I am the age at which you died
no comely pictures immortalize me,
though I am not washed white with time
like you

a lone silver streak stripes my chin

many would say
you were too sensitive for this world
thus rushing your years
and guiding the barrel to your mouth

I would pit my pain
against your Nobel torments any day
if such things be a contest,
what is not, though
a rabid race to the grave?

but who would really win?
for your mother’s madness did not leave you
skittering around like a cat on a hot tin roof
and your father’s anvil hands
did not leave scarlet letters
on your skinny legs

excuse me then, if I don’t
grant you a capital letter in your name
excuse me if I don’t applaud your time in the ring
or say bravo to the iconoclast
for your sparse use of words
(though, “for sale, baby shoes, never worn” was…perfect)
excuse me if I don’t think your readable feasts
should be on everyman’s menu

you were but a man
who drank and ate and fought and ******
until you could no more and decided there was nothing left
I respect your triggered choice and do not call it craven
but janitors aren’t made legends
they just clean your brains
from the floor

I'm getting **** tired of people listening to music
Just as a reason to grab another person
And mumble words like they're meaningless obstacles towards your mouth
Doing other things.
Bump some tunes, play the bass loud, so we might not hear our intellects
High shrieks as they wither away into nothing.
And we don't have to look each other in the face
When we decide to own one another like slavery,
Like hate,
Like every other ist that exists to stop us from seeing each other for who we are
Intellects and children of thought
And of accomplishment. And of brotherhood.
And of progress.
Everyone needs to grow up. See the world for the opportunity it is.
And use words like they're pieces of gold.
Priceless.

The little girl stood, with cone in hand. The ice cream on the ground.
The tears welled up in her eyes, as people stood around.
Tears fell like rain, her heart was breaking, she didn’t know what to do.
Then through the tears, saw grandpa kneeling… Saying, “Grandpa’s here for you.”

Grandpa said to the ice cream man “Another ice cream please.”
“Stack it high and pack it tight.” “We’ve got things to do and see.”
The little girl melted into his arms The sorrow turned to joy.
When grandpa’s near, all is better For grandpa’s little girl.

Oh, grandpa loves you Lucy Girl Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Him He will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. You will find me waiting there.
I’ll be by the ice cream stand a waiting Just for you to get there .

The little girl grew to a fine young woman. The time went by so fast.
She learned of things not of this world. The things that will always last.
You could see grandpa and the young girl, Walking side by side through life.
When things got tough they called on Him, To help them through the strife.

Oh, grandpa loves you Lucy Girl Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Him He will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. You will find me waiting there.
I’ll be by the ice cream stand a waiting Just for you to get there .

The young woman cried when grandpa died. As they lowered him in the ground.
Tears welled up, in her eyes As people stood around.
Tears fell like rain, her heart was breaking. She knew just what to do.
So she looked up high to see the Father And heard “Grandpa’s here for you.”

Your, grandpa loves you Lucy Girl Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Me I will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. You will find him waiting here.
He’ll be by the ice cream stand a waiting Just for you to get here

Oh, grandpa loves you Lucy Girl Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Him He will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. Your will find me waiting here.
I’ll be kneeling right next to Jesus While I’m waiting for you to get here.

Good night sweet Princess. See you in the morning.
©9-15-06 John Stevens

11-08-2013
Written originally for my grandson Tony (8).  People say we are joined at the hip.  He is a 24/7 little guy and this is how I "wish"/"hope" life will be lived.  I realized I needed to make a copy for Lucy Girl (4) so she will be included.

Ice Cream was written for my grandson Tony (Anthony Stevens) as a reminder how I want to be as an influence in his life. There is also an underlying deeper meaning as to our relationship to God. Our Ice Cream (blessings) hits the ground from time to time because of our neglect or possibly no fault of our own, but God is there if we just look up and see Him kneeling to take us in His arms.

It all started on a Sunday morning when my Pastor said, “imagine a little boy standing there with an empty cone in his hand…. and the ice cream is on the ground. The images came flooding in and by the time first service was over, most of it was written. Since I run the sound system I listen to both Sunday morning services. Much of what I have written about has come from a trigger on Sunday morning or something similar. What do you do when YOUR Ice Cream hits the ground?
It has been sung to a couple of venues.

meggie
was thumbing
through her
fair trade
“style with a
conscience”
holiday catalog

eyeing
baby organics
indulgent Alpaca’s
green gear for guys
dining as nature intended, and
the best reusable shopping bags, period!

“What do you want for
Christmas Dad?”

“just be a good girl, meggie.”
I answered.

“I’m gonna get you a pair of socks
for Christmas Dad.”

“I don’t need an expensive
pair of socks.  megs...

After a couple of washes
one always gets lost
inside the bottomless
tumbler.

Leaving only one to lay
inside a chest of drawers,
in the company of
happy matched pairs,
waiting to warm my
Lamisil wanting toes

One sock
alone and unhappy
its a really sad story.

Radio Arcade: Socks Song

Suffern
11/8/13
jbm

for Ralph Ellison

slippin
me ed
into the
wholesome
nothingness
of the
breach....

invisible
revelations
of
patient
affirmations
revealed

(nothing
remains
settled)

somewhere between
Exile on Main Street
Rolling Stones
Rip This Joint
&
Erik Satie
Gnossienne

Suffern
11/8/13
jbm

He was the kind of man who
Rarely said, “I love you” first.
Hearing him say those three
Magic little words before I did
Always caught me off guard,
Like a child digging in the
Cookie jar and getting caught
Red handed by his mother.
I smile like the child does
When he’s finally allowed
A cookie for dessert.
The love we shared
Was like a family
Before it had even began.
I am the child that grins
Every time I’m allowed a cookie
And he is the mother that
Always gives in to my cravings.