What's The Matter?

Me: Ah….

My Mom: What’s the matter?

Me: Ah, I, ah….

My Mom: Do you hurt anywhere?

Me: Wanted to write a poem

My Mom: OK.  Go ahead.  

Me; When I first saw you

My Mom: That would be in Park View hospital.

Me: I saw a love that would never end

My Mom; That’s true.

Me: I knew that I would be in the good hands

My Mom: Yes.  

Me: Of a…  friend

My Mom: Oh, I love you.

Me: Ah….  

PTL

I have heard from God, and I must testify.  God said that He had a new policy, that He wouldn’t be accepting any more prayer requests ’cause too many people were praying for silly stuff -- like that their favorite team wins the big game.  God wants those prayer warriors on FaceBook to unclasp their hands and actually do something.  God will only be helping those who actually do something to help others.  Oh sure, it was just some smart-ass that posted as God on FB, but ya never know!  Maybe the Lord was trying to speak to me thro FB since, obviously, He won’t do it directly.  God’s Director Of Communications is doing a poor job.  Used to, you’d get a chorus of angels or a burning bush or He’d even write to Moses -- today, you get nothing.      

Viva Las Vegas

Viva Las Vegas, roll the dice, baby

Viva Las Vegas, go for the glory

Bright lights city, where are we going to?

Going to a drive-thru chapel on a gator

Bright lights city, what are we gonna do?

Get married by an Elvis impersonator

Viva Las Vegas, oo wo oo

Viva Las Vegas, wo oo wo

Viva, viva Las Vegas!  

That Sweet Savanna Smile

Savanna has an 18th b'day in 10 days. I just don't know if I'll be here then.

She sweeps in like a gypsy

In her magical style

She can light up any dark room

With that sweet Savanna smile

C’mon, let me say

C’mon, make my day

C’mon, shine a while

That sweet Savanna smile

Nearer My God To Thee

I thought this kinda creepy poem would make a good post on Friday the 13th, but, quite frankly, I don’t know that I’ll still be here then.   

I had a dream, no Jacob’s ladder for me

No, no angels in heaven that I could see

I really want to be

If I really can

Nearer my God to thee

Nearer to His hands

He knows my name, He can look up the number

Talk to me direct, no distractions, no slumber

Nearer my God to thee

Nearer to His hands

I really want to be

If I really can

I’m waiting, I’m waiting to hear

Scrambled eggs but no toast today

O Lord, where, where is it near?

Speak to me, let me know the way  

Just Poetry, 'K?

I just made a big investment in Scott Tissue, just trying to drum up business.  Do not take these sad lines too seriously, just poetry, ‘K?

Golden Slumbers

This is not the way I wanted to go out

Lord knows this is not right, cryin’ at night

All I can see is lights and shadows

All I can hear is bumps in the night

When the lights go down, I’ve got nothing to say

Time to end this mess and call it a day

Golden slumbers, do not let me roam

Once there was a way to get back home

I once had a dream that’s never coming true

Lord, some answers before I die

So, this is how it ends reaching out for you

Some answers, please, Lord, I ask why?

Please don’t cry for me, just let me go die

Look for me on that beach on ‘the other side’

Golden slumbers, just poetry

Can anyone, can anyone hear me?

Domestic Terrorism

OMG, my Dad pulled the most boneheaded move the other night!  Bless his heart.  At least, we now know the answer to the age-old question:  is there anyone more despicable than someone who parks in a Handicapped Park and doesn’t need it?  The answer is yes.  My Dad went to the Food Lion and saw all the handicapped spaces were full -- so, he pulled in and parked in the fire lane!  Yeah, boo hiss on him!  :p  He thinks the rules do not apply to him.  A police officer kindly explained the error of his ways.  Anyway, I was inspired:      

Domestic Terrorism At Food Lion

Gonna listen to a story ‘bout a man named Bill Slade
No huntin,’ goes where his bill can be paid
Went to Food Lion, all the handicapped spots were full insane
So, he pulled in and parked in the fire lane!

Privileged character, he is
Domestic terrorist
Or ol’ coot!?  

WYAL

Trophy,* if you’ve ever wondered

Wondered if I am in jail

I’m wastin’ away in a small town

Our radio station, WYAL

Have you ever heard the BIG Y?

It is 680 on the AM dial

Maybe you and me were never meant to be

Maybe think of me once in a while

* The nickname of my model girlfriend in college.    

A Ray Of Sunshine

Let’s all try to be a ray of sunshine

Why can’t we all get along?

Why must color blind us?

Why can’t we all sing the song?

Let’s all try to be a ray of sunshine

Light'ning the way to a better time

Anybody want to add to this?  Maybe we can get a community sing-along going.  

East Of Tucson

So here I am east of Tucson

After the thrill of life has gone

I don’t really want to be here

Seem to be stuck in reverse gear

I need a drink if I go on

East of Tucson, east of Tucson

On my way to Boot Hill, the devil’s on

Buzzards pickin’ my bones, east of Tucson

So this is what it’s like to die in a God-foresaken place

With a warm breeze a-blowin’ sand in my weather-beaten face

I’m curled up, oh, I can’t go on

East of Tucson, oh, east of Tucson

He comes, the dirty undertaker’s son

To pick me up, east of, east of Tucson

I was buried without my name

Was a token without a game

My grave, rocks with a wooden cross on

East of Tucson, O Lord, east of Tucson

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

Music by Harold Arien; lyrics by Yip Harburg and me

Somewhere over the rainbow

Somewhere, up, up, up, high

There must be a better life for me

So I must say “good bye”

It doesn’t matter what you do

It only matters what is in your heart

Somewhere over the rainbow

Somewhere the days never end

There’s a cool breeze and warm sunshine

For me and you, my friend

It doesn’t matter what you say

It only matters what is in your heart

Somewhere over the rainbow

Somewhere the birds do fly

If birds can make it there

Why o why can’t I?

It doesn’t matter who you are

It only matters what is in your heart

But I Must Go

I close my eyes and clearly see

Um, her 14th b’day party

Laughing, singing, but not for me

I wish her well, but I must go

Memories of the times we shared

In my mind, tho, not really dared

I thought of her a lot and cared

I wish her well, but I must go

I’m ‘bout out of my gas

Time for this soul to pass

Time passes by so slow and fast

Um, are you up to this task?

Will you remember me?  I ask

I wish you well, but I must go

Please Hold My Hand

Please hold my hand when talking to me

Don’t want to slip away, you see

I will hold your hand when talking to you

Don’t want you to slip away, too

My Mom has the most annoying habit of getting up from the supper table when I’m in the middle of a story so that I’m left talking to thin air.  This is what we’ve worked out.  Sooo,if you see me in a restaurant holding my Mom’s hand (or my Dad’s hand) , I not scared of the dark, I’m just trying to communicate.   My Mom -- bless her heart -- does not like for me to talk ’bout her.  She said that the only reason she gets up from the supper table is to wait on my sorry-ass.  That’s not entirely true, tho, she also waits on my Dad’s sorry-ass.  :p

That Good Ol' Diet Mountain Dew

I am certain that I’m going to Heaven

I have a wish or two (or three!)

My hot tub in Heaven shall be filled

With that good ol’ Diet Mountain Dew

I foresee my hot tub in Heaven as being a 20-foot oval with 2 rows of 4 stadium seats at each end.  There will be a 12 -foot diameter stage in the middle with a pole going up to the next cloud.  I think the stage will be covered by 2 or 3 inches of the Dew so that, when the Blonde nurse bends over backwards to dip her ponytail in the Dew, her nose will be out to inflate her FunBags!  :D

My ‘69 Charger runs so fine and fast

Those who challenge her are few

Vroom, vroom, vroom when her tank is full

Of that good ol’ Diet Mountain Dew

The Answer Belongs To Donald J.

My contribution to The Summer Of Love, Revisited

How many eggs must you break

Before you can get an omelet?

How many soldiers must die for you

Before you call off all bets?

How many kids must you kill in a day

Before you break a sweat?

The answer, my friend, belongs to Donald J.

The answer belongs to Donald J.    

They Call Me Tommy

-- The Midnight Poet, Revisited --

Can’t see no flashing lights

Can’t hear no ringing bells

Ain’t got no distractions

Writes by sense of smell

Ain’t seen nothing like him

He writes for you and me

That deaf, dumb and blind man

Sure writes some mean poetry

They call him Tommy, got a word for you

I’m the Midnight Poet, got a word or two

Seeing me, you can hear the glory

Hearing me, you can see the heat

Following me thro the light

You get excitement at my feet

       

Eat your heart out, Pete Townshend!

Daddy, Are You Ready For This?

I realize that this is more than a month early, but, frankly, I just don’t know where I’ll be then -- I figure that I’ll go ahead while the getting is good. 

Daddy, are you ready for this?
(go Meredith, go Meredith, go Meredith, go)

Cruisin’ to my 14th birthday
With my ponytail bouncin’ freely
Hot enough to melt a snowcone
Daddy, daddy, I’m eye candy!

Oo oo, are you ready for this?
Oo oo, puttin’ on quite a show
(go Meredith, go Meredith)
Oo (go Meredith, go)

How did it happen?
No one warned me
I turned my back
And now, eye candy!

Daddy, are you ready for this?
(go Meredith, go Meredith, go Meredith, go)