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May 2015 · 2.0k
Tree Frogs - Haiku
Phil Lindsey May 2015
One tree frog singing
A thousand join the chorus
Soon silence returns
May 2015 · 3.7k
Jim from Delaware
Phil Lindsey May 2015
A guy named Jim from Delaware
Liked golfing in his underwear
Whatdya know and son of a gun
He finally got a hole-in-one
Guess he'll hafta get anotha pair!
May 2015 · 885
The Broken Mirror
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Rumor is you break a mirror
Get seven years bad luck,
Well, I ain’t much on rumors,
It’s on the truth I’m stuck.

I looked into the mirror today
What I saw filled me with dread
Some old guy with his hair all gray
Looked like he should be dead.

Age spots covered up his face
There were wrinkles ‘round his eyes
I thought it was a **** disgrace
Or a Halloween disguise.

His cheeks were rough with three days growth
A spot of drool was on his chin
I was pretty shocked, I guess, but not too loath
To look again.

This time I looked inside of me
To the things the mirror won’t show.
To a mind still clear with memories
And a heart where love still grows.

My soul needs some forgivin’
Hell, I’ve lived o’er eighty years
Mistakes made just from livin’
Most washed clean with tears.

I’m thinking that my mirror lied
Maybe it’s already broke,
And the reflection of my outside
Is just a ghastly joke.

Because the inside me is still a boy
Having fun most every day
Living life that’s always filled with joy,
I’m gonna throw that mirror away.
PwL  5/18/15
Phil Lindsey May 2015
One foggy morning I went walking
Down the pathway to the sea
Cool and dreary
Very eery,
Something, Someone followed me.
I hurried forward never turning
Was I afraid my past I’d see?
I stopped and looked and she was there -
The Woman with the windblown hair.

Standing still, just like a statue
Windblown hair was all that moved
Cool and wary
Very scary
Truth, or something she must prove?
She turned around and bid me follow
To a clearing in a hollow
Soon I knew why I was there,
The Woman with the windblown hair.

Long years ago; forgotten summer
I met a woman with long hair
Very ****
Apoplexy
Caused me stand quite still and stare
To my surprise she then approached me
I stared, but she did not reproach me
Her beauty was without compare -
The Woman with the windblown hair.

She took my hand and bid me follow
To a clearing in a hollow, on that steamy summer day
Sun resplendent
Very pleasant
The grassy spot where we did lay
I loved her then, and tried to hold her,
The evening and her voice got colder
“We’ve had this afternoon to share,”
The Woman with the windblown hair.

“But I’ve a husband; he’ll soon be home.
You’re young, with life in front of you
I was only
Very lonely
I’ll ask forgiveness when it’s due”
She left me, with a final kiss,
“Respect me; Never speak of this."
She left, and left me standing there
The Woman with the windblown hair.

As I recalled those ancient memories
She turned and stared with eyes that burned
Both eyes teary
Very weary
“My husband never did return”
Suddenly the wind was shifting
The sun came out, the fog was lifting,
The Woman with the windblown hair
Was no longer standing there.

I stood alone for what seemed hours
What had happened? How was I supposed to feel?
Ghostly meeting
Very fleeting
Yet it seemed to me quite real.
I felt that I’d been taken there, and
The Woman with the windblown hair
Had spared a young boy’s future life
The boy who loved another’s wife.
PwL  5/16/15
#Ghosts
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Poetry: A lot like wine.
Can’t drink too much,
Nor all the time,
Each wine unique -
A different taste
Sip.      It.      Slowly ……
Don’t drink in haste
Try one with a fruity flavor,  
Or maybe it’s a dry you savor,
Sample all the current trends,
Don’t be afraid to share with friends.
So all us wannabe sommeliers
Can compare it to the Bordelaise!
Don’t be content - Experiment.
Try something new!
Tasting should be fun to do!
And like the rarest of all wines
Good poetry endures through time.
Phil Lindsey  5/16/15
Added a couple lines based on Steve's suggestion below!!
May 2015 · 6.1k
Rocks
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Drivin’ with the kids in tow
Windows down, nowhere to go
Hands outside, feel wind blow
On country roads, fields passin’ slow.

Saw a hayrack sittin’ by a fence
“Rocks for Sale – Fifty Cents”
Thought I, it makes no earthly sense
To demand for rocks some recompense.

But the sign - unique enough to hail
(I protested - but to no avail)
The missus and the kids prevailed
A sale you see, is still a sale!

Before day and feelings I did mar
Realizing for the course it’s par
I turned around and stopped the car
It’s what I’ve become, and whom we are .

To the rack and rocks the kids did sprint
I got closer, had to squint
So I could read the finer print
Kids might have seen, but care they din’t.

Said the bigger rocks did cost a buck
I knew then that I was out of luck
Between a hard place and a rock I’m stuck
‘Twas bait and switch, and smelled like muck.

But the kids had picked from rocks galore
Put them in the trunk to store
The rack was less some rocks times four
And the coffee can had four bucks more!
PwL  5/16/15
May 2015 · 551
I Think That They are Wrong
Phil Lindsey May 2015
They buildin’ roads out of concrete, cover up the grass
Buildin’ roads out of concrete, cover up the grass
Roads ain’t goin’ nowhere, and concrete never lasts.

They buildin’ tall apartments, reachin’ to the sky
Buildin’ tall apartments, reachin’ to the sky
Don’t need no apartment, if I want to get up high.

They stringin’ words together, tryin’ to build a song
Stringin’ words together, tryin’ to build a song
Not sure what they’re saying, but I think that they are wrong.

They say the rain is comin’, better hide inside
Cold hard rain is comin’, better hide inside
Think I’ll just wait for sunshine, cuz I ain’t gonna hide.

They say there’s global warming, world’s gonna melt away
Say we got global warming, world’s gonna melt away
Oh but I ain’t gonna worry, meltin’ takes a couple days.

Yeah, They stringin’ words together, tryin’ to build a song
Stringin’ words together, tryin’ to build a song
Not sure what they’re saying, but I think that they are wrong.

They say that I need money, in order to survive
Say that I need some money, in order to survive
I don’t have no money, and I think I’m still alive.

And they say you gotta find a woman, if you want a happy life
Yeah you gotta find a woman, if you want a happy life
Well I think I’m pretty happy, and I don’t have no wife.

Yeah, They stringin’ words together, tryin’ to build a song
Stringin’ words together, tryin’ to build a song
Not sure what they’re saying, but I think that they are wrong.

They buildin’ roads out of concrete, cover up the grass
Buildin’ roads out of concrete, cover up the grass
Roads ain’t goin’ nowhere, and concrete never lasts.
Phil Lindsey, April 15, 2015
May 2015 · 380
Too Late
Phil Lindsey May 2015
A poem ran away from me
To catch, I tried in vain
It was swift and fleeting
I caught but the refrain.

I struggled with it mightily
And fought the best I could,
But the poem got the best of me
As I somehow knew it would.

For I am mortally infirm
And my poems, too, are ill,
A Doctor’s bedside manner
Requires he be still.

And listen to the patient’s voice
No matter what the words
For often, dying is the choice
When one cannot be heard.

“I’m fine, I’m fine”, the patient says.
I must go back to work.
But the X-rays show a shadow
Where the lethal cancer lurks.

And all the while I sing. I sing.
I commiserate my fate.
For I showed up at the finish line
A hundred years too late.

PwL 5/15/15
May 2015 · 1.8k
In the End, Faith
Phil Lindsey May 2015
When troubles build up mountain-size
Clouds and fog obscure the peak,
You cannot see the pathway up,
The future’s looking bleak,
When there aren’t enough hours in each day
Or enough days in each week,
You’re in a boat without a paddle
In a swiftly moving creek,
Your friends have faded into black,
Your whole life has sprung a leak,
Fate just punched you in the face
So you turned the other cheek.
When others have inherited
What was promised to the meek;
Faith alone can give you strength
And the solace that you seek.

When the morning sun defeats the fog
And brings the light to day
Illuminates the pathway up
And the clouds are pushed away
When the hourglass is full of sand
Each grain longer than a day
Your friends are in the audience for
The commencement of your play
The curtain rises, they applaud
The black has turned to gray,
You fight toward your own ending
Despite what critics say
If virtue is its own reward
Then all will be okay
For the faithful have their just reward
When comes the Judgement Day.
pwl 5/8/15
May 2015 · 677
Grace Redux
Phil Lindsey May 2015
What then happens to our Father?
For he suffers more than us.
He lost his lifelong partner,
In whom he dared to trust
That she would always be there
Devoted by his side
To share memories of their journey
A long well traveled ride.

Now she is gone before him
Not by her desire or choice.
In the jet trails and the flowers
Listen closely, hear her voice,
“Take care of your Father,
It’s not easy.  I should know.
But he loved me and he loves you too.
We were proud to watch you grow.”

“And now his family is all he has.
Along with memories fading fast.
He has but one more journey;
Joining me will be his last.
Love him with patience  humor grace
Look through my eyes and try to see
He always tried to do his best -
Love him as you love me.”
pwl 12/14
Addendum to "Gift of Grace" which I wrote last year
May 2015 · 1.0k
Die Uhrmacher Theorie
Phil Lindsey May 2015
In Deutschland as the tale is told,
A clockmaker was growing old
After making near a thousand clocks
He was tired of all the ticks and tocks
He was satisfied with what he’d done
But had no desire to teach his son.
His clocks were made with love and skill
But of cuckoo birds he’d had his fill
So stepping back was his decision
And his clocks were built with such precision
That he hoped they’d run all by themselves,
And, as he looked upon his empty shelves,
With sadness and with pride,
He noticed that his only son was standing by his side.

The son looked up and saw a tear,
As his father said, “I won’t interfere,
My clocks will run, or they will not
Ich bin nicht ein Wundergott
Und Ich hoffe sie verstehen
Meine Uhren müssen allein gehen.”

Phil Lindsey   May 7, 2015
today- May 7, 2015 would have Mom's 83rd Birthday.  She passed away last November.  Not long before she died, upon being told she had inoperable cancer, she told the Dr. and several of her children that she had had a "Hellishly good life."  She was a tremendous wife, mother and friend to all she met.

I believe in God, but, like all who lose someone they love,  wonder why and how God administers His plan.  

   de·ism
    ˈdēizəm,ˈdāizəm/
    noun
    noun: deism
        belief in the existence of a supreme being, specifically of a creator who does not intervene in the universe. The term is used chiefly of an intellectual movement of the 17th and 18th centuries that accepted the existence of a creator on the basis of reason but rejected belief in a supernatural deity who interacts with humankind.

It is sometimes referred to as, "The Clockmaker Theory," or "The Watchmaker Theory"
May 2015 · 2.8k
Happy Dancin'
Phil Lindsey May 2015
I am glad when people party
And Conga all around
When I see folks havin’ lots of fun
I am the happiest guy in town
I love to listen to their laughter
I’m ecstatic when they sing
If you ask me why I’m happy?
I say “Cuz’ Sad just ain’t my thing!”

You know the birds are always happy
They are singing all day long
Did you ever hear birds sing the Blues?
No, they sing HAPPY songs!
When they line up on a wire
And suddenly take wing
They’re gonna fly away all happy
‘Cuz Sad just ain’t their thing!

The Sun comes up each morning
Making rainbows, drying rain
Even on a cloudy day,
Mr. Sun will not complain
He’s up there smiling, laughing and
Peeking through the clouds
Helping everyone be happy
‘Cuz Sad just ain’t allowed.

I even think the clouds are happy
They are dancing all around
Making polka-dotted shadows
On the people on the ground.
Birds and Sun and Clouds and
People singing, dancing all around
When everyone is Happy!
Sad ain't nowhere to be found!
PwL  5/5/15
May 2015 · 2.7k
Heartbreak Snake
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Fangs bared
Dripping with venom
The rattler lies in wait
The Shwisshing Hissing  warning
Always too late
Blind-sided victim
Struck in the heart
Dies of the venom the snake did impart.

The dying victim
Calls out in vain
I did not deserve this
Why won’t you explain?
I offered you love, but
You bit my hand
Killed me with lies
I just don’t understand.

Without a word
Snake slithers away
Hides under a rock
Awaiting more prey.
PwL  March 2015
May 2015 · 815
Make A Difference?
Phil Lindsey May 2015
A Hundred years is nothing to an oak.
A Thousand to a mountain is a joke.
A Million to a solar system just exceeds its birth.
And we expect to make a difference in roughly eighty years on Earth?
PwL  5/5/15
May 2015 · 820
Granny Get Your Gun
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Saw Robert Zimmerman Again
After way too many years Now
Can’t stop my brain from singin’ But
It’s not what it appears See
I’ve always loved his poems And
The way he bends his words Into
Pictures I can see out loud, Illustrations
That I’ve heard.

Forgive me Mr. Zimmerman
If I besmirch your name
I’m not tryin’ to steal your songs from you
And I wouldn’t want your fame
I could never be your equal
Wouldn’t even want to try
Forgive me Mr. Zimmerman
Cross my heart and hope to die.

On the Day the Music died, Guess
That I had just turned five, Then
Five more years slid past me When
The Beatles sang on TV - LIVE.  And
Rock and Roll was pushing all the Folks
To center stage, Seems
Viet Nam and Woodstock Were
Currently the rage.

Somewhere we got sidetracked While
The Disco Ball was turnin’  But
I put on a Cowboy Hat, Helped
Johnny sing ‘bout burnin’.  So I
Been blowin’ in the wind for Over
Sixty years; Now I’m Tryin’
To write some Poems, ‘Bout my Life and
It appears  That my poems Sound
Like all the songs I’ve heard throughout
The Years.

Come and Listen to a Story
‘Bout a guy named Phil
Tried to grab some Glory
But I guess he never will.
For as he fired up his pencil
Over hot and blazing coals
Granny loaded up her shotgun
Shot his poems full of holes.
Good shot, Granny.  Right in the heart.  Make it Bleed girl.
Y’all Come Back Now, Y’Hear?
PwL  5/5/15
I have no idea..................
May 2015 · 1.4k
Small Town Sounds
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Small town sounds
Unlocked doors
Not that many cars.
Main Street grocery store
Nickel candy bars.
Church Street,
“Sunday shoes”,
Parents stood outside and smoked,
Kids caught with cigarettes
Would have allowances revoked.
Corn Growers
Push mowers
Friday football games.
Everybody, Everywhere,
Knew everybody’s name.
Summer shouts
Paper routes
Cub Scouts once a week
Boys and girls in sixth grade
Dancing cheek to cheek.
No shirts
Blue jeans
Walking through the beans
Witches, ghosts and scary things
Every Halloween
Greased pigs
Little League
Swimming lessons in the lake
Talking back to teachers
Was a BIG mistake!
Teachers had hard paddles that
They were not afraid to use
Parents told them,
“Go ahead.”
And they did not refuse.
Bicycles everywhere
Pocket knives
Truth or Dare
Water balloons,
Kids Cartoons
Fishing in the creek
Not it
Gravel pit
Games of Hide and Seek
Bible School
Golden Rule
Jesus Loved Me This I Know
Several generations
Watching children grow.
Laying on a blanket
Watching shooting stars
Teachers went two towns away
When they went to bars.
Home grown tomatoes
Juicy burgers nice and thick
Eating home-made ice cream
Until all of us were sick.
Nine o’clock bedtimes
The nights were very still
I still hear the small town sounds
I guess I always will.
PwL 5/5/15
I was reading some of Richard Riddle's work and the the one about going to the movie matinees started me thinking about things we did as kids.  (Thank you, Richard, LOVE your work!)   I grew up in a very small Illinois town with 850 people.  Sometimes I wish I could have raised my kids there!
May 2015 · 364
Again
Phil Lindsey May 2015
You may have thought I was pretentious
A little crazy, lost my senses
Can’t believe that I confided
Everything, but I’ve decided
There was nothing else that I could do that night.
And I’d do it all again.

Won’t lose sleep wonderin’ if I’m wrong
I’ve made mistakes some – now and then
But I’m telling you I love you,
And I’d do it all again.

You got to know the whole thing scared me
Like someone else, inside just dared me
My resolve began to weaken
And my mouth just started speakin’
Told you more than I had right to
You were hard to say good night to
And I’d do it all again

Won’t lose sleep wonderin’ if I’m wrong
I’ve made mistakes some – now and then
But I’m telling you I love you,
And I’d do it all again.

Sometimes now I lay back and listen,
Then my eyes tear up and glisten
I’m convinced that you have shown me
You want to love me not to own me
And you make me much more happy
Than I have a right to be
And I’d do it all again.

So I won’t lose sleep wonderin’ if I’m wrong
I’ve made mistakes some – now and then
But I’m telling you I love you,
And I’ll do it all again.

When we think back to that kiss
Hoping it would lead to this
I guess that we both learned a lesson
That I’m glad we didn’t miss
Spending days and nights together
There’s no question as to whether
We’d do it all again.
And we’d do it all again.

We can’t lose sleep wonderin’ if we’re wrong
We’ve made mistakes some – now and then
But we know we love each other
And we’d do it all again.
You know we’d do it all again.
PwL 2006
Digging more out of old folders...........
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Part 4*
When we last left poor Agnes
In her attic all alone
She couldn’t find her way back down,
And she had no telephone.
No light switch and no stairway
She couldn’t find the hall
The elevator disappeared
(It had sunk into the floor)
And to make her situation worse,
She couldn’t find the door!

But Agnes McDuff was pretty tough;
She didn’t mess around
She thought of stuff that she could use
To help her get back down.

First she lit the candlesticks
So she would have some light -
For an attic with no window
Is black as darkest night.

With candlelight, she now could see;
She dumped the clothes from all the boxes,
Put the boxes on the table,
Next she stacked the wooden blocks.
She found some nails and a hammer
In her Grandma’s toolbox.
She nailed it all together
And on top she nailed the chairs
Now Agnes had a set of crazy, crooked
Homemade stairs!
Agnes went back to the toolbox,
She saw a saw was there,
She carried it very carefully
As she climbed the crazy stair.

Now you might have a feeling
Of what she was going to do
Yes, she climbed up to the ceiling, and
Used the saw to cut right through!

She climbed back down and looked around
Found the rubber bands and string
Added several woolen socks
And made a giant sling!

She rummaged through the dumped out clothes
Found a wedding dress and suit
And with the needle and the spool of thread
Made a great big parachute!

She hooked the parachute to the bicycle
(The one without a spoke)
And tied the back wheel to the tuba
And that was NOT a joke.

The tuba was quite heavy
So it kept the bike at rest
Once again climbed up the crazy stair
And performed the final test.

She nailed both ends of the slingshot
Around the opening she’d sawn
Hooked the sling around the bicycle
Moved the stair, and then got on.

Somehow the clock was working!
It was ringing Three, Two, One
And just as Agnes cut the tie she thought
Boy! This could be FUN!

The slingshot worked!*
Shot Agnes out, on the bike, way up into the sky,
And she looked around in wonder thought,
Boy!  I’ve never been this high!

She went up a mile or so
Before she dared look down
She saw the long suspension bridge
And the other parts of town.
She saw the entrance to the tunnel
(The rest was under ground)
She saw the roundhouse and the avenue
The park and then the lake
Finally, she saw her house
There was no mistake!

So she deployed the parachute
And gently she descended
And this is where the story
Of Agnes Attic should have ended.

She walked up to the doorway
Turned the handle, now you see?
The door was locked from the inside,
Agnes McDuff forgot the key!
PwL  May 4, 2015
Ms. Sally A Bayan requested this.  Said I couldn't just leave Agnes in the Attic!   :-)
May 2015 · 407
Easier to Do
Phil Lindsey May 2015
It would be easier for me to track a dinosaur through time;
To solve the evolution mystery, or make the dictionary rhyme.
To change the course of history would be easier to do
Than for me to spend a single day
Without a thought of you.

It would be easier for me to make the stars all disappear;
To make a blind man see your face, or make a deaf man hear.
To make the world stop fighting would be easier to do
Than for me to spend a day without
A single thought of you.

A single thought of you?
I only wish that it were true,
But I think of you a thousand times a day.
In my heart I hope that you
Are sometimes thinking of me too,
And I never want, won’t ever want, these thoughts to go away.

It would be easier for me to turn a mountain into sand;
To turn a desert into ocean, or an ocean into land.
To make the earth stop turning would be easier to do
Than for me to spend a day without
A single thought of you.

A single thought of you?
I only wish that it were true,
But I think of you a thousand times a day.
In my heart I hope that you
Are always thinking of me too,
And I never want, won’t ever want, these thoughts to go away.

If our lives were only easy, we would both know what to say,
Know when to hold each other closer and know when to push away.
To live with this emotion is no easy thing to do
And I'll never spend another day
Without a thought of you.
And in my heart I hope that you
Are always thinking of me too,
And I never want, won’t ever want, these thoughts to go away.

pwl 2006
I reposted Chris Green's "I'll Wait" because it reminded me of "Easier to Do" which I wrote a few years ago.  Funny how some words just seem to fit together.  And both poems describe the desperation and sometimes futility of love.
May 2015 · 1.4k
The Odd Couple
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Poet:  Good Morning Darling!  Can you hear the birds?  The sun is creeping up, too beautiful for words!

Accountant:  It’s 54 degrees with a high of 72 predicted.  You won’t need a coat.

Poet: Ah, the warmth of afternoon sun, won’t our picnic today be fun?

Accountant:  We should leave by 10:30.  I have to get gas.  Have you packed our lunch?

Poet:  I have chicken salad for our lunch, potato chips to add some crunch, I baked the cookies that you liked last time, and bought a bottle of your favorite wine!

Accountant:  I set the GPS.  We should get there right at 11:15.  Do you have a blanket?

Poet:  Yes, a blanket to lay upon the ground, at the edge of the woods that we once found, while lost upon a country road, turned the fortune of our day around!

Accountant:  I charged my cell phone and the ball game starts at 1:20.   A win puts us in first place.  Are you sure we’ll have cell reception?

Poet: Ah, but I will read you poetry about the love I have for thee, leave the city’s crowds and noise behind, to all else but ourselves be blind.

Accountant:  Honey, why are you talking like that?

Poet:  I just joined Hello Poetry, now all the world’s a verse to me, to read and share with HP friends, ecstatic when a poem trends!

Accountant: Yeah, is that what you showed me the other day?  Looked to me like you guys all ‘like’ each other’s poems, and 95% of the people that read yours don’t even like them.

Poet: Really?  (holding back tears)

Accountant: That’s what I calculated.  How many of those cookies are you bringing anyway?

Poet:  I have a dozen, but I can bake more.

Accountant: Nah, 12 is plenty, and by the way, Baby, I just love your poetry, it’s filled with creativity, each word picked out is absolute, with premise that I can’t dispute, I guess one more thing I should say: I’d like it more if it would pay!
PwL May 3, 2015
I guess some people just don't understand...........    :-)
May 2015 · 430
Any Distance
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Do you miss me? Want to
Kiss me?  Want to hold me
Very tight?
Are you lonely, want me
Only.  Want to love me thru
The night?
Will you stay true if I
Love you? Will you be mine for
Many years?
Will we ever be together? Will
Our laughter dry
The tears?
Will you smile and say you
Love me? In the morning
and the night?
Will your smile be the
Sunshine that makes the world
All right?
If you answer that you want to
And you want to
Hold my hand.
Then you've given me a purpose
I think you will
Understand.
I am yours for Now and
Ever.  I am yours in
Heart and Soul.
I am yours from any distance,
You're the one that
Makes me whole.
pwL 2006
May 2015 · 1.9k
When You Find Her
Phil Lindsey May 2015
When you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.

Might take lots of lookin’
Good woman’s hard to find
Admit it man,
You and me, we ain’t no prize of any kind.
We’re rough around the edges
Ain’t got no smooth lines
So when you find her love her
And she will treat you fine.

Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.

See women they are wary
Far as menfolk are concerned
Seems somewhere in their lifetime
Most all of them’s been burned.
She’s gonna look right through you
Deep into your soul,
So when you find her love her
And she will make you whole.

Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.

She might have some baggage
Made a wrong turn or two
Better look into the rearview mirror
King of baggage might be you!
Then both you go and pack those bags
In the trunk of that used car
And read the map together
So you both know where you are.

Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.

Last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her
And she will always stay.

Yeah drive away together
Bags packed and stored away
When you find her love her
And she will always stay.
Phil Lindsey 4/24/15
May 2015 · 2.6k
The Attic of Agnes McDuff
Phil Lindsey May 2015
Agnes McDuff collected strange stuff,
Or so the story goes:

There were old pots and pans,
String, rubber bands,
Boxes and boxes of clothes,
Newspapers, plates,
Books stored in crates,
And candlesticks lined up in rows.
Some mason jars,
Toy trucks and cars,
A model train with a whistle that blows,
Needles and spools,
All kinds of tools,
And shoes with holes in the toes.

There were tables and chairs,
Bookends in pairs,
A grandfather clock that was broke,
An old brass spittoon,
Some Sunday cartoons,
And a bicycle mssing a spoke.
Four or five hundred old wooden blocks,
Twenty-three pair of grey woolen socks,
A Christmas Edition bottle of Coke,
A board game missing directions,
A bat, a ball, a catcher’s mitt, two baseball card collections,
And a great big rusty tuba.  What a joke!

There was other stuff, but you’ve heard enough;
About what was stored in
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

Part 2
Agnes’ attic was quite special
But not for the things it contained
But for how she had to get there
Please let me explain!

Agnes had a one-story house
A flight of stairs led to the attic.
When she opened up the door,
The light came on automatic.

It opened to a hallway
Where there was another door
Another light, another hall, and more stairs, which
Led back down to the first floor!

Where an elevator waited
To take her up again?
But it had just one button
And it was numbered “10”.

When she pushed it, it was crazy
The elevator turned upon its side,
Grew wheels and drove out on the street
For an amazing ride!

Across a long suspension bridge,
Then underneath a tunnel,
And then it went around and round
Like circling down a funnel!

It dropped upon a railroad track
Hooked onto the caboose
And followed to the roundhouse
Where it finally broke loose.

It turned around a couple times
And ran out toward the street
The elevator ran, of course
Because it had grown two feet!

It ran across an avenue,
Around a lake, and through a park
And then through another tunnel
Where it was very dark.

A mile later it emerged,
At Agnes’ house, by her front door!
The elevator walked inside,
And was on the second floor!!

So that’s how Agnes reached her attic,
Perhaps someday you’ll go there too,
Push the elevator button,
And you’ll find my story’s true!

Part 3
Agnes stood there in her attic
And smiled at all her stuff
That almost ends the story of
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

But Agnes’ story can never end
Her smile turned to a frown,
Because you see poor Agnes
Forgot how to get back down!!
PwL  May 1, 2015
Some times I just need to laugh.  Happy May Day, HP!!
Apr 2015 · 1.8k
Time Marches On
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
If someone says, “And time stood still,”
Consider him an imbecile.
Time creeps, it flies, it disappears,
It changes seconds into years,
Consumes our life,
Each passing day,
And woe the soul
That’s in its way.

Time marches on, as if to war
Countless battles fought before
Why do we refuse to yield?
Lay down our helmet, sword, and shield
Is it so hard
For us to see
That time will claim
The victory?

Time overpowers the strongest men,
And laughs at those who try in vain,
To conquer time, for they will die
Not knowing when, or how, or why
Yes, we will die
While time endures
Time mourns no life
Not mine, not yours.

Time humbles strong, and kills the weak,
It laughs at those who dare to speak,
As if they understand its goal,
Time will extract its rightful toll.
No money spent
Can slow time down.
Time will have
The rich King’s crown.
Phil Lindsey 4/23/15
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
Okay kids, here’s a story for you.
I’m pretty sure it’s mostly true
Exaggerations?  Maybe a few,
About a mixed-up day when the sun turned blue!

Well I went outside and looked around
Bright red grass was on the ground
The sun was blue, the sky was pink
Now that’s a mixed-up day I think!

I turned and asked my good friend John,
What do you think is going on?
John couldn’t answer because, you see
He was laughing quite hysterically!

He said, “Your face is purple, and your hair is green!
You’re the strangest thing I’ve ever seen!”
What were we supposed to do?
On a mixed-up day when the sun turned blue.

I said, “John, look in the mirror!”
This mixed up day was getting weirder.
One ear was orange and one was red
And chartreuse hair was on his head.

His face was filled with polka dots
Turquoise, with some blue-green spots
Everything was a different hue
On a mixed up day when the sun turned blue.

Azure cats, chased by teal dogs;
By the burgundy lake were light blue frogs.
Khaki clouds floated way up high, and
Lime green birds flew through bright pink sky.

Scarlet trees with jet black leaves
Were blowing in a violet breeze.
Yes!  We could even see the wind!
It’s sure a mixed-up day we’re in.

This mixed-up day was getting old!
John walked away down a ruby road,
And I thought I would try to sleep,
Perhaps by counting crimson sheep.

When I woke up it was April Two,
One day after the sun turned blue
So I hope you all had lots of fun
The mixed-up day was April One!
     Happy April Fool's Day!
Phil Lindsey, April 1, 2015
My daughter teaches second grade, hope she can have some fun in her class with this!
Apr 2015 · 4.5k
Sailboat on a Purple Sea
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Lonely Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.

Sailboat on a purple sea
Sailing through Eternity
The yellow skies reveal her ardor
Searching for inlet or harbor.
Where she can safely drop her anchor
Without hostility or rancor
Stay forever, or a day
If on a whim she sails away.
To search again for other shores
Unmindful of the ocean’s mores.
Sometimes storms impede her course
Fill her journey with remorse
Thunder sounds a deaf’ning roar
Through driving rain, can’t see the shore
Lightning bolts around her flash
As if to call the Captain brash
For thinking that she has control
Over purple ocean’s vitriol.

If ever she regrets her plight
When yellow skies turn dark at night
And midnight storms have lead to loss
She rights the ship and bears the cross
And waits for morning dawn to break
Sun through last night’s rain will make
A rainbow reaching far away
Certainly it will show the way
To steer her sailboat that day.

Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Buoyant Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.
PwL 04/21/15
another for my daughter.   inspired by a painting she did.
Apr 2015 · 745
A Glass of Water
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
A vessel with some water,
The proverbial impasse.
‘Tis often seen half empty,
Yet it seems a half full glass.

Who drank the last swallow from the half full glass?
Is optimism on the brink?
Will our pessimistic present pass?
So we can fill the glass and drink!
For all in optimistic camp
Can we insure the world's survival?
Can we, other gloomy souls revamp;
Stage a miracle revival?

Like a prophet or evangelist
Laying hands upon the crowd
A *****’s lips, once shunned, now kissed,
A beggar not too proud
To ask the rich to share some love
Or a grain of understanding.
Would manna, sent from Heav’n above
Restore belief in those demanding
Proof.  A sign or something else
To kindle hope and quench the fear
That our half full glass has shattered
And the end is drawing near.

And for those who suffer in the dark
Is Armageddon on its way?
Has the Devil gone and lit the spark
That precedes our judgment day?
There are cops committing ******
And crazies killing cops
Are the pessimists so positive
That the killing will not stop?
What then, could be life’s purpose
For those who have this view?
It seems that all the pessimists
Are a suicidal crew.

Is there then a cure for pessimists?
Or are they the smarter folk?
Are the optimists so blind
They cannot see the joke?
For what, if not a joke
Is a world without control
Did God put all he had on ‘odd’
And then say, “Let’r roll!?”
Every gambler has a system
‘Guaranteed to win’
God says, “Goodness conquers evil
Compassion conquers sin.”

But is His system failing,
As the pessimists believe?
Should we all fold, throw in our cards
Rise from our chairs and leave?
While the optimists are calling
Saving wealth they cannot spend
For you cannot take it with you
When you finally reach the end.

I have not the answer,
Though I’d opt for Half Full Glass
I want to believe in something
That gives us half a chance.
But speak out loud ye poets
If you think the same or not.
All entitled to a voice.
Our voice is all we’ve really got.

A vessel with some water,
The proverbial impasse.
‘Tis often seen half empty,
Yet it seems a half full glass.

Phil Lindsey 4/20/15
Apr 2015 · 844
Wordsmith - a Limerick
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
A wordsmith from way far away
Convinced the crowd he had something to say;
“My current work does not show it,
But I would be a great poet
If my words would get out of my way.”
Apr 2015 · 399
Poetic Variety - Haiku
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
Ballads, rhythmic fun
Joyful song, Cries of despair
All kinds of poems.
Apr 2015 · 366
Definition of a Poet 10W:
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
An artist with a universal canvas, using words as paint.
Apr 2015 · 922
Surrounded Redux
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
A poet, an artist, (with little restraint)
Penciled words on his canvas, saw no use for paint,
Crafted words into pictures; Visions out loud.
Of most of his work, was exceedingly proud.
Unfettered, unbounded, his huge canvas at wait
He brandished his pencil and began to create.
Desiring a masterpiece, appealing to all
Pride prompted his excess, preceded his fall
Trapped in a vortex, surrounded by words,
Shared them with others to see if they heard.

The public was skeptic, and reflected the same
His confidence shattered; His ability shamed
He had written with passion, as if possessed
But the silence of critics left him redressed.
“Who is it says everyone cannot be pleased?
Off with their heads!  Get them down on their knees!”
He drew a sharp sword, surrendered a laugh,
Sliced his canvas to shreds, cut his pencil in half.
“I’ve heard your silence, the first version *****”
Sharpened his pencil, wrote ‘Surrounded Redux. ’

PwL 4/20/15
Thank you Arlo, Joe, Puds and LittleFreeBird for liking the original!  :-)  But even my girlfriend said it "rambled".   think I'll post the Haiku and the Limerick separately and see what  happens!
I do really like writing, so thank you ALL who read my poems!  I love the HP group!!
Apr 2015 · 1.1k
Words Better Left Unsaid
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
She smiled, looked up at him, and quickly kissed his cheek.
Then turned and walked away from the turmoil of the week,
Her crystal blue eyes moistened as she neared the airline gate,
And an inner pain engulfed her as she struggled with her fate.

He stood still, surprised, and wondered what she meant to say,
Her kiss was sweet but melted like the springtime snow in May.
Was it beginning? Was it ending? What future lies ahead?
He said 'Goodbye' and turned away.  Words better left unsaid.

Both home to their own islands, alone with thoughts and doubt.
Nobody they can talk to - No way to work it out.
What will she say? What will he think? My God, what have we done?
And maybe out of Darkness a single ray of sun.

Her resolve much stronger than his lust, her drive to do what's right,
Prevailed and gave her judgement (though she didn't sleep that night.)
And life goes on, and snowfalls come - Young children play on sleds,
And both can dream what might have been. Dreams better left unsaid.
PwL  2005
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
I’m astounded, not bounded, confounded, dumbfounded,
Hounded and grounded and surrounded by words.

A Poet 10W:
An artist with a universal canvas, using words as paint.

Ballads, rhythmic fun
Joyful song, Cries of despair
All kinds of poems.

A wordsmith from way far away
Convinced the crowd he had nothing to say;
“My current work does not show it,
But I would be a great poet
If my words would get out of my way.”

Who is there that has not  (after wine and a woman) thought himself Shakespeare?
Desirous of her continuing affections, composed a sonnet recounting her beauty and proclaiming his eternal love…………………….
“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall………………..”

A poet, an artist with little restraint
Penned words on his canvas,
Saw no use for paint,
Bent those words into pictures
Visions out loud
Of most of his work, was exceedingly proud.
But the public was skeptic
And reflected the same
His confidence shattered
His ability shamed
Still he wrote with a passion
As if possessed
To silence his critics
Until each was redressed.
“Who is it says everyone cannot be pleased?
Off with your heads!  Get down on your knees!”
He drew a sharp sword, surrendered a laugh
Sliced his canvas to shreds, cut his pencil in half.
“I’ll be the judge of what I want to say,”
Sheathed pencil and sword, then walked away.
PwL 4/18/15
Apr 2015 · 709
Pitch Black
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
The dark of night cannot compare
With the unlit cave into which I stare;
Once entered there is no way out.
Fighting still, I thrash about
Reaching for a solid wall
Terrified that I will fall
Farther down into the void
Into the great abyss, destroyed.

No sunlight reaches into Hell
To light the way for those who fell.
No candles burn to show the way
Up from the depths to light of day;
What would have redemption cost
Those wandering souls forever lost?
The fallen will not rise again
For the flames of Hell are black with sin.
PwL  4/18/15
Apr 2015 · 566
Carry-Me Keri
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
‘Tis the tale of Carry-Me Keri,
And how she got the name
On vacation off to Boston
(Of Tea Party Fame)

There’s a trail marked in yellow
Along those famous streets
Her father, saving money
Thought they should walk somewhere to eat.

So they walked the famous trail
Keri and her Mom and Dad
And they saw all kinds of history
And that part wasn’t bad.

But then they set off walking
To a restaurant on the pier
They were hungry, thirsty, tired
In need of soda pop and beer.

It was very hot and sweaty
In Boston in July
So they promised her spaghetti
So she wouldn’t start to cry.

And they continued walking
At least a couple miles
Tears and angry talking
Had replaced the once bright smiles.

Keri sometimes fell behind
When her parents turned around
They saw their daughter on the sidewalk
Sitting on the ground.

“Carry-Me” their Keri pled,
"I’m tired of all this walkin'"
“Pick her up”, her Mother said,
And she continued talkin'.

“You’ve taken us on this long walk.
Now we’re tired, hot and mad.
You’ve got to Carry Keri
Cuz’ you’re the big, strong Dad."

So I picked her up, and I suppose
I thought the restaurant was near
The two girls could get some water
And I could have a beer.

FINALLY!  We made it!
(Although I now forget its name)
It was a ‘recommended’ restaurant,
One of quite a bit of fame.

“Do you have reservations?,”  asked the haughty mai·tre d',
Well......   We had none, of course.
“No matter, you can’t eat here anyway;
“Your daughter’s wearing shorts.”

We turned around, defeated
But what to my surprise
A cab just sitting in the lot
I caught the driver’s eyes.

“How much is it to get downtown?”
(Though I really didn’t care)
I was gonna pay most anything
To get us out of there.

The driver’s surly answer,
I remember to this day,
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford,”
Then the ******* drove away.

I carried her back into town
And we found a place to eat
But before we even ordered
Keri was asleep.

So I carried her to our hotel
She slept until the morn
That’s the story of Carry-Me Keri
And how the name was born!

PwL 4-14-15
Absolutely a true story, Keri was probably only 3 or 4 years old.  She'll be 33 next week!
Apr 2015 · 460
Mom Went First
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
Over Sixty years of marriage
We know that Dad still hurts
But the only words he ever said,
"We knew one of us would go first."
Phil Lindsey, 4/15/15
Mom died in November, 2014.  She and Dad were married for 63 years.
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
The new built church was filling up
For its very first Christmas Eve.

It was finished in October
On a piece of vacant land, and
Reverend James had joined the greeters,
At its entrance shaking hands.

From seeming out of nowhere
A stranger just appeared
He was hunched a bit, and limping
With a longer gray-white beard.
His suit was black and dusty,
Like it hadn’t been used in years,
And his eyes were red and misty
Like he’d been shedding countless tears.

The Reverend grabbed his hand and said,
“Welcome!  Welcome, come right in!!
You’re a stranger to these parts I guess,
But we’re mighty glad you came.
And if it’s all the same to you,
We’d like to know your name.”

“Name’s Everett.  Everett Kent,” he said.
“Been alookin’ for this church.
Knowed some day you’d build it here.
Now I can end my search.”

The stranger loosed the Reverend’s grip,
Limped in and settled down,
At the far left end of the far back pew;
Where no one was around.

He sat through prayers and sermon,
Through a couple hymns as well
And when they got to ‘Silent Night’
He appeared to know it well.  
Silently, he closed his eyes,
The words were his release
“Round yon ******, Mother and Child,”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”

As the song went to the second verse,
The bearded stranger, dressed in black
Vanished into silent night,
Not once looking back.

The next day - Christmas Morning,
The ushers found a curious thing
A parchment in the offering plate
******* with a string.
When they untied the string they found
Much to their surprise,
A stack of Hundred Dollar bills
Of a slightly larger size.
They were from a different era,
Was this some kind of a joke?
A heartless cruel trick to play
At the expense of righteous folk.

On the inside of the parchment
In an antique writing style
Was a poem, (or a riddle?)
Now they couldn’t help but smile.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”


The Reverend and the Deacons counted 15 Grand
The Reverend and the Deacons, together made a plan
Early the next morning of the very next business day,
They found a numismatist
To see what he would say.

He said,
“As currency it’s worthless
But a collector will pay well
These notes are rare and valuable
As far as I can tell.
You’ll get thirty / forty times the face
Look at the condition that they’re in!!
Where the Hell did they come from?”
And, where the Hell have they been?”

Reverend James contradicted
Remembering Everett Kent,
“Sir, it wasn’t Hell they’ve come from.
These notes were Heaven sent.
A stranger came on Christmas Eve
And left them on the pew.
All we did was count them,
And bring them straight to you.”

On the way home, Reverend James perplexed
Reviewed the strange events
Prayed that God would grant him wisdom
So he’d know what to do next
Surely the stranger didn’t know
The value of the notes
He mentioned only Fifteen Thousand
In the poem that he wrote.

A lawyer was a member
Of the Richland Christian Church
So Reverend James implored him
To do a legal search
He vowed to find the stranger Kent
To make known the real worth,
And inform him of the value
Of the bills he left at church.

Three days later, four o’clock
The Reverend heard a frantic knock
“I’ve found something that’ll interest you,
From 23 December, Eighteen Seven Two.


Richland Herald, December 31, 1872
The First National Bank of Richland was robbed last week, on December 23rd, by a man who, holding the tellers at bay with a pistol, demanded that they surrender all the money in the vault, without protest so that none would be harmed.  The thief escaped on horseback, though the Sheriff’s department was duly informed, and the Sheriff and two newly appointed deputies immediately gave chase.

On or about 4 pm the following day, a man matching the thief’s description was said to have been seen at the stage stop, run by Everett Kent, and his wife Mary, two fine people known about these parts for their hospitality and generosity.  As a testament to this fact, an itinerant preacher (known only as Reverend Jim) had been staying at the house for some time and conducting meetings at the stop whenever possible.  It should be mentioned as well that the Kent’s have a young son David, who, taking a liking to the eloquent Reverend Jim, had decided to also preach the Gospel and had taken the his first steps in that Almighty Direction.

As the posse surrounded the house, the thief, perhaps knowing that he could not escape, endeavored to bargain his way out of the situation by taking hostages and thereby securing his own safety.  Everett Kent, pleading for some shred of decency from the villain, asked that his wife and child and Reverend Jim be released, and that he, alone would serve in that capacity.  The thief relented (maybe the only time in his villainous life that he concluded a decent act.)  Mary and David ran from the building and were quickly placed out of harm’s way by the sheriff and his men.

What happened next will never be known to any but those in the building and the Lord God Himself.  What is known, is that yelling and commotion came from the house, and three shots were fired.  Perhaps upon being released, instead of removing himself to safety, Reverend Jim, attacked the villain and a scuffle ensued.  In the process, a kerosene lamp was broken, and the building caught fire.  Although Mary implored the sheriff to rescue her husband who had been tied to a chair, the Sheriff exercising judgment, if not valor, determined that it was already too late.

The thief (identity forever unknown), the valiant Reverend Jim and the pious and unfortunate Everett Kent all perished in the fire.  When the house had burned to the ground and the bodies could be examined, it was determined that the thief was shot through the heart and Reverend Jim also had received a mortal wound.  Everett Kent, though tied to a chair, had somehow procured a bullet wound to his right leg.

The spoils of the robbery, according to the First National Bank, $15,000 in uncirculated $100 bank notes, were never found, and presumed burned to ashes in the fire.


Reverend James felt faint
His knees and legs were weak
He sat down at his desk, and
Heard the lawyer speak.

Reverend James, there’s something more
That you have a right to know.
The stage stop never was rebuilt.
The widow moved away
And raised her son in another town
Very far away.

The son became a preacher
And later changed his name
In honor of the Reverend Jim,
Called himself David James.

You are David’s GG Grandson
You descend from Everett too.
The land where you just built the church?
Left so long ago to you?
Was once the home of Everett Kent
I found that in my search.
The widow left it to her son
And he thus passed it down.
And now you’ve built your brand new church
On that very ground.

You’ll never find the stranger
The notes are yours to spend
And the Christmas Eve Tale of Everett Kent
Has finally reached its end.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”

Reverend David James III,  recounted to Philip W. Lindsey on 4/13/2015
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
In a rundown house,
On the edge of town
Where the grass is overgrown
The door’s unlocked and open,
The windows all are broke.
It’s been exactly twenty years
Since the chimney last saw smoke.

People pass by without seeing it.
Because it sits back off the road.
But when I pass by, I begin to cry.
It has a story seldom told.

Two nineteen year olds
Once planned their life
In that old abandon house.
She would bring a blanket.
He would bring the wine
They would dream about their future
Plan how they’d spend their time
Traveling to Places
Before they settled down
To raise their perfect family
In a house at the edge of town.

She would spread the blanket
He would build a fire
And long before the wine was gone
They would give in to desire
Passionate and furious
Holding on too tight
As if the dreams they shared
Were slipping
Off into the night.
As if the plans they made were
Smoke
From the fire in the room
Rising out the chimney
Into the afternoon,
Blown away by breezes,
Hidden by the clouds.
Invisible like secret fears
Never voiced aloud.

Spring turned into summer
Winter followed fall -
They began to meet less frequently
Then they didn’t meet at all.
The fire and the passion gone
The room now cold and bare,
The house at the edge of town
Unused,
But still standing there.

The memories of our teenage love
Were strong – We thought that we should meet
Once again in the vacant house set back from the street.
We set a date, but I was late
I almost didn’t go.
I sensed we were pretending;
Trying to return
Passion to a fireplace
Where the fire would not burn.

Eventually I pushed the door
And walked into the room
The fireplace had embers
As if it had burned awhile,
A bottle mostly empty
Had been thrown against the wall.
The blanket laid out smoothly,
But that was not quite all.
I saw my former lover
On the blanket dead and cold
With a note scrolled out in cursive
“I guess I should have known”
“You’re not here.  The fire’s gone. I have no need to live.
I hope that you’ll be happy -
When you finally come around
To the place we shared our love and dreams,
The house at the edge of town."

That’s the tragic story
And the reason for my tears;
The house on the edge of town
Still stands, even after all these years.
PwL  4/11/15
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
PATSY’S POEM.
(Composed while in Bloomington jail)

While sitting in this silent chamber,
And nothing else to do,
I thought I would compose a song
And write it, friends, for you.

I am not much of a poet,
Though I’ll do the best I can
To try to keep my courage up
And bear it like a man.

I was born in Cincinnati
And in Ohio State—
Little did I think, my friends
I would ever meet such a fate.

I was brought up by honest parents,
Who thought the world of me.
And this is the first time I’ve been
Deprived of liberty.

It was on the fourth of August, in 1879,
From house to house the news was spread
That Aaron Goodfellow had been shot,
And soon he would be dead.

Suspicion pointed toward me;
They rushed upon their prey,
And I was forced to prison
To await my trial day.

They took me to the station-house;
From there to the county jail,
Where iron bars surrounded me,
There my troubles to bewail.

I never did the cruel deed—
God knows I’m not to blame,
Although I have been convicted
And must suffer all the shame.

A word to my old mother,
And my sisters kind and true:
Remember I’m innocent
Though I must part from you.

Any you my kind relations,
I know you wish me well;
But my feelings at this moment
No human tongue can tell.

Before I close this rhyme
I’ll not forget to mention
My good jailer,
Mr. Franks.

And now, my kind friends,
‘Tis all that I can do
In sending this, my song,
To bid you all adieu.
Patsy Devine, in a Bloomington, Illinois jail, sometime between 1880 1882
I found this poem a few years ago while doing genealogy research on the internet.  My GG Grandfather's name was George Hartsock.  He was one of the jurors that convicted Patsy Devine of the ****** of Aaron Goodfellow.   Mr. Devine professed his innocence until the very end, and composed this poem, in jail, awaiting execution by hanging.

http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~ildewitt/aaron-goodfellows-******.htm
Apr 2015 · 516
South of Tucson
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
He pulled into a truck stop.
Had to drive a few more hours.
Saw an empty, corner table;
Faded tablecloth and flowers.
Waitress brought a glass of water
“Menu?” as she dropped one down.
Poured the coffee without askin’
“What brings you to our town?”

“Well I’m headed south of Tucson
Your town’s just along the route
Hope the coffee keeps me goin’ -
What’s your special all about?

See my daughter’s getting’ married
And I’ve never met the guy
She asked me to do the honor,
Guess I kinda wonder why.

We ain’t talked much for awhile now.
Since her Ma and I split up
Used to be my Lil' Darlin’ –
Can I get another cup?”

“I been workin’ north of Dallas
Money’s good this time of year,
Told the Boss I need the weekend
He said, “Go on, get outa here.

So I left at noon on Thursday,
****, you know that’s still today?
The chicken fried steak looks pretty good
Then I’ll be on my way.

I’ll get there early Friday morning
Sleep an hour or two.
Then I’ll go and see my daughter -
Have some mashed potatoes too?”

“I’m too old to be this nervous
I’m her father after all,
She’s the one who wants me standin’ up,
She’s the one that made the call.

She said that he’s a Doctor
And I suppose she loves the guy
Course I thought I loved her Mother -
How’s the apple pie?

Would you add a scoop of ice cream?
And another cup of Joe?
When I’m done I’ll use the restroom,
Then I guess it's time to go.”

“Well, Ma’am it’s been nice talkin’
Wish I could stay awhile,
But I’m headed south of Tucson
To walk my daughter down the aisle."

"Yeah, my daughter's gettin' married
And I never met the guy,
But I'll be standin' there beside her
Tryin' not to cry."

PwL 4/8/15
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
I am Phil
I am Phil
Phil I am.

That Phil I am
That Phil I am
I do not like that Phil I am.

Would you like to drink some Scotch?
No Phil I am.  No I would not.
I would not like to drink some Scotch.

Would you drink Scotch on the Rocks?

I would not drink Scotch on the Rocks
I think it tastes like ***** socks
So get down off that Dewars box
I will not drink a Scotch with you
No that is something I won’t do
I might drink *****, might drink gin
But drinking Scotch would be a sin.

Would you drink some Chivas Regal?

I think Scotch should be illegal!
What is it that you do not get?
I just don't like the taste of it!
Scotch just doesn’t suit me well
I do not even like the smell.
Give me wine or give me beer
But don’t talk to me when Scotch is near.

Would you like a single malt?

I don’t like Scotch.  It’s not your fault.

Would you try some Lagavulin?

I won’t drink Scotch; I’m not foolin’
I won’t drink Scotch all by myself
With you or anybody else
I hate the smell
I hate the taste
To serve ME Scotch
Would be a WASTE!

Well!!  You don’t have to cause a scene
Just try a sip, see what I mean
It’s really not that bad, at all
Don’t drink the bar stuff, drink the call
All the ‘Glens’ are really nice
Drink them neat, add 1 cube ice
One ice cube brings out the taste
Two or more would be a waste.
Try just a sip, and you will see
Then you might drink a Scotch with me.

Oh Phil I am
Oh Phil I am
You wore me down.
Was that the plan?
I guess I’ll let my scruples slip
And try a Scotch – a tiny sip.

Sip.    Sip.      SSSSippppss.

Oh (licks his lipsss)
This is good.  This is really good,
I think that I can taste the peat.
It’s not too smoky, not too sweet
It’s not at all what I expected
Now I’ve got my thoughts collected
My admiration resurrected
I think I like Scotch, Yes it’s true.
I think I'll drink a Scotch with you.
In fact, Phil, I just might have two!
Do you have some Johnnie Walker Blue?
PwL   April 8, 2015
I grew up reading Dr. Seuss, and, like most kids, loved the playfulness of his words.  Dedicated to Theodore Seuss Geisel.  I hope that he liked Scotch!
Apr 2015 · 505
Listen'ng
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
been listn’n to poets
for ten or twelve weeks
ten or twelve weeks
ten or twelve weeks
been listn’n to poets
to hear what they speak
hear what they speak
hear what they speak
been listn’n to lovers
as they open their hearts
open their hearts
open their hearts
been hearin’ the hatred
that tears us apart
tears us apart
tears us apart
been talkin’ to strangers
to tell how I feel
tell how I feel
tell how I feel
been talkin’ to strangers
to show them I’m real
show them I’m real
show them I’m real
been hopin’ and prayin’
that someone will hear
someone will hear
someone will hear
been hopin’ and prayin’
that the end is not near
end is not near
end is not near
been listn’n and hearin’ and talkin’ and prayin’
and hopin’ and seein’ and sharin’ and sayin’
and learnin’ and lookin’ and play’n and waitin’
and showin’ and growin’ and all the time knowin’
if I listen to others they’ll help me to see
help me to see
help me to see
if I listen to others they’ll listen to me
listen to me
listen to me.
Phil Lindsey, April, 2015
Joined HP the end of February, very happy I did.  Great people here:
Thanks!
Apr 2015 · 5.2k
The Accountant and the Poet
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
The Street
An accountant went to work one day
Passed a beggar on the street
“Hey buddy, can you spare some change,
     I need a bite to eat.”
The accountant took a dollar out;
Pushed it toward the man
“You know, Bud, you should get a job
Do you have some kind of plan?
I see you here each morning,
Watching while I go to work.
Asking strangers for their extra change -
Man, are you a ****!”

The beggar gave the dollar back,
“You can keep the buck.
I watch people for a living
Some are kind, and some just ****.
I record all their reactions
And I’m going to write a book
You’re in Chapter Four, I think:
‘Those who took a second look.’
Chapter One? Those people pass me by
And look the other way.
Pretending they can’t see me,
Not hearing what I say.
Chapter Two is full of angry folks
Who stare like I’m diseased,
One of them once spit at me –
He missed though; I was pleased.
Some people give me money
Covert, so others do not see
Like I’m a change jar on the dresser -
They’re in Chapter Three.
But Chapter Four, my favorite,
Is the one that you’ll be in.
You gave me grief for sittin’ here
But you did it with a grin.
And you reached into your wallet
Though I suspect you had some change,
And TALKED to me a minute
THAT’s the part that’s really STRANGE!”

“Only one in out of a hundred
Will spend a minute of their time
And add some conversation
To their nickel or their dime
To ask what brought me to this street
Or where I’m going next.
Most engrossed in mobile cell phones;
Talking;  Sending text
To others who are just like them
Scurrying to work
Too rushed to spend a minute
With the jobless beggar ****.”

“So when a person such as you
Stops to give me time of day
I know he’s worth a listen to,
I want to hear what he might say.
And if you can spare a bit more time
Let’s get some coffee down the street.
You can keep your dollar,
It’s going to be my treat.”

The Coffee Shop
They sat at a corner table
And ordered two - both black
And the beggar started talking
When the waitress turned her back.

“I’m an author and a poet
My office is the street
I find poems, verse and stories
In everyone I meet.
And I sense you have a story
It’s my intent to find it out.
So tell me Mr. Business Man,
What are you about?”

The Accountant’s Story
The coffees came, he took a sip
Eyed the poet with a smile,
“Will you please pass the sugar?
This might take awhile.
I’m a professional accountant
I do audit work and tax,
And now, it’s after April
I have a few days to relax.
I went to college at a big name school
Then I passed the CPA,
Was recruited by a couple firms,
I started right away.
Been doing this for twenty years.
Senior partner after ten –“

And the poet interrupted,
“Would you do it all again?”

“I have a wife, two kids, and I'm a member
At a real exclusive club
A standing weekly tee time
(Sometimes I have to get a sub)
Because I often work on weekends
So I don’t get far behind
And it’s quiet in the office
But the wife and kids don’t mind …….”

The accountant’s voice then trailed off
As he stared down at his cup,
Stirring sugar round and round.
“That about sums it up.”

“But I asked you if you had the chance
Would you do it all again?
I kind of get the feeling
That your keeping something in.
I kind of get the feeling
There’s something missing in your life
With your country club and tee times
With your two kids and your wife.
And your audits and your taxes
And the partnership you’re in
Now go back to your Big Name School
Start the story over again.”

Accountant’s Story Two
“I was gonna be a teacher
And probably a coach
I thought that kids could learn from me
If I took the right approach.
And then a guidance counselor
Stopped me in the hall
Hey Bud, What will you study
When you enter college in the fall?
“I said, ‘I guess I’ll be a teacher.’
He replied, ‘The Hell with that
You’re smart, and very good at math –
Accounting’s where it’s at,
They make a lot more money
Than a teacher ever will
You should be an accountant
You should use your skill.’ “
“At the time I thought it made good sense
I was very good in math
So I took accounting courses
And have continued down that path.
That is it.  My story.  How I got right here today.
I’ve made a lot of money
More than you I dare to say.
So tell me Beggar / Poet
Do you make enough to eat?
Where do you go in winter
When its freezing on the street?

Second Cup
They called the waitress over
And ordered two more Joes
The Poet said, “It’s my turn
Here’s how my story goes.”

The Poet’s Story
I’m an author and a poet
And I live right down the street
Like I told you I get stories
From the people that I meet.
As for making money
I’ve published once or twice
Pays the condo rent and buys me food
The royalties are nice.
But writing is a hobby
I went to college just like you
But I lost it when I got there
Had no clue what I should do
So I drank and took a lot of drugs
Partied way more than I should
Till a teacher took me to the side
And said, ‘Buddy it’s all good.”
Get it out.  Learn lessons. And then go out and teach.
You never know who you can help.
Or the people you can reach.’
So when it's cold here on the street
The winter winds are biting
I’m at an inner city school
I teach creative writing.
And the money people like you give?
I pick out kids that don’t have much
Add a couple twenties of my own
So I don't get out of touch.
I take them shopping after school
And I buy them school supplies.
I figure ends support the means,
And forgive my 'beggar'  lies.

The End
Now you have both their stories,
And I might have let mine slip.
The accountant paid for coffee.
The poet left the tip.

PwL  4/7/15
Apr 2015 · 583
To Silence a Nation
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
What tragedy rings loud enough to silence all the land?
What misfortune melds a Nation as no politician can?
Misfortune? Ah, too lame described.  Misfortune is spilled salt.
A tragedy then so defined, must be a villain’s fault.
A villain with intent to harm, to seek revenge, destroy;
Taking credit for the chaos, some morbid short-lived joy
For there will be retribution, if not on Earth then in the End
When a Power greater than ourself will mightily descend
And with a sword of righteousness, cut out the villain’s tongue,
Match the silence of the villain to our Nation's own.

For each assassination, does not a man destroy
But adds glory to the legend, for all history to enjoy.
Lincoln, King and Kennedy all giv’n eternal voice
Julias Caesar, Jesus Christ just cause for our rejoice!
Pearl Harbor, Boston Bombing,, and vicious Nine-One-One
Left silent Nation galvanized when the heartless acts were done.
Silent? For an instant.  But an instant and no more.
And a Nation then united, rise as one with mighty roar!
Transcending gender, race and creed in a common song
The villain will surrender, to our victorious throng!

What apocalypse rings loud enough to silence all the World?
What vengeful God draws mighty sword, his banner thus unfurled
For all to see and fear and weep, beg forgiveness much too late
As we answer for the cruelty, the torment, and the hate.
Will He cut our tongues? thus end the need for power and control?
And by muting interference, a single voice extol?
And with that voice of silence, bring the World to our knees,
To praise the World together, and pray for World peace.
Phil Lindsey, Easter Sunday, April 5, 2015
Poem inspired by the following quote:
“The nation mourned Lincoln as it had never mourned before.  In the process, it not only defined the legacy of an American hero, it also established a new ritual of American citizenship: the shared moment of national tragedy, when a restless Republic’s busy life falls silent.”  
    Adam Goodheart, National Geographic, April 2015, page 36.

Happy Easter, Everyone!!
Mar 2015 · 697
Growin' Old
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
“The times they are a-changing”
Guess I’m growin’ older fast
Had a **** good time one summer,
But summers never last.

“Ah, but I was so much older then”
Rip van Winkle shared his drink with me
Woke up; thought we were younger
But the village disagreed.

“Like a rolling stone”
I never stayed on the top of any hill
Got no regrets to mention
But I prob’ly sometime will.

“Blowin’ in the wind”
Seeds from a weeping willow tree
Never knowin’ where they might end up
But it’s the same **** thing with me.

“All I really want to do”
Before I end up in the dirt
Is beg everyone’s forgiveness
But there’s too many I hurt.

“A hard rain’s a-gonna fall”
For now it’s beatin’ on my head
Soon it’ll pound down on my grave
But by that time I’ll be dead.

“Long and wasted years”
Came along and passed me by
Yeah I kinda miss the summer
But I ain’t had time to cry.

“I wear dark glasses to cover my eyes”
Can’t believe the things I’ve seen
Still, I’d pretend that I was younger
But Dylan’s on AARP magazine.
PwL 3/31/15
Just wanted to re-post and say Happy Birthday to Bob Dylan!!

The first line in each stanza is a title of, or line from a Bob Dylan song.  A true poet.  So "Growin' Old" is dedicated to Bob Dylan and all the rest of us who are old enough to get AARP magazine!  Hope you enjoy!
Mar 2015 · 8.1k
Kite
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
Dad made a kite
Out of paper and wood
And a white, ripped up sheet for a tail.
We all watched with wonder when without any wind
He could make his kite rise up and sail!
The trick, he would tell us
Is to run just a bit, then let the string play out just so.
There is wind up above us that you cannot see
It will make the kite rise up and go.

Up went his kite
High up over the trees
And soon it was up with clouds.
It dipped, skipped and twirled as he tightened his rein
“It’s DANCING!” we shouted out loud!
The kite, he would tell us
Responds to your touch, don’t hold it too loose or too tight.
Be forgiving, yet firm, let it fly by itself
And most times it will turn out all right.

Dad gave the kite
To the youngest child there,
And the rest of us waited our turn.
The kite soared, then collapsed; our confidence too
Dad taught; we attempted to learn.
Life, he would tell us
Is like flying a kite, you hold on but you cannot control.
Don’t let a failure or lack of success
Stop you from reaching your goal.

Be like the kite
Reach as high as you can
Set your goals high, and dance with the clouds!
Respect and remember the wind you can’t see.
It’s your Faith that will make others proud.
Faith, he would tell us
Is the courage to fly, and belief in a Presence unseen.
But most of all Faith is the strength to go on
When your kite gets stuck high in a tree.
PwL 3/30/15
Mar 2015 · 809
The Card Game
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
“I’m all in,” the gambler grinned, and
Pushed his chips toward the center of the table.
“Been playin’ hard, finally pulled the card,
You can call if you are able.
It’s all or nothing, - final ***.
Call me.  Show me what you got.

C’mon Man, you hesitatin’ ?
Take your time, I’ll sit here waitin’.


C’mon MAN, you think I’m BLUFFIN’?
Think I’m sittin’ here with NOTHIN’?


C’MON MAN!  Let’s GET THIS DONE!
DON’T ACT LIKE YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE
WITH MORE THAN POKER ON THE LINE
FOLD or CALL ME, EITHER’s FINE!

But don’t just sit and stare at me,
And make your judgement silently
I need to win.  I want it all,
For God’s sake, Man, please fold or call


The silent Man called.  

“Son,
Life’s a gamble and she’s dealt us all some bitter hands.
So when you been ‘round long as me
You begin to understand
Don’t matter if you win this time
Eventually you’ll lose
The stakes keep getting bigger, and
Some day you’ll have to choose
Between losin’ everything you got
And keepin’ something dear
And another thing I’ll wager, Son, that you don’t want to hear
Is while the *** keeps getting bigger, the odds get longer too
Sometime soon old lady luck will turn her back on you.”

The Silent Man laid his cards on the table.

“Each day’s a brand new poker hand
Some you win, and some you bluff,
Now you show me what YOU have,
We’ll see if it’s enough.”

PwL, March 29, 2016
Wanted to call this the Gambler, but Kenny Rogers beat me to that.  Thought about the Silent Man, but John Wayne beat me to that.  :-)
Mar 2015 · 1.8k
Family Tree
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
My Brothers and Sister and Me
We all share the same genes
Though some hide it better than others.
Similarities And Differences are pronounced.
The apples don’t fall far from the tree
Though a couple of them bounced.

Apples baked into pies or
Thrown to the horses
Rotten and brown and wormy and
Delicious apple cider in the Fall.
Applesauce and apple butter and Appleton, Wisconsin
Looking for a job?  Applications for them all.

Mountains, and mountains of books
Rivers, and streams of numbers
Hiking and running through canyons
Flowers and gardens and mushrooms and parks.
Shooting pheasants in the fields
Shooting stars in the dark.

Time will tell.  Time will tell
Mom’s in Heaven, Dad’s in his own Hell.
Whose footsteps will you follow?
What size boots do you own?
Who most will you resemble?
When your own kids are grown.

We are laughing.  We are laughing.
We are librarians and teachers
And accountants and staff and lumbermen always.
And still we all laugh.  
“Thought one of you’d be a preacher.”
“Good money in that.”

Each generation’s gaps grow wider
As the trees grow taller the apples fall farther
Similarities and Differences well-defined
Still laughing. Still laughing at things
New genes swimming in the family pool
Some of the cousins can sing!!
PwL March, 2015
Mar 2015 · 659
Unattainable
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
The shore, compelling from a distance, looks lush and green and warm.
From closer up not so inviting,
Remnant driftwood from a storm
Covers beaches, sea grass, shells,
And secrets kept she never tells,
Of all the travelers that have tried
To harbor there, and all that died,
And still more come and try each day,
Though some give up and sail away,
Some, persistent, wreck their ships
Windblown into coral, rips
Gashes in their hulls and heart -
Remains lie broken far apart.

The sunswept skies and gentle breezes push and pull the wispy clouds.
Yet darkness hovers
Ever closer; rapidly approaching shrouds
Soon will join with lightning, thunder
Mortal winds will blow asunder
Bow from stern and sail from mast,
Weary windblown sailors last
As long as able, choose to fight.
Can they endure till morning light?
When early hues of pink and teal
Dark night’s destruction then reveal.
Carnage strewn about the beach
Like dreams of many; out of reach.
PwL 3/26/15
Mar 2015 · 570
Better OFF (the Poem)
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
Tonight I turned the TV off.
And it was better OFF.
And I was better off.

I called my daughter asked her how she was and we talked for an hour ‘bout stuff.
I told her I loved her and she said it back and the emotion was real enough.

And my son called from Texas, said his car needed a tire and he asked me what I thought he should do.
So I asked him if he had a usable spare, he said no, I said better buy two.

Then I made me a sandwich (the TV still off!) and I picked up a book and I READ!!
The plot started to thicken, my pulse started to quicken, but by then it was near time for bed.

So I didn’t watch ‘Wheel’ and I didn’t watch news and I didn’t watch Late Night at all.
I didn’t watch weather, though through the window, I could see the snow starting to fall.
I didn’t watch Stars Dance on anyone’s toes, didn’t watch ******* give some girl a rose.  
Didn’t watch re-runs of sit-coms I’ve seen, and I didn’t watch Judy the Judge being mean.

Tonight I turned the TV off.
And it was better OFF.
And I was better off.
#tv
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