We Had a Ball

Bald as a buzzard was Cue ball,

How’d you think he got his name?

Then of course there was Pinball

Who bounced around like he was insane.

And Eight ball I remember to,

Who was forever behind;

Old friends of mine it’s true,

When life seemed well aligned.

Shooting pool down at the hall,

Good times I’m thinking back,

Me and the boys had a ball,

Always game and ready to rack.

Oh yeah, and speaking of racks,

The boys always did love Snooker,

Man, she was something across the tracks,

Though I heard she became a hooker.

Life was ours and ours to snatch,

To youthful exuberance I’ll chalk it,

And even though we were bound to scratch,

We had balls enough to fill a pocket.

Johnny Snowshoe

Johnny Snowshoe amongst the cactus,

A Sonoran rider all alone;

At the heat he was known to cuss,

While dreaming ‘bout his cold Alaskan home.

I never saw a cowboy sweat

Like Johnny Snowshoe riding the range;

And his complaining I’d not forget,

The desert to him was mighty strange.

But the quickest draw I ever saw,

Johnny Snowshoe had one fast hand,

And as you know the rule of law,

Well, it put Johnny in great demand.

And I don’t know how many he fooled

When they’d see him sweating there;

Them gunslingers it was like they drooled

With Johnny dripping like he was scared.

And how many did he blast to Hell?

Well, a few dozen might be fair;

But Johnny, no he’d never tell,

‘Cause he just figured he was already there.

Hell that is, in his desert sweat,

Out there riding all alone;

Johnny Snowshoe got the edge you bet,

While dreaming ‘bout his cold Alaskan home.

A 48 Hour Mystery (The Widow Willis)

I saw the widow Willis today,

She seemed a little uptight;

She was on her way to church to pray

And perhaps a candle to light.

Arthur, her dearly departed,

He died around this time last week

When off to the bar he started,

And boom, he was gone so to speak.

Now who fired the shot they’re not sure,

But the widow Willis they suspect,

While the town folk mostly concur,

Poor Arthur, she seemed to neglect.

Now a 48 Hour Mystery,

She’s brought fame to our little town;

Where once there was just history,

Now in the present there is renown.

TV folk beating the bushes,

Working the angles and clues

As we await the evening rushes

In hopes of some breaking news.

But it seems the trail’s gone cold,

No gun has ever been found,

And the Widow Willis I’ve been told

Is no longer all that sound.

But 48 Hours keeps shooting,

In this story still invested,

While the town folk are now disputing,

With opinions very much suggested.

Did she or did she not do it?

A 48 Hour Mystery to tell;

In the can it’s finally writ,

Now the mystery they will sell.

And we all gathered to watch the show,

48 Hours told in an hour of crap,

While it’s still a mystery you know;

And for this I missed my nap!

Now of course the town’s still divided,

While the Widow Willis has gone insane,

And my verdict, well, I’ve finally decided,

I’ll never watch 48 Hours again.

A French Legionnaire

Damn, my dream last night was odd,

Seems I was a French Legionnaire,

And facing I was a firing squad,

When the sounds of gunfire cracked the air.

Then slumped over I looked down upon;

Out of my body floating above.

And yes, it was a firing squad at dawn,

When suddenly I turned into a dove.

And free at last, free as a bird,

I circled high above the strange scene,

Till in my heart a great love was stirred,

And I knew I was somewhere in between.

Yes, in between Heaven and Earth,

I knew a French Legionnaire I’d once been.

Then in my dream I beheld my rebirth,

And back asleep I saw the present scene.

Yes, looking at myself sound asleep,

I hovered a while above the bed,

Until with a sudden leap,

I awoke startled and rubbing my head.

Then I heard a voice whispering low,

And of his message I’d love to share,

But I guess the meaning I’ll never know,

Because in French spoke the Legionnaire.

Checking Reality

Checking reality so I must,

But only for a little while;

Because daydreams left are soon to rust,

And I’m happiest in denial.

So now here in the real world faced,

Where deal I must with the utmost tact;

I tell you little time do I waste,

As to my daydreams I hurry back.

For tactless truly I long to be,

Preferring not to run with the crowd;

Yes, too many jerks has reality,

And oops! Did I say that out loud?

The Lion and the Wildebeest

The lion and the wildebeest

Ever watching each others moves,

Like a choreographer’s feast

Is this dance of paw and hooves.

Left and right and dosey doe,

The dance of death they dip and swoon,

The hunter and the hunted know,

There is but a single tune.

And of course the lion takes the lead

While the wildebeest Skips to My Lou;

Till the caller in the wind must heed,

For it’s just life running through.

The lion and the wildebeest,

Ever grooving to the same old tune;

Where this dance of death for one at least,

In the end comes much too soon.

Shirtless in Las Vegas

Okay there is no need to beg us,

To the desert out of the cold,

We’re on our way to Las Vegas,

On gambling and glitz we’ve been sold.

Now here we are walking the strip

And the sun feels good on my back,

So happy that I’ve made this trip,

But now it’s time for some blackjack.

So I left my wife in Caesar’s Shops,

Outside of Gucci’s thinking back,

And I rushed to the table tops,

To play some hands of blackjack.

Now what happens in Vegas stays,

And of course I’m sticking to the code,

But let me just say I lost days

And I left much lighter of load.

You could say shirtless in Las Vegas,

While my wife said, I’m dumber than dirt,

But we’ll be back you don’t need to beg us;

‘Cause in the desert heat who needs a shirt?

Virginia is for Lovers

Virginia is for lovers said the sign

And even though we were just passing through,

My good wife and I inside the state line,

Said, "What the heck, let's find out if it's true."

Now we've been married what seems forever,

Complacent and comfortable in our roles;

And romance well, I shouldn't say, "Never,"

But in our fabric truly there's been holes.

So to Jamestown on to Virginia Beach,

A bit of history to the present day;

Like our life the two of us, side by each;

Through thick and thin together come what may.

Perhaps at times we've taken for granted

Our years together now fading from view;

But the truth to tell she's all I've wanted,

Now Virginia's for lovers, I know it's true.

Yes, a hotel in Richmond, my oh my

With renewed passion the old wife and me;

And feeling like Traveller sixteen hands high,

We romped 'neath a painting of Robert E. Lee.

The Dean of All Dinosaurs

The Dean of all dinosaurs

Was remembering the way,

And as is common with most bores,

Things were better in his day.

The Jurassic era likely,

Just when I’m not really sure,

But we’d all listen politely,

Such tales we would endure.

The Dean of all dinosaurs

Could make a short story long;

I think man was on all fours

And still grunting - but I could be wrong.

But now that I’m older

With my own tales to tell,

I feel my blood getting colder

As I bore my kids to hell.

And the Dean of all dinosaurs I’ve become

For I can see them roll their eyes,

And now I wonder if eating their young

Was the real cause of the dinosaur’s demise.

Jacuzzi Man

A word about Jacuzzi Man

All wrinkled sitting in his tub;

I don’t know why I give a damn

But the wrong way he just seems to rub.

A man of leisure you could say,

Floating in his water’s warm;

And all the hours he whiles away,

It just seems way beyond the norm.

But one day he invited me

To come and sit inside his tub,

Well, of course it was I had to see,

So I passed up on the pub.

And with Jacuzzi Man I floated,

Drinking beer just him and me,

All afternoon it should be noted,

And not once did I get up to pee.

Death Valley Greeting

“Hot enough for you?”

I hear a thousand times a day.

Everybody you bump into

In Death Valley, that’s what they say.

It’s like one hundred in the shade,

And yes it’s hot enough for me,

But it’s all rhetorical I’m afraid

And no one gives a damn you see.

It’s like in them other places,

They might say, “How you doing?”

But you can see it in their faces,

They don’t care as they keep moving.

And of course it ain’t no different here

Where ‘hot enough’, they’re bound to say;

But in Death Valley it is clear,

They’re so much slower walking away.

Picacho Perry

Picacho Perry was his nickname,

He was a lawman and a loner;

But the best damn lawman all the same

That they ever saw in Arizona.

From Scotland or maybe it was Wales,

Somewhere ‘cross the ocean beyond;

To the desert from the heaths and dales,

He never seemed like he quite belonged.

‘Twas on the stagecoach at Tortilla Flats,

I met him for the very first time,

In a bowler and a pair of spats,

To the west he’d come to fight crime.

Now carry a gun he never would;

Imagine a lawman in the west?

But he always said and it was understood,

“Talkin’ and talkin’ more was the best.”

And the words he’d come up with – Hot Dang!

Most of them I’d hardly heard;

But with that accent he almost sang,

And well, it was hard to get in a word.

Diplomacy that’s where it’s at;

Yep, no guns for Picacho Perry,

Till one time in a saloon where he sat,

Big cowboy Jim called him a ‘fairy’.

And them insults they started to fly,

Big cowboy Jim was cussin’ and spittin’,

But Picacho Perry never batted an eye

And just talked softly from where he was sittin’.

But then cowboy Jim drew first and shot

Even though Picacho Perry wasn’t packin’;

But cowboy Jim died there on the spot

When I blasted him to hell, without cockin’.

And after I remember thinkin’ a lot,

If only Picacho Perry carried a gun,

But I knew he’d never take a shot

And for sure he’d never up and run.

And me, well, that’s why I hang around,

‘Cause in my heart I know Picacho’s right,

“Words they can’t never be downed

By them cowards who needs a gun to fight.”

A Crowded House

A crowded house it seemed to be,

A college party every night,

But a place to crash it was for free

And who was I to fuss or fight.

With a keg in the living room

There was always beer on tap,

It surely wasn’t doom and gloom

Except for when I needed a nap.

The living room couch was my bed

Which was difficult you’ll agree;

In the middle of the party led,

And at centre stage I had to be.

For a full term I lived that way

In college at the party bunked,

In that crowded house everyday,

I partied hardy till out I flunked.

The Dusty Old Farmer

The dusty old farmer out making hay

Watches the weather with his one good eye,

And it looks like rain I hear him say

Even though there’s not a cloud in the sky.

And sure enough if it weren’t half past three,

Them clouds rolled in and it began to rain,

And he said something about his trick knee;

That dusty old farmer had got it right again.

Yep, the hay was cut and was now in the barn

And we were sipping hooch at quarter to four.

Now the dusty old farmer was spinning a yarn

As the rain outside really began to pour.

Yep, home made hooch made right there from his still,

The dusty old farmer kept pouring for me,

And we just kept right on drinking until

He fell over cursing his damn trick knee.

A Baseball Nickname

A Baseball nickname, I want one.

Like Babe, or Blue Moon, or Catfish.

Yeah, wouldn’t that be some kind of fun;

Or for Satchel, or Shoeless Joe, I’d wish.

But alas, a Figure Skater that’s me

And with difficulty I must report;

Nicknames you will have to agree

Ain’t so common in this sport.

But if they were - just let me think,

What with Axles, Sow cows and the Lutz,

As I spin my way around this rink,

I’ll take the nickname ‘The Flying Putz’.

'Away'

In a sou'wester hat and oilskin bright,

"Are you from away?" He said to me;

In the bay just beyond the bight,

He surely seemed a man of the sea.

"Away,' I thought what does he mean?

And then I realized - 'not from here'.

So I nodded feeling a little green

As through the cut I watched him steer.

And he grinned at me, all knowing,

In a sympathetic sort of way;

His weathered face and his pipe glowing

As I tossed my cookies into the bay.

"Aye, it will be a good day fishing,

The lobster like that kind of bait."

While of course for death I was wishing

As he chuckled at my sorry state.

But in that spring in northern Maine,

On that rocky coast of fog and cold;

There it was a man I became

Upon those seas tossed and rolled.

And the greatest thing I'll not pretend

Are the words I never heard him say;

But there it was at season's end,

I was no longer from 'away'.

‘Be Complex’

When at the doctor’s the other day,

He said I needed a supplement.

Some ‘Be Complex’ once a day,

And soon I’d show an improvement.

But truth to tell, I hate taking pills,

Yeah, really, unless I’m in pain.

For I have more important bills,

And Be Complex’s price was insane.

Who needs a pill, is what I thought,

To think positive might be as good;

For surely it could be self-taught,

And cure myself, I knew I could.

So, mind over matter here working,

These mental muscles are mine to flex,

And your chain, I swear, I ain’t jerking;

But who needs a pill to be complex?

What Would Superman Do?

What would Superman do?

With cell phones now the rage,

And on phone booths who knew,

Society’s turned that page.

With no where left to change;

Would he have to stay Clark Kent?

Now you may think me strange

But on his style I see a dent.

And what about Lois Lane

She might see him changing clothes;

Can you imagine? I know it’s lame,

But she’s an ace reporter, God knows.

And the world she’d have to tell,

For in life there are no free passes;

And even Lois under Superman’s spell,

Would not be fooled by Clark’s damn glasses.

Thinking

It’s in this space between my ears

That I have wasted so much time,

And what I’ve learned in all my years

Is for none of it, I’d give a dime.

For nothing really have I invented,

My thoughts are foolish at very best,

And maybe now I’m just demented,

I’ve never really passed the test.

Thinking really is overrated,

This from one who mostly guesses;

Yes, thinking really, it should be stated,

If you do too much, it soon depresses.

So what’s the point; don’t you see?

For none of it, I’d give a dime;

Thinking, thinking at least for me,

As you can see is a waste of time.

Davy Crockett

I guess the first hero I ever had

Most surely was dear old Dad,

But when I was six on the TV set,

There he was Davy Crockett.

Yeah, king of the wild frontier,

And a new hero it was clear.

Born on a table top in Tennessee,

Hell, he killed a ‘bar’ when he was only three.

Now at six I’d done nothing like that,

But I sure wanted me a coon skin cap.

Yeah, like Davy Crockett I could be,

But I lived in Montreal you see,

And there weren’t no ‘bars’ around,

I know ‘cause I looked all over town.

But like yesterday I can’t forget,

A true hero was Davy Crockett.

Now here I stand outside the Alamo,

Where the years have gone I don’t know,

But for me it is a pretty big deal,

And Davy Crockett’s spirit I can feel.

Yeah, at the Alamo where he died,

For Crockett and my youth I cried,

And ‘Remember the Alamo’ I say aloud,

Here in Texas with the well endowed.