Blog Archives

Bless Her

Bless me back to Ol’ Mississippi
Calling on the phone is Helen Tippie
She’s a nurse byootiful, suitable, and something exquisite
All her patients love her and can’t wait for that next visit;
But we be sending best hopes for that man of hers—
What’s going down is a sad bad curse;
With wishes and prayers that he gets all better
Cause he’s a lovely man, like an Irish setter.
And now let’s end this poem all quick and nifty
Gotta take this call from Helen Tippie—
“Whassup, madear?”

Advertisements

Several Paces Past

Several paces past
The beginning and the end,
Comes the space wherein
We like to try it all over again;
Unsay that awful
Which was sorely said;
Get up earlier
And make the stupid bed.
Say goodbye later
And just hang a minute more or two;
Maybe life could be better,
Not this evermore darkening in blue.
Leavening choices cast
Between the close and over there,
We can render a space therein
We can go for the Happy rather than old soggy despair.
Yes, I do agree!
No, that doesn’t make you fat!
Please, of course I’ll wait for you—
You like me? Well, imagine that!

Nawlins Midsummer

Half busted moon slides across
A night of not much else
Drums beat in a far corner
Quiet are all the Christians’ bells

Too early for sin on a Nawlins porch
Summer-weary friends meet to meet
John facebooks the yard to full
Rosemary arrives and all smiles turn sweet

Half busted moon brushes the wan horizon
People couple and make across the yard to part
John bides all to safely walk and drive
Some head to the Maple Leaf for some sinning to start

Drums warming in a far corner
Still quiet are all those Christian bells
A hot guitar lick kicks the night in gear—
Oh the promise Rosemary’s glinting eye tells

Let’s GO!

No one cares what words I sling.
No one cares what desperate prayers I sing.
All they want is a path to follow.
All you want is some truth to swallow.

I hear some lives matter more than most,
But I’ve stopped praying to the Holy Ghost.
Love Thy Neighbor is lost in the Six O’Clock News
And every Sunday empty are Holy Name’s prized pews.

My friend is a one hard working Mother;
She’s quite lovely, like none other.
Oh yeah, she’s one African-American
With a white friend— this Earthling man.

I’m sick of race, ‘cept the Triple Crown.
Love is an embrace, get That idea down!
Don’t need no politician to say what’s so;
Come on Earthlings, Life’s a party—Let’s GO!

Good Night

Kinda, sorta, at least, your friend;
But, how I miss being your lover.
I skulk about and hide your real name
Because daren’t blow your cover.
Miles apart, we sit together—
The sad aura of what might have been,
Wreaths us with the hint of faded platonic,
And a glance, without spark, in between.
The scandal and the shame,
Gossamer threats you dread,
But I’ll honor your mere shadow
As off alone I crawl into my bed.

Other Side Of The Coin

Passing thru this life of insufficient glee
I wonder how much better it’d be if she
Would curl up in this place of scarred gloom
And help till some space for love to bloom.
How terrible to be caught in our webs of woe
Lacking energy enough for any friendship to grow;
Get up, reach up, and take this simple, offered hand—
Time for Wine and Smiles and Joy to make a stand!
Yes, a loss is a loss, a stern truth we all know,
But look to the other side of the coin: it’ll show
That we all go on, we all will move forward in the end,
And if you feel you’d like some help, I’d love to be your friend.

Crosstown

I fell in a hole inside myself*
But I’m looking for the way out.
Here I stand next to you,
Why can’t you hear me shout?
“Hug me! Help me! Like me!”
“Why am I still here?!”
[After all this gnawing time,
Shouldn’t things be more clear?]
Trauma is an overwhelming negative event*
Frozen up in your deep insides*—
Tears are the trauma as it melts,*
Getting better in slips and slides.
I found myself outside my hole
I’m sorry for all the fuss,
But, thanks for just being there
And getting me back on Life’s Crosstown Bus.

* Lines paraphrased from On living with depression and suicidal feelings | Sami Moukaddem | TEDxLAU

Embursed, It’s A Word!

Went to see David E.
Who’s been lately ailin;
Tried not to be nervous
Or afraid people’d start wailin—
I’d be embursed.

‘T’well walked on in
For my hi and goodbye;
Brought along my kid,
She gave polite a good try—
Twasn’t embursed.

But tried to think of things
Interesting and cool to say
But my old fumblebutt brain
Couldn’t think of much to relay—
I was kinda embursed.

Saw my two cousins second,
Removed, at their fine Laffy house.
Hope I was proper thankful
And didn’t act like some kinda louse
Or all embursed.

And so now I write these little rimes:
Like ‘em? You could will or you wont.
Still’m so thankful for your time
And for me please please don’t
Feel embursed.

Just Thinking

Thinking young
I thought young
Flying and getting it all
Now older
Thinking less bolder
I grieve for my friend after a fall
She’s a lady
Who may have lived shady
Now sees her final goodbyes
Thinking plain
I think I might not see her again
I pray it’ll be peaceful/pain-free as she dies
Thinking young
I thought young
Playing and winning in the end
Thinking now about age
I turn to my own aging page
Writing thanks for my old friend—
Since it’s understanding we’ve won