All Hallow's Eve

It was cold and eerie on this All Hallow's Eve,

And how I’d got here I could not believe,

But if the truth’s to tell, I think that it’s fair,

I’m in this cemetery because of a dare.

Yes, such was my bravado at old Alfie’s wake;

But here in the darkness had I made a mistake?

For absolute madness it now seemed to spend,

This last night alone with my departed friend.

But what is a man if he’s not true to his word?

And Alfie planted here would have concurred,

For I’m certain ‘twas him instead of me,

Off to the netherworld he’d come to see me.

So that is how we were to be found,

On this moonless night me atop his mound;

The living and dead on this cemetery green,

The two of us sharing this last night between.

Now, what ghoulish thoughts and tricks will play

When angry shadows dance this and that way?

From out of the darkness what evil is flown,

As at the edge Alfie and I wait the unknown?

Till suddenly they appeared out of the gloom;

And I swear old Alfie screamed from his tomb.

And how I got beside him I’ll never know,

But there I lay in that coffin below.

Bloodied and bandaged the living dead walked,

As clinging to Alfie at our coffin they knocked.

“Go away, go away!” I heard Alfie yelling.

But on they came most ghoulish and smelling.

Now the pain of a thousand deaths was mine,

As Alfie I watched queue up in that line.

And a tearful farewell so it was we bid,

Till alone it was just me beneath that lid.

Yes, what better farewell on this All Hallow's Eve;

Where old Alfie now has taken his leave?

And it’s here at last that I’ve come to terms,

For now it’s just me who sleeps with the worms.

Napoleon in Rags Revisited

Napoleon in rags revisited,

In a seniors’ home on Highway 61;

But now with a walker assisted,

We reminisced being forever young.

We talked of all the years between

And what might have been way back when;

Yes, so long ago it seemed a dream,

But of course we’d do it all again.

“And whatever happened to what’s her name,

That rich chick always putting on airs?”

“Oh God!“ He laughed, “She was crazy insane,

I think she finally got her Daddy’s shares.”

“We never did talk all that much,”

Napoleon shrugged. “She just moved on.”

“Yeah man,” He said. “We just lost touch,

She got pretty freaked by old Bobby's song!”

A 'Deadhead' in Deadwood

South Dakota here I come,

A Deadwood gambler to be;

Since the stroke my face is numb,

Now a perfect poker face that's me.

 

Of course a nickname like Wild Bill

Or Calamity Jane I will need,

And though not my first choice, but still,

It seems 'Numb Skull' was taking seed.

 

Then there was the 'Deadhead' from Deadwood,

All most unflattering you'll agree;

You would think more respect I should,

But I guess it was all okay with me.

 

As long as I was winning, anyway;

I couldn't care less what they called me.

But if my good luck went away,

Another side of me you might see.

 

Of course now the other side's the same

With this stupid 'deadhead' I've got;

But I tell you it has helped my game,

In Deadwood I keep winning the pot.

 

And so with this hand dealt I play,

While nobody knows just how I feel;

And all the hurtful things they say,

I think to myself just shut up and deal.

 

But still another nickname would be nice;

Perhaps like Old Stone face or Rushmore,

But dealing cards or rolling dice,

Really, just ante up, I don't care no more.

An Old Hayseed Indeed

They called old Harry a hayseed

A rural route kind of guy;

Yes, an old hayseed indeed,

They would often say with a sigh.

In his greasy overalls

Outside the old general store,

This victim of suburban malls

Was a holdover from a time before.

With the Interstate now his front yard,

What’s an old hayseed to do?

But old Harry certainly inspired

Learned to profit from his view.

A hayseed yes indeed,

This old hick probably inbredded;

For sure his Yuppie neighbours agreed

When he overcharged for unleaded.

Living in the Moment

Do you ever sit and watch the rain

And of the sunshine try to remember,

Like perhaps it's August again

Instead of friggin' November?

But meditate I sometimes will

For Buddhist teachings I have learned;

In the moment my heart be still

To live within it I have yearned.

Yet Buddha Smuddha I'm hear to say,

Living in the moment myself to train;

For I can tell you there's no better way

Than standing here in the goddamn rain!

Changes

Changes like the seasons will come

And not a damn thing can I do,

But my heart beating like a drum

Is the one constant through and through.

 

To hear the rhythm in my chest

Through all my changes which I've spoken,

Overtime it has stood the test,

Though on occasion it's felt broken.

 

All my changes come and gone

Until what's real is hard to tell;

But older now I carry on

Though softer perhaps is my yell.

 

And though hearts may break along the way

Or flutter when with fear they're fraught,

I know that changes come what may

Are mine until this old heart stops.

Blow My Top

Seldom do I blow my top

But every once in a while,

Myself I just cannot stop,

And I’ll let it rip in style.

To get a word in edge wise,

Don’t even bother to try,

‘Cause when there’s fire in my eyes,

My tirade you’ll not get by.

Yessir, I’ll tear off a strip,

And though I’m not really proud,

I can’t seem to get a grip

And man, am I ever loud.

Now it feels good I must say

Just to watch some moron wilt,

But afterwards I always pay

As filled I am with bloody guilt.

Though I suppose I’m like the drunk

Who with a hangover he must pay,

Yet in the moment who’d have thunk,

And hell, tomorrow’s another day.

Hand Puppets

A hand puppet life I lead

For ain’t that the poets way?

Back and forth, left and right indeed,

These hands of mine, yapping away.

Upon my back I lay between,

While on my hands puppets debate,

These old socks one blue and one green,

Where notes I take of all they state.

And to listen to them carry on,

Mort on the left, Myron on the right,

It’s no wonder ‘round the bend I’ve gone,

Such is my turmoil listening to them fight.

Schizoid puppets if there ever were,

Polar opposites you would agree,

And holy cow what I must endure,

Sitting between them like a referee.

But these notes I’m meant to take

Of Mort in blue and Myron in green,

These two old socks for crissake,

Are the craziest puppets you’ve ever seen.

            But every once in a while

            They’ll offer up something profound,

And between these hand puppets I smile,

And clap their heads without a sound.

Tulsa Tommy

Tulsa Tommy the rodeo clown

On the circuit all these years,

Upon his face a painted frown

And from his eyes he drew some tears.

 

A floppy hat with tattered brim,

Baggy pants and bright suspenders;

Somewhat paunchy no longer trim,

A faster time he remembers.

 

He likes his whiskey straight up

And his women laying down;

Never knew him to use a cup,

Just a bottle in a bag of brown.

 

Now every bone I think he's broke,

At least once and most likely more;

"But for the whiskey," I heard him joke,

He would have retired long before.

 

Tulsa Tommy, Oklahoma tough,

They don't make 'em like that no more;

These days it's all health food and stuff,

And lifting weights - what a bore.

 

It's dangerous work a rodeo clown,

But Tommy man, he keeps it real,

And like he says beneath his frown,

"With the whiskey, it's no big deal."

 

Yes, a sober breath he never drew,

But cowboy clowns he's still the dean;

And though he's lost a step or two,

Tulsa Tommy still stands between.

The Tree Outside

What physics are the bends and breaks?

In the wind I wonder how,

The tree outside most stoic takes

Whatever's hurled at branch or bough.

 

Now leaves of course are first to fall,

Overtime a little more;

The wind in anger seems to call,

What was but a breeze before.

 

And were the wind if it could speak,

What insult blown upon the tree,

Would cause the tree so very meek

To dream alas of breaking free.

 

But trees of course they must remain

Where wind and storm wrack and shake

And though to me it seems insane,

I understand what bends will break.

The Dude in Front of Me

In a long line up at the bank today,

Things were moving interminably slow,

And as we stood you could feel the dismay,

For these busy folk had places to go.

Now well dressed was the dude in front of me,

Certainly a man to be respected;

The way he carried himself you could see,

He was not the type to be neglected.

And so as ever longer became the wait,

You could sense he was one angry 'feller';

Yes, from his body you could feel the hate -

Until finally he reached the teller.

And there she stood wearing a pretty smile;

Just a kid, likely not long out of school.

When this dude before me in the aisle

Suddenly let loose blowing his lost cool.

Now the poor girl’s face went red as a beet,

And she looked like she might break into tears;

And what the old dude said I’ll not repeat,

But his finances I’d say were in arrears.

And yes I’ll tell you his behavior stank;

What gave him the right to treat her that way?

And you know I was there to rob the bank;

But dammit I felt something I should say.

So I pulled my gun and stuck it in his face.

“Is that the way to treat someone?” I said.

When suddenly a cheer rang through the place;

As the son of a bitch I robbed instead.

A Hummingbird at My Window

A hummingbird at my window,

Gazing upon it’s reflection;

And hovering it’s as though

It’s lost in introspection.

Now what’s a hummingbird see

With it’s wings beating fast?

Can it tell whom it might be,

Or would it even think to ask?

Oh hummingbird at my window,

Do you gaze in introspection;

Or too fast are you meant to go,

Never making the connection?

Hounds of Hell

Getting Ha Ha’s these laughs in store,

I’m a madman if truth to tell;

So crazy heard outside my door,

They beckon these hounds of hell.

These hounds of hell so very fierce

Outside my door fill me with dread;

Like a knife my thoughts they pierce,

These hounds of hell in my head.

Crazy laughter meant to diffuse

It’s all I’ve got to help dispel,

Yes, crazy laughter I dispense

Chasing off these hounds of hell.

But it could be worse truth to tell

Were I not to get these Ha Ha’s,

For ever laughing at my hounds of hell,

I see they are merely Chihuahuas.

At the Goodwill Store

"Oh Dahling it's simply divine,"

I heard it at the Goodwill store.

Across the way down the dress line,

"These bargains Sugar are to die for."

So highfalutin I had to peek

For most out of place such a tone,

Not what I'd call Goodwill speak,

More like snooty if it must be known.

And there they were these two old broads

Who didn't look all that wanting,

I mean nothing like us Goodwill sods

In their diamonds and pearls flaunting.

And so I watched them for a while,

Like two kids in a candy store,

These two old broads of wealth and style

Brimming at the bargains galore.

So contagious was their glee

That I thought hell if the shoe fits;

Now dahling I'm a wannabe

At Goodwill puttin' on the Ritz.

Wrestling Thoughts

I'm rattling 'round this brain of mine

Searching for that elusive poem,

And though thoughts a plenty cross my mind,

There's very few I'd dare make known.

To the depths, the very bowels,

In the recesses mine to plumb;

To those places of crazy howls,

Where only madmen dare to come.

It's down these halls where I wander

Like a miner in search of gold,

With a million thoughts mine to ponder

And so very few that could be told.

Yet, from these demons I'll not be shrinking,

For wrestling thoughts is what I do,

But now these words have got me thinking,

There's so very much I keep from view.

Learned Men

Learned men I hear them preach

At the pulpit of the Lord,

Where from the back seat out of reach,

These questions I can ill afford.

 

For if it was I ever needed

This faith of mine to be strong,

Sitting here almost defeated,

These learned men best not be wrong.

 

Matter of fact I am praying

From my skeptic's seat in the back,

And I cling to what they're saying,

For me it is a brand new tack.

 

A forgiving Lord I hear them say,

These learned men of fine repute,

And so it is I kneel and pray

As if at last I might commute.

 

These learned men they must be right

And all my hopes on them I pin;

My faith at last I've seen the light,

Now the lotto I must surely win.

A Poem About West Virginia's to 'Foller'

A Poem about West Virginia's to 'foller',

So let's get it out of the way right quick,

There I've used it, the word, 'holler';

Now that should just about do the trick.

 

Almost Heaven John Denver said,

And who am I to disagree;

Man, some of the places I've been lead,

West Virginia's all right by me.

 

For friendlier folk you'll never find,

Of Appalachia the very best;

And one day I hope they don't mind,

This soul of mine will lie there in rest.

 

Now country road please take me home,

This one last time to a 'holler';

And in almost Heaven let it be known,

This sinner almost tried to 'foller'.

The Oak Tree

In the forest there stood an oak,

Amongst the willow, ash and elm,

And upon the breeze words were spoke

From deep inside that wooded realm.

The oak had fallen bye the bye,

The word it came upon the breeze;

And sad amongst to hear them sigh,

The mournful whispers in the leaves.

"The oak is dead long live the oak."

Amongst the willow, ash and elm;

And boughs were bent and some were broke,

For who amongst could take the helm?

In the forest upon the breeze,

The mighty oak where time has felled;

A grave sadness amongst the trees,

For such a place it always held.

"Yes, few they grow and far between,"

Upon the breeze such words were spoke

And in the forest where they lean,

The trees will miss the mighty oak.

      Read at my Father's funeral.

The Salesgirl at the Jewelry Store

The salesgirl at the jewelry store

Had a sophisticated air,

And kind of like the cabinets before,

She held me with her glassy stare.

Dressed she was in the finest clothes,

A princess I was pretty sure,

So like the bobbles I suppose,

She sparkled radiant and pure.

Now her indifference here to tell,

She seemed to judge me in a glance,

And though I wasn’t dressed that well,

She never gave me half a chance.

Till the pricey counter I got near,

Then it was she began to stir,

Suddenly fawning it would appear,

When I asked how much the diamonds were.

Now what a change in attitude

As the diamond rings I went through,

You should have heard the platitudes

When I got down to the final few.

Until after two hours spent,

I just got up and walked away.

Her phoniness I had to vent,

And for her diamonds I’d never pay.

And so in my farewell bidding,

For I’d enough of her foolery,

I said, “Who do you think you’re kidding?

You’re nothing but costume jewelry.”

The Godfather

Just hangin' 'round killin' a day,

When I got watchin' the Godfather again,

Maybe for the tenth time, I dare say,

Just hangin' 'round here in my den.

 

The cinematography is great

And the acting is the best,

Now dinner will have to wait

Or on my lap it will have to rest.

 

And the screenplay's right on,

Man I love these Corleones;

Sonny, Michael, Tom and the Don

And of course Fredo and the lesser knowns.

 

And me well I can take on the role,

When my wife says it's my turn for the dishes,

And I laugh looking up from my bowl,

And remind her Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.

My House of Cards

I'm sitting in my house of cards,

And feeling somewhat insecure,

For I have read the other bards,

And they're so much better I am sure.

But who am I alas to grouse,

I'll hang about until the fall,

For though unstable is my house,

It's better than none at all.

And so it is this hand I'm dealt,

Within these walls paper thin,

Where other bards would've never dwelt,

Another poem I will begin.

And it is mine to build upon,

Ever so humble what the heck,

While those other bards long since gone,

I bet they played with a full deck.

Sunrise Over the City

The sunrise over the city

And me just the fool on the hill,

Sitting here like Walter Mitty

Dreaming my life away still.

 

The city begins to awake,

There's a kind of buzz in the air;

The traffic builds make no mistake,

And I'm glad I'm here and not there.

 

Upon this hill where suggested,

I'm but a fool to sit all night,

But to see the traffic congested,

I think maybe I've got it right.

 

Upon this hill above the city,

I look upon with great enjoyment,

For all my dreams like Walter Mitty,

Have nothing to do with employment.

Oh My God

Above my bed upon the ceiling

A tiny spider winds its way,

And closer now I can't help feeling,

This tiny spider might rue the day.

Upside down where sticky shod,

It's directly overhead,

And closer now oh my God,

It's dangling down upon a thread.

Now kind of God like I am feeling,

This spider's life is in my hands,

And closer now I am reeling,

My attention now it demands.

But just like that it repaired

Toward the ceiling from whence it came,

And I'm so glad its life I spared,

'Cause God knows we don't need more rain!

The Crack of Dawn

In the silence of four AM

When thoughts are but the only sound,

And would I could silence them,

Till sleep again it could be found

But here I am counting sheep,

Wide awake and most unfair;

My kingdom for a bit of sleep

As at the ceiling so I stare.

Thoughts a plenty oh my god

To a crescendo they can build;

Thoughts a plenty you sorry sod,

This head of mine won't be stilled.

A glass of milk a book to read

And so it is I carry on;

In the silence, yes indeed,

I hear the cracking of the dawn.