Stealthy winter foe

Shining white snowy curtain …

Silent avalanche

When Santa returned from his trippin’
A bottle of *** he was nippin’
His wife had a brew
And after a few
The elves caught them both skinny dippin’

Christmas is the time of year
We celebrate with family near
The holy message from above
The glory of God’s perfect love

We see the woods and snowy fields
Thankful for their summer yields
That keeps us through the winter frost
Running on faith that’s never lost

See the bright lights and hear the bells
Warming fires and stories to tell
Sugar cookies and Christmas pies
And wonder in the children’s eyes

And as we sing, and run and play
We come together all to pray
And celebrate Father and Son
Christmas is the victory won

“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”
Whether by design or luck
Or maybe just because

Summertime in Tennessee
So scorching hot and dry
The family thought a swim could be
Relief so we would try

While swimming came so easy
For most of us that day
But Mom was water queasy
So on the bank she lay

My friend and I, we swam like fish
In the deep Duck River
A day that would make you wish
This fun could last forever

My baby sister was so small
She could barely walk
She toddled and then down would fall
And jabbered with her talk

So Dad had moved into the deep
That’s when I saw it well
My sister ran without a peep
Into the Duck she fell

Momma screamed and I just froze
And out of sight she went
The muddy Duck would now propose
Another life be spent

My Dad had sprung to action
On hearing of the scream
He dived as a reaction
Into the muddy stream
.
.
.
And many years would pass us by
She studied hard and long
Nothing was too tough to try
She never got it wrong

A Ph.D and drug design
She makes the pills you need
If you were really in a bind
And needed meds indeed

She plays piano and reads the books
And knows so much inside
She sews and cleans and then she cooks
With logic as her guide

Accomplishments on every level
Complete and tried and true
But humble, never would she revel
In all that she could do
.
.
.

He came back up and looked around
His eyes began to beg
He dived again and there he found
And grabbed her by the leg

Upside down he pulled her up
And water did pour out
And soon we heard her cry startup
Relief without a doubt
.
.
.

Remembering that day and so
A blessing to repay
That was sixty years ago
But feels like yesterday

I sometimes think of all the luck
That happened just because
“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”

On most days when I sit to write
Perhaps a rhyme or just a quote
Some words flowing without a fight
Some are poems I never wrote

I write about the things I know
The images that rise and float
But haunting are the seeds I sow
Detailed in poems I never wrote

Compose the promise that one day
I’ll finish strong, I make a note
But hidden words I want to say
Are in the poems I never wrote

The chances that I dare to take
Protected by my writer’s vote
I hide behind the rhymes I make
In the poems I never wrote

Simple squamous epithelium
That lines the frothing orifice
Of politicians and wine-soaked braggarts

Cytoplasm
That flows equally
In justice and infectious regurge

Genes
That transplant the ghastly
Pale-light abscess of custom-made drivel

God, Ph.D.,  you too?

It is with sadness and long remorse
That we entertain this curse of course
It’s most absurd, and that’s the rub
Introducing the Twenty Seven Club

Each decade we see the number grow
And wonder as the we see them go
Musicians so young, with hope and fears
Meet their demise, after twenty seven years

Robert Johnson was early, a master of blues
A roadhouse musician who paid his dues
Brian Jones helped found the Rolling Stones
And drowned in a pool while swimming alone

Alan Wilson at Woodstock played with Canned Heat
Took too many downers, his life was complete
The great guitarist, Jimi Hendrix gave thrills
But died in his sleep from too many pills

Janis Joplin, with energy and power of force
At age twenty seven died mainlining horse
The Doors Jim Morrison, one of a kind
Extinguished with drugs his poetic mind

Badfinger’s Pete Ham fortified with drink
Took his own life, another twenty seven link
And Kurt Cobain, Nirvana’s front man
Died at twenty seven, from his very own hand

Amy Winehouse, one of the members of late
Perceived a world full of anguish and hate
A talent with beauty, her hair black as coal
But alcohol toxicity soon took its toll

Not mentioned are many members left out
There is no time now to give them a shout
We hope they gather and sing in heaven
The members of the Club - Twenty Seven