"kelso" poems
On the south side of kelso if it's there that ya choose to go
Well if its there ya go then ya just gotta know bout a man named tweaker joe
Now tweaker, he's a scrapper and if ya go down on his door
Don't you worry about wakin him up. He aint slept since 74
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than a five eared dog
Now tweaker hes a scrapper and he likes his shiny things
And he likes to see what fun he has by the chaos that he brings
He got a custom BMX bike with a flashlight on the grill. He got 32 lb of brass in his pack, he got a dope bag in his shoe.
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
NOW Friday bout a week ago Tweaker scrappin cars. But at the end of the alley sat a cop named Thurman and ooh dat cop looked ******
Well he cast his light upon joe cuz Thurman had a plan
Tweaker joe learned a lesson bout messin with a future Sherriff man
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
Well the 2 men took to runnin and hes dragged down to the jail
Joey looked like a wrung out tweaker with a couple of teeth left
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
Well he's weird, weird tweaker joe
The weirdest tweaker in South Kelso
Weirder than a three toed frog
Stranger than s five eared dog
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 9:04 AM UTC
**** that little willy'd ****** *** lick'n; Skid mark sitt'n
Horror written; Square to circle fitt'n
Kid in frame lifted; Menapose acting
Habit of rabidly crashing into walls of madness;
Precision in his crack-head tactics;
Sky's backdrop to average;
Newspaper wrapped is this devil's package;
He's a mask filled with gas from a bean eating flaccid fascist;
Disrespectful **** sack;
A testament to where God's blessing had left his breath;
And bitten lip was given; Heaven's sin times seven;
Building this living devil hell hole;
Logic of Kelso; Autistic clap of the elbows;
Destined for death row;
Festering hatred, New York to Sacramento;
Hitler's stencil by broke'n pencil;
Bigger ***** then Elmo;
Range of insanity; With driver in hand, You tee up family;
Frantically filling fantasy of being calamity personified as Anthony
Majority holder in depressions percentage;
Son of a Prada wearing father; Regarded by all as Caustic;
Temper Atomic; Reasoning Neurotic
Monotonic **** You
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
This poem was written in response to the senseless slaying of Kayla Chapman, a local convenience store clerk in Kelso WA who was brutally gunned down after complying with robbers requests for money and cigarettes. She was such a neat person.
A slight streak of purple,
A smile like a flower,
A warm friendly voice, In a late midnight hour,
You added so much, to our own little hood,
You brightened our nights, and made us feel good.
Now you're not here, I cannot believe,
Your bright light's been stolen,
For that we all grieve.
We won't let this stop,
We won't let this rest,
Till all those responsible, are put to the test.
Your life wasn't meaningless,
Your life was so dear,
A smile on a dark night, A welcoming ear.
I give you this poem
, from my heart, through my tears,
I'll never forget you Through all of the years.
God bless you Kayla Chapman, you touched my heart
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
I understood I would never marry,
buy a house, have kids,
mow the lawn on Saturday,
wash cars, clean the pool.
I had an atypical plan,
thinking back, for my life:
a wanderer, adventurer or pilgrim
without want of firm roots.
Each destination a chance happening,
an introduction to the unexamined.
Sidewalks, cafes, alleyways, and life
being lived, journaled for remembrance.
The North Country, New York;
Watertown, Carthage, Clayton and Ogdensburg,
strolling their streets dripping
history and memoirs never told.
Lassoing thoughts from wild conversation
with caffeinated coffee shop poets,
struggling with Calvinistic thought streams
and priests in moments of doubt.
My theories in marble.
Gently chiseled with each interaction,
chipped, thoughts evolve
leaving inference among spilt beans.
All memories and dreams mingle.
l hold them gently.
As midnight creeps I’m untethered,
drifting from the shoal once more.
Suddenly I sense wonder:
The Appalachian Trail at Katahdin,
Continental divide at Loveland Pass,
Mount Hood from Pacific Crest.
Have you ever witnessed
views of Mojave’s Kelso Dunes?
Felt the Great Basin’s rainshadow chill,
or contemplated Joshua Trees in prayer?
Often the life of could have been
is more lucid than I am,
kneeling gnarled,
pulling obstinate weeds.
Shallow breath’d and gazing… scanning
my cut grass, clear pool,
a loving wife, adoring children,
my home…
This man,
mind wandering,
acquiesces,
to clarity of thought.
I would have… could have
been that man, that other life,
a Walter Mitty dreaming
a life; mine.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Arthur Benjamin Franklin: my Unca Artie, my favorite. A High School football star, known as Red Franklin, he was famous for his dark red hair. He used to chuck me into deep water at Chrystal Pool to terrify me for 5 seconds, then hoist me onto his broad shoulders.I suspect I was his favorite too. War came and he had to go. I cried and cried on the herringbone patterned bricks at the train depot in Kelso. I have a v-mail he sent to my mom, his sister, dated 1942. He was a belly gunner on the B-17’s that were flying the area where Rommel was fighting. He brought my sis and I back little leather suitcases, tooled in wonderful designs by a skilled artist somewhere in the orient. I still have it. A treasure.
Grover Cleveland Franklin: My suave uncle, joined the Navy in WWII and became a deep sea diver. The kind that wore those heavy suits with the big glass bubble head. He helped detect and destroy mines around battleships. In doing that brave work he lost his hearing and came home as a lip reader for most of my childhood. I was always a bit suspicious because he seemed to read lips so well. He even got written up in the newspaper because he could sing while putting his hands on a phonograph and feeling the vibrations of the music he couldn’t hear. We kids would always try to make loud noise behind him but he never once reacted to it.
Many years later I learned that he confessed that his hearing had gradually came back. He was a hero nevertheless.
About their names: Both being born in North Carolina, back in the 1920’s it was common practice among the country folk to name sons after famous people. I also have another distant relative named George Washington Franklin. I love having hillbilly DNA.
May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 6:28 PM UTC
Dreaming Bob Wills
Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys performed
my life in a six song set in Tulsa
in late forty-seven. Only a dream but they swung
through San Antonio Rose and Don't Be Ashamed of Your Age,
Tiny, Kelso, Smokey, Johnny and Herb playing it
***** ***** Tommy crooning
my ups and downs and Bob,
who put a fine point
on an uneven performance
with his running commentary of high “ahh ha's”.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC