If there are angels where you are
Can you ask one of them to come see me?
There are things I want to know
How do I live without you beside me?
Life with you was perfect for us
Now I have no idea what to do with my days.
I didn’t realize how much of me
Depended on you in so many wonderful ways.

Calling all angels.
I really need you here with me.
Guardian angels.
Sometimes I think I need three.
I’ll be here waiting,
Maybe not exactly patiently
But when you get here
I will be grateful as can be.

I know you’re in heaven
You were an angel here on earth
I always felt it;
Not only I knew what you were worth.
You made me stronger
So I have not quite fallen apart
But that is a miracle
Because I have lost half my heart.

Calling all angels.
I really need you here with me.
Guardian angels.
Sometimes I think I need three.
I’ll be here waiting,
Maybe not exactly patiently
But when you get here
I will be grateful as can be.

The white man was silly
He tried to buy the hill;
He thought it had gold
Like the superstition of old.
He said a Navajo chief
Had sold him a map.
So, then we told him
The map was crap.

Well, he laughed and then
He gave his knee a slap
And continued believing
He had a treasure map.
He bought some equipment,
About the price of his car,
But he hasn’t found anything
Like gold or silver so far.

Oh, hell yeah, we let him,
Once he ignored our advice.
After all we live here and
We were trying to be nice.
So, the guy from the city
Went to where it said dig
And set himself up a tent
And some kind of a rig.

He worked all day each day
And every day of the week
Knowing he was on the path
Of finding what he should seek;
That half-baked idea of his
Of getting filthy rich really quick.
And us telling him he was taken?
He wouldn’t let that idea stick.

So, we didn’t laugh later
When he came back into town
And sold his gear at half price.
We didn’t call him a big clown.
We treated him as if he were nuts
Or high on some bad marijuana.
And that’s why we call that hill
By the rude name of Belegana.

One-hour love
The kind of love nobody talks about.
Get-to-it love
Makes you want to howl and shout.
Not buying the cow
Just going go ahead and try it out.
One-hour love
The kind I can’t really do without.

Just an hour
That’s all it takes.
Anything less
You are no great shakes.
Just sixty minutes
And your world gets rocked.
Like changing your oil
On your engine block.

Not talking marriage
Nothing about forever and ever.
Straight up front truth
Just two people loving together.
No ring or anything
No possessivity, no never.
Just monkey love
Working ourselves into a lather.

One-hour love
It really shouldn’t take too long.
Hop-to-it love
Quit before anything goes wrong.
Impromptu love
Often the hottest you ever saw.
Shout hallelujah love
Never end up with a mother in law.

Just an hour
And you’re ready to run.
So little time
But so very much fun.
Just sixty minutes
And life is worthwhile.
Just the kind of exercise
Could make a statue smile.


Two-hippies love
Free love and all of that stuff.
Afternoon love
Without all the romantic guff.
Truck-driver love
Hard-driving without any fluff.
Sledgehammer love
Proving you both are tough.

Just an hour
That’s all it takes.
Anything less
You are no great shakes.
Just sixty minutes
And your world gets rocked.
Like changing your oil
On your engine block.

If I can see what you can’t see
Then it must seriously behoove me
To reflect back with total clarity
The image I see so readily.
If you could do it, you surely would
And, while I’m sure not everyone could
Maybe not quite so concise and good
As I can, so therefore I should.

This is not meant to be arrogance
Or some kind of verbal flatulence.
It is just a normal happenstance
That drives me to take a chance
And speak my feelings publically
Expressing myself poetically
And even sometimes politically
Espousing social practicality.

It’s the poet’s job to elucidate
To oh so carefully illuminate
And sometimes even exaggerate
The actions of the conglomerate;
The swath of all humanity
And do so without inanity.
Be the bellwethers of insanity.

So applaud the poet gratefully
For the gift of words used tastefully.
Abandon slams like ‘disgracefully’
And take their lessons gracefully,
Because knowing where we err
Separates us from common curs.
Still the harbingers we ever were
It’s not within most poets to demur.

White man, right man
Seriously uptight man
Black man, whack man,
Cutting him no slack man.
Red man, dead man
Never be the headman.
Brown man, down man.
Treat him like a clown man.

Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ***-wipes
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.

Poor man, for sure man,
Can’t afford a ***** man.
Waiting on the shore man,
Sweeping out the store man.
Broke man, stroke man
Too poor to smoke man.
Struggle under yoke man.
**** of every joke man.

Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ***-wipes
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.

Fey man, gay man
Nothing more to say man.
Please just go away man.
No equal rights today man.
Liberal man or little man
Nothing but a middle man.
Playing second fiddle man.
Never solve the riddle man.

Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ***-wipes
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.

If you are Christian
And ashamed of your body
Listen to Jesus
And pay attention to what he
Said about the issue
Of tissue around your bones
And how that makes you
Evil and some kind of crone.

Find where he says
Abomination is your own skin
And where he says
Shame on the shape you’re in.
Since that came from God
And by your teaching God is right
On everything he ever did,
Why this turning off of the lights?

And, if not Christian,
Isn’t it all really the same thing;
Covering up, a masquerade,
Posing, pontificating, pretending?
Why the hiding and lying
About who and what you are?
Why treat your healthy self
As if you were some big scar?

Isn’t it really that society
Has made you think badly of you,
And when the truth is told
It was not about something you do?
It’s more about what others
Think and feel and see as shame.
So quit thinking they are right,
And by all means quit taking blame.

You are like a beauty contest
Where nobody is keeping score.
The clothes make you beautiful
But I like you naked even more.
You’re a hot hunk of manhood
From your hairline to your boots
And you look a lot better naked
Than some men look in suits.

Yeah, I have to admit it here
It was your looks caught my eye
But as time went by I discovered
There was much more to you, guy.
There’s poetry and wit and then
That ever present sense of fun.

At first it was just infatuation;
A fan sitting close to the stage.
But later it turned into something
Beyond a **** picture on a page.
I found out there was more to you
Than the beauty that stops hearts.
There is something special there
That sets you delightfully apart.

So, I hope I can be forgiven
For being such a rabid fan.
I have excellent taste in things
Like the looks of a hot man.
I have heard so many call you
One hot, **** son of a gun.
Of the members of your fan club
I’m sure I am your number one.

I want to find those liars
That call themselves statesmen
And smack their faces
And take by the country’s *****
Because they have stolen
The innocence of every one of us
And pushed us off a cliff
In their ******* conservative bus.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

It’s the work of the devil
To behave the way they do.
Doesn’t seem to be an end
To the crap they put us through.
They are minions of evil
Paid to make our lives worse.
I would push the magic button
And make it happen in reverse.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

There is something wrong
That they outgrew any conscience.
They point the finger at gays
But really, they are the deviants.
They re-wrote the holy books
So they come out the winner
And the rest of our country
Ends up as the dog’s dinner.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

Lippy Dippy the hippie,
Always so much to say.
Protesting, picketing
Never quite gets his way.
So much about us
The world and how it runs.
Someone to carry a sign?
Lippy Dippy is the one.

He started out with war
Calling out President LBJ.
The issues kept happening
Up to and including today.
Lippy and his hippie cohorts
Protested for human rights
Whether it be about gays
Or brown, black or white.

Get him and friends arrested?
That just may have to be
As long as law and lawyers
Practice their legal infamy.
He reminds of Dred Scott
And how the law of the land
Immorally took the freedom
And dignity of that poor man.

Too little water here
Too much water over there?
Veterans getting gypped?
See if anybody ever cares.
Lippy Dippy and friends
Will gladly show up at your place
And show you what you are;
Bad example of the human race.

Oh, they made fun of him
They called him many names
Including Dippy, so unkind
But it gave him a kind of fame.
It would be nice if maybe someday
There were no need for him.
Unless things change someway
The hope of that is very dim.

So, he and others like him
Which will, of course, include me
With stand up and protest
As long as we citizens are free
To gather publically and say
This sort of situation is wrong,
Then Lippy Dippy and the rest
Will come sing our protest songs.

Dress your girls
To be a street walker
Teach your boys
To become trash talkers.
Why should they undergo
The first twelve years or so
With no solid understanding
Of prostitution and manhandling?

So paint her face
And shorten her dress.
Copy the working girls
Make her an immoral mess.
All that is important is
The approval of her friends.
Don’t worry about where this
Look of impropriety ends.

You boys wear chains
And motorcycle gang wear
So that you can recognize him
In juvenile jail cells everywhere.
Let him get tattoos young
Of skulls and snakes and chains.
Why should you worry about
The future criminal that remains?

Peer acceptance rules
Parents certainly do not.
Look at all the free time
You suddenly have got.
You can set your kid down
In front of the television
And turn them into totally
Nearly useless men and women.