It’s Grandma’s first Christmas,
And she’s pretty gung-**.
She’s made mental lists,
Now she’s ready to go!

It’s Grandma’s first Christmas,
And she’s going wild.
Nothing’s too good
For the perfect Grandchild!

It’s Grandma’s first Christmas,
And she’s going insane.
We just follow along,
Daring not to complain.

Shop after shop, and
Aisle after aisle,
Wherever she goes,
The shop owners smile.

Store after store, and
Mall after mall,
The SUV is filled up,
But she’s not done, at all.

Her credit card company
Called the last store.
She said, “Just raise my limit,
I’ve got quite a bit more.”

In one store, and out yet another
With clerks dutifully trailing behind,
“Ma’am, is there anything else that you need?
Anything we can help you to find?”

It was Grandma’s first Christmas
She went kind of berserk.
Who knew that shopping
Could be such hard work?

Now Grandma and Baby
Are both fast asleep.
Their first Christmas will end,
But all the memories will keep.
pwl 12/22/16

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

“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

Richard Riddle’s birthday today. RIP

Saw Robert Zimmerman again
After way too many years
Now I can’t stop my brain from singin’ .
I’ve always loved his poems -
The way he bends his words
Into pictures I can see out loud,
Illustrations of America, though blurred.

Forgive me Mr. Zimmerman
If I used your real 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. Dylan
Cross my heart and hope to die.

On the Day the Music died,
I had just about turned five,
Five more years slid past me
The Beatles sang on TV - live.  
Rock and Roll was pushing all the Folks
To center stage,
Viet Nam and Woodstock
Were currently the rage.

Somewhere we got sidetracked
The Disco Ball was turnin’
I put on a cowboy hat,
Johnny sang a song ‘bout burnin’.
I’ve been blowin’ in the wind
For over sixty years;
Now I’m tryin’ to write some poems, ‘bout my life,
And it appears,
That all my poems sound like songs
I’ve heard throughout the years.
---PwL  5/24/15

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

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

Disgrace
About face
Try it all again.
Steinbeck really
Killed it when he
Wrote ‘Of Mice and Men.’
George protected Lenny when
He shot him in the head. Lenny
Tended to the rabbits; In the end
They all were dead. Did you read it,
Back in high school, when you were
The baseball star? Was your girlfriend
Still a ****** when she left the backseat
Of your car? Did you divorce before you
Married? Did the rabbit really die? Did your
Girlfriend raise the baby, listen to the baby cry?
Will you ever say “I’m sorry?” Will you cry when
She is gone? Or will you write a story ‘bout your life,
Called, “Hobo Carry On.”
Phil Lindsey  6/4/15

In the blink of an eye of a hurricane,
In the nick of time after time,
In the heat of the night of the living dead,
It is I for whom the bells chime.

In the midnight hour of decision,
In the moonlit sky filled with stars,
I am cut with a scalpel’s precision,
My blood flows, but soon will be scars.

My only friends will betray me,
My own words have a venomous taste,
I can spit at those who would slay me,
For I’ve outrun all the demons I chased.

In the blink of an eye of a needle,
In the nick of time running out,
Perhaps one more time I can wheedle,
The voices within me to shout.
Phil Lindsey 1/8/17

I know that I can be a poet. Yes, I know it. Yes I can.
I know that I can do it. I’ll get to it. I’ve a plan.
Mr. Billy Collins says you have to read a lot.
Ten thousand hours maybe more, maybe more, but
Maybe not.
That may seem,
A bit extreme,
Then again,
He’s probably right.
So I’ll start my “Poet Reading Time’ right away tonight.

If I cut out TV, and read, say three
Or four hours every day,
Five or six days a week, I guess,
Fifty weeks a year, I’d say.
I can figure it out,
I guess it’s about,
It’s about, it’s about, oh dear,
That’s over ten years to get started
That’s not what I wanted to hear.

There’s got to be another way,
I say, that way, takes way too long,
Did Dylan read ten thousand hours
Before he wrote all his songs?
Did Whitman read ten thousand hours
Before he wrote  ‘Leaves of Grass’?
Did Shakespeare? Well, I’ll never know, and
There’s no one I can ask.

Maybe I can take a night class,
At a College somewhere near,
The kind where after class you
Meet the teacher for a beer.
And he tells you how he wrote
A book of poems about his life,
And how he’d have had it published
If it wasn’t for his wife
See she wanted to get married
And she got pregnant right away
So he had to get a job, you know,
What else is there to say?

Or maybe there’s a contest
Which is only for beginners
A prize book will be published
Including all the winners,
And for fifty or a hundred bucks
You get a copy you can keep,
Put it on your nightstand, and
Read yourself to sleep.
Read all the other “winners”,
Who bought a slot upon your shelf,
What does it say about your poem?
What does it say about yourself?

I guess
I best
Start reading.
I’ve lost hours as we speak,
Maybe I,
Can try,
To write a poem every week.
Read, then write,
Enjoy, then fight
With words upon blank page,
Tear it up,
Then, start again,
A lion king inside a cage.
Reading, writing, ‘rithmetic
Add the hours up.
Maybe by the end of life
I might have read enough,
Maybe too, I’ll write a poem, that
Maybe some will read.  
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe not,
Does a poet pricked not bleed?
Success, I guess,
Depends upon
The goal one sets in life.
To earn a million dollars,
To marry a wonderful wife,
To write a novel poem,
Or a novel, or
A song,
That starts the world singing
Join my chorus, sing along!

So Mr. Billy Collins,
I just bought a book,
A collection of your poems,
I just thought I’d take a look,
And before I laid it down to dream,
I must have read an hour or so
A wonderful start, it was, I thought,
Ninety nine hundred ninety-nine hours to go!
Phil Lindsey 12/30/16

“If  I could only paint,” the despondent poet said,
“If  I could only paint, I would surely knock’em dead.
Like Rembrandt or Picasso, like Whistler or Van Gogh.
I’d open up a gallery, and everyone  would see
The pictures that I’d painted and they would envy me!”

“If I could write a novel,” the painter empathized.
“If I could write a novel, then I’d have realized,
My dream to be like Hemingway, Faulkner or Thoreau.
I’d be in all the book stores, my books would be top shelf,
And I would finally know that I’d made something of myself.”

“If I could hit a baseball,” the author next agreed,
“If I could hit a baseball, I’d be in the major league.
I’d hit home runs like Willie Mays, and run like Shoeless Joe.
The fans would come to all the parks to see me lead the team,
The kids would want my autograph, and all the crowd would scream.”

“If I was smart,” the ballplayer said, “And studied law in school,”
“Then I could be the President, and I’d make all the rules.
I’d be as great as Washington, FDR, and Honest Abe.
I would meet with foreign diplomats, and help the world find peace,
All America would know my name; Play ‘Hail to the Chief’”

“If I could write a poem,” the President bowed his head,
“If I could write a poem, my ego would be fed.
I’d describe the beauty of a flower, and the winds that softly blow;
I’d keep my poems in a journal, let no one ever see,
And be content in knowing that I had done it just for me.”
pwl 3/7/03

I’ve questioned God’s existence,
His involvement,
His intent.
When things were’t going well
I used poetry
To vent.

Instead, though, I should offer praise
For the blessings
Given me!
And thank Him each and every day;
To better use
My poetry.

Thank You, God, for giving life,
To my family, friends, and
Me!
And for all the others in this world,
Though at times
We disagree.

Thank You, God, for giving strength
Though we are weak
Compared to You.
Help us, God, accept Your plan,
And do the best
That we can do.

Help us to open up our eyes
And see the beauty
All around.
Use our ears to listen closely
To the peace in
Nature’s sounds.

Help us to share the talents,
That You gave us,
Everyday,
And let us not be angry
When life doesn’t
Go our way.

I’ve sinned God, please forgive me
For You know I’ll
Sin again,
But when its time to call me Home
Please open Heaven’s door,
            Amen.
Phil Lindsey,  6/2/15

In the End, the Faithful were rewarded,
But there were just a few.
In the End, most screamed with terror,
As the guilty always do.
In the End, there was a final vote,
And we thought consensus ruled,
But in the End, the voting over,
We discovered we were fooled.

In the End, we ran for shelter,
There was none there to be found;
All the Faithful had secured it;
For they were Heaven-bound.
As the flames lept all around us,
We begged forgiveness from our Lord
In a Hell of our own makng,
With riches saved we can’t afford.

For the riches we were chasing,
Stole the goodness from our soul.
All the gold and all the silver
Melted into worthless coal,
And I stood and watched with sadness
Knowing I had had my chance
As the flames lept all around me,
Hell’s eternal damning dance.
PwL  3/19/16

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

Take comfort in your faith,
Imperfect it may be
The soul that you've devoted
God, alone can see.
He knows and understands you,
Hears your questions, feels your pain.
He gave His Son to save us,
He would do it all again.
So when the night is darkest,
You're in the Garden all alone,
Know it was God who sent you there,
He is there to bring you Home.

pwl - long ago
Have posted this in honor of Mom, Norma Lee Lindsey,
May 7, 1932 - November 15, 2014

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

I hate dull poems with no point
That makes no cents at all
I intend to laff it off and
Blame the alcohol.

Yes, Jaegar Bombz and Jello Sots
As far as i can tell,
Are fool fuel to propel my work
George Strait to Poem Hell.

I was gettin’ almost sober, SO
Had another Jaegar, and a beer (or two)
Lean closed to George and whispered in his ear
I’m here for a good time – juss like u

Yeah Iss country singin’ at is best
If u king n rite the kind that sell
But I get;n kinda sleepy
Stink my peom bombses swell.

SO moreally the story, if you right pomes wen yur drnuk
Beddter wate till til the mmornnimg lite
To post it post it post it tooo
That Hallowed Pomes site
LwP$@Qx)911 ^^(

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!

The blade was so sharp,
That it cut without pain.
Did anyone notice?
Do I have to explain?
Will my voice cry forever?
Or forever be still - as
I join my lost comrades
On the top of the Hill.

They laughed with me, at me,
And behind my back
All the while my morals
Were under attack,
I, the unfaithful,
Became my own jury
That’s when the laughter
Became full-blown fury.

There were many others
As guilty as me
Why are they still laughing?
Why can’t they see?
Why will no one judge them?
My ears ring with pain
I became judge and jury
For I could never explain.
pwl August 2015

Fly by night,
Or the seat of your pants
Hang on tight,
May I have the next dance?
Take a deep breath,
Or a load off your feet,
Hey pretty mama,
May I sit in this seat?

Snoopy and Sloopy and Sloop John B too
Don’t you know
I think I love you?
All night long,
Nothing else can compare
Mickey Mouse, Elvis, Frankie, Annette
Down on the corner, cool
Cigarette.

All grown up
With no where to go
I left it to ******
But he didn’t know
Wally and Eddie
Were out selling drugs
Popeye and Brutus
Were two vicious thugs.

In the Fifities and Sixties:
It was hard to keep up
“They” fed us the Kool Aid
We drank from the cup.
Kent State and Woodstock
And a man on the moon,
Kaleidoscope childhood,
Ended too soon.
Phil Lindsey 9/16/15

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

In the labyrinth inside my mind,
Sometimes my thoughts get lost.
I search down long dark tunnels
Where old memories are tossed
Like antiques in the attic, that
I can’t bear to throw away
Saved forever just in case
I need them again some day!

And as I age these memories
Show up at the strangest times
But there is no one there to talk to
So I turn them into rhymes
And hope some day that someone
Might discover them and see
That my poems are about my life
My poems are ‘bout me!

When age finally blocks the tunnel -
I no longer can break through
And I’m trapped inside with memories
And nothing left to do
But stare out through the window
Or at the closed front door,
Know I’m still inside the labyrinth
And I wish I’d written more!
Phil Lindsey 9/14/15

Lady go, Lady go, Lady go now
Something must be wrong
Lady go, Lady go, Lady go now
You been here way too long.

I saw you sittin’ at the bar
So I bought you just one beer
I still don’t know who you really are
But now you’re livin’ here.

That night that you came home with me
I thought you were low on luck,
You said you needed company,
And could sure use eighty bucks.

Now you been eatin’ all my food
“Borrowing” money too,
I don’t want to be mean or rude
But I’ve had enough of you.

You tell me I’m your closest friend
They’ll be good times ahead,
You put hearts on every note you send,
Every night you share my bed.

But everyday you sneak away
And I don’t know where you go
It’s like an Oscar Wilde play.
And I don’t enjoy the show.

You leave long before I go to work
You’re gone till late at night
Like shadows in the sunlight lurk,
Lady, something just ain’t right.

Guess I sold my soul for company
And late night romps in bed
But I’m not sure you're that into me
From a couple things you said:

First, you called me Joe, ( - my name is Tom)
As you showered me with praise,
But then you really dropped the bomb,
When you said, “Joe, I need a raise.”

Lady go, Lady go, Lady go now
Something went all wrong
Lady go, Lady go, Lady go now
You been here way too long.
Phil Lindsey 6/7/15

On the last day of school
Rings final bell
Hop on our bicycles
Pedal like Hell
Down to the ball field
Perhaps the town square
It didn’t matter
Our friends would be there.

All joking and laughing
Some cussing out loud
No teacher to hear us
Impressing our crowd
Pitching some pennies
Buying ice cream and pop
Only curfews and darkness
Could make this all stop.

See’ya tomorrow!
Goin’ down to the pool?
Yeah ANYthing’s better
Than goin’ to school
I have to work
Man that’s a ******
Nothing was better
Than the first day of summer!
PwL 3/24/15

Laugh through the tears,
For life is short. Be
Quick to forgive, be
Slow to abort friendships built up
Through the years.
Be quick to forgive, and
Laugh through the tears.

Cry when you must,
For life isn’t fair. Be
Slow to give up, be
Quick to repair broken dreams built up
Through the years,
Cry when you must, but
Laugh through the tears.

Slow down, look around,
Life isn’t a race. Be
The best you can be,
Set your own pace, for life is a journey,
Which spans unknown years,
Slow down, look around, and
Laugh through the tears.

Trust in your faith,
Mortal life has an end. Be
Loving to family, always depend
On your friends; They’ll be with you,
When hope disappears.
Trust in your faith, and
Laugh through the tears.
Phil Lindsey, 3/7/17

A lawyer named Jim from Dundee
Prepared his friend's wills - all for free!
When asked why, he said,
"Because when they're all dead,
They've left all their assets to me.

Today’s leaders are busy
turning yesterday’s dreams
into tomorrow’s history.
Phil Lindsey 1/12/17

“Will you please leave the light on?”
Said the young Boy to his Dad.
“I’m kinda scared at night time, but
I hope that you’re not mad ‘cuz when
I am grown up big like you, I won’t be afraid no more
Then you can turn the light off and even shut the door.”

“It’s not the dark that scares me.”
Said the Father to his Son.
“It’s the early hours of morning
When the light has just begun
To creep in through the window,
Push the darkness from the room and
Sweep away the shadows like an
Illuminating broom.”

“So why’s the morning scare you, Dad?”
“I really like the day.  I get dressed and Mom makes breakfast,
I get to watch TV and play.
Sometimes we go out shopping and buy groceries and stuff,
She might buy me an ice cream cone – if I’m good enough.”

The Father laughed, sat on the bed, and held his small Son’s hand.
“I wish I could explain it, Son, in a way you’d understand.
At night the dark can hide the truth, I dream and make big plans.
Then morning brings reality to my castles built in sand.
While you and Mom have breakfast, I have to go to work.
I have RE-SPON-SI-BIL’-ITY and duties I can’t shirk.
People there DEPEND-ON-ME.  I don’t want to LET-THEM-DOWN.”
Dad suddenly stopped talking when he saw his young Boy frown.

“It sounds like you don’t like your work.”
“You should stay home with Mom and me!
Then you can help make breakfast, and it’ll be us three.
We’ll have a really good time - you won’t be afraid of day.
We’ll help Mom do the dishes, then we’ll go out and play.
Maybe you can pitch some ***** and I can learn to bat?
‘Cuz please don’t tell her, but you know - Mom isn’t good at that.
But she can go out shopping, and we’ll stay home alone,
And, DAD, if you are REALLY good, I’ll make YOU an ice cream cone!”

Dad leaned over, kissed his Son, and said, “I think I might.”
“You said some things that I forgot, and I think you got it right.
I know you and Mom DEPEND-ON-ME, and
I have RE-SPON-SI-BIL’-ITY
To help her make the breakfast and to help you learn to bat,
And maybe I’m afraid of day ‘cuz I’ve been forgetting that.
So tonight I’ll leave my light on
And I’ll leave your light on, too.
And tomorrow morning, when it’s light, I’ll stay home with you!
PwL 1990 to 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

She loved and learned
I crashed and burned
I will crash and burn again
She told me I was immature
But I was younger then.
pwl 5/20/15

If I had found a magic lamp in 1982,
And it produced a genie,
As magic lamps are wont to do,
And the genie granted me one wish,
Not three or even two,
I’d have wished to have a daughter –
A daughter just like you.

She’d be the perfect baby, she’d never cry (too loud),
She’d be smart - almost a genius,
My friends would all be wowed!
She’d be a scholar AND an athlete,
She’d stand out in every crowd,
She would win at everything she tried,
And make me very proud!

She be cute just like her Mother,
Blue eyes, and long blond hair,
Though her smile might sometimes cover
A sadness in her heart,
There could never be another,
If the genie did his part.

I  don’t believe in genies, the magic lamp I must have missed.
I’ve never found a princess,
In any frog I’ve ever kissed.
But of all the things that I AM proud of,
At the far top of the list,
Is the daughter that I wished for,
Because she DOES exist.
I love YOU, Keri!

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

Oh Filbert what you thinking?
You were always such a nut
I want to slap you in the face
Punch you in the gut
Take away your laughter
Replace it with a frown
You just shouldn’t be that happy
When there’s misery all around.
pwl 5/20/15

Mom, you know I need you
When things get out of hand,
And my day-to-day is stretching like
A frayed old rubber band, and
My patience wears and crumbles,
And I think I’m on the brink, and
It’s time for ‘Hokie Pokie’ on the
Roller skating rink;
Then you tell me,
“Put your whole self in, and
Shake it all about,” and
I can see you smiling, and I can
See you have no doubt that
Life will turn out, somehow, maybe
Not the way I planned, and that
There might just be a bit more stretch
In that frayed old rubber band, but
Even if it snaps, and life breaks loose, and
My skates end pointing toward the sky,
I know you’re there to help me up
And give it one more try.
Mom you know I need you….
Phil Lindsey, May 7, 2017

Waking skies
At Sunrise,
Ev'ry sunset too,
Seems to be
Bringing me
Memories of you.


Here and there,
Ev'rywhere,
Scenes that we once knew,
And they all
Just recall
Memories of you.


How I wish I could forget
Those happy yesteryears
That have left a rosary of tears.


Your face beams
In my dreams,
Spite of all I do!
Ev'rything
Seems to bring
Memories of you.


How I wish I could forget
Those happy yesteryears
That have left a rosary of tears.


Your face beams
In my dreams,
Spite of all I do!
Ev'rything
Seems to bring
Memories,
All those memories of you.

Andy Razaf, circa 1930

I stand in front of the mirror; It’s confusing to see,
A thousand faces looking back at me.
A gray haired old man,
A boy of eighteen,
One guy is nice,
The other selfish and mean.
One knows where he’s at.
Another is lost,
He looks for direction
No matter the cost.

One has much confidence.  One insecure.
One gives up easily, and one can endure
The trials and hardships
Inherent to life.
One is dull, plain, and boring
Another sharp as a knife.
One is happy and joyful,
One can’t stop the tears,
That fall freely and frequently,
As he ages in years.

One is satisfied with what he’s accomplished to date.
Another looks at the world with envy and hate,
And wonders why others
Are passing him by,
Should he laugh at himself?
Or silently cry?
One believes in a power,
Much greater than self,
Another, a hypocrite,
Puts his faith on a shelf.

One knows lots of people; One a loner by choice.
One never speaks out.  One revels in his voice,
Tells his story to all,
Who will listen (pretend?)
While they wait and they hope
That the story will end.
One still has hope,
Another hope-less;
One tracks dirt through the house.
Another cleans up the mess.

One looks at the world, poised to attack,
Another seems not to care; he is calm and laid back,
One wants to know more,
One has seen way too much.
One wants to hold tighter,
One recoils from the touch.
There are too many faces,
None of them clear,
So I turn out the light,
I walk away from the mirror.

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

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

In a nation torn with racial strife
Where killing seems a way of life
Where rappers hold the people’s court
And looting is a favorite sport
Where drugs and thugs, both black and white,
Govern day and rule the night
When Superman is fast asleep
And shadows o’er the addicts creep
And rain don’t wash away the smell
From where it comes it’s hard to tell
Cuz truth ain’t always what it seems
When judges judge and lawyers scream
At least two sides in every fight
And everybody knows what’s right
Cuz the FacebookYouTube miracle
Sends evidence empirical
Across the globe at speeds of light
While the real truth stays out of sight
Hidden by gray overcoats
While politicians gather votes
And make the nation safe again
For women, children, mortal men.

But there are heroes on the street
Men and women you don’t meet
Unless of course you break the law
And you know that sticks in your craw
When a thousand thoughts are in your head
And you don’t see the light turn red
Or you’re headed to a meeting-late
And you’re only going eighty-eight
And the State Cop says “The Law is Clear”
“The limit’s sixty-five right here”
You grumble but you pay the fine
And wonder why he wastes his time
But the Cop has seen a different view
He knows what eighty-eight can do
The mangled steel and shattered glass
Maybe he just saved your ***.

In cities large and village small
Policemen answer every call
In every town and every city
Sometimes it ain’t very pretty
Protect and Serve when Hell breaks loose
Mere seconds, all they have to choose
What course of action they must take
And pray to God there’s no mistake
Cuz each Monday Morning Quarterback
Will pick a side and then attack
And argue based on “evidence”,
“What they would do”, and “common sense”
While sitting in an easy chair
So very thankful they weren’t there
And radicals from either side
Make threats and say the other lied
And which of us, if we weren’t there
Could ever judge a verdict fair?
Families grieve and loved ones cry
Both innocent and guilty die
Sometimes truth ain’t black or white
Only God knows wrong from right.
pwl 1/7/15

I have time.
I won’t be rushed.
Or maybe not,
Don’t matter much -
For which of all my selfish acts
Will live on after me?
Will two dates upon a tombstone
Be my entire legacy?
Will any of my poems
Survive when I am dust?
Or will my ink melt into paper
Like metal melts to rust?

Time will tell.
And we will wait.
Or maybe not,
Depends on fate -
For which of all the famous men
From generations past
Created in their lifetime
Legacies that last
What novels fill the bookshelves
Built on library walls?
And whose portraits hang in silence
In dark museum halls?

Oh to build a monument
To immortalize myself -
To have my portrait on a wall, or
My novel on a shelf
My poems in a library for
Everyone to read -
Mortality is measured;
Confuse it not with greed.
For your face upon a mountain,
If chiseled by yourself
Is no better than a novel
Which stands alone upon your shelf.

Can you name your Grandma’s Grandpa?
Was he a good, and loving man?
Did his name live after he was gone?
Tell me if you can, for
Mortality is measured
We each get our fair share
Put your face upon a mountain –
See if anybody cares.    
Phil Lindsey, 8/21/15

Ketchup on French Fries and big juicy Burgers
All kinds of Candy just loaded with Sugars
Cold Beer and Pizza and Buffalo Wings
These are a few of my favorite things!

Cream in my Coffee with Crisp Apple Strudels
Spaghetti and Meatballs and Schnitzel with Noodles
Warm Pecan Pie with a Scoop of Ice Cream
These are the foods that I see when I dream!

Chocolate Cupcakes with Caramel Icing
Cookies and Brownies and Fudge – so enticing
Turkey and Dressing and anything Fried
If I say these aren’t favorite foods then I’ve lied!

When the scale breaks, when my clothes shrink, when I’m feelng fat,
I simply forego all my favorite foods
And then I don’t feel so Bad!

I was young
And you were beautiful
You were laughing
At my youth
I didn’t know
That you were lying
All I saw was naked truth
You were bored
I was a plaything
Killing time
Late afternoon
Came the evening
Shared a cigarette
Blew some smoke rings at the moon
Went inside
You made a drink
Said you needed time to think
The phone rang
I was thoughtful
Went into the other room
Turned the TV on
So I couldn’t hear
When I came back
I found you’d gone.
You left a note
Not of apology
But of conclusion
Just the same.
And a twenty for the taxi home.
You said that you were glad I came.
PwL  5/24/15

Thank You, Lord for family,
Friends and neighbors near and far.
Please bless them, Lord, and keep them safe,
No matter where they are.

Thank You, Lord, for every day
That we can breathe, and smile.
Help us to live each moment;
To make each hour and day worthwhile.

Help us maintain our modesty
Should we be wont to boast.
Help us share the gift of laughter,
With those who need it most.

Give us knowledge, strength and courage
To choose the right from wrong.
And help us use our voices
To sing Your praises loud and long.

Last, bless our tiny neighborhood,
And help us understand,
That we, are all Your children,
Held in Your protective hands.
Amen
Phil Lindsey 12/25/2015

In 1492,
Columbus had a few
Things to do
Before he sailed the ocean blue.
He needed some green,
If you know what I mean,
So he went to see the King and Queen
Of Portugal, England, and France:
They laughed, shook their heads and said, “No chance.”
While his Homies back in Italy
Said, “Christabo, you gotta be kiddin’ me.
You want to do WHAT!? And you want US to pay?
We think you're a nut, now go on, go away."
But he didn’t give up and he didn’t complain,
He shook it off and took off for Spain
Where Ferdinand and Isabella,
Thinking him a righteous fella,
Told him they would float his boat,
If their country he’d promote,
Plant their flag on lands discovered, and
Bring them riches he uncovered, so
They all signed on the dotted line, and
Columbus said, “The pleasure’s mine!”
Then he smiled and bowed and said, “I’ll see’ya!”
And hopped aboard the Santa Maria.
See Christopher knew the Greek Geeks found,
That instead of flat, the earth was round,
So he thought he knew, or at least he guessed,
That it might be best
To get Far East by sailing west.
He pulled up anchor, set the sail
Told ninety men, success or fail,
West, they’d go, and west they went
Seventy days, provisions spent,
When land was spotted, dead ahead,
Columbus planted the flag and said,
“I claim this land for the King of Spain,
In doing so increase his reign,
And underneath this flag, unfurled,
Declare New Spain, a brand new world!”
What Columbus didn’t anticipate
He was 500 years or so too late,
For Eric the Red, and Leif, his son,
Long ago discovered Newfoundland.
Now when history tells North America’s story,
There’s room for both to share the glory.
But another fact, it’s become quite clear,
There were thousands of people already here,
See life in Asia wasn’t so great,
Some folks decided not to wait,
They just walked across the Bering Strait,
So Chris and Leif both got here late!
Phil Lindsey 1/27/17

Thinking of Richard Riddle today on his birthday.  RIP

Silent now the television
Silent now the telephone
Silently I sit here,
Silent and alone.

I’m not sure why the poems
Are much harder now to write
Not sure why the sleep
Comes harder every night
Not sure if all the trials in life
Are harder now to take
I’m not sure that when the morning comes
That I will even wake.

If I was asked to take a risk
Not sure that I would dare
I’m not sure if I was dying
Anyone would care
Not sure that Heaven waits for me
Behind the pure white Pearly Gate
If I asked for fifteen minutes more
Not sure the Reaper-man would wait.

I’m not sure if my mistakes in life
Outweigh any good
Not even sure that honestly
I’ve done the best I could
Not sure when folks remember me
If they will grimace, or they’ll grin
Not sure official scorekeepers
Would vote my life a win.

Not sure if I have lived before
Not sure if there’s a second chance
Not even sure with lessons
I could learn to dance this dance
The world makes me dizzy
The carousel spins too fast.
Not sure my horse could win the derby
The brass ring might have already passed.
But I'm not sure.

Silently I sit here.

PwL 6/16/15

Oh how, in o’er two thousand years, has evil won the day?
How many generations passed that never learned to pray?
Is the patience of a vengeful God strained beyond repair?
No! His mercy and forgiveness remain gifts for all to share.

The miracle that we are here, that we can feel pain,
Is at once a curse and blessing; Is at once a drought and rain.
For in the driest desert, a cactus can survive,
And good fortune and abundance cannot keep the dead alive.

Can all opposing armies have a unifying goal?
Is there a cause so righteous that all men would give their soul
To live and breathe together, to work and play as one,
To lay down arms and all join hands ‘til our days on earth are done?

Those that gather gold have seen the devil in disguise,
For no amount of gold can gain them Heaven’s paradise.
Then ‘tis Paradise we strive for? Peace for all eternity?
Our goal then to discover, where hides Heaven’s key?

A peaceful, loving life on earth, will unlock Heaven’s gate,
Do good unto all others, share your joys and bury hate.
Do not judge thy neighbor, for his suffering you can’t know,
Listen, hear his story, be his friend and not his foe.

Then when this life is over, and the judgment time has come
Be sure that you have sinned, but that those sins are overcome
By the faith that God is present, He forgives our doubt and sin,
Opens up the gate to Heaven, and will gladly let us in.
Phil Lindsey 11/22/15

Is it true that opposites attract?
She liked fantasy, he liked fact,
She liked green beans, he liked peas,
She liked chicken, he liked cheese,
She liked champagne, he liked port,
She liked lazy, he liked sport.
She liked new cars, he liked wrecks,
She liked cuddling, he liked ***,
She liked cookies, he liked cake,
She liked real and he liked fake.
She liked daytime, he liked night,
She liked to make up, he liked to fight.
She liked sweaters, he liked coats,
She liked airplanes, he liked boats,
She liked poetry, he liked prose,
She liked tulips, but he gave her a rose.
She said, “Stay.”, and he said, “Go.”
He proposed and she said, “NO!"
He left with dignity still in tact -
So much for opposites attract!
Phil Lindsey 1/7/16

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

Publish or perfect it; Wait?
Perfection: The enemy of great.
Phil Lindsey 6/17/15