A Grand Old Painter

A grand old painter in the evening hush,

Is sitting weary, hunched and rheumatoid.

With shaky hands, he gathers up a brush,

And stares into the canvas’ grey void.

When after much time, he lets out a sigh,

As though at last he’s made himself ready,

And it’s as if what’s seen in his mind’s eye,

Has allowed his old hands to grow steady.

Now from his palette the colours that pour,

His genius moving from mind to hand;

And beautiful brush strokes he lays before,

As though some power he draws on command.

This grand old painter in the evening hush,

By definition, he defines the truth.

And steady of hand, of mind and of brush,

He works this self-portrait of him in youth.

Before the Fall of Rome

Way back when I was twenty-three,

A lifetime past…in days long gone,

A fair-haired girl abandoned me,

And broke my heart when she moved on.

Now, thirty years, I’ve left behind,

To time before the fall of Rome;

Though ancient history fills my mind,

Like Rhymin’ Simon’s, ‘Kodachrome’.

With memories that never fade-

Is how this old boy will endure;

And that is how I wish they’d stayed-

Like my first love, so chaste and pure.

But walking down the street today,

With all those years gone by and by,

Who do you think was in my way?

Well, my old love - we stood eye to eye.

Imagine my complete surprise-

Dumb-struck, my words went clean away;

And looking in her big brown eyes,

I thought of nothing smart to say.

Now, awkward were we standing there,

No clever words could I amass,

But when she said, “Where’s all your hair?”

I whined, “You’ve grown another ass!”

Dog Eared is My Notebook

Dog eared is this notebook of mine,

And I’m not even halfway through;

Scribbles and crosses on every line,

Ever so untidy it is true.

Most unorganized at a glance,

‘Pon pages where pen and paper meet;

These letters of mine left to chance,

Seem to cringe across each new sheet.

Hesitant or abandoned most,

But in my note book they’ve remained;

Never to the trash I’m here to boast,

These words of mine – I’m unashamed.

And though dog eared is my notebook

With well worn thumbing and erasing,

It’s to each blank sheet I look

And for some bone, I keep chasing.

Dog eared, dog tired or doggie doo,

In the letters of my notebook lined,

Within this mess I’m looking through,

This old dog sees a cluttered mind.

Touch Football in Mississippi

Heed this warning all the same,

In Mississippi when playing the game;

Touch football I am talking about,

You've been warned - have no doubt!

They take it seriously it is true,

But of course this I already knew;

Yet, still they said, I'd made light,

'Twas then I landed like Betty White.

Upon my back writhing in pain,

And now I know - such is my shame:

Touch football in Mississippi - proud,

Never count 'steamboats' out loud.

‘In Country’

Now baby boomers it’s been told,

Because our numbers are so large,

On society we’ll take hold,

This generation, ever in charge.

And now I’m thinking back to ‘Nam’,

The war we stopped you must agree.

We had a cause, we gave a damn,

For our brave soldiers, ‘In Country’.

Yes, ‘In Country’, we got them out,

Our voice as one so loud and clear;

Now baby boomers have no doubt,

If we stand again, we’ll make them hear.

In ‘Nam’ we did for those ‘In Country’,

But here and now in old age spent;

There’s a larger cause for you and me,

And help we must the ‘In Continent’.

The Three Ghosts of Christmas

The Three Ghosts of Christmas,

Larry, Moe and Curly Joe,

Though not a Dickens tale alas,

'Tis one that you might know.

For seen we have at the malls,

On Boxing Day nevermore,

When the last spirit of Christmas calls,

And race we do from store to store.

Three Wise Men with their gifts bearing,

And it's never been the same since.

In the stable at the child staring,

Larry, Moe and Curly Joe wince.

For ghosts upon the Christ child seen,

Beneath that bright star's rays,

Where wise men could never glean

What have now become just holidays.

Until three Wise Men unwittingly

Succumbed to the season's scrooges,

And the greatest story ever told, fittingly,

Is now sold by the ghosts of the Three Stooges.

Farley the Flop Eared Elf

Farley the flop eared elf,

With ears drooping below,

At his booth by himself,

With his tatted lace to sew.

So different than the rest,

With ears pointing straight;

A flop eared elf who’d have guessed -

It seemed an unusual fate.

Such a teasing he took

From the others all the same;

And there from his tiny nook,

He hung his head in shame.

But then Santa came to call

On Farley and his fine lace;

For it seemed from in his stall,

His work had dropped off pace.

When with his own two eyes,

Santa saw on Farley’s wall;

And there knotted to his surprise,

It said, ‘Peace and Goodwill to All’.

Then the others gathered ‘round,

Now humbled were the elves,

For in those words they had found,

The difference in themselves.

Till Farley with his flop ears

Was seen at last for his heart,

And there amidst the loud cheers,

He proudly now stands apart.

PEACE AND GOODWILL TO ALL

MERRY CHRISTMAS

My Christmas Stocking

My Christmas stocking hangs in hope,

Upon the fireplace over there;

Limply dangling by a small rope,

Wherein sugar plum dreams I dare.

Yes, on the mantle adorning,

Although empty is my stocking;

I am hoping that by morning,

Santa will have come a knocking.

Yet, as at the ashes I poke,

It’s tough keeping this childlike face,

For so much has gone up in smoke,

Till ironic seems this fireplace.

But where else would I hang my hope;

For alas it is Christmas Eve;

And like stockings hung by a rope,

In tomorrow I must believe.

The Stranger at My Door (a novel gift idea and it's cheap too - Give more of ourselves)

He came upon the midnight clear

A tap, tap tapping at my door;

On this coldest night of the year,

A man I’d never seen before.

“Come, come in, sit beside the fire,”

I said, letting the stranger in.

And by the glow I saw how dire

And pitiful I can’t begin.

Life for certain hadn’t been kind,

That in itself was pretty clear;

Now on top of that, he was blind,

And I wondered how he got here.

By the fire I gave him a seat

And a smile crossed his weathered face,

Then instantly he fell asleep,

And I shrugged and gave him space.

No answers would be told tonight,

It was quite obvious to see,

The stranger by my fire you’re right

Would remain a mystery to me.

So off to my bed wandered I;

With a blanket I left him there.

Perhaps in the morning I’d try,

And maybe then with me he’d share.

But in the morning he was gone,

While I assumed the night he’d spent,

And I wondered the short and long;

What if anything it all meant?

And though this happened last week,

Here I’m thinking on Christmas Eve;

Upon it now I’m bound to speak,

For something more I do believe.

And though that stranger got away,

And of his life I’ll never know;

Friends and family starting today,

More of an interest I will show.

Candy Cane

A candy cane on a Christmas tree,

Hanging amongst the tinsel and lights;

And from a child's eye were I to see,

Reach I would for its high heights.

For a promise made is Christmas Day,

But child's time runs so terribly slow;

Yes, mere days seem like months away,

And to that candy cane I'd never grow.

Now like a carrot held to a horse,

This good boy watched it dangle there;

But what it is, that inner force,

That in forbidden fruit we always dare.

And to have that candy cane I must,

For such heights I was destined to reach;

And sure I reasoned it was all unjust -

There are some lessons you just can't teach.

And so I climbed my way to the top,

Past the candy cane to the star;

For what it's worth I couldn't stop -

I mean after all I'd come so far.

And in that crash I remember well,

As beneath that tree I lay there flat;

This kid unlike George Washington to tell,

Was oh so thankful we owned a cat.

I'm Dancing by Myself

I’m dancing by myself whoop, whoop,

Ain’t nobody watching, I’m all alone;

Doing the doo wop shoop, shoop,

Most un-adult like if it must be known.

But there’s the dog looking at me weird

As I’m grooving across the floor;

Now for take-off I’ve been cleared,

Man, this old engine can still roar.

Michael Jackson ain’t got nothing on me,

The stereo’s cranked louder than loud;

Like a lunatic I’m dancing free –

I must say even the dog was wowed.

But of course to secrecy he’s been sworn,

That dog of mine the tales he could tell,

And so I go on dancing up a storm,

‘Cause that dog accepts, I’m crazy as hell.

School of Thought

A work in progress was he,

His handlers hoped he might be fine,

But similarities they could see;

And were they building a Frankenstein?

All the spooks and all the shrinks

Dedicated to altering states,

They were moulding how he thinks,

Each of them bent by their own shapes.

Bits and pieces from the scrap heap,

Wisdom like wing nuts – whatever fit;

Sort of like a World War 2 Jeep

One might buy from an old kit.

Now if you listen close you’ll hear

The nuts and bolts rattling around,

While the spooks and shrinks are pretty clear.

The right parts they haven’t found.

It’s not an exact science, they say,

Each coming from their own school of thought,

While poor Frankenstein sits, rusting away

Because his screw’s missing no one’s got.

Another Birthday

Another birthday for what it’s worth,

And the same wish is mine to make;

Once again for peace on earth,

I blow the candles on the cake.

And every year it is the same,

‘Cept for one more candle on my cake,

Peace on earth it seems a shame,

But for this claim I cannot make.

Still, upon this wish I count,

Even if it’s more difficult to blow;

Who’d have thought I’d reach this amount

Of bloody candles, row on row.

Now all these candles I’m afraid,

No longer can I blow them out,

And though this wish I’ll never trade,

For me it cannot come about.

To you, from failing hands, I throw

The candles: be yours to hold them high,

And birthday wishes when you blow,

For peace on earth you’ve got to try.

We Will Meet Again

From the Highlands whence my granny came,

With her bonny stories so regaled;

’Twas the ‘Old Country’, she called by name,

From which long years before she sailed.

Left forever the land of her youth,

To the New World and life better fared,

And in her memories, held as truth,

With me the fair lochs and glens she shared.

In tartaned clans born of Celtic pride,

A young boy heard the pipes a-callin’,

And this promise made to the other side,

To Granny before I too am fallin’.

Aye, for you who never had the chance,

I swear it, before I’m done roamin’.

For you, I will save the final dance,

And we will meet again at Loch Lomond.

A Winter Path

A winter path I followed here,                            

Where trampled snows ran deep and wide;

This winding course that man made clear,

I hiked it well in certain stride.

Upon these snows hard and frozen,

The crunching cool beneath my feet;

This path of others I had chosen,

Where destined I was to repeat.

And followed still each bend and crook,

I rambled on another's way,

And never questioned this path I took,

Nor did I ever think to stray.

But near the end on snow paths made,

I’m seeing what I never saw,

In winter paths of easy grade,

The way of others is soon to thaw.

Looking Aft

Over the yardarm looking aft,
And harkening back to days gone by,
Tall ships off the beam and abaft,
Their sails silhouetted against the sky.

At the mark on a windward beat,
Schooners and square-riggers are close-hauled.
So leaning where wind and wave meet,
Wooden ships and iron men are recalled.

And in the song of silent sails,
With shanties sung on lofty craft,
These tall ships hold so many tales,
For we modern folk looking aft.

And seen it is at the mizzen,
When looking back beyond the stern;
In this age of iron ships risen,
It’s to sail we wooden men yearn.

Hourglass

An hour glass figure she had,
With each curve in its proper place,
And beguiling many a lad,
She mastered the art of the chase.

Yes, with her hourglass and sands,
She’d run forever would this flirt,
And on her lover’s - what demands!
She couldn’t care less who she hurt.

For she never did understand,
Choosing only to see the glass,
And with nothing but shallow sand,
Her hour came quickly to pass.

Feathers Followed

Feathers followed on a balmy breeze,

Fluttering down a wooded trail,

In amongst the Redwood trees;

My dreams and aspirations sail.

And crazy am I giving chase,

To feathers on the breeze floating,

Where erratic is the line I trace;

Just out of reach - always groping.

To grasp these feathers if I could,

'Tis something I have wanted so much;

I've spent a lifetime in this wood,

But these feathers, I've yet to touch.

Now I wonder, have I the will?

Feathers flying, can I succeed?

For so much steeper is the hill,

And questions; do I have the need?

Until these feathers fallen short,

And curse I do my rotten luck,

Empty handed I must report,

And this issue now I can't duck.

For feathers followed to take stock,

Is foolishness beyond all words.

Yet, we the dreamers will still flock,

And chase what's rightly for the birds.

Cowgirl on the Range

Hello, cowgirl on the range,

You know I never felt as alive;

Love in places so very strange,

Out there on that cattle drive.

Hit ‘em up and move ‘em out,

It was love for me at first sight;

Man, movin’ them doggies about,

I couldn’t wait to see you at night.

In the chow line you sloppin’ beans,

How I longed for that old bell;

It was like one of them Hollywood scenes,

Then ‘round the campfire my love to tell.

Hello, ruby in the dust,

Makin’ love beneath them stars;

Remember Laredo or bust,

You and me like Venus and Mars.

Hello, cowgirl on the range,

I loved you then and I love you now,

But don’t you think it’s kinda strange,

The girl I love, I’m callin’ a cow.