My Voodoo

When I was a lil girl,

My momma spoke softly to me,

She said, 'my darlin baby,

Run away from your papa's key."

"Dont let him do to you,

What he's doin to me."

 

So when he ran I went to,

I ran far ways away from his Jesus blues,

I met the devil in Salt Lake City,

He gave me the way to my little pretty,

My barefoot baby was a bad boy in the making,

But the heart of his wasnt worth forsaking.

 

I sang my music through the bayous,

I ran my hands through her voodoos,

The winds blew through my crevice,

But my heart did my hands a service.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

This is a soulful story that invokes memories of my great uncles that would play poker, smoke, tell stories and listen to old blues records. I just cant help but hear 12 bar shuffle as I read. I'm sorry about not being to helpful with my review, but this poem just has this special magic. I love it.

My barefoot baby was a bad boy in the making,But the heart of his wasnt worth forsaking.

I loved those lines. It was almost like a prelude to *Hoochie Coochie Man*.
Your clever writing style really has won me over. This poem is one of those things you try to describe and the only thing you can do is say..."I'ts just...Mannnnn..u gotta see it" as you shake your fist. Magic. 100 (+1)

[Geo]

Cool like the sax's in a jazz song smooth fluid.

[Tate Morgan]

A child of the harness horse track I can relate to this .It is the bane of the downtrodden to have the ability to tell a story through the emotions experienced living it .Till you feel the story as if it were your own.Bravo
Tate