Deaths Of 2013

My third year doing this.

Paul Walker, Texas ranger,
driving fast leads to danger.
Matt Osbourne was Doink The Clown,
Paul Bearer always wore a frown.
Dennis Farina and James Gandolfini,
always played a mobster meany.
Peter O'Toole, famous actor,
Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher.
President Nelson Mandela,
Dennis Burkley, was a famous fat actor fella.
Lou Reed, is now on the wild side,
took all the colored girls for a ride.
Conrad Bain and Bonnie Franklin,
tv actors who had white skin.
Paul Blair and Stan The Man,
playing baseball, when they can.
Marcia Wallace and Lisa Robin Kelly,
both had ***** that bounced like jelly.
Tom Clancy wrote famous books,
not much on having good looks.
Cory Montieth and Patti Page,
one died young, other of old age.
Jean Stapleton, was Edith Bunker,
Archie always put her in the dumper.
Pat Summerall and Deacon Jones,
played football and broke some bones.
Dr. Joyce Brothers and Pauline Phillips,
they both gave good and bad tips.
Ray Manzarek, from The Doors,
Jeff Hanneman knew all Slayers chords.
Chrissy Amphlett, liked to touch herself,
Caleb Moore's trophies are on his shelf.
Mindy McCready and George Jones,
both hit those country tones.
Chris Kelly from Kris Kross,
Ed Koch is a New York loss.
David Frost and Roger Ebert,
always had words to insert.
Anneitte Funicello from Mickey Mouse Club,
Eydie Gorme almost got a snub.
Jonathan Winters, was very funny,
to come from Mork's egg, made him money.
If you don't know who these people are,
look them up, internet not very far.
For the ones that I missed,
please don't get to ******.

Serving up poetry like ***** and ginger ale
(with a ***-soaked crook and a big fat laugh),
the anti slow-soul-erosion antidote to...normality

way up ‘high’ on a ledge, overlooking the mountain range,
got my Stetson on, canteen full of ***** and ginger ale,
matches in my pocket, Chris Stapleton in my ears, and
a *** soaked blunt between my lips to get even hi-higher

a big fat laugh crosses my lips, creases my face, it’s time
to lean up against that big tree, light myself up, strategize,
how to get even higher, how to get down, how to do both
simultaneously, at the same time, without dying too slowly

the sunrise cheats, clods of plain ugly clouds covered it up,
i know it’s on account of me accumulating, stuff, bad poems,
delayed gratification of not confronting the situational, at the
cellular level, though the intersection with macro-international
clusters of men destructing their corner of the world surely
ain’t helping, but the drip into veins cools the paining’s ardor

the woman is edgy, debating if it’s that time, to give up, to snap
that towel across her face like a forgotten hotel wake up call request,
should-she take the truck and go visit her sister in Ashtabula
for a week of *******’ and staying longer, a couple of years more,
and me muse what i recall from living alone, and how it was easier
and so much harder that the shakes begin but that don’t stop,
but adjust the *****/ginger ale ratio, and things seem fuzzier
and for that I am eternally grateful for the miracle of potato
distillation

could do much more additive, but you don’t got the patience
like I do, so, forgive in advance and here’s hoping that maybe

someday you’ll learn this craft and the  extreme patience it
requires, how to savor a word, its conjunction with the one that
comes before and after, the combinations that make a verse, a stanza
sobering beautiful that it robs your breathtaking sensors, a scar minder to, for god sakes, ****! **** that trip to trite, give us something to shout about,

exhale on the moraine morass, that’s the other side of, yup, over
the rainbow that landed on the peak, cause a peek, is just the start of a trip downwards sloping doggy on my hands and knees and yeah, i’m drunker than I care to deny so I’ll head back down, or roll down, to find out what my next adventure will take, maybe I’ll chase after her,

and fall on her neck with sorries, sorrows, and kisses, besides,
now that I’m done, the sun decides to show a couple of cracks
and that’s some kind of of sign to wrap this sonata up and try a
new fugue, letting its contrapuntal composition tune cleanse me
and
save the day, and a corner of the world, hell it could even spread
like somethings good, successful  counter terrorism, zero shootings in New York and Chicago, forget, yeah, what they call that?  oh yeah,
peace on earth.

just maybe.

If I ever found a bottle
With a Genie stuffed inside
Along the beaches Sandy shore
I'd rub it with all my might

And when the Genie showed  himself
I'd try not to act surprised  
I would pretend that things like this
Happen all the time

When he offered me three wishes
I'd only take up one
That would be for me to sing
Just like Chris Stapleton

A bird falls
a broken wing
Its halo shattered
for no more will it fly
for no more will it sing of
the breath of wind
beneath its wings
a broken halo
with light
that shines
with stars
no more
with
a bird
that used
to fly
The poem above was inspired by
  Chris Stapleton’s song Broken halos

There Is A Famous Detective Who Lives On Baker Street
He Is The Only Detective That You’ll Ever Need To Meet
Solving The Case Of The Ferocious Baskervillain Hound
On The Moors Near Baskerville Hall The Curse Kept Underground
He Looked Into A Portrait The Clues Where In His Eyes
What He Saw Looking Back At Him Came As No Surprise
Piecing Together The Evidence Like Only His Mind Can
He Deduced That Stapleton Was The Culprit And Their Man
So At Last Our Henry Was Free Of The Baskervillian Curse
How Did He Solve The Mystery Elementary Of Course

She was wild, free, but broken
With freshly shattered chains.
The neon lights called her name
And Tequila filled her veins.

Her ring finger tan line was fading
But the emotional damage remained.
She felt like she had wasted precious years
Of her youth and only herself was to blame.

The music blared and the lights lowered
As the couples filled the dance hall.
Her red curls cascaded and her lips curled into a smile
When he extended a hand and said, “You wanna waltz, doll?”

He twirled her around for what seemed like days,
As Chris Stapleton serenaded her heart.
She danced, she drank, and she laughed
And she tried relentlessly to keep from falling apart.

She was wild, free, but broken
With freshly shattered chains.
The neon lights called her name
And Tequila filled her veins.

~for alison~

sun’s come out, yellow invitations issuing,
let’s walk, asking, my afternoon habitué, you’ll talk,
I’ll listen, maybe a poem, a tune, who knows,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear

Nina Simone on the phone, called,
letting you know, she’s feeling good,
subtly pointing out you could too,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear

Adele rang up, just in case,
you were undecided, to keep on
chasing pavements, even if,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear

Elle King came by, shame she said,
what’s you need getting into is shame
‘n trouble, the kind that makes ya shake,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear

Chris Stapleton, didn’t have no idea,
you knew him too, reminding you that
Tennessee Whiskey ain’t the answer neither,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear

Amy W. stopped in, in case you needed a ride
in her BMW, just to say hi, you ain’t no p.o.w.,
stop cheating on yourself, it ain’t no good,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear

my woman, sat down next to me, demanding all
my devices, pad and phone, you’ve got memories,
roots, a home on the ground, no nighttime gypsy you,^
don’t need no sad other women music, surely what comes

of it is exactly clear.




^Alice Merton

Bartender and
I holding court
Chris Stapleton
Giving us hope

Otis Redding sings
Change's gonna come
But which is the change?
Trump or life for all?

Live  band kicks off with
Life in Wartime, why not
We’re bombing Putin
This ain't no disco.

I’m drinking hard

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