about her looks or

bad habits or sexual preferences.

It only mattered that she sing and keep on singin’

because when you got  a little sprinkle of that

sunshine you knew, it didn’t get any better

than this.

Love her or hate her but you can’t deny her,

no more than she could deny herself!

Spell Check

October 30th, 2011 | Posted by bbleen in Growing old | Love | Reflections | Romance - (Comments Off on Spell Check)

My body is no longer the flawless manuscript

most men would take time out of their busy day to read;

no longer as exciting as the latest novel,

nor as interesting as the daily news.

There was a time when everything was capitalized

in all the right places,

the i’s were dotted and there were no uncrossed t’s.

Everything was worded right. 

Sentences had the appropriate emphasis and titles

fit me perfectly.

Now, I am more like the comics, and even some of them

aren’t funny, but rather tragic.

I was beginning to think I was of no more use  

than a rolled up newspaper used to swat flies.

But then you found me.

You read the manuscript, overlooking the flaws.

There is no need for spell-check, you accept me as I am.

My words come off your lips in the form of poetry,

and in your eyes I am the sonnet,

I had always hoped to be.

The Question Begging an Answer

October 30th, 2011 | Posted by bbleen in Classic Cars | Romance - (Comments Off on The Question Begging an Answer)

The words seemed to pop out of their own accord,

a surprise even to me, the one who asked them.

So much so that I instantly regretted the question,

afraid this time for sure I had over-stepped the

boundary of what is yours is ours.

Yet, I saw a smile curve the corner of your lips.

Could it be that you were actually pleased I had

slipped so easily into your classic car passion,

that I was so taken with your 1948 Dodge that I

would ask you to leave it to me in your will?

It wasn’t that it was especially unique, just one

of many classic cars, but something about it

struck a chord in my heart. Made me think of

bobby socks, poodle skirts, pony tails and young

love, of kisses under myriad stars.

More than anything it had style, from its hood to

its white wall tires.  It was a dingy blue-gray

hunk-a-hunk of love that seemingly begged to

be touched.  And I wanted to touch it, curve to

curve, let the aromatic leather titillate my senses.

I could envision us riding through the country-

side, my hair tied up by a silk scarf which would

be blowing ever so glamorously in the wind.

You would have on your black cowboy hat,

looking so chic, so debonair.

On hot summer nights we could lay our bodies

against its cool surface to gaze at the night sky.

Or cruise leisurely through the night, just to listen

to its hissing carbs, the crackling spark plug wires,

the beating of it’s metal heart.