"drysdale" poems
The sky wept blood red tears
Onto the parched landscape
Forgotten apparel
Sway limply in the dead draft
Ruby Dust settles on neglected items
Lifeless items
A monster approaches
Ready to swallow the world
And crush it with crimson teeth
Red Fingers as gentle as feathers
Yet ready to suffocate
With strength of a thousand tigers
Armageddon is approaching
Death will be brought unto all
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
flipping baseball cards
in the flippin' school yard
pictures up, stats down
Drysdale, Koufax, Mantle, Spahn
or vice versa all around
retirement income source lost on the playground...
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 3:07 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
Shania ngarra Nelvin
he said in an SMS
she showed me,
grinning.
Smoke lingering in the kitchen,
a bucket catching drips of liquid
filling the silence with a comforting
consistency. A figure in the corner
with a cigarette in a chair
“we really get the snakes through here.
You know those lines carved in the desert by rainbow serpents brought me.
And the trains used to come by here, it was the train station.
On the grass I would make baskets and talk to the boys with my artwork.
cute ones, ones with diamonds to spare”
Outside; two lapwings, guarding
their nest in military formation.
On the roads, armored vehicles with armored people.
Police checking the parks for alcohol.
The palms wilting down, dead
brown, tangling the canopy
light in sporadic glimpses
on the concrete walls.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 6:23 AM 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