"conway" poems
I'm a simple man
A country boy north of the Mason Dixon
I don't look for much
There's only the little things I that I yearn
Like the love of a good woman and a smooth whiskey
Maybe a reliable old truck and some folks that would miss me
I'm comfortable anywhere I go
From the corn fields of Illinois, to the mountains of Tennessee
I travel light, some blue jeans and some shirts
Perhaps with a few bucks for a little fun
I listen to some old country every day
Like No Show, Hank and Mr. Conway
I'm cut from old school cloth
Just like my folks before me
Yeah, I'm not fancy
I just am who I am
A lover and a fighter
A son, brother, uncle, and lover
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
I look forward to the re-enactments of historic moments in the pageant of The United States of America. [sic]
Gettysburg, Crossing the Delaware, The Moon Landing, Paul Revere's Ride, The March on Washington, The Storming of the Capital, The Clearing of Lafayette Plaza, The George Floyd ****** The Separation of Families, The Arizona Re-count, The Plot to Assassinate Democratic Governors, The Imprisonment of: Jared, Donny, Eric, Ivanka, Don, Carlson, Greene, Gaetz, Guilianni, Hannity, Conway, McVeigh, Barr [sic] (just to mention a few of the Founding Fuck-Ups.), the death of 650,000 people (the vast majority being innocent), The Pandemic of the Unvaxxed [sic]
After July 4, 2024, History may never be the same. See it now!
Jul 22, 2021
Jul 22, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
Maya Angelou once said,
"I've learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel"
although the thing is,
I wont forget
any of it.
the open ears,
the listening,
the understanding that was so easily given
I will always remember
the way he congratulated me
the day I pulled poetry from my teeth
I wont forget how he made us feel-
we.
we wont forget how he made
us feel
the many conversations that lived in his office are
now stuck in between the cracks of the walls
I imagine the dark of the theatre in mourning,
the curtains heavier,
more blue than they are usually
the black of the paint floor chipping backwards to
share the memories saying,
"Look,
It is all here underneath
your feet."
if you have ever wondered what magic feels like
I can tell you with certainty that
it is a bear grasp from a tower of a man and
a laugh that can be defined more correctly as a chuckle
or most importantly, a smile that
knew comfort when
it was most needed
what is hardest about it all is
this reality, the growing up that comes with losing
I am trying to comprehend the fact
that there are going to be students,
new ones,
who
will never know the magic that
is a Conway hug
I know
we will all be reminiscing, telling stories and
his name will be a past tense we
didn't want to have to use
this is a poem I
never wanted to have to
write.
one about a man who carried so many hearts
inside his own
the same one who
reminded me of my worth on
more than one occasion
this is about the man who was like a father when
my own was sick
this is about the man
who directed my first kiss
on the same stage where I learned how to be vulnerable
and how to trust
it is so easy to say,
this isn't fair.
but then I picture him,
arms crossed, replying
"Life isn't fair"
and he would be correct in
saying it isn't, no,
life isn't fair.
but what a privilege it is
to have had him
in mine
what a privilege it is
to have known him
at all
Maya was wrong,
we wont forget what he said,
sitting in the center of the studio referencing someone's house
"Treat it like your grandmother's"
I wont forget what he did,
what he taught me,
us.
we wont forget any of it,
I promise.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
The itty bitty city kitty
She thought she was the best
She thought she was so witty;
Much better than the rest.
The itty bitty city kitty
Begged to be put to the test
That’s the reason for this ditty
She felt there was no contest.
The itty bitty kitty
Runs home to her nest.
She hates the nitty gritty;
Her voice loudly expressed.
The itty bitty kitty
Will always request
Travis Tritt and Conway Twitty
For her country music zest.
The little bitty kitty
In the cold she wears a vest.
She never learned to knitty
Though we’d have been impressed.
The itty bitty kitty
Takes scorn as just a jest.
She doesn’t need your pity.
She’s on a kitty quest.
The little bitty kitty
Likes her covers messed.
It kind of makes her giddy.
Likes her comfort best.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
The names I would give if I had 26 sons.
Abel
Benjamin
Conway
Darth
Evan (After my nephew)
Fabian
Garth
Hollis (My dad)
Joey (My brother)
Isaac (My grandfather)
Kent
Lemuel
Matthew
Nathaniel
Othniel
Paul
Quinton
Richard (My middle name)
Sandage (My grandmother’s maiden name)
Terry (My name)
Uzziah
Val
William (My great grandfather)
X (One of my favorite wrestlers was Doctor X)
Yale
Zacchaeus
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
—A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
—Her beauty made me glad.
“Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?”
“How many? Seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me.
“And where are they? I pray you tell.”
She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
“Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.”
“You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!—I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be.”
Then did the little Maid reply,
“Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree.”
“You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five.”
“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
The little Maid replied,
“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,
And they are side by side.
“My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
“And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
“The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
“So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
“And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side.”
“How many are you, then,” said I,
“If they two are in heaven?”
Quick was the little Maid’s reply,
“O Master! we are seven.”
“But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!”
’Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven!”
1.6k
Just mahogany and horsehide glue,
machine heads and a ***** or two.
Plywood top, solid sides and back,
bone and fake ivory, ebony, and shellac.
Steel and bronze wire, to make her ring.
A well placed sound hole to let her sing.
But for love or money I played here every week,
for 30 years she has earned my keep.
Four star restaurants, or beer soaked bars,
or serenading a lover under summer night stars.
A joyous birthday, sad funeral of a friend,
she's always been there, on one I can depend.
Drunken'- Dancin' New Years Eve bashes,
barbequed sun baked poolside splashes.
St. Valentine's Day love songs, wine and roses,
or a smoky old blues club that never closes.
A nursing home sing along on St. Patty's day,
a hurricane party till we all got blown away.
Christmas carols by soft candlelight,
I've played this guitar most every night.
From Florida to Canada, Vegas to NYC,
from Frank Sinatra, to Conway Twitty.
Zeppelin to Bach, JT to Pink Floyd,
anything to keep me from being employed.
One night in Nashville Greg Allman played on her,
And asked me to join him, oh what an honor.
We make people happy, we bring them together,
when I play on her I am as light as a feather.
Some fell in love, and got married from our tunes,
some nights we're alone on sugar beach dunes.
She's filled up my tip jar, and filled up my heart.
Because of this guitar my life got its start.
I've sat up with her all night, when she was sick,
changed strings a million times, broken many a pick.
Caressed her, strummed her, as she dashed my fears,
cussed her and ****** her, as she tasted my tears.
With her I wooed my lover, until she married me.
She has been my addiction, and she has set me free.
They applaud for me, but she's really the star.
I know it's just wood and wire, but she's my guitar.
###====(==O==== )###====(==O==== ) ###====(==O==== )
For my Takamine "Lawsuit" I bought in Nashville in 1982.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Nothing against Tim.
Nothing against Jason.
Nothing against Dierk.
Or even Miranda Lambert.
But when I'm in a country mood for a musical journey.
Give me some Mel.
Give me some Conway.
Tillis and Twitty knew exactly what to say?
Give me some Cash.
Even Johnny Paycheck.
Give me sweet Reba.
Give me some Lynn.
Whether it was Loretta or the other called Anderson.
We aware females always have an answer.
Give me some Buck and the Buckeroos.
Owens and the boys was direct about love troubles.
Play me the Statlers or Barbara Mandrell.
Where she's talking about sleeping single in a double bed?
Or about being country before it became cool
Give me some Faron or Webb Pierce.
Legends of the field we can't forget about them.
If you know country, then you must know Webb Pierce.
Spin some Oak Ridge Boys and Roger Miller.
If you know country music.
Play even some Charlie.
Whether it's Daniel or Pride.
Let forget these legends as time goes by.
Now, I can listen to Wyonna of the Judds.
And maybe a little of Alabama during my musical journey of love.
And let's not forget about Dolly.
Or even Hank Williams.
Just play me some.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
Oh Kellyanne Conway, when she interacts
with the press, she presents the alternative facts.
The alternative facts, the alternative facts,
Oh my! How I love the alternative facts!
The moon is a cube and it's made out of wood.
The ocean's on fire, and broccoli tastes good.
The inaugural crowd was 12 million strong,
and liberty, life and equality's wrong.
The penguins are all busy making Swiss cheese
and poverty's ended whenever you sneeze.
The Donald shall reign o'er the world without end
and Vladimir Putin is our greatest friend.
Cyanide is nutritious and ice cream is hot.
The *** may be black but the kettle is not.
When night falls the sun gets sealed in a can,
and Trump is a kind, loving, wonderful man.
The alternative facts, the alternative facts,
dear God how I love the alternative facts.
To let tyranny rise through unspeakable acts,
let us live to embrace the alternative facts.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 8:09 PM UTC
If it wasn't for country music
If it did not belong to country music, there would be no music today.
The sounds of the good old country are what sad music.
the sounds of hank william, johnny cash, tex ritter, conway twitty.
Even elves sang country.
Rap would not manage without the upbeat sound of what is country.
The stars of today they love that old sound but some do not see.
Country music will never die.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
I walked through Harlem just the other day. The Harlem I knew as a child has totally gone away. I use to play hooky from school and I ran those streets at night But now you can't even find a decent street fight. We use have soul food joints all over the place. But now Harlem New York has a different face. Don't get me wrong. I think change is ok. But now there's other people livin' where I use to lay. 125th street just don't look the same. Now all the stores have a different name. There use to be A.J. Lester's and the Record shack. Now all the stores have names that are whack. Now I see an Old Navy store and a Chucky cheese. Can someone tell me where Harlem went please. What happened to the movie theater between 7th and 8th? Now it sits there just an empty old place. But the Apollo theater still looks good. It's always been the crown jewel of our neighborhood. But I remember when Harlem World was open night and day. Now even that spot is a **** Conway. Don't get me wrong. It does look nice and pretty. But Harlem use to be its very own city. You knew you were in Harlem when you walked down the street. Because Harlem use to have its own heart beat. But now we can't even afford the rents that they charge. Because everyone knows our pockets ain't that large. I'm afraid I'll go to sleep one night. And when I wake up Harlem will be all white. c. R. Mendoza
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
I got my converse on
My hair slicked back
My blue jeans cuffed
A brand new tat
I'm just a rockabilly boy
Conway Twitty playing in my head
Got me singing along to Maybe Baby
Feeling too **** good
Just right, on a Saturday night
I'm just a rockabilly boy
I wanna get my baby on the dancing floor
Then back to my bed for a little more
We can do monkey
We can do the twist
I'm just a rockabilly boy
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
My eyes gaze over the table of food through the company and off into the distance beyond the mildew on the walls.
I would feel more comfortable collecting the cobwebs from this basement ceiling.
Instead, I try hard to seem interested in what others are saying while avoiding eye contact, and -
BANG!! It's time to eat. The moment I've been most waiting for. Now I can concentrate on the food and do what I really came for.
Never eat and run though. It's time to act interested in the others once more.
Karaoke. Who doesn't love an overly enthusiastic host hoisting a microphone in their face?
Thanks for the food but I don't feel like singing a Kenny Rogers song or a whoever the **** song of some twit whose been in the top 40 within the past 5 years, or 20 for that matter.
Thank Jupiter they are distracted. Now is my chance to slip out quietly. I make it out the door and find out that someone parked behind me.
what else do you got in that cd case? Any Conway Twitty by chance? Oh really. **** it, I'm next
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
If you were me,
you would be making the world a better place.
Or thinking about making the world a better place.
Someday, after you learn being me makes you
********
Really, dead center on the spects, carazy smart
seri-al-owzly simple minded
regarding pre-literal ideas that few, if any
besides you, me now, ever literally take for granted,
for God's sake.
Right, that's some good to be done-
set that blasphemin', God-blamin', goofball free.
If you were me,
you would be hoping nothing you are thinking
is really doing what you are thinking. But it did.
You ever been in an angel bar? I know where some are,
if I were you,
I'd take the dole and hang out widimall day. They are
here to serve. It's in their contract, and they love
leading expeditions into the unknown unknowns, ain't
never been this far before.
Okeh. That did it. Conway Twitty, I could not
have guessed...
Serious poetry, Nietzschean twit. Is laughable.
If you were me,
you would know this is in the cycle. This is whatchamightcall,
the way home, the short version-cut.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
Say, Elvis, say south.
Say, Little Richard, say south.
Say, Jerry Lee Lewis, say south.
Say, BB King, say south.
Say, David and Jimmy, Ruffin says south.
Heck most of the Classic Five was southern born.
The message is within the history of these southern born artists.
Where all mention above is still highly praised?
Alabama, Georgia, and Kentucky too created a feeling still bringing news.
Wilson Picket aka the Wicked one.
Jame Brown and Jean Terrell heritage are within the southern region.
If you don't know nothing comes from the south without gaining your attention.
Did I mention Dolly Parton"
Conway Twitty aka Harold Jenkins and Porter Waggoner.
Something within the spiritual birth.
Check the history of Chess Records blues artist.
By the way even Berry Gordy.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
I love the Muppets
I really do,
so it pains me
just a little
to observe that
Jeffrey Lord on CNN
looks like one.
I see him as one
of the old guys
in the theatre box,
but this chaps all
smug & self-satisfied
& so all wisdom-like,
when in fact
his head is
up his Muppet ***
Kellyanne Conway too,
she's Muppetesque,
with her death-skull smirk
her so-sure inane chatter,
she gives the impression
of all-knowing wisdom
with her condescension,
her weaves and bobs,
Stephen Miller too
all sounding that Trumpet,
seeming born fully-formed
in a cheap shiny suit,
balding already,
& so, so bitter,
after having
surrendered
his lunch money
first day of school.
If the Muppets
had an episode
produced in Hades,
these unpleasant folks
could take centre stage,
as Satan's minions
grimaced & smirked
in the stalls,
& Lucifer himself
led the applause
as the Trumpeters
bowed centre stage
amidst an odorous
sulphorous stink,
& a rapturous cacophony
of beating wings
& shiny scraping claws.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
Conway’s game of life,
e^(iπ) + 1 is zero,
Just four base pairs in our DNA,
And still, we play the hero.
Twelve fermions, five bosons,
Compose our world and sky,
In every star and falling leaf,
In every brain that questions why.
I’d love to dive into the depths
Of quantum's mystic plan,
And watch the clockwork tick and hum,
To glimpse the beating heart of all.
Perhaps it’s all so simple,
Too simple to perceive,
A truth so bare and elegant,
Our minds refuse to believe.
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 7:32 AM UTC
We went to Conway castle
Charlie and Ibbo and Foxy and me
We climbed up a very tall tower
So far the view almost space we could see
Then Ibbo said,
"Wow look down 'ere"
Peeping over the edge
Being one for a lark in I went and looked down
There was a small interruption
In consciousness
Then I came round
In Charlie's arms as he carried me down
Wobbling on stony steps
Round and round
Down to the ground
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
I dreamed there was an UN-inauguration.
Peeking through the clouds, the frowning sun
Cast its rays upon the crowds below,
Perplexing and confounding everyone.
Donald Trump walked onto the platform,
Adjusting with his hands his golden thatch.
In the bleachers sat his buddy Putin,
Wily smiling, the two a perfect match.
The National Mall was split right down the middle.
Less than half of the crowd was loudly cheering.
All the rest were unmistakably
More enthusiastic in their jeering.
All of a sudden, the dark clouds parted.
A pillar of light descended from above.
Everyone could see that spiraling downward
Was the image of an ivory dove.
The dove transformed into a real person.
There stood Hillary Clinton on the stage!
Trump, whose eyes were shooting darts of fire,
Flew into his usual Trumpish rage.
A thunderous voice shook the Capitol steps.
The startled people jumped when they heard "STOP!"
Everybody waited in suspense,
Wondering when the ball was going to drop.
“This nonsense can't go on!” thundered the voice.
“A slight change—call it a correction—
Must fix improprieties that hurt
The integrity of your last election.”
Angelic voices filled the wintry air
As shouts of anger turned to happy cheers.
Trump and friends sauntered off the platform.
Bitterly they wiped away their tears.
Kellyanne Conway, puffed up with hot air,
Swirled away like a deflating balloon.
General Flynn got down on all fours
And turned into a blabbering baboon.
Steve Bannon also underwent
A sudden transformation, quite befitting:
He turned into a snake and slithered away
Past the seat where Eric Trump was sitting.
Putin’s face showed great disappointment.
The crafty leader couldn't understand
How his plans had backfired. He joined Trump.
They walked off together, hand in hand.
A blissful light enveloped everybody.
That was when I woke up from my dream
And had to face what was going to be
A harsh reality: a Trump regime.
- by Bob B (1-18-17)
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC
By; Cedric McClester
He’s selling horseshit
But nobody’s buying
Other than his base
Even they know he’s lying
While his spokespeople are
Out front denying
When behind closed doors
You’ll hear ‘em sighing
He selling horseshit
By the ton
But he isn’t fooling
Anyone
And now his lies have him
Under the gun
So ask yourself this
Is he having fun
He’s selling horseshit
Now it’s starting to stink
But he still assumes
That people don’t think
So he counter punches
Like, a boxing rink
Meanwhile the country’s
Begining to sink
He’s selling horseshit
And we’re getting tired
Of him and the folks
That he chose to hire
Like Kelly Conway
Who's become a liar
Or Sean Spicer
Whose pants are on fire
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 7:22 AM UTC
Give me your hand and let me lead you to the floor.
We're love dancing to whatever song is on?
Maybe some Sinatra, Martin or Tony Bennett.
Maybe Paul Simon or James Taylor and Carly Simon.
It doesn't matter, when we're love dancing.
Oh, you're shocked.
Maybe amazed to see the one you love acting this way.
But sometimes, things should be a surprised changed.
Play me some Paul, John, George and even Ringo.
It doesn't matter, as long as you dance along.
Let me slowly spin you aware.
As Mel Tillis or Conway Twitty belts out a song.
Throw in some Loretta Lynn or Lynn Anderson.
Whatever your choice for pure pleasure?
Maybe Marvin Gaye or Al Green or Barry White.
Just realize with them singing things might affect the night.
Play some Howlin' Wolf or Muddy Waters or some Rolling Stones.
Just realize in truth, we need know music to groove ourselves on.
Whisper to me.
And I whisper to you.
We be making more music when the morning comes.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
As I open the gates of heaven. I listen to the sweet music of Johnny cash.
As I board the train, as he sings the orange blossom special.
I take the train for the stage. Where there stood Patty page.
She was singing loud and strong.Beyond the clouds, the sky is always blue.
So true to hear.
As we traveled down the tracks. I have a sound that I member so well.
As Conway Twitty sang Hello darling
As we approached the end of the trail.
I heard the King Hank Williams Sr himself singing to God I saw the light.
As i left the train i could hear them all sing,
I walk the floors of heaven.
Do you still hear them sing
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
If the Russians Find Out That the Iced Tea was Bugged
If the Russians find out that the iced tea
Was bugged they may well conclude that Area 51
Has tested Tom Brady’s jersey which was stowed
In a bus station locker in Donetsk
With the claim check issued to Kellyanne Conway
And passed to a North Korean operative via
A secret drop in a hollow pumpkin
Behind a voting machine in Spokane
That was hacked by a rogue albino nun
Carrying secret numbers for Rand Paul
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
If the Russians Find Out
That the Iced Tea was Bugged…
If the Russians find out that the iced tea
Was bugged they may well conclude that Area 51
Has tested Tom Brady’s jersey which was stowed
In a bus station locker in Donetsk
With the claim check issued to Kellyanne Conway
And passed to a North Korean operative via
A secret drop in a hollow pumpkin
Behind a voting machine in Spokane
That was hacked by a rogue albino nun
Carrying secret numbers for Rand Paul
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
Some Conway Cabal;
It's a regular circus,
In the capitol.
Jul 2, 2024
Jul 2, 2024 at 8:19 PM UTC