"roebuck" poems
Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows,
And the birds sang round him, o’er him,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Sang the robin, the Opechee,
Sang the blue bird, the Owaissa,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Up the oak tree, close beside him,
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
In and out among the branches,
Coughed and chattered from the oak tree,
Laughed, and said between his laughing,
“Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!”
And the rabbit from his pathway
Leaped aside, and at a distance
Sat ***** upon his haunches,
Half in fear and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter,
“Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!”
But he heeded not, nor heard them,
For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
Leading downward to the river,
To the ford across the river,
And as one in slumber walked he,
Hidden in the alder bushes.
There he waited till the deer came,
Till he saw two antlers lifted,
Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
Saw two nostrils point to windward,
And a deer came down the pathway,
Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
And his heart within him fluttered,
Trembled like the leaves above him,
Like the birch-leaf palpitated,
As the deer came down the pathway.
Then, upon one knee uprising,
Hiawatha aimed an arrow;
Scarce a twig moved with his motion,
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,
But the wary roebuck started,
Stamped with all his hoofs together,
Listened with one foot uplifted,
Leaped as if to meet the arrow;
Ah! the singing, fatal arrow,
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him!
Dead he lay there in the forest,
By the ford across the river;
Beat his timid heart no longer,
But the heart of Hiawatha
Throbbed and shouted and exulted,
As he bore the red deer homeward,
And Iagoo and Nokomis
Hailed his coming with applauses.
From the red deer’s hide Nokomis
Made a cloak for Hiawatha,
From the red deer’s flesh Nokomis
Made a banquet in his honor.
All the village came and feasted,
All the guests praised Hiawatha,
Called him Strong-heart, Soan-ge-taha!
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee!
9.3k
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Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:16 PM 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
it's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse
a woman, a
tire that's flat, a
disease, a
desire: fears in front of you,
fears that hold so still
you can study them
like pieces on a
chessboard...
it's not the large things that
send a man to the
madhouse. death he's ready for, or
****** ****** robbery, fire, flood...
no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to the
madhouse...
not the death of his love
but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left ...
The dread of life
is that swarm of trivialities
that can **** quicker than cancer
and which are always there -
license plates or taxes
or expired driver's license,
or hiring or firing,
doing it or having it done to you, or
roaches or flies or a
broken hook on a
screen, or out of gas
or too much gas,
the sink's stopped-up, the landlord's drunk,
the president doesn't care and the governor's
crazy.
light switch broken, mattress like a
porcupine;
$105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at
sears roebuck;
and the phone bill's up and the, market's
down
and the toilet chain is
broken,
and the light has burned out -
the hall light, the front light, the back light,
the inner light; it's
darker than hell
and twice as
expensive.
then there's always ***** and ingrown toenails
and people who insist they're
your friends;
there's always that and worse;
leaky faucet, Christ and Christmas;
blue salami, 9 day rains,
50 cent avocados
and purple
liverwurst.
or making it
as a waitress at norm's on the split shift,
or as an emptier of
bedpans,
or as a car wash or a busboy
or a stealer of old lady's purses
leaving them screaming on the sidewalks
with broken arms at the age of 80.
suddenly
2 red lights in your rear view mirror
and blood in your
underwear;
toothache, and $979 for a bridge
$300 for a gold
tooth,
and China and Russia and America, and
long hair and short hair and no
hair, and beards and no
faces, and plenty of zigzag but no
*** except maybe one to **** in
and the other one around your
gut.
with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
thing
enters a
madhouse.
so be careful
when you
bend over.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
*No, no, no, Dirtbreath. I say we call the big one an elephant,
and the small one a mouse*.
Eve
I'm sure red's a better color for me.
M. Monroe
She has a face that could sink a thousand ships.
Ulysses
*Now that Hawking's dead, I'm the smartest
guy on Earth.*
D. Trump
You're too Jung to understand the Superego.
S. Freud
No. You keep it. I have enough.
B. Graham
Are you sure that's the Delaware?
G. Washington
E=Mc Donalds.
A. Einstein
Go pound salt.
Gandhi
What day is it?
Roosevelt
That's one small.... oops!
N. Armstrong
I don't remember any of my dreams.
M.L. King, Jr.
Hey, John, I can see your house from up here.
Jesus
Beaches, fields, streets, hills. Did I leave anything out?
W. Churchill
Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course I wrote 'em all.
R. Starr
It's just too big to wrap your brain around.
S. Hawking
Don't lose your head. This won't change a thing.
Robespierre
Before I was fined, I walked the line.
J. Cash
Could you lengthen the title and shorten the book?
Tolstoy's editor
What if we put the workers on conveyor belts?
H. Ford
I have a splitting headache... hmmm, interesting.
Oppenheimer
I've never liked orange juice.
N. Brown
Really? You want to blame me?
******
He stings like a butterfly.
S. Liston
#timesup #metoo
A. Boleyn
Mr. Watson. Come here. Spare me a dime?
Bell
Roebuck said he'd be back in ten minutes.
R.W. Sears
To be or to do be do be do.
Shakespeare/Sinatra
*When you call me Whitey, I get cotton pickin ****** off.*
E. Whitney
We're the team to beat!
Toronto Maple Leafs
Don't call me a Mother!
Mother Theresa
Is that a Cuban?
M. Lewinsky
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my Castle, before the hot day
Brightens the blue from its silvery grey,
(Chorus) “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!”
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you’d say;
Many’s the friend there, will listen and pray
“God’s luck to gallants that strike up the lay,
(Chorus) “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!”
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads array:
Who laughs, Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
(Chorus) “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!”
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, “Nay!
I’ve better counsellors; what counsel they?”
(Chorus) “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!”
3.3k
They ask, "What's the sweetest thing that's happened to you"?
I would have to reply, "It started when I was two".
That is when I, Mother, sister and brother,
went to live with our Grandpa and Grandmother.
They both sacrificed, from that day forward,
working long, hard hours, always undeterred.
To give us a home and happy memories.
It couldn't have been better, for Mom and us three.
Mom worked evenings at the Sears and RoeBuck store.
Grandpa at the publishers, working on the printing floor.
Grandma changed jobs to the school cafeterias,
so when we were home from school, she could be near us.
Grandpa was our dad, in our hearts and minds.
Growing up with two Moms was a terrific time.
Yes, living with our Grandparents was a special world.
I grew up to be a very thankful girl.
What's the sweetest thing that has ever happened?
It started when I was two, and has never slackened.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 3:56 PM UTC
I PASSED along the water's edge below the humid trees,
My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my
knees,
My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moor-
fowl pace
All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to
chase
Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak:
Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or
weak
Is an undying moorfowl, and He lives beyond the sky.
The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from
His eye.
I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk:
Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk,
For I am in His image made, and all this tinkling tide
Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide.
A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes
Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the
Skies,
He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He
Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?
I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say:
Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers
gay,
He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night
His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.
1.5k
The poppie plant blooms to the most beautiful flowers. It is called the Flower of Joy, the colors, the tranquility and how they can absorb you is one of a kind. And when they cut the bulb before it blooms, it bleeds *****
In the Wizard of OZ, the field to the castle of OZ, was a Poppie field. Where, Dorothy, The Tin Man, The Cowardly Lion, The Scarecrow and Toto, caught a nap.
Alexander the Great used this flower to conquer the world. He gave it to his army to quite the hurting and to help and motivate the fighters from the pain of fighting.
Great Briton used it to control and suppress China and to make money to grow their kingdom.
It was then turned into Morphine and ****** in the late 1800's, legalized and taxed. It came in many forms of elixirs and then turned into big business. It could actually be purchased out of a Sears and Roebuck Catalog, where you could purchase it and get it in the mail. They could get their daily usage along with a syringe for a mere $1.95.
It was one thing of a few things that brought ****** to his knees when they cut the ***** supply to Germany. That stop his drug making for his soldiers that left them useless. His scientist then he invented methadone but it was to late.
In Afghanistan where the majority of ***** is produce, our army has only cut down a few of the poppie fields, only to know it will make it's way to the US. What could be their reason and motivation. Is it to help each economy though blood money.
In today's world it is controlled by War Lord in the east, the south, and the orient, shipped to many different countries in many unusually ways. Yet some of it to be purchased by large pharmaceutical companies.
This innocent beautiful flower, that brings only joy to the eyes has been misused by man since 3400BC believe it or not. The death that it has left behind is uncapable of being calculated.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
it was high summer nineteen thirty two
in the depths of Kansas backwood
that he drifted out of the heat haze on the
long thin road from Topeka
with her delicate face folded in his Sears Roebuck catalog
he strides casually along the ***** worn pavement
neatly stacked in his three piece suit
pressed and measured as his clothes
he is the image of prosperity and educated class
but the seething and vile is always just benith the surface
in such hot unforgiving places
he came walking slow ahead of the rain
drifting in like a plague ahead of the cleansing
he came in like a figure out of the old testament
gonna break this place
gonna burn it down to the very last sinning soul
with this rusty blade i shall cleave you from this hell
with this choking dust im gonna lay this place to waste
and its gonna be steel water to get me on
gonna take hammer blow to wake me from this heat haze slumber
the metal rim glasses lay by the roadside
there was blood on the lens
there was a single fingerprint
like an admission of guilt or of hope
she sweated kneeling in the field
the crop wasnt worth bringing to market
but she had no earthly idea what else to do but try
but suddenly she felt it from miles out
it felt like the cold hand of death itself
felt like the broken scream of a million years of souls burning in hell
it felt like he was coming home
he quickened his pace
his tread now was stuttered thunder
on hardpack
like a pack of wild dogs
he strained at the leash to keep from running
he is so close
closer than he has been in a thousand years
closer than the day that young man died as a thief's death
closer than lovers
he could see her in the feild
she had just turned to run
and now the fire within begins
like a world of hurt
like a man on fire
we wait for him
we wait for them
in the Topeka sun
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Farm house windows have been boarded up , dilapidated outbuildings , abandoned water well , farm tractor , implements rusted over . Kudzu has blanketed the garden spot , farm bell lies on the ground , silo in need of paint , repairs ..Clover dominates a fertile pasture , once home for many abundant harvest ! Corn , soy bean and sorghum , sweet potato and collards .. Oak trees , well over a hundred years old with twenty years of unchecked leaf debris beneath them . Apple , pear and peach trees are barren .. A once sturdy white picket fence now unkempt , frail with rusted barbed wire and nails .. The afternoon train still comes through each afternoon . I can imagine that very train taking the harvest produced by this old farm to market . Macon , Augusta or Albany ? A planter is taking a break beneath a Pecan tree with a bucket of cold well water and a ladle , plug of tobacco , and a daydream or two ! The afternoon train delivers the news of the world , a Farmers almanac , Sears and Roebuck catalogue , corn cake for the rabbit dogs , hog feed from a mill in Columbus , thread and quilt patches for Mother . Off it goes , cloud of steam rising above the mighty engine , the whistle echoing across cotton fields for many a mile ! The link between city and farm , before electricity , telegraph or telephone . The old Georgia my great grandparents knew . Fruitful Summer harvest , painfully cold Winters laboring , scratching out a meager living and at times barely surviving ! I can still hear the crack of leather , braying of mule , firewood being stacked , horses , cattle and the rooster breaking the silence of night , sunrise announcing the new day to a hard working family plus every hamlet along the way ! .
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
Adventures with an Olivetti
(In which the scrivener violates his rule never to write in the first-person)
My bed was a Sears & Roebuck sleeping bag
And my world headquarters that old MG;
An Olivetti portable processed
My words, my fresh young words, that no one read
I owned more books than clothes, and only those few
That could be stowed in the passenger seat;
I fancied myself the new Rod McKuen
And I wasn’t - but I remember the road
When the world was new, adventures every day
And I miss that - but mattresses are nice
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
useless objects purchased
by sexless people.
objects they make love to
the only way they know how.
they bring neighbors
and ****** are spilled
from under dressing room doors
onto shoes designed for
this sort of marathon.
your new blouse: ******
your bracelet: true love
pharamone spray
in bottles smells
like commercials
selling eternal youth
and animal lust
which your body
used to sweat
onto a mattress
with no sheets
in an apartment
with no power.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
~
deep in the recesses of slumber
dreams are influenced by external forces
we pulled the mattress into the living space
for a little impromptu camping
and being in such proximity to the dog beds
we found their licking and scratching and chewing
to be near unbearable
white noise fan blades breaking up the roar
it was a dream
at first the high hatted chef seemed normal
presenting plates of deliciousness
when at once he grabbed an ice pick
and went to insanely hacking on a large frozen rectangle
it might as well have been a mobster ******
chips flew and the pointed tip plunged deeper and deeper
my eyes opened to a steady rhythmic licking
as the oldest dog lay against the Stearns and Roebuck
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
Sears and Roebuck
dreams
for less than
a sawbuck
pictured on every page.
Wait fer the stage honey
before you parts with your
money
honey,
Then we sailed down
the 'ssippi
to Orleans
met a Southern belle
name of Dolores
played poker
drank mash
'til we ran out of cash
and took Shanks's pony
back home.
The mortgage fell due
on the ranch house and
spread,
the cattle was out on the range
with old Red,
most of my kinfolk was a prayin
in town
thinking that Jesus would look kindly
down on them
misguided men for the most part
hearts in the right place,
but iffen your face
don't happen to fit
Ya gets your
*** out of here or be quick on the draw card and quit.
it's life, but
hard as ****
made easier no doubt
by
Sears and Roebuck.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
And I have seen paradise before
It was a heaven of ideological
proportions
located
on the junction
of childhood and interstates
of man and youth, with marble floors
and distant speakers echoing drops off of
cell phone booths
and older people
selling things for us to buy
to find ourselves happy in the moment
deep cascading waterfalls
Is this heaven?
When a child it's all you see
the white and pedicured purity
of a waxed granite floor,
the impersonal monotony
feeling a soul in a world unknown
the closest thing to dreaming
Old T.Vs selling like hotcakes
buy it while it's new!
Gameboy games, pokemon on the tele
silent in the face of some strange musician
playing unworded tunes you'll recognize later
their focus-grouped chords left somewhere in your mind
for you to hum when bored
Everything was perfect, then?
was it?
Those same malls don't sparkle
no more
maybe it's just the grime of life
blocking the mirrored measure of my childhood soul
lost amidst the echoes
the sweet music of truth
bouncing off of the uncolored walls
a send-off of my youth
Maybe when we go back, one day
the walls won't be quite so grey
they'll be power-washed with light,
shine better than ever before,
nothing to buy but our happiness
somewhere in those hallowed halls
searching those windows into other lives
hoping to find the key to our soul
to leave this silly Sphere and
Roebuck
our boat back out the sliding door
-windows
back out into the real world,
no longer dreaming.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
*I traverse the dense pinewood by rote
Through wiry entanglements
Crossing red dirt roads
Engaged to no one , respectful to every
briar , berry and stone
Filled with the music of forest rain
Rummaging fauna , damp floor fora
of bird , sweet breath of multitudinous
country flora , roebuck and windswept
question , hardwood umbrella stops along
the way in timely , unshaken order
Content in where I belong
To close the circle for awhile and belong* ...
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
It was gunfighting at the OK
which was ok for them
Badlands and bad men,
ten bucks for the sheriff,
God fearing and good men
ploughmen and settlers
sodbusters
cropsharers
all wearing Levi's
bought from
Sears and Roebuck
another ten bucks for the sheriff,
the law always wins in the end.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:46 PM UTC