#hillbilly
(the only question that ever mattered)
Maybe that’s the only question
anyone ever really needed to ask about Billy
not “Is he gifted?”
or “Is he applying himself?”
or “Why does he always look surprised
when the teacher calls his name?”
not whether Billy was smart,
or disciplined,
or sensitive,
or trying too hard,
or not trying enough
just:
“Where the heck is Billy!?
Is he present,
or is his head in space again?”
Because honestly,
Billy was almost never where he was supposed to be.
His body would be in math class,
but his brain was thinking about
whether dinosaurs could swim,
or what he’d eat after school,
or whether the goalie on his hockey team
was secretly afraid of the puck
(and honestly, probably was).
Teachers cared about grades;
Billy cared about snacks.
Teachers cared about effort;
Billy cared about
whether Pokémon was on after school.
He wasn’t wandering into genius thoughts.
He wasn’t solving world problems.
He was just gone
mentally vacationing
to wherever felt lighter than the moment.
Even his friends joked about it.
Someone would walk up and say:
“Are you my cuzin Billy?”
And while everyone else was laughing,
Billy....
—usually late to the punchline—
would perk up just in time to say:
“Nope. Wrong Billy.”
It was one of the few jokes
he actually landed on purpose
one of the rare questions
he was sharp enough to answer
because it was simple
and didn’t require him
to be fully present.
Then came grade 7 French.
Teacher says cinéma,
Billy hears “something with cinnamon,”
blurts out some cinnamon-related nonsense,
and the whole room explodes.
And the wild thing?
He wasn’t embarrassed.
It actually anchored him.
For once, the laugh was with him
and it pulled his drifting mind
right into the moment.
Sometimes humor
was the only way Billy ever felt
actually in the room.
So yeah....
the theme of Billy’s childhood
could basically be summed up as:
“Is he here?
Billy?
Buddy?
Earth to Billy?
Are you my cuzin Billy,
or are you floating off somewhere?”
Half the time the answer was no.
Billy was mentally orbiting Jupiter
while everyone else was conjugating verbs.
But presence now
in adulthood
is different for him.
It’s not about laughter pulling him back,
or teachers calling his name,
or cinnamon mishaps
making him accidentally noticeable.
It’s about Billy actually choosing
to show up in his own life
not drifting,
not dodging,
not spacing out
like he’s waiting for recess to start.
So the question still stands,
big as ever:
Is Billy present?
Or is he halfway to the moon again?
And for once
finally
the answer isn’t confusing.
Yeah.
He’s here.
Nov 25, 2025
Nov 25, 2025 at 2:28 PM UTC
Aristotle at my fingertips,
not locked in soliloquies I may perform,
but heard from an Oxford don I have
in my pocket,
as I lean into each lesson and trudge
up and down my morning
constitutional,
where the firebreak meets
chaparral alive with cottontail
this morning, when I almost said, "it's too hot."
C'mon, walk a mile with me… like
on the road to Emmaus, but Christ, no;
this character,
a soldier in me, about to salt out, bids me,
walk a mile, "not two, one
does the trick."
The thought comes
as a dare from the Ralston Purina guy,
and I stepped onto my trail.
I dare think Aristotle's thoughts after Plato's,
thinking
I could have known this when I was younger,
but not to this degree,
if I had not dropped out, and never knew,
by rote,
to pass a test, that
"All men by nature desire to know."
This is
Curiosity, right? I suspect it is a gift.
The joy we find in sensation, proof
offered the gainsayer,
I say again, that which is good for nothing
never
never
naturally exists, so
what tool forms an eye to notice that…
see, through the window
of my poetic-pathetic e-thoughtic soul
a feathery
family of phoebe birds, flits by,
if that is the proper name
{Tufted-Titmouse, my AI replies},
tails reflecting a smokey blue hue,
they swoop and flutter past;
I see
in a non-imaged flashpast pattern
from a time in the summer of 1969…
Disneyfied trails
from Cinderella's dressing room
scene, not seen, but reminded of seeing,
the pattern, in this phantomind dance,
being witnessed now, as
this old soldier once saw it
performed by bluer birds than these…
Time skipper
shifts to another bubble intersecting mine
and
I hear a worried neighbor fret about the fire.
I almost say,
"One of the benefits of being
backedup to the cloud,
nothing to lose."
But I remember, she collects purses and shoes.
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 12:16 PM UTC
Got to sleep in a old holler log
With my rifle, my pipe and my dog.
As you city-folk know,
She's a hard row to ***
Dang Corona done slaughtered ma hog.
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 11:04 AM UTC
I lived my life full of hope
Whiskey, Coke and green dope
Tablets with faces, just in case
But never acted out of place
A simple plan, with time on my side
An olive grove vineyard
Which crept on by, for a while
Yellow butterfly just landed
Then vanished without a trace
But never acted out of place
A sad brown eyed foreigner sipping inside
Along with a black tanned stranger
Who magically appeared from behind
A tongue tied drinker, tried to whisper
But she couldn’t quite seem to talk
But never acted out of place
I lived my life full of hope
Whiskey, Coke and green dope
But never acted out of place.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 10:21 PM UTC
Life just happens without knowing what will be happening
So don't blame New York, It's just one of those days
You have to try something new or they might forget your gaze
You did nothing wrong, it's me, not you, but thanks for listening
I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising
Don't try too hard, just trying to get above
Just add a smile to my dial and pile on the love
I'm more than just a gangsta, I'm a true hip-hop pop star by far
A symbol of peace, for the new world order, all locked away in a 1960s jar
Smack! Crack! *** Snap! Crackle! Pop! Just painted art on the wall
If you take yourself too serious, your Humpty Dumpty will fall
I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising
Don't know how I'm gonna stop
I need an escape or I'm going to flop
What's ya daddy's crib producing nowadays in the hood
I'm the only true black kid in the whole **** neighbourhood
There's stray cats arriving from all over the place
All are getting together to form an almighty human race
I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising
Don't try too hard, just trying to get above
Just add a smile to my dial and pile on the love
I'm just a guy from the ghetto, I used to be full of fear
Try living in a cage and spreading all of your love over here
How much pepper, how much salt, goes into a fine nancy salad
It so crucial for the final outcome of your life's fancy moving ballad
I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising
Don't know how I'm gonna stop
I need an escape or I'm going to flop.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 8:27 AM UTC
You can have it all, if you don't need nothing
Keep the good vibes rolling, if it helps with one's loving
It's like a whole EDM festival, coming from your mouth
Not like those turntable dudes, down in the deep south
I thought DJs had had their freestyle spinning last days
Like Catholic church priests and their unholy ******* ways
Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal
They say, ‘I'm the new messiah’.Thanks, but, I don't even try
Thanks to so few, excluding the ones, who waved me on by
I'm sort of creating, a brand new hype and buzz
Full of pure clarity, with a dash of man-made fuzz
When the beat stops, from its fast-talking pace
We all like to flop and drop that ******* bass
Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal
A shout out, to all my southern conquistadors and homeward bound homie’s
Ignore all the Los Angeles doomsayers and Hollywood snapchat phoney's
Elevator doors always be jammin' and then coming to a closure
We all like a moment, of shy mouth miming, with very little exposure
From a worldwide hit or an Aussie Whispering Jack golden classic
From the sound of a crackling frisbee, made from nothing,
but pure black plastic
Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC
Jammin’ along to riffs by, Sister Tharpe and Robert Johnson,
You could only tell the difference, if a spotlight shone upon each one.
For one was going to heaven, the other, all the way to hell.
But, while they picked at their guitars the mobs would still yell.
They’d do a solo on a lead guitar, unheard of in those days;
Then be totally racistised once stepping out on the pavement.
No mention in the papers, because of the editor’s clan, da-far-right KKKs.
But, outrage and riots ensued, callin’ da end to all dat black enslavement.
Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.
Been scooting across mid town and even to easy beat street.
Tripping lights out and seen both colored folks, along the way.
Gettin’ some to enter my mobile studio, I call ‘Da Jam in da Van’!
Because, it’s not for just any ole cotton pickin’ southern bred fan.
So, come inside, switch it on, then blow me off my feet.
I’ll sign you on the spot, if you purr like a cool cat or a certain sort of stray.
Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.
The here and now, is where the blues are fully infused.
Not from era’s gone past or from some distant future.
You can’t find it in a library, you can’t teach her;
You won’t see it in a theory, you won’t solve her;
You shan’t catch it in a harness, you shan’t trap her.
Once gotten, never forgotten, you’ll never ever, lose her.
Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 6:35 AM UTC
Take the color out, from even the darkest of cotton blues.
Then you’d enjoy it, without any innate bias or clues.
From the railroad vagrant, without any degree;
To purring cool cats, with a PhD.
Hell! Go back to where you were born, your inner roots.
All da way back, when you’d let dirt, get on those anti-racist boots.
We listened when it pricked our ear, then the color of blue was swept away.
Then, just black and white, made us jive to the music, on that very special day.
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC
Workin’ as a young one, during da cotton pickin’ days.
Tuning my ears into, da older siblings gospel ways.
Smokin’ a whole lotta dope, got me to here.
Drinking from early mornings on, got me to there.
Playing some slow guitar chords, gave me the blues.
Sleeping at night, always awakening, to more bad news.
This is my blues.
Purely undiluted.
Then distilled on down.
To its true purity.
I got a kind hearted women, no imitation
Who will not let me be, until one dies
As she pulled up to the cotton plantation
I looked at her, straight in the eyes
Spoke to her, with her full attention
I’m outta here, anything else, I forgot to mention?
This is my blues.
Purely undiluted.
Then distilled on down.
To its true purity.
Isn’t it at all, a bit sort of creepy.
Returning home, to da back swamps of Mississippi
The last song I had ever written.
Would be the death of me, once bitten
Now ain’t that a bit haunting.
I should’ve just read, the dire warning.
This is my blues.
Purely undiluted.
Then distilled on down.
To its true purity.
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
I walk ‘n’ talk like a citizen, but feel like an American Alien.
I’m Canadian born, brought up by a Philadelphian.
Falling asleep at 3 AM, rising after noon
Instant fame and riches, happening way to soon.
Always being told to keep my head down;
On the road from town to town.
Pleasing the crowds, appeasing my manager.
Sometimes I think, I’m just riding shotgun.
If I ever broke my melody making,
crab claw pickin’ fingers
I’d be out on the street,
^^^
like all my other,
^^^
unfortunate *******
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 11:28 PM UTC
Born with prejudice, throw it all about
By extracting color within the blues
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out
Now listen again, with newborn ears
Remember, you’d let dirt, get in and about
Baby face baby face without any fears.
Tired of racism, going on and about
By liberating, we strike new tunes
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out
Now listen again, with newborn ears
Remember, you’d let dirt, get in and about
Baby face baby face without any fears.
All of society, from near to far about
To all city slickers, outback folks or hippie communes
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out
Now listen again, with newborn ears
Remember, you’d let dirt, get in and about
Baby face baby face without any fears.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 2:53 AM UTC
'Oh deary me!' I recently rusted my dang of a thang
So now I can’t even amuse myself, by golly
Even been trying da one, my cousin rented to me
Never got the yearly service, due to the high costs, kerching
Just a toppin’ up with the essential oils, for a nominal fee
Just so busy, with a plantin’ it, smokin’ it, a bit like a rolly
While galavanting about, this country’s dry and sunburnt soil
Okay then, serve myself right, I shouldn’t second guess
Should’ve just lubricated, after such a hard and grinding toil
That dang of a thang, now take a look at the **** mess
After every ounce of sweat and auto correct tweets
After weird Tinder meets and almost all the surprise greets
I can’t wait to play with again, my Chinese made, Yin & Yang
My most pleasurable and double ended, dang of a thang.
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 5:01 AM UTC
Barnyard **** just raised a city born, sort of a chick
Even gave her the surburban name of Sandra Dee Fonda
A pretty slow blonde critter, some even say, short of a tick
Bred way-down and far-away, ‘bout 70 miles yonder
Y’all be knowing dat Hick-Hop thang, is what it‘s all about
While hootin’ and scootin’, never let ya kissin’ cousin, flake out
Hee Haw, said it all, when we were a pickin’ and a grinnin’
Ask Goober, what’s dat ya doin’ and what’s dat ya diggin’?
Perhaps I may yet die, with my boots still placed upon
Cowards never really stay around here long enough
To actually become real cowboy shootin’ stuff, my dear
I say, ‘Hang ‘em first and try ‘em later on’
My life was always threatened daily
That’s why, I went out heavily armed, just like an Israeli
I’ve been invited to the Marty Party, along with Brother Brown
But, I thought killing a man, was my one and only, speciality
Even drafted a business proposition, for this exact locality
Since I’ve had the market cornered, in da middle of downtown
From Cornfield, Alabama to Deadwood, South Dakota
There’s no import or export taxes, so no **** amount of quota
So, me, you and even that Clay Ellison, will be riding a winner
Even after killin’ that Chunk Kolbert, straight after his dinner
Perhaps I may yet die, with my boots still placed upon
Cowards never really stay around here long enough
To actually become real cowboy shootin’ stuff, my dear
I say, ‘Hang ‘em first and try ‘em later on’
My life was always threatened daily
That’s why, I went out heavily armed, just like an Israeli
They’ll be gettin’ da same amount of ice, as Knoxville
But the rich will be a gettin’ it, in da summertime
While the poor will be a gettin’ it, in da wintertime
If I owned Texas & Hell, I’d rent out Texas & live in Hell
So, don’t ever think about, hittin’ ya mother with a shovel
It’ll leave a dull impression on her already fragile mind
I’m not afraid to die, as a brave man fighting shall
But I wouldn’t wanna be killed, like a dog unarmed, so please be kind
Perhaps I may yet die, with my boots still placed upon
Cowards never really stay around here long enough
To actually become real cowboy shootin’ stuff, my dear
I say, ‘Hang ‘em first and try ‘em later on’
My life was always threatened daily
That’s why, I went out heavily armed, just like an Israeli
I see a good many enemies around me, who will walk
But notice mighty few friends, that are willing to talk
They would then, drink right smart
They could then, scrap right smart
But, I didn’t come here to talk, I just came here to hang
Just a peekin’ through, the hour glass thang
Perhaps I may yet die, with my boots still placed upon
Cowards never really stay around here long enough
To actually become real cowboy shootin’ stuff, my dear
I say, ‘Hang ‘em first and try ‘em later on’
My life was always threatened daily
That’s why, I went out heavily armed, just like an Israeli.
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 8:21 PM UTC
Folksy blokes, like ya struttin’ ya thang
If you’ve come out of da Grand Ole Opry
But, won’t stay around for any old music sang
If it’s causing their head, to bob up and down and go all floppy
While rugged mountain men riding in some country rodeo
Can just step right up, to a Appalachia recording studio
Put down several tracks and become a worldwide pop star
They sing about hillbilly ways, while cogging or flatfooting from afar
Talking ‘bout wild hogs, gators, foxes & how so many more
Taste so great, using leftovers as bait & making real men roar
Old fables, told through pictures and patterns, upon knitted quilt
Even showing the feuding days of the Hatfields versus McCoys
From both sides of Tug Fork stream, with many unemployed
Although Asa and Devil Anse, said, ‘they hadn’t much guilt’
All because of a judge and 5000 acres of unusable swamp land
Once owned, by a close kissin’ cousin named, Perry Cline
Who didn’t even get any blood on his hand
They started a war, that could’ve been stopped
By a bottle or two, of good ole mountain moon-shine
Both clans almost wiped out, if last man standing had accidentally dropped.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
I've got the rhythm, but don't look anythang like a Nashvillian soul
Been living on the streets, so I ain't been on any **** census role
I'm not my mother's natural birth child, without any apology
But I’m god’s chosen and gifted, finger picking, guitar prodigy
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
My Mama once said, just do your music or do something else
So, I'm legally insane and uncomfortable to be with, I guess
I don't actually see myself living anywhere forever
But, how'd ya know, that you've actually arrived, wherever
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
If they don't ever remember the month or day, since leaving
Families gettin' together, telling lies, now police intervening
I sometimes have to forget that I wrote it, to be able to like it
As long as fans think dope of it, why bother to disable the ****
Hoed fresh corn all day, everyday, been up since the crack of dawn
Pretty plenty of backyard swamp talkin' catfish, have since been born
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
He'd hit a rabbit a sittin' and killed it with the barrel of his gun
While the dang hammer was a peckin' a wild hog to death
Like gettin' outta control and hardly takin' a shot of breath
Or being a drunken redneck, on a 7 day weekend hillbilly whiskey run.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
Offer up some of your dollar,
get ready,
to win, to lose
a little bit.
Offer up some of your gusto,
get on down,
to the local
gambling hall.
Offer up some of your love,
baby doll, don't kick me,
kiss me, when I'm down.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 5:55 PM UTC
Oil was struck on my land and 100 million is what I was paid.
My nephew has a great education, he graduated the 6th grade.
Granny makes her own whiskey, and she makes lye soap.
But if you're wondering if the neighbors are happy, nope.
Mrs. Drysdale doesn't like us, she constantly complains.
She says living next to us is going to drive her insane.
Elly May is my daughter, and she's awful fond of critters.
But now she has rabies because her raccoon bit her.
My sister Pearl insisted that I move here from the South.
Elly May won't drink water, and she's foaming at the mouth.
Jethro does some cyphering, he can count up to ten.
If you've met somebody smarter, I'd like to know when.
I love my mansion, especially the billy yard room.
If you get too close to Granny's still, you'll be knocked out by the fumes.
The people of Beverly Hills wants us to move away.
But they'd better get used to us, we're here to stay.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
That's the good thing about possum innards, just as good the second day.
But whjen our dinner guests see what Granny is cooking, they run away.
These city fols have the weirdest reactions that I've ever seen.
When we serve buzzard eggs, they puke after their faces turn green.
Jethro is my nephew, and I need to have a long talk with that boy.
Mister rysdale loves our money but his wife is always annoyed.
Whenever we hear music, somebody is always at the door.
Even though Jethro is bigger, Elly May pins him to the floor.
People tend to catch on fire if they smoke after drinking from Granny's still.
As long as we have 100 million, MR. Drysdale won't let us leave Beverly Hills.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
And what's worse
cursed
with something of a conscience
that despite being disrespected
and
***** will not let me leave.
Vulnerability
pressed
to the face of death with a smile
stretched ear to ear bowed
down
under the weight of fear.
Courageousness breaks
heavy pain. I use it against you.
Prostrate to the matrons
I begged for your courage for me.
Surprise
Surprise
Even when you hurt your loved ones
You focus on yourself
Surprise
Surprise
Even when you hurt someone you love
You protect yourself
You double down
in the name of pride.
Newsflash:
Your children are smart enough
to purposefully see
that they never procreate
if only for the world
to both act Atropos
on this overgrown
carcinogen
to humanity
and slash the path
of another hillbilly bloodline
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 3:34 PM UTC
Gotta get the engine blocks
painted on the lawn
Gotta get the derelict wrecks
rearranged, by dawn
The ol double wide, re-sided
redo the roof, and shingles
Hell, she even wants
the sound of X-mas jingles
It's that time of year
here, in redneck land
Family coming to town
squattin a month, their plan
The yearly escapades
my dear love makes me do
a white trash decorating thing
she says
"or there's no *** for you"
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 9:36 AM UTC
There was a time you'd find
its untidy nest at the top of the lot
in the front room of apartment zero nine
Then, miles down time's treadmill
the creature first took notice, took a look
at its surroundings said,
"My world's color could be described as, and called, shame."
It split itself in half
The legs grew a head
The torso grew wings
While the grounded body kept vigil,
kept the common company
of rapists, liars, and thieves,
the winged being pushed off the Earth,
never to return to shame
as an ape with one short face,
but as a thing with a thousand names.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
She said, "Hello. You look like ****
I said, "To what do I owe this. . . this compliment?"
A double whiskey on the house
I said, "Fine with me, I always take the first one free."
"But you've been here all night," she said,
"In fact every single night this week."
Hope stands monstrous in the door
Can't tell if it's as it is or if it's my eyes swimming
Memory's a funny thing, because from what
I remember I never was a drunk
Just everyone on dad and grandpa's side
Cruising all the way up the line
Now, reflection's come to cast
proper shadow 'cross my heart
in clouded mirrors with lights off
I outsmart the faint voice
No hands, ******* in the dark
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
My heart was mine in day til night
She came and stole my life
In cold, beneath streetlight
In her leather and jeans
Like she knew just what
She wanted, and she did
I'm glad the innocence
At first kept back the fiery truth
That you were so much like me
That I was much like you
Or else I'd not have stolen yours, too
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC
I was told poems mustn't rhyme
Those that do show infantile minds
A child can rhyme two with glue
Or find a metaphor for the sky being blue
Rhymes are easy
Essence is hard
I use conventional flow
As my not-so-trump trump card
Stop. Branch out.
Find the words to reach deep down.
The soul wrencher's
The tear jerkers
The love felt on a whim
From first sight
Unable to project true depth
Just imagery
The easy kind
.
.
.
Stick to the rhymes for now
Best to do what you know how
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
Our family got the news today
Our bubba's gettin' hitched
Young Daisy Mae, she's near fourteen
Got our boy bewitched
He's sayin' that he loves her
He's making her his bride
She's the first to get him this close
Though not too many tried
We've got to get things ready
Send invitations and make candles
We've got to get the good jars out
The one's that still have handles
The minister is on alert
We've got to make some shine
Grandpa says he'll make some up
But, it will not all be mine
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
This time there'll be no shotgun
Like the last time for old Ben
This time the guns are empty
Not the way they were back then
The banjos will be tuned up
There'll be music in the air
The cops won't try to stop it
I think most will all be there
The ladies will be planning
Just how to serve up all the grub
While Bubba has to find a suit
And therein lies the rub
He's never worn a suit at all
Not even for a day
He's only dressed in coveralls
And that's how he's gonna stay
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
It'll be a **** dang doodle
A hell of a good time
It'll only be completed
When they run out of the shine
there'll be singing and some dancing
Underneath the harvest moon
We can't wait for it to happen
It cannot come too soon
There'll be readings from the bible
Which the minister will read
And as good holy Christians
Everyone will heed
There's sure to be some fighting
Before the couple say "I do"
I mean, they are both cousins
I'm gonna go...aren't you?
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC