Everyone has to have a cell phone incase they get attacked by a bear or a street gang today. You know what we did in my day, if we got attacked. We died! That's what we did. We didn't need no stinkin cell phone.

In my day the forth of July was a day to barbecue burgers and to celebrate the freedoms we helped to earn. You kids today just eat burgers you bought at Burger Barn and freely pass gas.

"What day was yesterday?"
"Why, Grandpap?"
"'Cause I want to know what day tomorrow will be?"

Everybody died today,
metamorphosis - never completed.
Maturity entrapped the folks,
even the children, teeny, tiny babes,
The stars never danced in their eyes;
the sky wouldn't allow Starry Nights.
I only ever told stories, those Wisdoms
passed on from my grandpap,
dissed in the corners of the streets,
I look up for my internal stars
and wish these people would combust
and finally clear the air
so my grandpap could breathe.

he only wanted to be heard


7/30/14
PPropper

Weather forecasters never know what the weather is going to be. They're lucky to know what it was like an hour ago. If I want to know what the weather is going to be I ask my knees. They know more than those pasty weather bunnies, and they look better too.

Oh' Grandpap......

When I was young, if I got a pair of sox for Christmas, it was a Christmas miracle; and I was happy......enough said.

Tattoos? I have a tattoo. It was given to me by the North Koreans, when they shot me in the arm. When I wiggle it, I can make it dance, I mean cry, and I cover it up so no one sees it. These kids today pay to scar up their faces! What's next, selling water in a can?

Look on the bright side, things could be worse.
You could've hired Paula Dean to cater your
Kwanza party this winter. ..... Awkward......

In my day the only thing that started with I that was used for finding information and checking out women was EYE. No pad pod phone gizmo. I used my own eyes and actually left my house!!

A full century ago
Our mothers played church
Up on the hay-wagon.
They sang hymns
And took turns being preacher.
I can hear her telling me

And tonight one sister’s son
Will stand up tall and weave
A tapestry of notes
So beautiful ...
A heart, or two, or more
Will feel something
Much deeper than
Shining brass, the rustling of winter clothes, or applause

The other sister’s son, well...
He’ll shuffle to the porch,
Look up and turn his head
To see if he can hear
The long arc of a single note.
The silver cord,
Grandpap used to sing about.

And then he’ll cry,
For this is real.
It is no game.
A passing cloud, each song,
a bird, even bread.
Is held a little longer.
Clasped and pondered,
like a letter
Before it is sent away.

It took this long,
and this much loss and gain.
Things held tight and then let go.
Reluctantly
To learn
This life is good,
And why old men
Can cry so easily