"fishin" poems
She introduced herself, as
Sunset.
Batted her lashes not to be flirtatious ,
But to hide that her eyes were wet.
All around me were blurred, but beautiful faces.
Yet, my eyes only focused on hers
The first that I noticed.
*When I bought my first camera,
From that sales-man down in Alabama.
And he taught me how to use it,
He said, "see here son, if I was to take your picture I'd set this camera here on portrait.
But if I took a picture of that pretty little girl 'cross the road"
he said with a smirk
"I'd have to set this here camera on Firework"*
It's funny how memories work.
I think of that man now, of his coffee colored skin and straw hat.
I never thought I'd need to know any of that.
but right here and now I set that camera to sunset.
raise it to my eye
And take a picture of
Sunset.
As if she were a colorful sky.
and that's it.
some people deserve more than a portrait.
And I know, I'm going to take her to a dark room.
And see what develops, of her negatives.
But first, I want to hear all about her crazy relatives.
Who gives her, her beauty?
where's she take her dog to groom?
The poodle on her leash is a cutie.
and what does she doodle on her notebooks?
stars or hearts or sugar skulls....
Does she know she's caught me on her fishin' hook?
What's she think of me, I'm sure I look dull.
Why are her teary eyes so full, About to overflow.
There were so many things I wanted to know....
before I took her to a dark room.
But it happened
And all I found in the picture that developed was gloom.
I realized I was her first.
And the best night of my life became my worst.
because I took something from her she didn't want to give.
But I just didn't know that she wouldn't want to live.
Keep reading, this ends beautifully.
beautifully like a sunset ends a day.
But, you have to believe me when I say that's not nearly as beautifully
As Sunset ends my hopes and dreams.
How she ended her own life
With pretty little pink pills.
One....Two....Three
gripped in her hand they found a picture of me.
And now I know, Sunsets are all about Beautiful Endings.
It's funny how memories work
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
This song it ain't bout country things
Like pickup trucks and cars
You'll never find me writing
About getting drunk in bars
There's no mention here of Taylor Swift
or The Charlie Daniels Band
I wouldn't write of how the banks
are taking our farmland
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
I don't know **** 'bout Redneck stuff
like hunting dogs and guns
I wouldn't write of Daisy Dukes
showing off some hot babes buns
I won't write 'bout the Opry
I don't know all that stuff
Of Minnie Pearl and Grandpa Jones
And Mr. Roy Acuff
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
There's nothing here 'bout Bourbon
or of Racing through the fields
I don't know much about farming
or crop futures or of yields
I listen to The Rolling Stones
Trace Adkins I don't like
Lady A can go away
Kid Rock can ride his bike
You won't hear much about Zac Browns Band
or of food thats Chicken Fried
I might go to a hoedown
If I'd just up and died
My music, it fulfills me
It makes me who I am
But I'll stay away from country
songs, Cause I don't give a ****
No Oak Ridge Boys or Hee Haw Here
Hank Williams I won't buy
I'll never buy a Dixie Beer
It's a drink I'll never try
I won't sing about Kentucky
or of a Texas Yellow Rose
you know this aint no country song
Good god I hope it shows
There's no mohter, dogs or applie pie
no fishin' in the dark
No Everything is Beautiful
No songs by Terry Clark
I'm really open minded
My friends they are the same
We won't buy country music
To us it's just so lame
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
I won't mention stuff you'll find
in songs by Nashville bands
There's nothing here about
watching football in the stands
I'll never write a country song
Cause country just ain't fun
Oh crap I just read this thing
And I think I just wrote one
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
(song lyrics)
Verse 1:
Now I can’t go fishin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my rod and reel
Can’t go snow-racin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my snowmobile
And I got flaws - that’s for sure - and sometimes run amuck
But the final straw that I can’t take: Ya’ sold my pickup truck
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 2:
I didn’t care when ya’ bought that stuff on TV’s QVC
Or ‘cause ya’ always thought of me as your private Money Tree
Or catalog-orderin’ ever’thing from within ol’ Sears Roebuck
But I’ll be danged if I’ll sit still since ya’ sold my pickup truck!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 3:
So I went and saw a gypsy gal, and a curse on you imposed
To put sand in your chewin' gum and runners in your ***** hose
And all your clothes and accessories to never, ever match
And chiggers in your bed sheets - so you’ll always have to scratch!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 4:
I seen ya’ last Saturday night at Bubba’s Bar and Grill
The image of you in stripes and checks remains within me still
And them red chigger welts upon your nose and face
Tells me that the gypsy curse is workin’ ever’ place!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
complexity
is your beauty
simplicity
your mystery
interdependence
sustains you
once upon a time
we dipped bowls
into your waters
and brought up
draughts of life
now
Skipjacks go
fathoms deep
into endless
depletion
charting
entangled
dead zones
broadening
into a sea of
inertness
your delicate
eco-essence tips
toward oblivion
effluvia farmers
layer mechanized
blankets of
nitrates on your
sunset shores
weaving
green tendrils
of algae blooms
strangling the
entanglements
of all links in
your miraculous
food chain
the EPA
proscribes
a Jenny Craig
pollution diet
to halt the
slaughter in
oxygen
challenged
dead zones
where rockfish
are garroted,
oysters get drilled
by screwworms
and azure tinted
soft shell *****
dance soft
shoe taps
lifting a tinny
chorus of sad
Piedmont Blues
the flat-lining
watersheds
voiceless
warnings
tremble
rocking the
purged nests of
screaming ospreys
in vocal protest
of a sinking
Tangier Isle
anointing it’s
tombstones
of unvisited
cemeteries with
multicolored
guano
fitting
alkaline
tributes
to the lost
inhabitants
and forgotten
languages
sinking into the
brine of gray
brackish tides
Delmarva’s fine
intra-continental
balance skewed
by the oozing
industrial swill
of Frank Perdue
chicken farms
ruling the roost of
sanctioned sustainability
tinging clear watersheds
of finger lakes
set in splints to
repair dislocations
and complex
compound fractures
that may never heal
again
Music Selection:
Taj Mahal: Fishin Blues
jbm
Oakland
6/7/12
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
Went our hunting, shot a tree
Sure looked like a deer to me
It don't matter, I can't see
I'm an American Hunting Man
I like hunting, but, I'm blind
My dogs always stay behind
I can't shoot what I can't find
I'm an American Hunting Man
Three years ago I shot a moose
It looked to me just like a goose
Man, they're fast when they cut loose
I'm an American Hunting Man
Give me beer and loaded guns
I'm sure we're gonna have some fun
I dress in camo when I can
I'm an American Hunting Man
I'm an American Hunting Man
When I'm hunting my friends are fishin'
They don't like the competition
They even give me ammunition
I'm an American Hunting Man
I've hunted deer to wild turkey
Most things I make into jerkey
My vision ***** it's kind of murky
I'm an American Hunting Man
Went fishing once and snagged my ear
Flipped the boat and spilled the beer
I gave up fishing to hunt deer
I'm An American Hunting Man
Give me beer and loaded guns
I'm sure we're gonna have some fun
I dress in camo when I can
I'm an American Hunting Man
I'm an American Hunting Man
I was shooting ducks one time
I shot a truck, but that was fine
Until I found out it was mine
I'm an American Hunting Man
Give us weaponry and beer
Then get away when we are near
There's nothing more that you can fear
Than an American Hunting Man
I have the shakes and I can't see
When I shoot once I bring down three
One for real and two for free
I'm an American Hunting Man
Give me beer and loaded guns
I'm sure we're gonna have some fun
I dress in camo when I can
I'm an American Hunting Man
I'm an American Hunting Man
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
i'm sure
life was a peach
til he was born breach
but the inversion of his excursion
into the hands of the surgeon left him worse an'
the immersive submersion
in perversive subversion
was only urgin'
the incursion
of aspersions
for subversive diversion
as
an apparition with volition
wishin for position transition
fishin for recognition
of ambitious cognition
this in addition
to the malicious conditions
that stitched in repetitions
of neurochemical
composition
transmissions
entailing
the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory sensory.
said the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
I was walking on the seashore when I heard a fearful cry
I looked out across the water where a man was drifting by
"You've got to help!" he shouted, "There's a lifebelt in your reach,
"If you throw it to me quickly I'll get back onto the Beach!"
I hastily began to do exactly as he said
When a little word of warning made its way into my head.
"You reckon this will help," I said, "that is what you believe,
"But to trust short-term solutions here is hopelessly naive.
"You think the belt will save you, and for now maybe it would
"But to teach a faulty lesson here could do more harm than good
"You want something for nothing and that just is not the way
"In the sophisticated economic climate of today -
"You need trade! You need trade, not aid
"You need trade! I can't help until you've paid.
"You say that you're in trouble and my help is all you need
"But a culture of dependency is all that it would breed!"
"What's wrong with you, you maniac?" he answered with a yell,
"I'm drowning in the ocean and there's nothing here to sell!
"We can talk about your theories when I'm back upon the shore
"Now just throw the ****** life-belt out, I beg you, I implore!
"You have it in your power and you know that if you can
"You've a moral obligation to assist your fellow man!"
I told him, "You are selfish! This is difficult for me,
"D'you think a drowning person is a pleasant thing to see?
"You shouldn't be in the water if you haven't learned to swim!"
He said "You no-good lousy ******* it was you who pushed me in!"
Well this kind of moral blackmail made me look at him, aghast
And say, "There really is no virtue here in dwelling on the past,
"You need trade! You need trade, not aid
"You need trade! I can't help until you've paid.
"You say that you're in trouble and my help is all you need
"But a culture of dependency is all that it would breed!"
"Don't be so pessimistic," I advised him, "you are rich!
"The sea in which you're drowning must be lowping full of fish!"
"If that's what you're relying on," he said, "to judge my wealth,
"Then you know that I have nothing, 'cos you caught them all yourself!"
I said, "Well, you can't argue with the laws of competition
"You were wasting time by drowning when you should have been out fishin'!"
When finally he died I said, "My brother, I will miss you,
"But maybe more importantly, you've highlighted an issue:
"Drowning is a problem, and believe me, now you're gone,
"I'll be on the phone to Geldof, Ultravox and Elton John.
"We'll organise a concert so that everyone can see
"That drowning is a menace, we should make it history!
"Using trade! Using trade, not aid,
"Good, free trade, the grestest plan we've ever made,
"You say that you're in trouble and my help is all you need,
"But a culture of dependency's a rotten thing to breed!"
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 4:25 AM UTC
Back in my rebel days (yester)
I sported a spelunking bumper sticker
On my 1972 VW pop-up camper van
That read Free Floyd Collins
Totally apolitical well intentioned humor
Concerning one of my pasttimes that surprisingly
Never maimed or killed me
Whilst reporting for an official call for jury duty
The uptight and obviously a **** (did I just say that?)
Prosecutor enquired during jury selection
As to whether any of us prospectives
Had bumper stickers and if so
What they might say
The NRA sticker guy next to me
And the I'd Rather Be Fishin' and NASCAR
Sticker guy next to him
Passed with smugly flying colors
(red needless to say)
While the 72 year old nun
With the Amnesty International sticker
Didn't fair so well
And was promptly burned at the stake
(I kid you)
Needless to say
The long-haired Harvard educated
Native American
With the Doctors Without Borders
And the Remember Wounded Knee
With a not so discreet AIM sticker thrown in to boot
Also got the boot
Pondering the merits of the court stenographer's
Shapely fingers while judiciously confidently awaiting my turn
It never ocurred to me that Mr. Collins might be
So wrongly accused as to have me
Rejected and summarily ejected
From jury duty
A travesty of justice
I say
If for no other reason than I was so looking forward to
Sticking it to the Man
You can imagine my surprise and disappointment
As I wandered down to the Shamrock
To catch Terry O'Leary do a slam
And raise a glass to
Bobby Sands
r~ 22Feb14
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
I throw my gun in the back of my truck
With it I hope to **** a 12-point buck
While in the woods, BANG! I see the deer fall
I take him home, freeze the meat, and mount his horns on my wall
I grab my pole and tackle box and head to the lake
At this time in the morning, I feel barely awake
There is no school today, I’m glad there is no class
A mighty tug on my line, I hook a large mouth bass
There is nothing like hunting; waiting for the ****
Cutting and cleaning the meat my freezer I’ll soon fill
Deer steaks and deer jerky have such a great taste
And with his head on my wall nothing goes to waste
I like fishing, fishing is fun
Fishing underneath the rising sun
I like catching the fish and putting them in a net
Fish is a great dish when the table is set
My truck is unstoppable; it can’t beat
I slam the door and strap myself in the seat
I start the engine and press the gas to the floor
My truck takes off and my engine lets out a roar
I wouldn’t be able to hunt or fish if it wasn’t for my truck
With it I carry poles, guns, and my fallen buck
I pull my boat with my truck in four-wheel-drive
At my destination I always arrive
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
If I could draw it -
but I was never an artist.
What a picture that would be -
my family.
And maybe if I could trace the lines
I could better understand
how I came to be--me.
But I can't separate the smells
and sounds
and touch of it,
pencils can only go so far.
And there are the scenes
that I can only imagine.
The ones that happened
decades before me.
I see my grandpa's smiling face.
I don't remember him
as a brawling drunk
terrorizing his family
after world war II.
Granny smelled like powder
and liked men
though she would never admit it.
She talked a lot
but I don't remember ever
hearing any thing worthwhile.
The one I can't name.
He hurt me in the dark.
Mom Glass, the bootlegger,
who took her grandaughters
on Sunday trips up the mountain
to buy moonshine.
She wore red underdrawers
and she didn't care who knew.
Mammaw, who gave me words.
Who didn't know I was a refugee
but always welcomed me warmly.
She taught me the beauty
of being earthy.
No prim or proper uppity
girls fishin in the creek.
That one brought tears.
I miss her smile.
There are so many faces.
Voices.
Memories.
All contributed something
to the poem
I haven't written yet.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
Saudade bear whispers softly
To saudade moon
By which he used to gaze
By which he used to croon
Saudade bear has hearts 'stead of eyes
But each night he cries
To saudade moon
Saudade moon
She tries and tries
But all the saudade persons
Pile up and loose their eyes
Saudade person
Become saudade wishin' man
Then his eyes fall out
Right into his hand
He throws 'em in the wishing well
Under saudade moon
By which he used to gaze
By which he used to croon
Wishin' well is fishin' well
Where people come to eat
But eatin' days are over
And croonin' days all done
Saudade bear
Become just bear
Flat an' coarse, his small paw girth
Bring no more saudade birth
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
I cast my line and reel in my bait
I cast my line and it's a snake
I cast my line, a reprobate
How much longer till I break
Patience is not a lesson I care for
I like waiting even less
I say, "that's enough", You say, "there is more"
- I'm breaking, I must confess
Vice on my heart, squeezing out tears
Thoughts are swirling all of my fears
Ripples in the pond spread out from my float
All goes still, there is a lump in my throat
Chin in my hand
Slumped and alone
My pole, unmanned
Heart's monotoned
I have cast in shallow waters
And reeled in dregs
Wandered forbidden corridors
And near lost legs
How much longer must I wander?
I trust You not to tip my boat
Believe You've brought me where I float
You've kept my rod from breaking
But not my hands from aching
It's the catch that I doubt
It's all one endless bout
I'm trying to practice trust
Though my heart's dusted with crust
Fishing, endless fishin'
Waiting on fruition
Fishing, oh, endless fishin'
Perhaps I'll reposition
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 9:53 PM UTC
Dodo pie
***** the elephants -- **** em-
gimmi the ivo-ry
and ******** to the rhinos-
I need the horn fer me,
what's with this **** 'bout the
fishes, - n over fishin the sea,
slap the ******* on dishes-
coz I'm ****** hun-gry.
Alan nettleton.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 10:54 PM UTC
And now my friends a time has come, a time has come to die.
Like Summer leaves who's day must end, and fill the winter sky.
My Aunt is on her deathbed and her time is almost near,
oh Norma, my sweet Norma, let me whisper in your ear.
I remember Summer Sundays so many years ago,
my cousins Dave and Sammy with their fishin' poles in tow
we'd catch the evening dinner and a bottle fly or two.
Do you remember sweet Aunt Norma? Oh I hope you do.
And you'd toiled in the kitchen till you rang the dinner bell.
And barefoot Ginger would tell us to come in from the dell.
Hot biscuits, beans and apple sauce and catfish from the lake,
I would help crank the ice cream to go on the chocolate cake.
Only the fondest memories of you will I hold dear.
Oh Norma, my sweet Aunt Norma, your time is very near.
For my Aunt Norma
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
I stare in the mirror and what stares back?
An apoplectic apparition wishin' he could concentrate,
But wishin's only fishin' with a shoe string and a roll of tape.
Paranoia resonates, the social pressures shower down,
Gleaming rays of expectation force a smile upon my frown.
The neverending battle wages on between myself and I,
Then there's me and him and her and them and us~
*So what's the fuss? You paid a hefty fee to ride with us
Upon the crazy bus.
Buy the ticket, take the ride.
What's the matter, too much pride?
Untie your demons, let us fly.*
****
The knot has come undone.
Next time I'll have to use the gun.
But without us you'll be no fun!
That might be true...
Here's what I'll do.
I'll take these drugs to silence you
When I'm within the public view.
Then at night I'll let you out,
This rhyme scheme is getting kind of boring.
Yeah....
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
You see it happens every now and then
This whole world starts caving in
That's when I know it is time to go
Break a link in this chain
You see I thank my lucky stars I'm a Country Boy
And the concrete and blacktop really annoy
This down home backwoods kinda man
Have to leave this rat race when I can
You see the only thing that will give me a rest
Is miles full blue sky's I'm never stressed
My dog and a shotgun, or fishin pole.
Mother Nature you'll find my heart and soul
You see all I ever wanted in this here life
Are the simple things without any strife
I'm just a gentle laid back kinda man
Down home Country Boy yes I am
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Under the I-20 bridge
over the Chatta-
'hoochee suits me
fine as fishin' line
- I've been retried
and found
I ain't wanted
nothing but a winter coat -
my sweet mutt Woof
- an old six string Martin
and a 'frigerator carton
for sleeping in the winter wind
when the sun don't shine -
I don't have a bone to pick
- my fingers ain't quiet as quick
and nimble on a riff - my back is stiff
- but my voice is still whiskey
smooth and my words turn
water into thunderbird - wine
retried suits me just fine
- jailhouse jeans
and salvation army boots -
refried beans and cheap cheroots
- sitting on an old truck tire
around an open fire
I've been retried and trued
but I ain't yet retired -
somebody's got
to feed my dog -
sing some songs
- catch these fish
and start the fire -
drink a little *****
- 'neath the I-20 bridge
over the Chattahoochee
rivaaa····
r ~ 10/16/14
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
some cast lines into swift rivers
or vast seas of uncertainty
while others throw nets toward
rich stores of earthly treasure
ships piloted by the heart,
steer in fruitless pursuit
of elusive schools of love
a doughty fool forever waits
to harpoon longshot luck
a happenstance filled fate
Godly men cast nets
among flocks of people,
for they alone produce the
bountiful yields of bursting nets
for sons of Jonah and Ahab
a fruitless watch is foretold
self love’s only triumph
is a loveless end
remain a solitary fisher
gliding by on birch bark canoe
minding a compass of faith
Taj Mahal
Fishin Blues
jbm
NYC
4/9/89
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Those West Texas *******
Sure look pretty good to me,
On the way back home,
to Nashville Tennessee.
I don't wanna hang out,
to the east, west, south or north.
Gonna write me a song,
swingin on my front porch.
Crickets sing in the background,
while feet stomp this here oak,
Pass me the slide and I'll take you on down the road.
My woman says I drink too much, and I agree with her,
Tie the devil round the bottle, make me a fishin' lure.
This Road's mighty hard on poor souls, especially the likes of me,
Take your candid pictures now, drown your worries down by the sea.
From where I stand today,
At sixty three years old,
I've lived twice the life,
of any man I've ever known.
No makeup, I got real scars,
All from after hour bars.
Read my poetry palms girl,
tell me If I'm near or far.
Played every stop along the way,
Sometimes got out for free.
Look at this face child,
Don't reckon I owe a fee.
Leaving those West Texas *******
easier than it seems,
Gettin' back to my front porch is where I Wanna be.
_trf WPbumblefoot
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
we were born with death written on our arms.
you
wear it like a tattoo;
i wear it like a barcode that
god
stuck on the ******
cashier yells
“NEXT PLEASE”
& you try to get laser treatment.
smoking in graveyards the clouds sang.
we
fell in slow pieces.
nobody will recognise the tune.
god
has left us a sign,
sign reads:
GONE FISHIN’
i hold you crying in his hallway.
you started wearing death on your sleeve.
i
need a new skin;
you need to get a better shirt.
god
is not a dressmaker
but instead
a lover -
unbuttoning the words on my headstone.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
I cast my line into the water. The bobber bounced a few times and then rested on the surface slightly cocked to the side. I pulled my hat down low, just far enough to block the sun and still see the water. Everything was quiet. Tigger was running around the other end of the pond, looking for raccoons I guess. He went to the water and took a drink, then he took off into the woods. He’ll be back. I love that dog. I must have had him for 10 years now.
I lit up a cigarette, a Marb red. God, this is the life, man, just chillin, fishin. I had other things to do. I should be looking for a job I guess. I should probably be cleaning my apartment, or taking care of those overdraft fees, I forgot about those, **** Oh well, this is my day. The birds had started to sing again. I whistled along, Andy Griffith’s theme song, God’s gift to whistlin fishermen. I could feel the sun on my bare arms. That’ll be good for my tan. I took another drag on my cigarette, the air was calm enough that I could blow smoke rings. So I did, for about an hour.
Then out of the corner of my eye I saw the tip of my pole dip down a little, it did it again, again, and again. Finally the bobber disappeared under the water. I grabbed my pole and started to reel ‘er in. It was a catfish, about five pounds I’d say. This was perfect, I would get Tigger and we could go home and fry this sucker up, and I would drink a few brews, watch the game and go to bed. What a wonderful day. I called for Tigger, but he didn’t come out of the woods. Probably found one of those ***** So I walked around the pond to where I saw him go in. No matter how many times I called for him he didn’t come back. I searched for two whole hours but I couldn’t find my dog. He was gone.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
Bolting upright,
In a valley oh so green,
Adorned in white,
And seeing clouds dot the sky,
I realize with a starling realization,
"Oh **** I guess I died."
Make my way to the barn I saw,
See a spread on a table 30 foot wide,
I see Jesus with all his fellers,
Laughin' while sippin on wine.
I walk up to the Son,
And ask if I can have a seat,
He gestures to the empty seat to his left,
Apparently, he was waiting for me.
As Jesus laughs at a joke from John the Baptist,
I take a sip from my glass with a trembling hand,
Looking at our savior a gather the gumption to ask him an important question to me.
As he turns to me I feel my stomach drop,
He says,
"Go on my friend and ask."
I say to him,
"Oh Lord, how is it this came to be?"
He ponders this over a bite of trout,
Gesturing me to take a bite of my own.
As I chew on the tender meat he swallows and says.
"My boy, you were a bit gruff,
and crass I may say,
But you believed in me and dispite your rougher edges,
You never lost your faith."
I looked over to James,
Who's talking to Matthew,
Debating the best kind of fly for fishin,
And Jesus continues to me.
"While you stumbled a time or two,
And did some things that made me shake my head,
You did your best to be a better man,
So for that you can join in on this little meal,
and feast here with my friends."
I take in the scene before me,
The surrealness of it all,
And a smile creeps along my face,
But quickly falls with the same pace,
"But what of my family Jesus,
Are they alright after my death?"
He turns to me,
A smile in his eyes,
and lays my concerns at ease.
"They'll grieve you,
and in time they'll just join you here,
But for now let's finish up,
Because Mary makes a mean cobbler"
Jan 20, 2023
Jan 20, 2023 at 9:09 PM UTC
he left you,
you text charlie again
"where are you my love?"
to your plea, the response is clear.
gone fishin'.
"ill be back when i'm ready,"
the harlot says
in the midst of the chaos.
to be brought back to abnormality by the sound of his insecurities leading to your own demise.
you're not crazy.
i'm not crazy.
i am not crazy.
to the mountains and skies,
my brightness and light.
to the burrows and shade,
brought out at late.
i'm questioning my peace of mind
trying to justify another's.
say it out loud in your head, in my head.
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 8:16 AM UTC