The Lovers’ Chronicle 8 June – burdens – art by John Everett Millais & Jan Frans De Boever – birth of Steven Fromholz

Dear Zazie,  Here is the latest edition of The Lovers’ Chronicle by Mac Tag.   Are you carryin’ any burdens?  Yours and or someone else’s? Do they keep you up at night?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

are we in agreement, rather obvious choice,
written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards;
”I’ll never be your beast of burden”
”Agree perfect fit for today”
i think the last chorus sums up
where i was and how i feel;
“I’ll never be your beast of burden
I’ve walked for miles, my feet are hurtin’ 
All I want is you to make love to me
I don’t need no beast of burden
I need no fussin’, I need no nursin’”
walked the better part of a lifetime to git to you
”And we don’t have any burdens to bear”
no we buried ‘em and they are at rest
now all we want is what lies ahead

© copyright 2023.2024 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

why yes, there were many and from an early age; tried to carry hers and mine, have made allowance for there not bein’ a guidebook for parents, particularly for parents who survived a nightmare childhood, thought i was supposed to fix her, does that explain why i seemed to seek those saddled with excess baggage, is that a way to avoid your own problems, by carryin’ others; finally tucked that all away in time to be burden free for you

© copyright 2022.2024 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

a man no longer restless,
lies in bed beside a woman,
she dozes, he lies there grateful
weary no more, for the burdens carried
have been left behind on the broken trail

as his thoughts fill with memories gathered
from pursuits of pleasures together,
he clings to the dream come true

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Pale Love, Pale Rider

the only way to carry it all
to just keep on writin’

i have run out
to flag down the wind
and i hear things
when silence
is all that abounds

and there have been times
when it brought me
down to my knees

but i am still me
and the place
where i hold you is true

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

oh yes, i have ’em
but i tote ’em easily

restless was used last year
not sure about that now
have plenty of “less”
but not that one

for example
joy
got none of that
joyless as a june bug
to borrow from Vidal,
joy is not my bag
i was de-bagged long ago
i get by on work and detachment
perfectly acceptable substitutes

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

a man, restless in bed
beside a woman he just met
she dozes, he lies there listenin’
weary of the burdens he carries,
or rather, from the burdens created
the memories from the broken trails,
the regrets from the choices made

for love left behind, for bein’
one of the unforgiven religion
thoughts fill with shadows gathered
from past pursuits of fleetin’ pleasures
the what ifs and questions suspended
above in the mountain night, deep in silence

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

One more day y’all

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

You see this! holds up a fistful of poems

This! This!
This is what gets
me through the day!

Cannot get enough:
Of Frank and Dino
Of cold, starry nights
Of Keats and Shelley
Of those pretty eyes

© copyright 2015 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Inside the house; a man, restless in bed beside a woman
he just met. She dozes, he lies there listenin’, eyes wide
shut in the dark, no doubt hearin’ Her callin’. He looks
weary with all the burdens he has to carry, or rather, from
the burdens he has created for himself; like the memories
from the trail of broken hearts, the regrets from the choices
made, for love left behind, for bein’ one of the unforgiven
religion. His thoughts fill with shadows gathered from his
past pursuits of fleetin’ pleasures. Above him, the what ifs,
sighs, and questions; suspended, while off in the mountain
night, deep in silence, She awaits there with Her power that
moves through the world and makes his hair stand on end.
She is there, knowin’ a storm will soon sweep down the valley
and knowin’ the answers yet keepin’ them to Herself until……

© 2014 Mac Tag Cowboy Coleridge All rights reserved

Today is the birthday of John Everett Millais (Southampton, Hampshire, England 8 June 1829 – 13 August 1896 Kensington, London); painter and illustrator who was one of the founders of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.
This style was promoted by the critic John Ruskin, who had defended the Pre-Raphaelites against their critics. Millais’s friendship with Ruskin introduced him to Ruskin’s wife Effie.

Soon after they met, she modelled for his painting The Order of Release. As Millais painted Effie, they fell in love. Despite having been married to Ruskin for several years, Effie was still a virgin. Her parents realised something was wrong and she filed for an annulment.
In 1855, Effie and John Millais married. He and Effie had eight children: Everett, born in 1856; George, born in 1857; Effie, born in 1858; Mary, born in 1860; Alice, born in 1862; Geoffroy, born in 1863; John in 1865; and Sophie in 1868. Their youngest son, John Guille Millais, became a naturalist, wildlife artist, and Millais’s posthumous biographer. Their daughter Alice (1862–1936), later Alice Stuart-Worsley after she married Charles Stuart-Worsley, was a close friend and muse of the composer Edward Elgar, and is thought to have been an inspiration for themes in his Violin Concerto.

Effie’s younger sister Sophie Gray sat for several pictures by Millais, prompting some speculation about the nature of their apparently fond relationship.

Gallery

Today is the birthday of Jan Frans De Boever (Ghent, Belgium, 8 June 1872 – 23 May 1949 Ghent); Symbolist painter, known for his paintings of voluptuous nude women in morbid contexts. Skeletons, death and eroticism flood his oeuvre. He made illustrations in gouache for Charles Baudelaire‘s famous Les Fleurs du mal for the Ghent collector and art patron Léon Speltinckx with 157 gouaches. While he was a successful artist during most of his lifetime, his megalomaniac character made him a solitary and isolated individual.

De Boever received his training in Ghent at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts under Louis Tytgadt, whose niece he later married.

Tytgadt provided him with an introduction to important artistic circles in his city, and he became a recognised celebrity at official exhibitions in Ghent, Antwerp, Brussels, and Liège.

From 1909 onwards, he modified his style radically, painting women and prostitutes in morbid and bizarre settings, with skeletons, diabolism, subservient men and eroticism dominating his paintings. These paintings were allegorical and mythological, reflecting romantic imagery and depicting the universal struggle of good against evil.

Once he had discovered his style, a form of Symbolism belonging to the decadent movement, he ignored ongoing artistic developments and drew his inspiration from literature, music, and mythology. He was still inspired by patriotism, creating several paintings concerning the World Wars, displaying death and catastrophe in the Symbolist style.

His paintings were very successful until 1935 when he suffered a financial crisis. He reduced his prices and continued to paint in the same Symbolist fashion until his death.

gallery

And today is the birthday of Steven Fromholz (Steven John Fromholz; Temple, Texas, June 8, 1945 – January 19, 2014 Eldorado, Texas); entertainer, singer-songwriter who was selected as the Poet Laureate of Texas for 2007.

I’d Have to Be Crazy

I’d have to be crazy
To stop all my singing
And never play music again

You’d call me a fool
If I grabbed up a top hat
And ran out to flag down the wind

I’d have to be weird
To grow me a beard
Just to see what the rednecks would do

But I’d have to be crazy
Plum out of my mind
To fall out of love with you

Now I know I’ve done weird things
I told people I heard things
When silence was all that abounds

Been days when it pleased me
To be on my knees
Following ants, as they crawled across the ground

I’ve been insane on a train
But I’m still me again
The place where I hold you is true

So I know I’m alright
‘Cause I’d have to be crazy
To fall out of love with you

Now I don’t intend to
But should there come a day
When I say that I don’t love you
You can love me away

I sure would be dingy
To live in an envelope
Waiting alone for a stamp

You’d swear I was loco
To rub for a genie
While burning my hand on the lamp

And I may not be normal
But nobody is
So I’d like to say ‘fore I’m through

I’d have to be crazy
Plumb out of my mind
To fall out of love with you

I’d have to be crazy
Plumb out of my mind
To fall out of love with you

Songwriters: STEVEN FROMHOLZ

© BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

For non-commercial use only.

Man With the Big Hat

In a bar in Arizona
On a sultry summer day
A cowboy came in off the road just to pass the time away
He pulled a stool up to the bar and pushed his hat back on his head
I listened to the stories told, to the words that cowboy said
He said…

“I could tell you stories ’bout the Indians on the plain
Talk about Wells Fargo and the comin’ of the trains
Talk of the slaughter of the buffalo that roamed
Sing a song of settlers come out looking for a home.”

[Chorus:]
Now, the man with the big hat is buyin’
Drink up while the drinkin’ is free
Drink up to the cowboys a-dead or a-dyin’
Drink to my compadres and me
Drink to my compadres and me

Well, his shirt was brown and faded
And his hat was wide and black
And the pants that once were blue were grey and had a pocket gone in back
He had a finger missin’ from the hand that rolled the smoke
He laughed and talked of cowboy life, but you knew it weren’t no joke
He said…

“I seen the day so hot your pony could not stand
And if your water bag was dry, don’t count upon the land
And winters… I’ve seen winters when your boots froze in the snow
And your only thought was leavin’, but you had nowhere to go

[Chorus]

Well, he rested easy at the bar, his foot upon the rail
And laughed and talked of times he’d had out livin’ on the trail
The silence was never broken as the words poured from his lips
Quiet as the forty five he carried on his hip, he said…

“I rode the cattle drive from here to San Antone
Ten days in the saddle, you know, and weary to the bone
I rode from here to Wichita without a woman’s smile
The camp fire where I cooked my beans was the only light for miles

[Chorus]

Well, he rolled another cigarette as he turned toward the door
I heard his spurs a jinglin’ as his boot heels hit the floor
He loosened up his belt a notch, pulled his hat down on his head
As he turned to say goodbye to me, this is what he said…

“Now, the high-lines chase the highways, and the fences close the range
And to see a workin’ cowboy – that’s a sight that’s mighty strange.”
But a cowboy’s life was lonely, and his lot was not the best
But if it hadn’t been for men like me, there wouldn’t be no west

Songwriter: STEVE FROMHOLZ

© Universal Music Publishing Group

For non-commercial use only.

thanks for stoppin’ by y’all

Mac Tag