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Poems
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
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
Anais Vionet Jun 2021
apoco-LIPS
Anais Vionet
Jun 2021
I’m in the library, at school, trying to write an article for the school paper (and I'm not even ON the school paper). I’m on a forty-five minute deadline to complete a story someone else did poorly - on the edge of my vision I see someone step up to my table - a boy, I can tell, without looking up, from his school uniform. I’m hoping whoever it is will go away.. 44 minutes.
“Uhh-umm,” I hear.
My eyes flicker up and I ID “Everett Priestly” - one of God’s less ambitious efforts.
After a moment.
“Uhh-umm,” he does again.
“Parsley,” I say, without looking up.
“Priestly,” he answers with a sigh, "wanna play HOUSE?" he says conspiratorially, with a smirk.
"We were 7," I say, liberally applying syrupy boredom.
I’ve kind of known Everett Priestly forever - he lives two doors away from us - then my family became ex-patriots until three years ago. His family is rich, he’s handsome and I believe someone once told him he was charming. He fancies himself a lady killer but I’m willing to bet that he kills them with a combination of daddy’s money and poor driving.
“I’m awfully busy - on deadline Mr. Priestly - please send me a text,” I say, again, without looking up.
“I don’t have your number,” he says, patiently. “Would you like to go to Sandra’s party with a group of us Friday night?”
“OOOO! Let’s keep it that way,” I smile - this is too easy - 42 minutes.
“It’ll be FUN,” he says, with a smile in his voice - Oh, God, he’s trying charm.
“Everett,” I stop writing, look up and lean back. “You ask me out every two months. If you’ve made a bet with someone - like we’re living a teen movie - I’ll payoff the bet for ya if you just give it a rest, OK?”
He really IS good looking - but kissing him would be the apoco-LIPS.
“Why do you always say no??,” he asks, with a helpless 1/6th shrug and his GIGAWATT smile.
41 minutes.
“See you in January,” I say, as I slide my laptop closer in, give it my obvious, full attention and hopefully, start back to writing.
“Come to Thanksgiving!,” he says, as inspiration strikes.
“January would be MLK day,” I remind him. “Everett, PLEASE - deadline,” I plead (not looking up).
Everett, makes a snarky sound, turns around and slowly moves away - like a man headed for jail - he really SHOULD try out for the drama department, I decide. 40 minutes.
When Everett turned 16, his daddy gave him some kind of expensive foreign sports car - a really, really, really expensive sports car. Six hours later Everett guns this formula-one race-car out of a gas station, loses control, and totals it. The girl with him had to get stitches over her right eye.
His friends call him “EV” - they say it with a kind of a southern accent - that I can’t decide is fake or not, which gives it a hint of - “Elvis” - had a replacement car within 48 hours. He wrecked THAT one in less than six weeks - and his date got a concussion in the roll-over.
If he wants me to get in a car with him, he’s gonna to have to taser me.
“Uhh-umm,” I hear.
My eyes flicker up and I ID “Everett Priestly” - one of God’s less ambitious efforts.
After a moment.
“Uhh-umm,” he does again.
“Parsley,” I say, without looking up.
“Priestly,” he answers with a sigh, "wanna play HOUSE?" he says conspiratorially, with a smirk.
"We were 7," I say, liberally applying syrupy boredom.
I’ve kind of known Everett Priestly forever - he lives two doors away from us - then my family became ex-patriots until three years ago. His family is rich, he’s handsome and I believe someone once told him he was charming. He fancies himself a lady killer but I’m willing to bet that he kills them with a combination of daddy’s money and poor driving.
“I’m awfully busy - on deadline Mr. Priestly - please send me a text,” I say, again, without looking up.
“I don’t have your number,” he says, patiently. “Would you like to go to Sandra’s party with a group of us Friday night?”
“OOOO! Let’s keep it that way,” I smile - this is too easy - 42 minutes.
“It’ll be FUN,” he says, with a smile in his voice - Oh, God, he’s trying charm.
“Everett,” I stop writing, look up and lean back. “You ask me out every two months. If you’ve made a bet with someone - like we’re living a teen movie - I’ll payoff the bet for ya if you just give it a rest, OK?”
He really IS good looking - but kissing him would be the apoco-LIPS.
“Why do you always say no??,” he asks, with a helpless 1/6th shrug and his GIGAWATT smile.
41 minutes.
“See you in January,” I say, as I slide my laptop closer in, give it my obvious, full attention and hopefully, start back to writing.
“Come to Thanksgiving!,” he says, as inspiration strikes.
“January would be MLK day,” I remind him. “Everett, PLEASE - deadline,” I plead (not looking up).
Everett, makes a snarky sound, turns around and slowly moves away - like a man headed for jail - he really SHOULD try out for the drama department, I decide. 40 minutes.
When Everett turned 16, his daddy gave him some kind of expensive foreign sports car - a really, really, really expensive sports car. Six hours later Everett guns this formula-one race-car out of a gas station, loses control, and totals it. The girl with him had to get stitches over her right eye.
His friends call him “EV” - they say it with a kind of a southern accent - that I can’t decide is fake or not, which gives it a hint of - “Elvis” - had a replacement car within 48 hours. He wrecked THAT one in less than six weeks - and his date got a concussion in the roll-over.
If he wants me to get in a car with him, he’s gonna to have to taser me.
some people exist in their worlds of their own - it's best if we don't join them.
johnny georgy brown
Jul 2015
Everett street, Wooveburra
One day in the Mython town of Wooveburra, there was a working class street in the suburb of Kensworth, called Everett Street, where their lived former Mython prime minister, Jack Norridge, who was the most right wing politian around, and he only is living in the street because his rich wife took her and his money to make a better life for herself and her children in Sydney Australia and Jack was left penniless and had to apply for the age pension, and mind you he had nothing in common with any of the folk anywhere on this street, you see in one house is a family who can barely feed themselves nevertheless the luxuries they give to their kids, like paying for school camps, and Jack told them, on his day he had his second job at her and her husbands age, and yes, they tore strips of him, but them, they were doing better, which suited them fine, and there were no way they will help him through what he's going through, and in another house is Fred Gordon who was the librarian, and when he came face to face with Jack, and bare in mind when Jack was prime minister, he needed to fund his new freeway, so he nearly had the library shut, and now he's got nothing, he was in no way showing any sympathy for the man,,telling him endlessly, things like welcome to my world ****, and your not so big now, Jacky, you will be killed within 3 months, mate.
There was a young couple, what about 16 and 17 who have 2 kids and when he walked passed,,the young couple always wanted to chat to him, and they chatted about why the **** did they cut their grandmas pension, she had to stop giving us gifts, and then they called Jack a two faced slimey old cow, and Jack said, sometimes we have to cut back, then he said have a look at me, and then the couple said to him, your problems are ******* self-inflicted, our problems are just us finding a mojo that you ***** won't let us have, and then Jack was getting very nervous, and went into the pub and when he got in, it looked good, and people Said hello and when Jack asked for gin and tonic,everyone looked at him, and also one ,man said to Jack, hey are you former prime minister Jack Nortodge, and when he said yes, he laughed and he laughed at him and then punched him square on the gut,
And Jack said, I will get my lawyer onto you all partiers, in my day we all did an honest days work, none of this few drinker happy hours like you guys get, and then one drinker said, well in your day when everyone did a honest days work, does that make you different to the world, cause you haven't done an honest days work ever, so ******* right wing fascioust, and Jack left to go home seeing people throwing thier fists at him, as well as sticking their fingers at him, and then Jack said, I am going nowhere, so get used to me Everett Street, I am here to stay, and every resident yelled out, but our towns heritage won't be, you'll turn this street into Las Vegas, if we give you half the ****** chance, and then Jack went inside and all the residents went to the pub and tell of all things that Jack has done wrong for the country of Myth, and everyone hated him with a passion,,and that's what happened on Everett street this week, I hope you enjoyed it.
Sent from my iPhone
One day in the Mython town of Wooveburra, there was a working class street in the suburb of Kensworth, called Everett Street, where their lived former Mython prime minister, Jack Norridge, who was the most right wing politian around, and he only is living in the street because his rich wife took her and his money to make a better life for herself and her children in Sydney Australia and Jack was left penniless and had to apply for the age pension, and mind you he had nothing in common with any of the folk anywhere on this street, you see in one house is a family who can barely feed themselves nevertheless the luxuries they give to their kids, like paying for school camps, and Jack told them, on his day he had his second job at her and her husbands age, and yes, they tore strips of him, but them, they were doing better, which suited them fine, and there were no way they will help him through what he's going through, and in another house is Fred Gordon who was the librarian, and when he came face to face with Jack, and bare in mind when Jack was prime minister, he needed to fund his new freeway, so he nearly had the library shut, and now he's got nothing, he was in no way showing any sympathy for the man,,telling him endlessly, things like welcome to my world ****, and your not so big now, Jacky, you will be killed within 3 months, mate.
There was a young couple, what about 16 and 17 who have 2 kids and when he walked passed,,the young couple always wanted to chat to him, and they chatted about why the **** did they cut their grandmas pension, she had to stop giving us gifts, and then they called Jack a two faced slimey old cow, and Jack said, sometimes we have to cut back, then he said have a look at me, and then the couple said to him, your problems are ******* self-inflicted, our problems are just us finding a mojo that you ***** won't let us have, and then Jack was getting very nervous, and went into the pub and when he got in, it looked good, and people Said hello and when Jack asked for gin and tonic,everyone looked at him, and also one ,man said to Jack, hey are you former prime minister Jack Nortodge, and when he said yes, he laughed and he laughed at him and then punched him square on the gut,
And Jack said, I will get my lawyer onto you all partiers, in my day we all did an honest days work, none of this few drinker happy hours like you guys get, and then one drinker said, well in your day when everyone did a honest days work, does that make you different to the world, cause you haven't done an honest days work ever, so ******* right wing fascioust, and Jack left to go home seeing people throwing thier fists at him, as well as sticking their fingers at him, and then Jack said, I am going nowhere, so get used to me Everett Street, I am here to stay, and every resident yelled out, but our towns heritage won't be, you'll turn this street into Las Vegas, if we give you half the ****** chance, and then Jack went inside and all the residents went to the pub and tell of all things that Jack has done wrong for the country of Myth, and everyone hated him with a passion,,and that's what happened on Everett street this week, I hope you enjoyed it.
Sent from my iPhone