Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Outlaw Women“.

Dordogne – France: Bonjour Jean. Sadly, my time in France is coming to an end. And on the subject of  ends, news travels very slowly in these parts and I’ve only just learnt of the deaths of Cornell Dupree, who played that incredible guitar on one of the greatest live albums of all time, “Donny Hathaway Live” and our own blues great “Dutch” Tilders.

So I want to dedicate today’s poem to both those gents, who gave me so much listening pleasure over the years.

I’ve been forced out of my canoe by low water levels in the Vezere River and low Euro levels in my wallet, I’m spending my last couple of days in France in the small village of Les Eyzies, best known for it’s caves filled with pre-historic artefacts, and once used as hideouts for outlaws – yes, outlaws.

Yet again life imitates art. Well, maybe not art but the JVG Radio Method at least.
Well, you know what I mean!

For Cornell and “Dutch”

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:
[audio:JVG_Poem20110529.mp3]

Also have a listen to the tracks on the new EP “Once We Were Kings Of The World


Outlaw Women

Madeleine Dupree did not choose a life of crime
Oppressed beyond endurance, a victim of her time

An outlaw she became when pushed a bit too far
By the ruthless Jacques Jambon and his gang, “Le Pack Noir”

Jambon was a brute and as vain as he was cruel
Madeleine, just five years old, her second year at school

His gang would haunt the playground and always hunt in pairs
Seizing each child’s lunchbox, commandeering all éclairs

Madeleine decided she’d had enough one day
First they nabbed her Croque Monsieur then swiped her Cream Broulee

“I’ll have my revenge” she swore “Regardless who gets hurt”
“You can filch my goat fromage but you can’t nick my dessert”

“I’ll give those hoodlums sweeties if that is what they want”
“Two kilograms of laxative rolled into a croissant”

She wasn’t taking prisoners and to foil any escapes
She popped another kilo in the topping for the crepes

As those thugs tucked in Madeleine indulged a smile
And watched them disappear into a putrid, steaming, pile

When the haze dispersed there was almost nothing left
Her tormentors literally, “creped” themselves to death

But Jambon missed the banquet, he’d been fortuitously slow
Shaking down Jean Tilders for a strawberry gateau

He ran towards the bike shed, and mocked “You won’t get me”
Madeleine just chuckled “We’ll see what we shall see”

“I’ve made a few adjustments to his bicycle” she laughed
She’d taken off the saddle leaving nothing but the shaft

As Jacques jumped on his BMX, a pained shriek filled the air
Two hundred ml of polished steel slipped up his derriere

What happened to his bike is impossible to tell
They couldn’t find a trace save the light and half the bell

Poor Madeleine and crepes were expelled, without a friend
Right or wrong, outlaws always meet a sticky end

Now she’s working in a call centre, south of St Moritz
Doing what she does the best, giving everyone the shits

© Copyright 2011 Ian Bland

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