Tag Archives: poetry

Shoulda Done It Differently Blues

I began writing this song while walking the dunes in Montaña de Oro. When I catch me shoulding on myself, singing the chorus breaks up the critical racket in my head, and helps me stop. Note: work in progress!

Shoulda Done It Differently Blues

(Chorus)
I shoulda done it differently
coulda done it better
I got the shoulda-done-it-differently blues

(repeat)

Red-faced dad
shakes his head
“What were you thinkin’, girl?

Grandma says,
“Leave her alone
it’s a coulda-done-it-differently world!

(Chorus)
(repeat)

The boss is late.
So what’s new?
What were you thinkin’, girl?

Don’t you know?
It’s your attitude
in a coulda-done-it-differently world!

(Chorus)
(repeat)

Landlord calls,
“Your rent is late.
What were you thinkin’, girl?”

But he’s wrong
Shoulda checked his mate
in this coulda-done-it-differently world

The horse is strong
patient, and kind
What are you thinkin’, girl?

That we belong,
and soon he’ll be mine
in this coulda-done-it-differently world

(Chorus)
I shoulda done it differently
coulda done it better
I got the shoulda-done-it-differently blues

(repeat)

©Elizabeth Shé 2017

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The Ballad of Clyde Monroe

Here’s the story of a flower-bedecked tree…

Flowers in his hair
Clyde stands tall
leaning a little to one side

He drinks in the air
clean and pristine
leaning a little to the side

Cash in his lair
twinkles light his eyes
as he leans just a little to one side

He knows not where
his relatives abide
tho’ they’re often just a little to the side

Machísmo is a bear
hard to maintain
so he leans just a little to one side

Minding his affairs
Clyde chanced upon an elk
standing a little to one side

Greetings were shared
along with local news
slanted a little to one side

“We haven’t many cares,”
agreed Elk & Clyde
smugly leaning a little to the side

“We’re a good ol’ pair,”
stated Clyde to Elk
tipping just a bit to the side

“True friendship is rare,”
Elk said, misty-eyed
sitting quite suddenly on his side

Into the distance they stared
at rough seas, city lights
leaning crazily side by side

“Do we dare?”
asked Elk, stripping down with care
stepping a little bit to the side

“Yes,” said Clyde, and bared
his limbs, ready, able,
yet leaning a little to the side

“How do we prepare?”
“Jump in,” said Clyde,
stepping down a little to one side

“Water’s brisk!” said Elk
but they fared just fine
because they leaned on each other side by side

Elk splashed, Clyde aired
even Moon beamed down
shining just a little to one side

Sure cure for despair
swimming naked in the sea
whether you lean a little to the side

“What ho!” sang Claire
and joined in the fun
never leaning just a bit to one side

“Quel mystere!” cried Elk
“Au contraire,” said Claire
“Stop leaning a little to one side!”

“Can’t help it,” Clyde shared.
“Grew this way,” said he,
“always leaning just a little to one side.”

“Handsome is as handsome wears,”
Elk said with warmth, and tried
to lean a little to one side

Claire clapped her paws
and did a little jig
leaning a little to one side

Clyde Monroe married Claire
and, content to the end,
both lean toward each other side by side.

Clyde Monroe, dressed in paper flowers from Mexico, Xmas 2014
Clyde Monroe, dressed in paper flowers from Mexico, Xmas 2014

All’s hallow

When I lived in Santa Monica circa the 1990’s, I was part of a coven of two. Basically we dressed up, made art, and had fun. Once we even sat in the Batmobile! (Our neighbor made street-legal versions of it for studio publicity.)

Both Pisces of Irish extraction, we always went out dancing on St. Paddy’s Day. Hallowe’en was another big day for us, with lots of planning and decorating and costuming. Make-up was mandatory.

After I moved to Seattle, my coven-mate died suddenly. Her brother left a message on my phone early one morning. I couldn’t believe my ears. She was in her early 40’s.

Here’s a poem I wrote for her:

Pumpkin
~for Maureen Marten

Shivering orange light
circle, heart, sliver
Suppose she gets the card
burnt in shards of squash
Hallowe’en postal service:
no charge to communing witches

Coven-mate Maureen Marten, photo by Elizabeth Shé
Coven-mate Maureen Marten, photo by Elizabeth Shé

 

 

 

March 7: Prime!

I was born on a prime number, and I am a prime number (on many levels!) today.

Fifty-three. I cannot be divided by anything other than ONE and MYSELF.

I am wholly my own: one, fifty-three.

After years of struggle, I can only be myself.

HALLELUJAH!

Welcome to Prime.

 

A Poem After Rehearsal for a Show I Will Not Do

I don’t want to be “better”

I just want to BE

  • big
  • glorious
  • powerful
  • ugly
  • gorgeous
  • dramatic (melo- if I must!)
  • sad
  • hysterical

MYSELF: Susan Elizabeth Shé

ENOUGH

(and counting)

 

a song I wrote after the same rehearsal...

Ad Nauseum

Improve improve improve

Improve Yourself!

(what size are you?)

 

Improve improve improve

Improve Yourself!

(what shape are you?)

 

Improve improve improve

Improve Yourself!

(what age are you?)

 

Improve improve improve

Improve Yourself!

(what race are you?)

 

Improve improve improve

Recuse yourself — we’re done!