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Victor Thorn Dec 2010
jack casual was a hard workin' man,
put bread on the table,
kept the roof over our heads,
and kept that dog, nellie, from gettin' 'er sorry be-hind run over.
yep, ol' jack was worth his salt.
he used to play his acoustic for us
when we were tikes,
back when we had an air conditioner.

when it broke down,
ol' gran-pappy,
jack's dad,
had him run out to the store to buy a window unit
and a slurpie.
then pappy would stagnate all day
in the back room while we sweltered,
and he'd send me on errands on my bike,
and read week-old newspapers,
and yell at jack to
"pay the ******* bills"
at four in the morning.

jack wanted to send him to a "home",
but mama never did like them.
she said they were "unsafe",
"unsanitareh",
and "unhospitible".
so gran-pappy stayed.

yes sir-ee, gran-pappy stayed
for three long years
with his banjo
and the growin' pile of slurpie cups in the corner
of that back room where it was cool.
until that one night
when gran-pappy called mama
a name the dog had done learned to respond to,
and mama said,
"jack,
just put him in the home!
a lady shouldn't be treated upon
in this mannuh."

that was the last i ever did see
of ol' gran-pappy,
but i still remember the last words he said to us:

"...and bring me back a slurpie,
it's one hot ******* up in here
and i need somethin'
to cool me off a spell!"
Copyright 2010 by Victor Thorn- From Losing It
John Stevens Jul 2010
When Mom died in June of 1991 Dad was rather lost,
like the rest of us. I started writing little letters in
big print so he could read them. He would not talk on
the phone so this was the only way to make contact.
I found out later that he carried them around in his
bib overall pocket and pulled them out from time to time.
Occasionally they would get washed and when Sharon
let me know I would run off another copy and mail it.
It became a means for me to remember the past and help
Dad at the same time. My kids loved to hear stories of
when I was a kid so I would recycle the stories between
the kids and Dad. Now as I read them it is a reminder of
things that have become a little fuzzy over the years,
also a reminder that I need to fill in the gaps of the stories
and leave them for my kids before it is too late. So here it is,
such as it is, if you are interested.

=======================================

    Letter­s to Dad

    Nov. 14, 1991

    Dear Dad,
    Your grandkiddies, as you call them,
    send you a big hug from Idaho. Sara is
    five and in Kindergarten this year and
    doing very well. Kristen is in the forth
    grade and made the Honor Roll list the
    first quarter of the year. We are very
    proud of both of our girls.

    Do you remember when toward late
    afternoon you and I would get in the car
    and “Drive around the block” as you
    always said? We would go up to Cliff’s
    and go east for a mile then down past
    Cleo Mae house and on back home. I
    remember you would stop at the junk
    piles and I would find neat stuff, like
    wheels from old toys, that I could make
    into my toys. I think of those times often.
    It was very enjoyable.

    I will be writing to you in the BIG PRINT
    so you can read it easier.

    It is snowing lightly here today. Supposed
    to be nasty weather for a while.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ——————————————————–

    Dec. 3, 1991

    Dear Dad,

    Just a note to say we love you. I miss very
    much talking to Mom on the phone and
    having you play Red Wing on your harmonica.

    I remember quite often when I was very
    young, 4 or 5, and we would go out to the
    field to change the water or something.
    The sand burrs would be so thick and you
    would pick me up on your back. I would
    put my feet into your back pockets and
    away we would go.

    These are the things childhood memories
    are supposed to be made of. Kristen and
    Sara love to hear the stories about when I
    was a kid and what you and I did
    together. I try with them to build the
    memories that they can tell their kids.
    Thanks Dad for a good childhood.

    Bye for now.
    Kristen and Sara send you a kiss and a
    hug.

    Your son, John

    —————————————————–

    Jan. 12, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    We went to Oregon for Christmas and
    had very good traveling weather. Do you
    remember when you and Mom went with
    us once to Oregon at Christmas and
    there were apples still hanging on the
    tree by the Williams house? We made
    apple pie from the apples that you
    picked. Turned out to be pretty good pie.
    There weren’t any apple on the tree this
    year. I thought of you picking the apples
    and bringing them into the kitchen in
    your hat if I remember right.

    We have had some pretty good times
    together. I was thinking the other day
    about a picture that I took of you about
    12 years ago. It captured you as I will
    always remember you. If I can locate it in
    all the stuff, I would like to get it blown
    up and submit it to the art section at the
    Twin Falls County Fair this year.

    I hope this finds you feeling well. I love
    you Dad. Kristen and Sara send you a
    kiss and a hug.

    Oh yes, I would like for you and Tracy to
    sit down sometime and talk about when
    you were a kid and record it on tape. I
    would like to put your remembrances
    down on paper.

    Bye for now.

    Your son, John

    ———————————————————

    Feb. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Happy Valentine’s Day!!

    Spring is on the way and soon you will be
    85. Just a spring chicken, right? I hope I
    can get around as well as you do by the
    time I am 85.

    Thanks for the letter. I will keep it for a
    very long time. It is the first letter I have
    received from my Father in 48 years.

    Talked to Ed the other day. He said he
    talked to you on the phone and that you
    were wearing your hearing aids and
    glasses. Great! Mom would be proud of
    you.

    Talked to a guy last week who is
    president of the John Deer tractor group
    here. He invited me to bring my “M”
    John Deer to the County Fair and
    participate in the tractor pull contest.
    Might just do that.

    Well the page is filling up using these big
    letters but if it makes it easier to read it is
    worth it.

    Bye for now Dad, I love you. Pennye,
    Kristen and Sara send their love too.

    Your son, John
    —————————————————-
    April 13, 1992

    Dad

    Though the years have past and you are now
    85, you are still the same as when I was a
    child. The memories of going with you to the
    field, when you were “riding the ditch”,
    surveying in a lateral, loading up the turkeys
    in the old Ford truck and taking them to the
    “Hoppers” - is just as if it were yesterday. I
    think of you playing Red Wing on the harp. I
    remember when during the looong cold
    winters we would play checkers. You would
    always beat me. I learned to play a good game.

    Not much has changed except we are both
    much older now. The values you did not speak
    but lived out in front of me has helped make
    me what I am today. I pray that I will be a
    good example before my children to help them
    on their way through life.

    On your 85th birthday, I want to wish you a
    Happy Birthday and thank you for being my
    Father.

    Love
    John

    April 13, 1992

    ————————————————–

    June 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    I hope this finds you well. The Stevens
    family in Twin Falls Idaho is having a
    busy summer. Kristen just finished the
    fourth grade and was on the Honor Roll
    for the entire year. Sara will now be a
    big First Grader next year.

    The other day we went out to eat and
    Kristen had chicken and noodles. She
    said, “This tastes just like Grandma
    Nellie’s noodles.” I hope they can keep
    these memories fresh and remember all
    the good times we had back in Nebraska.
    It is difficult to accept that things have
    changed and will never be the same again.
    We miss the weekly phone calls to Nebraska.

    It is clouding up and we might get rain
    this week. It is very dry around here.
    Some of the canals will be cut off in July.

    Bye for now.

    Your Son John

    Love you Dad. I think of you often.

    —————————————————-

    June 22, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Hope you had a good “HAPPY PAPPY”
    day. This note is to wish you a late
    “HAPPY PAPPY” day.

    I was thinking the other day about the
    times you would take me roller skating
    out at the fair ground on Sunday
    afternoons. I really enjoyed those times. I
    remember how you could give a little hop
    and skate backwards. For me staying on
    my feet was a challenge.

    Sara will be 6 years old June 29. Seems
    like yesterday when she was born. Time
    has a way of passing very quickly.

    Love you lots Dad. The family sends their
    love too.

    Bye for now.
    John

    —————————————————

    Aug. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Just a note to let you know that your
    Idaho family love you. It was good to talk
    to you for a minute or two the other day.
    I miss the harmonica playing you would
    do over the phone.

    We are all well even though the place
    was covered with smoke from all the
    forest fires last week. It got a little hard
    on the lungs at times but the smoke has
    moved on now. Probably went over
    Nebraska.

    Talked to brother Ed the other day. He
    had just returned from from Nebraska.
    Ed said you looked good for 85.

    Bye for now.

    John

    —————————————————–

    Sept. 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    I am sending a copy of what Mom sent
    me a few years ago of what she
    remembered about growing up. I wish I
    had more. How about sitting down with
    Tracy and Sharon and telling them some
    of the things you remember about
    growing up? They can record it and I will
    put it on paper. I would really like that.

    We are ok here in Idaho. Summer had
    disappeared and it is school time again.
    Kristen is in the 5th grade and Sara is in
    the 1st grade. The family went to the
    County Fair today for the second time.
    One day is enough for me.

    I think of you often and love you Dad.
    Thinking of the good times we had
    together while I was growing up always
    makes me happy. You and Mom raised
    four pretty good kids.
    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    —————————————————–

    Oct. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    We are fine out in Idaho. We are having
    beautiful fall weather. It has not frozen
    enough to get our tomato plants yet.

    Kristen and Sara are doing very well in
    school. They brought home their mid
    term report cards and are getting A’s
    and a B or two.

    Remember when we would go out in the
    corn field and pick the corn by hand? I
    would drive the tractor and you and Ed
    and Wayne picked the corn and threw it
    in the trailer. You guys kept warm from
    the work and I was freezing on the
    tractor. Before that we used the horses
    named Brownie and - was it Blackie?
    The one that kept getting out up north by
    the ditch was Brownie. He figured out
    how to open the gate.

    I remember the times that you were
    hauling cane or sorghum from the field
    east of Mercers and I would ride behind
    the wagon on my sled.

    I had a very good childhood really.
    Thanks for being my Dad.

    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ——————————————————-

    Nov. 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    It is snowy here and cold. I have a hole in
    the back of the house I must get sealed up
    to keep the cold out. We are redoing this
    part for the kitchen.

    Kristen and Sara made the Honor Roll
    this quarter in school. Kristen’s teacher
    said he wished he had a whole room full
    of Kristens to teach.

    Sorry the phone connection was so bad
    when I called the other day. It was good
    to here you say “hello hello….” any way.
    Glad you are feeling better.

    Your account in the credit union is about
    $34,000 now.

    I was just thinking back when we were
    cultivating corn with that “crazy wheel
    cultivator”. The one that you drove the
    tractor and I rode on the cultivator and
    used the foot pedals to steer it down the
    rows. I remember sometimes it cleaned
    out some of the corn row. Cultivator
    blight, right? It was kind of hard to keep
    straight. Those were the days.

    I keep remembering little bits of things
    while growing up. Sometime I will put
    them all together for my kids to read
    about the “good ole days”.

    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ————————————————
    Dec. 17, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    The snow has fallen and the kids stayed
    home from school today. The wind is now
    blowing so it will begin drifting the road
    shut. Besides that the whole family is sick
    with a cold.

    We are putting together a Christmas gift
    to you but it won’t be ready for
    Christmas. It is something that you can
    watch over and over if you want. So
    Merry Christmas for now.

    Last night was the kids’ school Christmas
    program. Kristen started playing the
    flute this fall and played with a group for
    the first time this week. She did very well
    and I got it on video.

    Time to get this in the mail. Love you
    Dad.
    Bye for now.

    Kristen and Sara send you a kiss and a
    hug.
    Your son, John

    ——————————————————

    Jan. 11, 1993

    Dear Dad,

    We have a lot of snow on the ground
    now. I was telling the family about the
    winter of 49 where the snow covered the
    door and you had to scoop the snow into
    the house to dig a tunnel out then haul
    the snow out through the tunnel. That
    was a 15 foot drift wasn’t it? It sure
    looked big to this 6 year old. Then the
    plane flew over the house for a few days
    until we could get out and signal an OK.
    Those were the days! What I do not
    remember is how you took care of the
    cows and stuff during this time. I
    remember being sick and Wayne took the
    horse and rode into Broadwater to get
    oranges and something else. The big
    white dog we had went along and was hit
    by a car. Wayne had to use a fence post
    to finish him off. I remember feeling very
    sad about the old dog.
    We haven’t had this much snow in 8
    years.

    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are with you all.
    Bye for now. Love you Dad
    The family send a BIG Hi!!!!

    Your son, John

    —————————————————-

    Feb. 9, 1993

    Dear Dad,

    When the kids go to bed they say “Tell us
    a story about when you were a kid on the
    farm”. So I tell them things that I write
    to you and a LOT that I don’t write to
    you. The other day going to school we
    were talking about one of the first snow
    falls we had this year. I spun the van
    around in circles in the parking lot and
    they thought that was GREAT fun. Then
    I told them about the time that their
    Grandpa cut some circles in the Kelly
    School yard and hit a pole with the back
    fender. Do you remember that? I
    remember Mom bringing it up every now
    and then. Then there was the time you
    got a little close to the guard posts along
    the highway just west of Broadwater and
    ripped the spare tire and bracket off the
    old Jeep. Of course none of US ever did
    anything like that. HA.

    It is good to remember back and tell the
    kids about the things we did “in the old
    days”. They find it hard to believe there
    was no TV and I walked through rattle
    snake country to go to the neighbors to
    play. It WAS a good time for me and I
    had a GOOD Dad to help me grow up.
    Thanks again Dad. You and Mom did a
    very good job on us four kids. Sometimes
    we don’t show it often enough but I for
    one thank you and LOVE you.

    Soon you will have another birthday.
    Before you know it you will be 90. I
    should be so lucky.

    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are with you all. Bye for now. Love you
    Dad
    The family send a BIG Hi!!!!

    Your son, John

    —————————————————–

    Mar. 9, 1993

    Dear Dad,
    Time has a way of disappearing so
    rapidly. I was going to write you a note
    two weeks ago and now here we are.

    It looks like spring is just about to arrive.
    I am ready for it. I’ll bet you are ready to
    get out side and do something. Do you
    miss not farming? I think often about the
    farm and the things we used to do. The
    kids always ask for stories about being on
    the farm. I tell them about raising a
    garden, rattlesnakes, floods, the BIG
    ONE in 49, anything that comes to mind.

    The family went to Sun Valley about 70
    miles north of here Sat. with Kristen’s
    Girl Scout troop for a day of ice skating.
    Pennye used the VCR and played back
    their falls and no falls. It reminded me of
    the times you would get your old clamp-
    on skates on a cut a figure on the ice. I
    never was very good at it. You could hop
    up and turn around. I couldn’t stay of
    my back side and head. I still have a big
    dent in the back of my head from the last
    time I tried. Nearly killed me. So much
    for that.

    Next month you will have another
    birthday. 86 years! Before you know it
    you will be 90.

    I paid your insurance for another year
    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are w
beans Sep 2013
an old man insists that you are his father. you cannot get rid of him. he is everywhere. always nagging "papa, pepep", but you don't respond

because you are most certainly not his father; that would be absurd. but he doesn't know that. he wants his pep pep.

you tell the police "get this old man away from me, keep him out" but they cannot find him. "elusive" they say. "cold case"

but you hear him always, whispering in your ear. "pep pep, make garlic bread." "pappy, cook toast, I'm hungry!"

no one can see him, no one can hear him nag. the old man drives you mad, he is your old man, and you are his pep pep

are you his pappy? are you? you are his pep pep, his pap. are you still his pappy? you are his pep, his pappy pep, his pep pep mcpaps

FIN
Part 1:
He looked out the third floor window of his office, wistfully, at the last of the students going home for the summer.  The exodus had started Friday and today, Monday, was the last day they had to vacate their rooms.

Father Frank Fitzsimmons O.S.A. (Order of Saint Augustine) was the building prefect for Alumni Hall. It was the university's oldest building and dated back to the Civil War. It had gone through a myriad of uses over the years and was now the largest male dorm on campus.

Father Frank had a heavy heart as he watched the last of the students load up their cars and SUV’s heading either home or to one of the many beach communities along the Jersey Shore.  Villanova University catered to an upper crust student body, and many had summer homes sitting and waiting for their yearly sojourn.

Watching the students leave was not what was weighing on Father Frank’s heart.  For the past six months he had been having a crisis of faith, and his daily interaction with students had been a welcome distraction from the dark empty questions his conscience held.

As the building prefect, Father Frank had an office on the third floor.  His job was to mentor and counsel the more than 300 students who occupied the building from September until May.  He lived in the Augustinian Monastery directly across from Alumni Hall, and it was a short 30 second walk both to and from work.

Normally, Father Frank would have closed down his office and spent the summer in the monastery with the older retired priests.  Many of whom he had had as teachers and professors when he had attended Villanova just 15 years before. This summer would be different …

Because of construction and renovations, his apartment was needed to house several of the older priests who had been suffering with debilitating health problems.  He had been asked to stay in Alumni Hall for the summer, until the work was completed, and the students were back for the Fall semester.

Father Frank knew the first students to come back would be the football team when they arrived for summer camp in mid-August. That would be a full 3 months from now. He was the only young (under 40) priest on campus, and it would be a long and lonely 3 months dealing with the solitude and the weight of his uncertainty.

He thought about moving a cot into his office but decided to stay in the now empty dorm room next door.  Sitting on its twin bed brought back memories of when he had lived in this very building just one floor below.

Frank had been a defensive back on the 1962 Villanova ‘Wildcat’ Football Team that had faced Oregon State in the Liberty Bowl.  Oregon State had the country’s best player and Heisman Trophy winner, Terry Baker, at quarterback.  The game ended with a score of 6-0 resulting from a 99-yard run for a touchdown by Baker.  It would be the only score of the game.  Frank had had one shot at tackling Baker but had missed his chance when Baker juked around him at the 25-yard line.  Although 15 years had passed, the wound was still fresh every time Frank walked by the stadium and the memories came flashing back.

Frank’s favorite coach had been one of the assistants, **** Moore, who everyone called Pappy.  Pappy had a habit of saying just the right thing, at the appropriate time, to keep players motivated and moving in the right direction. Pappy was an Augustinian Brother and had been on campus since being a Chaplain’s Assistant during World War 2.

He also had a physical move that accentuated his instruction. Pappy would lower his shoulder and tackle a player lifting him up while shaking him back and forth. He did this until the player repeated what he had just told him.  It became a badge of honor, on the Wildcat Football Team, to count the number of times Pappy had lifted you off the ground and force fed you the truth.

Part 2:
It took less than an hour to get his new room set up with his personal effects from the monastery, and Frank decided to go for a run … anything to try and escape the questions that became worse during periods of inactivity.

As anyone who has lived alone will tell you, after an extended period of time, the world takes on a new normalcy and the days repeat in quiet monotony.  Frank still took his meals at the monastery but because of the age difference, he didn’t have much in common with the older priests to spark interesting conversations.  Mostly, they reminded him of the almost great victory over Oregon State, and how if they were to play the game again Villanova would surely win.  This was the LAST thing Frank wanted to hear.

Father Frank continued to say the Sunday morning 10:30 a.m. Mass at the campus chapel connected to the monastery.  Other than that, the days dragged on.

It was now Friday, July 5th, and Frank had gone to bed early.
The tower clock, outside his window, showed 2:00 a.m. when he was awakened by a noise on the other side of his door.  After clearing the sleep from his eyes, he decided to take a look.  He knew the building was locked, and no maintenance worker would be working this late.

He walked the long distance to the other end of the hall using his hand, sliding along the left side of the corridor wall, as a guide.  When he came to its end, he turned around and headed back.

To Cut Costs, All Of The Auxiliary Lights Had Been Turned Off For The Summer

Halfway down the hall, he heard the noise again and he stopped.  This time, it seemed to be coming from his room. He started to walk the rest of the way but was suddenly confronted by someone or something in front of him blocking his passage.  As he started to struggle, he was lifted off the ground and shaken back and forth.  Conflicting and confusing memories came rushing back, and he went into full denial as to what might be happening.  Before he could get one word out of his mouth, he was back on his feet and whoever or whatever had assaulted him was gone.

He took a hurried step toward his room and immediately slipped on something wet on the dark floor. Still rattled from what had happened, he rushed back, locked the door, and got into bed. Had it been a bad dream or was it possibly something more … something at face value he couldn’t reconcile?

Frank woke up early still wondering if it had all been a bad dream.  He walked back down the hall and could see what he had slipped on the night before.  A small puddle of water was lying in the middle of the floor.  Looking up, Frank saw nothing dripping from the ceiling.  He went back to his room, got a towel, and wiped up the spill before going to the monastery for breakfast.

Upon returning from breakfast, he was stunned at what he saw.  The puddle had reappeared in exactly the same spot as before. Again, Frank wiped it up and went on with his day, but the small puddle continued to reappear.

Frank decided to take a new tack….

Before going to bed on the second night, he wiped up the puddle with his towel and covered the spot with a stool to confirm it was coming from a leak somewhere above. The next morning the stool was still in place, and had not moved, but the water had reappeared again directly underneath it on the floor.

Every time Frank had wiped up the spot, he noticed that something was happening inside of himself. The water that was cleaned up was washing the conflict and doubt out of his spirit, and he felt a lightness that he hadn’t experienced since his ordination almost 10 years ago.

The water continued to reappear all summer until the first student athletes arrived back on campus.  That first day, there was knock on Frank’s office door and a freshman football player was standing there with a stool in his hand.  “Father Frank, does this stool belong to you?  It was sitting in the middle of the hall and this small bottle was sitting under it.”  “Yes, it’s mine, thanks for returning it.  I used it as a marker in the dark hall this summer.”

Frank looked at the tiny cut glass bottle which was whole in its design … it had no cork or ***** off top.  It was solid all the way around.

Fifty years later, that small bottle sat on Frank’s night table in the monastery across the way. He was now one of the older priests having spent his life in service to the university and students he loved.  Since that Summer Of Doubt, so many years ago, his faith had been as secure and contained as the Holy Water inside the bottle.

Every time he looked at it, he made a silent prayer that started with … “Thanks Pappy.’

Kurt Philip Behm: June, 2024
TiffanyS Dec 2012
This is for all my true friends,
They will be with me to the very end,
They will do anything to make me happy,
My best friend used to be my pappy

He passed away a few years ago,
He picked me up when I was feeling low,
When he died he took with him a little girl,
That girl turned into a lady ready to face the real world

I walked up a ramp one day,
Looked for help but it was too far away,
I broke down,
People were looking from all around
A Simillacrum Feb 2019
Offer up some of your dollar,
get ready,
to win, to lose
a little bit.

Offer up some of your gusto,
get on down,
to the local
gambling hall.

Offer up some of your love,
baby doll, don't kick me,
kiss me, when I'm down.
STLR Nov 2016
I've spent too many hours trying tower my accomplishments
I stole this art, replaced my heart with everything that's opposite
reverse the hearse, this inner peace is quite a compliant
my yin and yang are but centerpieces upon a ledge
if they fall off, these elements will simply crush a head
solar optimist, a bi-polar writer with floppy-disk
decoded so you can't comprehend

no counter weight for this heavyweight of a mentalist
as I pick up the pen you can see that a flame was lit
since this is my movie, let's keep it groovy and toss the script
I can't wait to show the world what the **** monumental is!

this flow is brilliant to extravagant
I guess what I'm feeling is happiness?
no resilience happening?
Still, don't know who my pappy is

happy pieces of laughy taffy
enough motion from the potion
will have a girl callin me pappy quick

I stay railing like locomotives
the motive is, I'm to motived and focus with all this poetry
unleash my inner locust, then leap on to new pageantry  
I'm well adapted like strangers blending into scenes
I gave her the wood in return we nurtured a tree
its double sided girl this **** isn't ever free
If you don't like the price
there's the door you can leave

but look
I know I don't have a car
but soon I will buy a Toyota
pick you up so you can sleepover
I have a super cobra that shots like a super soaker
whenever you're doing yoga
Hulu view for the two,
Youtube view interlude
Netflix an Chill for the mood
Tv on dimmest setting
an inner room lit like the moon
smoking **** watching views
give me snack like I'm ****** do
I just want to lay with you

I picked you out of the many few
from the ocean of this social media stew
girl, what would you like me to do?


November 22, 2016 / Tuesday 1:37 PM
Drafted in hello poetry -
November 22, 2016 / Tuesday 1:40 PM (First Offical Hello Poetry Poem)
Turkey hunting with his pappy
The dogs let loose into the marsh
Birds flew out, and guns went off
The end result was rather harsh
Willie Joe jumped first at nothing
Shot at turkeys in the air
First shot missed, but hit a target
He'd shot Jim Joseph in the ear

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

Jolene was all set for college
Had a baby on the way
One quick fling in the hay with Joseph
There was nothing left for her to say
Joseph stood and did deny it
Said that Jolene told a lie
Jolene's daddy got his shotgun
And with no wedding, Joseph'd die

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

The wedding went off without trouble
Both families were there in force
Jolene's dad had brought his shotgun
The best man was old Joseph's horse
The moonshine flowed like holy water
There was no jar that wasn't filled
And through it all, poor pregnant Jolene
Wondered who would end up killed

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

The preacher preached and people listened
Amened here and there throughout
A few well placed hallelujahs
Praise the lord was heard no doubt
All dressed in black with eyes just shining
He couldn't have done smiled more
For who in town knew that the preacher
Owned the gun and ammo store?

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
And the preacher would refill the gun.
Brian McDonagh Jun 2020
Parties, sleepovers,
and making it to the weekend
were and are familial excuses
to pull out foods I drool[ed] over
such as fried chicken in the evening
and donuts in the mornings.

Another special fun-food excuse I recall
was a time my Granny and Pappy (maternally related)
patiently endured a three-hour car ride
to visit my family in West Virginia.

[The mystery of their visits
Is how my dad successfully shrouds himself
the majority of the time his in-laws so lodge.]

Something as simple as a supper
felt like a Cold War:
My dad and Pappy
seated at either end of the table.
The sour taste of the evening
wasn’t the skim milk I almost drank.
with saucy spaghetti,
But how my grandfather offered me
a disproportionate beverage
(I had a harder time rejecting offers, then)
and how my dad softly yet sternly
shook his head to my left
with a frowned mouth and anger-stirred eyebrows.

My dad would have been louder
about saving my stomach the trouble
had I not been fearful of loud voices
other than my own,
Whether with sarcastic laughter included
or loud with revealing words.

Caught in the middle as always,
I listened to my dad,
mentally recalling my last comsumable experiment:
When I swallowed rigatoni pasta
without giving the due mechanical digestion.
My stomach acid was angry with my pathetic transition
from eating pasta and feeling fine
to constant flushing behind closed doors.



My dad and Pappy don’t get along.
Years ago I asked my mom privately
why they only say hi and bye
at family gatherings.
My mom could only shrug,
saying how Pappy and Dad
simply had different views of life
that somehow can’t overlap
in harmony.
I’m not a peacemaker,
but I’d prefer not to be a sitcom family
of disconnection.

Suppose there’s a reason
why most grandparents
and their adult children
don’t constantly interact:
If they can’t homogenize their realities,
they don’t mix.
This poetry prompt I was assigned sought to dig into a family relationship to write about.
Timothy Chen Aug 2018
a tumblr full of rocks
a pour of ichiro malt
and a stir
gan bei
and
ichi
to the yamazaki and nikkas
i am in the land of the sun
i go down to the land of the dead
mei hi ko
anejo
casa amigo,
to my brothers in arms
jose, i must have my agave
cheers to the alamo
to the land of the prohibition
kentucky
yippee kay yay
bourbon,
spicy rye kick
spur to the horse
giddy up, giddy up
riding off into the sun
set to kentucky
derby
bourbon
ballentines
tom ford west
make your mark
with maker’s mark
bottoms up
and now i am staggering
vichi patia
better than grey goose
aunt jiin
and all the cult gin
navy strength and **** juice
getting rowdy
like irish bloke jameson
and that **** scot
macallan
and his gang
oiban, glenfiddich, and
glenlivet
I am livid
at that *******
son of peat
another round
i am monkeying around
monkey 47
sun set
sun rise
*** on the beach
i see kings and queens
louis thirteen
i am going to sleep
pappy van winkle
100 years
like rip van winkle
don’t wake me
stir and not shaken
good night, mama
sweet havana
neat
a shot of don papa
i go to sleep
this is my ode to drinking
st64 Mar 2013
Gramophone records play
Scratch, play, scratch, play
Soft in the background, edging into me
Slow and easy, gentle waves.


Granny, play me La Wally again
Turning, spinning, round and round
Take me away on audio-pearls
Peace whirls me on a magic dance.


Pappa, hide the ugly monsters
Keep me safe in Noddy and Pat tales
I'd rather be caught in merry tune
Than in webs of yonder folk out there.


Momma, put on Golden Slumbers
"Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby"
Yes, I find my way homeward...


Gramps, sing me a Holliday song
The kind that lifts one so high
With Mammy and Pappy blessing all of me
Yes my happiness, I've got me own!


Dear Heaven, open windows and walls
Swirling, flowing its beautiful energy
Sore needed peace and beauty
That no eye can truly see.


Star Toucher, 02 March 2013
Dylan Jones Oct 2016
Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain't around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy's jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends

Start my day up on the roof
There's nothing like this type of view
Point the clicker at the tube
I prefer expensive news
New car, new girl
New ice, new glass
New watch, good times babe
It's good times, yeah
She wash my back three times a day
This shower head feels so amazing
We'll both be high, the help don't stare
They just walk by, they must don't care
A million one, a million two
A hundred more will never do

Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Oh, real love

Close your eyes for what you can't imagine, we are the xany gnashing
Caddy smashing, bratty ***, he mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag
And used the **** for batting practice, adamant and he thrashing
Purchasing ****** grams with half the hand of cash you handed
Panicking, patch me up, Pappy done latch keyed us
Toying with Raggy Anns and mammy done had enough
Brash as ****, breaching all these aqueducts; don't believe us
Treat us like we can't erupt, yup

We end our day up on the roof
I say I'll jump, I never do
But when I'm drunk I act a fool
Talking 'bout , do they sew wings on tailored suits
I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don't end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash
Julia Sep 2012
The voodoo doll sits there on the window sill,
I named him Bill,
Bill sits there all day and all night,
And when I come in at night he gives me a fright,
It looks like he has an evil grin on his face,
Sometimes he can be a disgrace.

He can be a disgrace doing all sorts of things,
Sometimes he steals my rings,
I don’t know how he does it,
But he will never admit,
What he does to us,
He puts us in a lot of stress.

There is something about Bill that you should know,
He is very handy with arrows and a bow,
He is very special in his own little way,
He likes to make little people out of clay,
He is no ordinary voodoo doll,
Paulina is his best friend they both love running into a wall,
This may seem very odd,
And when I tell them off for doing this they just stand there and nod.

This is the story of my voodoo doll,
Whenever he gets tired he likes to loll,
So next time you come across him,
Remember to give him a sim dim.
This way he will be very happy.
And forever make you his close enough pappy.
By Julia Denisov and Maegan Cattermull. Don't forget, we are only 12.
Laura the Leprechaun lived in a forest,
Of all the Leprechauns she was the smallest.
But she didn’t care, as she was just happy,
Because she was loved very much by her Pappy.

Laura sat at meals with sages,
She unearthed truths hidden for ages.
Her unmatchable strength is her courage,
She is a budding plant of greatness.

Laura had a friend called Jane,
Together they played hide and seek in the hay.
At dawn, they roam the street with glee,
They fight at dinner over bread, butter, and tea.

Laura happily played around in the woods,
Picking the fresh nuts and fruits.
The leaves breathe freshness into her bones,
The pure air from the woods nourishes her soul.

Laura’s beauty was peer-less,
With a tender skin that was spotless.
She cheered the world with her lovely smiles,
And her happiness went on for miles and miles!
Maegan Sep 2012
My voodoo doll sits there on the window sill,
His name is Bill,
Bill sits there all day and night,
And when I come in at night he gives me a fright,
It looks like he and evil grin on his face,
Sometimes he can be a disgrace.

He can be a disgrace by doing all sorts of things,
Sometimes he steals my rings,
I don't know how he does it,
But he'll never admits,
What he does to us,
He puts us under alot of stress.


There is something about bill you should know,
He is very handy with arrows and a bow,
He is very special in his own little way,
He likes to make little people out of clay,
He is no ordinary voodoo doll,
Paulina is his best friend and they both running into a wall,
This may seem very odd,
And when I tell them off for doing this they just stand there and nod.

This is the story of my voodoo doll,
Whenever he gets tired to loll,
So next time you come across him,
Remember to give him a sim dim,
This way he will be very happy,
And forever make you his close enough pappy!
This is written by Julia Denisov and Maegan Cattermull (age 12)
Terry Jordan Dec 2016
The sirens blared that 4th of July
Officer Duncan gave Mammy a ride
An emergency dash to the hospital
He’s 2 months premature Mammy cried

Deaf, dumb and blind is what the doctors said
To our mother when Sammy was born
But none of us kids ever were told
Until Sammy was stable and grown

Pappy declared that they’d both be fine
Not believing dire news doctors gave
We happily named him Uncle Sam
Trusting in him to be strong and brave

His 1st 5 months in an incubator
Hooked up to every device
In Newton Wellesley Hospital, 1959
A miracle saved his life

Reaching gloved hands through holes in the side
Weighing just a bit over 2 pounds
Looking more like a spindly ET
I was amazed to be hearing breath sounds

Sam worked on doubling his weight by Christmas
Nothing seemed easy or fast
Still Mammy survived the eclampsia
And Sammy went home at last

Returning a few years later
Sammy’s doctor she would find
To show off to all the nurses
Her son NOT deaf, dumb and blind

I so love my brother Sammy
Always felt like a sister and mother
I’d give all I have for the time
Just a minute more with my dear brother

I’d speak to you of those 57 years
Of the great whirligig you carved with your hands
All the times you showed up for me
Through the good and the bad our love stands

You wasted no time hating anybody
Children and dogs always your friends
Quick for a laugh despite any lack
I draw comfort that all your pain ends

The sirens blared once again for you
The ambulance came, the paramedics tried
Racing you trying to save you
All in vain, in the OR you died


Like Tommy’s rock opera is over
Perhaps you paused to speak to a stray dog
While keeping your divine appointment
By reaching right into the hand of God
Just blew out my candle in vigil for Sam, my baby brother, 12 years younger than me.  He died on the OR table as they tried in vain to save him after a tragic accident.  He’s in God’s hands now.  He had a military burial yesterday, the saddest day of my life, in the National Alleghenies veteran's cemetery.  Freezing cold & windy in Pittsburgh.  I so wanted to jump in that hearse and drive him back to Florida, like in the 'Cremation of Sam McGee' poem that I love.  I realize that was just his Earthsuit, and see him smiling in Paradise.
Haiven Victoria Jun 2014
I'll be a good mom
With 1 little boy

Cherish and love him
And fill him with joy

I'll be a good loving wife
And make my husband happy

And one day me and him will be a good grandma and pappy.
Bill murray Jul 2015
Shrine marbles roll
Like little baby told me to go
So I went with the flow
And like gold
Grandpappy shined
Cné Feb 2018
I just had a shot
Of Pappy Van Winkle neat
Smooth with a good burn
Cody Haag Dec 2015
So undesirable, being forgotten after death;
What's the point of living at all,
If you're forgotten upon your last breath?

Perhaps I could be happy
Constructing a modest, pleasant life for my family,
And then passing away a wizened pappy ...

But I endeavor to reach higher
And to achieve goals that some deem unattainable;
That is one of my ultimate desires.

Settle not for mundane,
Be comfortable not with
What just barely sustains.

Don't be an obstacle
On the path to your success:
That is not logical.
Joshua Haines Dec 2014
Dear reader,


Reno doesn't smoke and it's a relief because I'd rather my smile stop her heart than a Malboro. I told her that and she considered never talking to me again because of how corny I was being. If anything, I'm glad she doesn't smoke because her teeth are as white as the snow suffocating the landscape. She asked me if I ever smoked a cigarette and I said no, because my hands would start to tremble at the idea of picking up another of one my father's habits.

We walked in the snow and, three steps and two breaths in, she asked me to stop. Reno bleeds other's blood, and it showed when she dug her hands into the snow to reveal a dog's frozen carcass.

"I saw the tip of his tail sticking out of the snow." She studied the dog's body and brushed some snow off of it's side. There was a wound, the size of a child's fist. Frozen blood stained matted fur, as the front and back legs seemed miles part. "He must have been so cold."

"Someone shot him," I looked at her, as a strand of blond hair cut her face in half when she turned to me.

"He doesn't have a collar...  I know what it's like to not have a home, too," she whispered to him.

I watched her, with her knees in the snow, cry. The tears slid down her cheek when she asked me if I thought that the dog's owner killed him.

"I don't know, Reno. I hope not."

She took off her left glove and wiped her face with a pinkish hand.  She turned to me,"Do you think my dad would **** me, if he could?"



The tree branches hung over the blanketed path, as clumps would fall off and plop frostbitten kisses on the bright, eggshell ground. Eventually we reached the grave of Hilary.

Hilary Natasha Drake
Born October 12, 2001
Died December 8, 2007
May God grant you access into his kingdom
as easily as he granted you access into our hearts.


"She was beautiful," Reno smiled, before she looked away. "My mother would always say, 'Hilary, don't you know how pretty you'll be?' ...She had these lily green eyes that lit up a room-I could have swore that she stole them from the garden of Eden. She was sweet, too. Too sweet. Too kind-hearted."

I felt my hand tighten, as I looked down to see Reno's fingers wrapped around me. Her eyes were holding hostage a flood, as her lip quivered as much as her voice.

"In nine minutes, it will be the anniversary of when we lost her. It was just too much for her and I understand, Hilary. I do.

"It ate her body and wouldn't stop. Every day she seemed thinner and thinner. I remember when she lost her hair. Hilary didn't want to wear a bandana or a cap. I asked her why and she said, 'There's nothing wrong with not having hair, pappy does it all the time.'

"She was so strong, Josh. Stronger than me. Stronger than my dad. When she died, the hospital bills and funeral expenses were too much. We lost everything. My dad lost himself.

"Then, my mother left when his drinking got bad... It was the night before Valentine's day. I remember because I was given so many flowers. I didn't understand why because flowers die, too.

"My mother didn't even say goodbye. She left the photo albums. I never got to say goodbye to her or Hilary and it's not fair because I love them so much. I love them more than anything."

Reno couldn't erupt into tears like they could in the movies. This was the scene where she was supposed to cry uncontrollably or have an epiphany that could alleviate the loss, but neither occurred.

"There's one thing I want you to know, Josh: You can't save me. Don't try, okay? Please, do not try to fix the broken pieces because you'll only cut yourself.

"But there's also another thing I want you to know: You can be there, as I fix myself. I want you to be there."

I looked at her and told her I wanted to be there too.

I think I understand why Reno doesn't smoke, now. The idea of possibly giving herself cancer, when it already has taken away everyone she loves, would take something away from Hilary's fight and only add to Reno's loss.

"I can cry over a dog, but not my sister," she whispered. Reno wiped her nose, looked at me and said, "Am I too much yet?"

"Of course not."



Sincerely,

Joshua Haines
unnamed May 2017
I got a big red digital watch, from Paraguay
Sandels a short sleeve shirt, shorts, change, smoke a cigarette
I am standing looking out to sea
Wandering how it must have been
To be moored there for six days
In the sun and the sand and the rain and the sun and its flames
burning
st64 Dec 2013
Ramirez waits on the couch
patiently
for the date of his life


1.
fidgety-fidgety boy
there's no call for nervous-smiles
her daddy gruffly placed you
on the couch
now, you wait and wait and wait


2.
you decide to use some bonus-airtime you received
but who to call?
the one you'd like to spend that time on .. is with your Maker
but you're too shy to talk to God
your Momma told you God's one busy-light
and he ain't got no time for a slow-coach like you
who can barely spell two words


3.
yes, I can spell my name.. *leave me alone
!
hey man, who says God won't talk to me?
why, I did Him a favour here.. I'm takin' out this here girl
who's never been out before
18 years old and her pappy been watching her so
she can barely make two sentences before her complexion vies with beet

it came to him in a dream.. take her out.. take out.. take her out..
and so, tonight.. he will



4.
Lord behold, where is our boy?
******, why did you not watch him?
what... and you believed him??
goodness, go out and find him....NOW!

he didn't take his stuff


5.
she descends slowly, as on a cloud
and smiles in awkward-bunches
oh, if only her father had let her go out before.. like everyone else

she may have been able to see..............................................................­





this is the date
and he
took her out







S T - 2 dec 13
just a silly piece..
mark john junor Jun 2014
illusions soil damp with summer rain
we are silence creeping softly
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter tea and stale buttery breads
our stealth footprints leaning to the shadows trail us
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
turn to whisper your hush-now's and stifle the laughter
tis serious things afoot in the majestic night

seed lain with casual grunts
by the farmers son come of age
till foolish boy reckons what hes done
but storm riding in and no time to dawdle
bread in the basket and skittles in the cookfire
whats to be done whats to be done
he sweeps his mistakes aside and plows onward
like his pappy would have done

illusions soil fertile
and fools will take to heart any tale
so we have come sneakin' and creepin'
to harvesting our due
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter teas and stale buttery breads
feed the fools mind with all manner of delusion
and while we sit and sup in the heavenly scented field
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
he will be singing and dancing a madwoman's jig
under a lunatic moon
Scot Powers Feb 2013
Wind torn sails
and old wives tales
both tell a certain truth
like sailors forlorn
'round the cape horn
drowned or frozen to death

The waves and the wind
punish for sins
that frequently go untold
dare to begin that voyage to win
bring in the most liquid gold

Whaling was the name
of this sailors game
learned from my pappy before
when the tall ships call
you'll answer for all
the misgivings that you ever did

Swabbing the decks
like a beer hall *****
sickly from waves and decay
this is the life
for months at a time
from New England
to the ports of Biscay

First sign of a blow
shouts to below
from where the watch sits above
The decks come alive
thar be the prize
the deadly game awaits

Set sails to the wind
and get that boat in
harpoons and crew await
haul on the ropes
or abandon all hopes
the behemoth  will get away

Hearts pound like the oars
sending us forth
Oh, how our quarry evades
better keep your eyes peeled
or your fate is sealed
if she comes up underneath

With a mighty hurrah
the striker lets fly
the harpoon sinks deep in the whale
it plunges below
taking us under tow
blood staining the deep blue waves

I cry for this sin
as we haul the whale in
and cut up all it had been
trade a shilling in the purse
for a life long curse
never to sleep again

When I shut my eyes
I can still hear the cry
up from it's blowhole it came
shivers my spine,every time
I bolt upright wide awake
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
When Leonard Cohen Met Charlie Daniels, The Devil Went Down to Georgia

~~~
The Devil Went Down to Georgia ¥
https://youtu.be/wBjPAqmnvGA

Charlie Daniels, the country music legend who died July 6, 2020, was part of the 1970 Leonard Cohen tour. (see notes)
                                            
This one is a gift to a recovering addict and a poet, for whom that peculiar, par-articulate, addictive passion, thank the Lord, got no cure.

                                                      <£>

two country boys, ok, so different countries, but both intimately
a-cquainted with the Devil, his song & music-making-copious
a-bilities, his other trois backup ***-sin-tants, The Sin Sisters,
a/k/a wine and women and sweet poetry...

now the Devil mostly gets his due, you pay his price twice, in daily
wear ‘n tear on body and soul, always trying to keep one step ahead,
taking his best, sometimes leaving the rest, but ha! not always cause sometimes a...

bargain needs keeping, gotta keep your word honest, still if you can find a wile e coyote-wriggle-way to be a tad faster, keep them ten  fingers crisscrossed, you might steal a tune or three, before you chanter la finale, sing/pay the last installment...

now these boys were multilingual, one spoke french, the other, southern, but two-gether, they could harmonize the Lord’s Prayer on a banjo, fiddle and a guitar, in une langue ancienne#, formerly spoke in those United States and Canada, now only in the heavens above...

cannot truthful say I ever saw them play on the same stage, no matter,
cause the parallels are clear as a night sky starry moon, the stories they told, in lyrical verse, different cuzins, slightly incestuous, and
infectious too, cause you catch yourself singing redneck in a foreign
language and you’re liking the way women looking at the big star on
a tour bus...

now the devil wanted these bad boys real bad in his pantheon, went
down to Georgia and back up to Montréal au paradis, said to them “no more diddling, just fiddling and singing, time to make that finale payment, principal and interest, come to collect my country boys  and all what they got left...alors allons en enfer mes bébés..”##

now the sounds they made was just too good, the Lord heard it, it was like Picasso painting the sky, and came to collect Charlie yesterday, (07/06/20), Leonard had come up earlier, and if you need to learn how this story ends, well, there’s a poem listed down below avec tous les détails.

but as my straight laced pappy, use to say in his German accented english, in his morning suit, striped pants and Homburg hat, all’s well that don’t end in hell

or something like that anyway.
# in an ancient tongue
## ok then let’s go to hell, my babies

“He [Leonard Cohen] spoke in poetic ways and was able to communicate with people who had never lived in that world, like myself, and had never been exposed to that side of things…I saw another whole side of music that I had never seen, and I had so much respect for Leonard’s creativity, unique thoughts, the way his mind works. I learned a lot. You know what we do is the sum total of what we’ve done, actually. I was glad to be exposed to that feel, to that thing.”.  Charlie Daniels

^Also see:  https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1833538/for-leonard-cohen-the-musicians-minyan/
_______________________

¥ “ The Devil went down to Georgia. He was lookin' for a soul to steal.
He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal
When he came across this young man sawin' on a fiddle and playin' it hot.
And the Devil jumped upon a hickory stump and said, "Boy, let me tell you what."

"I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too.
And if you'd care to take a dare I'll make a bet with you.
Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due.
I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul 'cause I think I'm better than you."

The boy said, "My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin,
But I'll take your bet; you're gonna regret 'cause I'm the best there's ever been."
_________________
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/charliedanielsband/talktomefiddle.html
Wayne Pritchett Oct 2010
to my wonderful parents
i love you
flaws and all
you made me
this handsome young man
grew to be six feet tall
i have my mother's skin
but my father he lies within
the strength and patience
to fight through the wicked
i have done great things
in this world of
hate and corruption
but my parents virtues
show the light
in the darkest situations
you showed me the truth
when i told you lies
dont do dumb ****
or on the floor i lie
life's lessons started
with you two
god blessed me
with a father
and mothers
HA HA i have two
Cynthia came along
what perfect time she did
made my father happy
im so glad you slid
into our picture
made it all sappy
from love and affection
for us and our pappy
i love you and thank you
makin my life
so near to perfection

William
my baby brother
earth's finest gentleman
you make me proud
day in and day out
makin moves to
move on from another
showing genuine feelings
something i thought
the world was without
you give me reason
to keep my best face
cause you carry the
worlds face on your brow
lighten up baby bro
it only gets worse
but if u let it
your world can get better
continue to love
your enemies and friends
cause hate gives them power
that wont let you live
happy and stressfree
so pick that chin up
hold ya head up high
cause i love you bro
your a better guy than I

Toni
my wittle sister
the twin sent from above
we share the same bday
as well as the same love
thank you for showing
this lost boy turning man
how to treat these ladies
with love and respect
even on the days when
those horns start showing
the wild child of us 3
you have given me
plenty of laughs and memories
without you in my life
half would be missing
our birthday would be
a celebration and a funeral
that means yay
Wayne is older
and boo whoo
the anniversary is no more
we are too much alike
not sad but true
my mirror image
if i were a girl
i would have been you!

to my friends
old ones and new
imma take this time
to give shoutouts
to each one of you
the days i sit around
lookin worn out and through
your face shows up
then mischeif we get into
so many stories
they lead into great tales
ill forever be greatful
in this poem
you can tell
cause im thanking
each one of my comrades
multitudes of gratitude
all you fools
feed my soul food

to those in my life
who **** me off
and cause more strife
i thank you
a little more than most
so i can boast
my victory when i conquer
the obstacles you set
and the limits you show
since you are
too cowardly
to let a brother
go the distance
this body will allow
im shootin for Pluto
but when i listen
to the **** you throw
i dont shoot past
the dusty *** flo'
friends might fit here
family members fit also
so if you figure
you fit in this stanza
dont get angry
sad or discouraged
cause you help me out
more than you ever knew it.
(c) Wayne Pritchett September 2010
KathleenAMaloney Dec 2015
I was danglin' my feet off the edge of that pretty throne
called Childhood..
swinging up and down and all aroun'
twistin, sometimes just dangling my feet, twin tin'...

and all the while, My pappies were standing by the picnic table,
talking about how sad it was
that they ******* a man.. ruined his life in fact..
and well, after all , thats just how it's gotta Be
it was accident and all... sort of

and I heard 'em telling a lie in fact!!  a Whole Lie about this guy!!
an wasn't even nothin' that took place.. Nothin!!
and not one of 'um.. with enough integrity to say anything

so I sat there swinging.. thinking 'bout it all...
then,
I heard a man come up and say "problem solved ...he done killed himself..."

and it was then, that I saw the LIFE leave their bodies
everyone of them..
except ONE.....

lifted up like smoke
just left em...
knowing what they'd done
lied, hated.. ruined a person, took away his Name...his  hope..

left 'em, with all the children unfinished..
not one son grown up yet

So I asked that One... what are gonna do?

and I Saw him Look... and SEE
the legacy of his Life
standing out like a Vision of the Grand Canyon
Pristine like....

and then suddenly, there was rivers  inky Blackness flown' like crazy...
running thru the hollows
running,
like a River of unstoppable Magnitude
cutting through Rock like it was Nothin'

creating a whole new World of UNDERSTANDING.....

and he turned to me and said...
I'm gonna make it Right
For your Pappy...

and He did.
He saved my Life.
He fixed my breathing...
We really just want to be Love.. Love is its own Power.. No one has it...
Eryck May 2018
Mammy say don't fear the boll-weevil,
Just a bug, don't worry bout him.
But Pappy say the little devil evil,
so he believe in the cotton gin.

This Texas guy say he was an angel,
I followed lock-step, believed what he said.
Didn't seem to have any sharp angles,
he drank some poisoned koolaid now he dead.

Searched at end of rainbow for *** of gold
me be rich *****, no mo po *****.
Leprechaun belief, I been told,
While head in sky searching, fell in trench.

Politician and preacher keep saying,
I hear their voice noise grind and grind,
vote for me girl and keep praying,
but in the end it make no nevermind.

I tink at de end of the day I just believe in me.
Peter B Oct 2014
We covered a few Phobias in part one
But some people even fear the sun
But we will have more fun
Some people fear Spiders and Snakes
What about broken brakes?
Oh! for heaven sakes!

Some people fear ladders
Why does it matter?
Some people have all kinds of fears
Lions, Tigers and Bears

And some people fear all kinds of bugs
So don't go sweeping them under the rugs!
From roaches, ants and bees
That fear can take them to their knees!

Some people fear rodents
Like mice, rats, and flying bats
Or how about all kinds of lizards
Beat them up and take out their gizzards

You have to beat up your fears by facing them down
Or all around

And some people even fear Clowns
And I don't see why?
They make you happy
Some people even fear being a pappy

Some people fear enclosed spaces
And how about evil faces?
But there you have more fears from me
And there's more out there to be
Just stay tuned for part three!
Phobias part 1 covered a few and this one covered a little more, but there are a lot of fears out there and to rhyme them is harder! Happy Halloween! Enjoy it!
Paul Celano Jun 2010
A hot scalding day
I sit motionless and stare at my fan
Moving to the left
Moving to the right
My face an icy stone magnet
Follows the movement
My distressed eyes try to follow the blades
Every time I feel that pappy chilled breeze
It makes me enjoy the little things
Because for that one short moment
I am not worried
I am not thinking
I am just…me
©2010 Paul Celano
Sarah Kunz Feb 2017
When my body is broiled with the crispening macabre glean of anxiety; I imagine myself to be a buoying loaf of cornbread in a torrent sea of acid.
my custard colored crust being licked away by the ravenous maw of the current, this is no terrain for a loaf of cornbread in the first place.
Ludicrous.
Perhaps if I joined the sun swept crystal island of idealism, I could be drenched in honey and bound frivolously in nectarous orchard fields.
But then, even here, I suppose a Raven may  spot me and adorned with a vulturous sneer gobble me up in my blissful state there.
So where shall my pappy crumbling loaf of an existence reside?
In the trenches of unbridled realization, lapping me up in a despair riddled prison?
Or the land of beatitude and glee unfettered from the brutalizing truths of reality...
Perhaps there's some bridging ground between these two polar opposites...
but how should I know?
I'm merely a cornbread I can't declare cognizance.
st64 Apr 2013
Refrain:
He your pappy, but he dead now
Won't mess with yer head no more
No more.

Cos he dead now, he dead now
He dead now.


1.
Looking in this window. See 'em all warm inside.
Cold wind, him bitin' at my ankles.
Just look at 'em inside, all warm and cosy.


CHORUS:
Maybe gotta look inside
Won't get nothing on the outside
Yeah, gotta look inside
For a little bit o' lurve!

Never gonna turn your back on life.
Gotta take this shot of live
Gotta warm me up inside
'Fore the cold comes to claim me.

Gotta close all lonely spaces
With a little bit of love
So, I's gotta take a look inside.


2.
Don't mean to feel so mean. Just wanna feel part of something
(So) strange, with all 'em polar caps a-meltin',
We still don't have enough love!


3.
Looky here, now traipsin' down this ***** street
Seeking all along the edge of night
Huntin' warmth, hikin' smiles, hawkin' love and sellin' souls
What the hell are we doin' here?


4.
No, you don't always feel it
But there's a stink wind blowing out there
Suckin' at my poor soul, stealin' all my warmth
Yeah, (s)uckin' up my poor soul, takin' all our love!


Repeat refrain.





S T, 23 April 2013
Inspired by movie, 'Precious'.

Deliber8 use of double negation and colloq.



Failing to go within, means going without.

And, if you think your situation is bad.....think again!

If we take a good look......
city of flips Sep 2019
your children not to do what I have done

long has this phrase from that old song,
to wit, to which,
we all knew it complete,
that phrase

and this one too,

teach them well their father’s hell will slowly go by


any parent,
knows instantly their secret experiences
validating these pregnant phrases to
unification,
combination and definition

our looking face down
on the children unafraid,
and
our looking back
at the mistakes we ourselves made,
that no one could have warned us of in advance

can we warn them well,
dare we tell,
make our lore their history,
make them
too careful and too afraid
not to repeat our mistakes,
but be not fearful to
make their own?

doubtful.

I am a young woman, and pappy says all parents have eyes in the back of their heads, and it still don’t help much
The novelty of the young ewe
Blinded by its fleece
White is reflective of all colors
Absorbent of none
It stumbles about bleating
Intent on its own way
Falling in the crevice
Thinking it's reached day
But when the sun dips past the outcrop
And daddy sheep is gone
The little ewe will mewl again
And Pappy wolf will come
He knows the ropes
And he's no vegetarian
He ate knowledge
So he could come again
And he remembers
How the sheep forgot him
In their disorderly straying
Old and young alike, claiming the right to rule the kingdom that is his
And so with teeth he teaches them a lesson
A few bright ones he shares his land with
The rest are supper
Now that's Nature
:p

He's no veggie-saurus

Cue the grassy hill, bright eyes - Let's get Jurassic!

— The End —