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IT'S OUT....FINALLY AFTER TWO HARD YEARS OF WORK

http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Ponies-Roger-Turner/dp/151532155X/ref=sr15?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1442559980&sr;=1-5&keywords;=The%20Christmas%20Ponies

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IF YOU ENJOYED THE POEM, YOU'LL ENJOY THE BOOK.

THANKS AND MERRY CHRISTMAS

ROGER
Another Day
Another dollar
That's what I get
For, I'm blue collar
Working hard
For all the bosses
Sitting upstairs
In the office

Grab a coffee
On the way
do the same stuff
every day
nothing changes
It's routine
That's the way
It's always been

I am just a working man
Doing the best job that I can
Nine to Five, or Eight to Four
Do my eight and out  the door
Loading trucks to hit the road
Get 'em out with a full load
Doing just the best I can
I am just a working man

Twenty minutes
and two breaks
That is all
The time I take
Sneak a smoke
When I can
This is the life
Of a working man

Old and rusted
two tone truck
Always busted
Just my luck
Working hard
To make a dollar
It's the lot
of a blue collar

I am just a working man
Doing the best job that I can
Nine to Five, or Eight to Four
Do my eight and out  the door
Loading trucks to hit the road
Get 'em out with a full load
Doing just the best I can
I am just a working man
It was time for celebration
Thanksgiving weekend was now here
A time for food and football
A time for love and prayer

In front of old Gianni's
The parade was marching by
But, way back in the alley
Someone was singing to the sky

The Blues man sat and pondered
As he sometimes chose to do
Of his songs and of his music
That really reached too few

The parade was full of bluster
High School Bands and all that stuff
While out back of Old Gianni's
The Blues man had it rough

But, he sang songs of Thanksgiving
To the Lord, and to the sky
He was praising all worlds beings
Though no body did pass by

He sang "Glory, Glory, Glory"
He sang "Allehlujah " too
Even though he sat with no one
The Blues man wasn't blue

Back door opened slowly
As the parade was winding down
People from The Street
Were slowly coming round

The Blues man didn't notice
Singing on without a break
Singing songs of praise and glory
With just the sounds that he could make

Then all at once he looked out
Saw the quickly gathered throng
He changed what he was playing
And he broke into a song

The Blues man started Christmas
Singing of a Christmas Tree
And of a long ago soft Silent Night
And the entire show was free

He didn't sing of presents
He didn't sing of our excess
He sang Christmas Hymns of long ago
When we all gave thanks for less

The Blues man had his medcin'
Drank a bit, and sang some more
Then he started slowing down
When she came out from her back door

The woman with the used book place
Stood silent, listening with this cast
Of The Street owners and people
On who life had given up so fast

She walked up to The Blues man
Through the crowd to where he was
And she started singing with him
Which made the Blues man pause

He knew he'd heard this voice before
Back when people knew his name
It was older and some shaky
But, the voice it was the same

The woman looked down at him
Gave a smile, shed a tear
Then she said "It's me dad"
"It's no dream...I am here"

The Blues man kept on playing
For two hours more or so
When the weather, not the people
Put an end to this mans show

Another past Thanksgiving
Was still playing in his mind
But, The Blues man and his daughter
Had a life they had to find

No one heard her say it
Just The Blues man, as he sang
This was the start of a new story
As bells of Thanksgiving loudly rang
These hands have done it all
They're tough as wire rope
They've fought to defend freedom
They've carried flags of hope

They've wiped away the salty tears
Of a mother, full of pride
They've folded up our nations flag
For a son, with honor, died

They've held a newborn really close
They've birthed a newborn calf
They've taken down a hundred men
And a hundred more, by half

These hands don't represent me
But, these hands have done it all
They've done eight seconds on a bull
And they've broken through a wall

These hands are soft as leather
And as hard as Georgia Clay
What they did so long before
They can not do today

These hand are all arthritic
Crippled up, and full of pain
But,you know these hands would love just once
To grab that rope again

These hands are full of memories
Built for strength, and not for speed
These hands are built to hold you
Even now, that's all I need

These hands, they tell my story
My life, is in these hands
I don't look at them as crippled
I just look and think....These Hands....
I got a letter from the government
A week back, Tuesday morning
It came in a grey envelope
It was stamped with a red warning

The envelope was tattered
And the words were inked in red
To be opened by recipient
That was all it said

I checked the name typed on there
It was mine, so I could see
John Augustus Reed
Beale Street, Unit 43

I opened it and sat right down
I had been drafted so it said
I had to report on Thursday
I heard a ringing in my head

I didn't understand it all
To me it made no sense
This plain grey mottled envelope
Sent from my government

I followed the instructions
And showed up promptly at the place
Something was asunder
I could tell from the man's face

I showed him my draft letter
Explained, I didn't understand
He looked at it and laughed a bit
This wasn't what I'd planned

He said son, is this you
Are you John Augustus Reed
I told him I'm John Junior
He said that's all the news I need

This letter is a glitch, boy
It wasn't meant for you
It was sent out to your father
Back in nineteen seventy two

Somehow it was mangled
Got lost along the way
Until somebody found it
And you got it on that day

I'm glad you chose to come here
Showed up exactly when it said
But, I think you now can go on home
I think it's best, instead

It's amazing how one letter
And you can take this to the bank
Can fill a man with honor
For that I must give thanks.
I woke up feeling morning pain
Another barroom brawl
I didn't make my bed last night
I slept out in the hall

I made it to the correct floor
I just couldn't find my keys
I can't keep living life like this
Can someone help me please?

I'm sick of empty promises
Every bottle seems to be
An enigma in a riddle
And they all keep calling me
I'm sick of empty promises
And of bottles holding dreams
My life's an Escher painting,
So, it seems

Different bars, the same result
I always wake up ******
Sunday Morning Sunshine hurts
and I'm always here alone

I am tired of the drinking
Of the searching, of the fight
But, I end up every morning
Still feeling like last night

I'm sick of empty promises
Every bottle seems to be
An enigma in a riddle
And they all keep calling me
I'm sick of empty promises
And of bottles holding dreams
My life's an Escher painting,
So, it seems

I wake up in dark back alleys
And if I make it home at all
I end up in the stairway
Sleeping, curled up in a ball

I'm not looking for redemption
Just a way to stop the sounds
Of the bottled empty promises
Before I'm in the ground

I'm sick of empty promises
Every bottle seems to be
An enigma in a riddle
And they all keep calling me
I'm sick of empty promises
And of bottles holding dreams
My life's an Escher painting,
So, it seems
Behind the evening's golden glow
The skies are hiding early snow
The road leads homeward toward the glow
Day is done, it's time to go

The gold shows ending of the day
The clouds show snow is on the way
Time to ride and not to stay
I've got to put this one away

Amber fills the autumn skies
Signalling the storm behind it lies
It's time to say our fair goodbyes
And be serenaded by coyote cries

The golden sheen is the sign
Your day is done, as is mine
I'm heading west along the line
Back to the ranch "The twisted nine"

A golden glow before the clouds
filled with snow, a winter shroud
I know the wind is getting loud
So I am off to beat the crowd

Behind the evening's golden glow
The skies are hiding early snow
The road leads homeward toward the glow
Day is done, it's time to go
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