"waverly" poems
It was the year
man first walked
on the moon
but the third year running
you and your brother
walked the streets
of Edinburgh
and stayed
at the guesthouse
where the Yank guy
told you how
he was mugged
in some bog
at Waverly Station
I was in the stall
on the seat
when there was a banging
on the door
and someone yelled
open up I’m going to puke
so I did the
Yank said
and some guy
stole the wallet
from my pant’s pocket
and ran off
your brother sat
at the breakfast table
bemused
why did you open
the door?
you asked
well I guess I thought
it would help
the Yank said
holding his coffee cup
with both hands
you know
kind of threw me
off course
I’d have told the guy
to go puke elsewhere
your brother said
but he seemed desperate
the Yank said
looking at your brother
with a Humphrey Bogart gaze
won’t do that again
he said
sipping his coffee
you studied the guy’s plump face
his bulky frame
his sausage size fingers
the gold ring
on his third
right hand finger
his I LOVE AMERICA tee-shirt
his blue shorts
no matter
guess we all learn
from our mistakes
you said
next time
someone bangs
on the bog door
tell them
go puke on the floor
the Yank nodded his head
his Bogart impression
faded
to a saggy dog face
and you thought
gazing at
his blonde hair
there
but for the grace of God
go I
and your brother smiled
and winked a blue eye.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
At Waverly station people are escaping for the weekend
In Edinburgh people are going about their daily lives
Crowds arrive for the festival, tourists take photos of monuments, we take for granted .People travel on buses taking them on tours of the city
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
I sit here at the corner
Watching people spend their lives
waving at them as they pass
kids and husbands with their wives
They call me Mr. Waverly
Though no one knows my name
If I'm not out there waving
Life just wouldn't be the same
I sit and wave at everyone I see
When someone calls out "Waverly"....that's me
I wave at everyone as they pass by
Most likely will until the day I die
If I'm not out there waving
Folks wonder how I am
I'm known for what I do
Not known for who I am
I sit out on the corner
Waving from beneath my tree
As people pass and yell out
"Hey Waverly....that's me"
I sit and wave at everyone I see
When someone calls out "Waverly"....that's me
I wave at everyone as they pass by
Most likely will until the day I die
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
Down Waverly Lane,
the mist and the haze,
the fog that descends,
the cold and the rain.
Down Waverly lane,
histories stains,
lurk in the shadows,
dance in the shade.
Down Waverly Lane
the night and the moon
the dreams you can't lose
the guilt you consume.
Down Waverly lane,
histories stains,
lurk in the shadows,
dance in the shade.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Assume, just for a moment,
That yesterday wasn't really yesterday
You were in a vegetative state: you saw the light
just to be awoken, from your worst nightmare
The sky wasn’t blue, anymore it look gray:
The man in the white house was missing, off the radar
Leaving the people with nothing more than all his hopes
Then you remember, somewhere where you read
That the poet also resigns himself to his mood.
Perhaps, that why some verses should always end with an Amen,
I remembered sitting in my little chair in preschool
Waiting for the role called, j
just to hear her called my name correctly
But, my teacher never did, waverly, wabney,
Assume, just for a moment in time, I got up
And yelled it not warily, or Dabney it Demerara *** holes:
I always got a sick feeling, when they called my bestie name
And she wasn’t there, I always assumes the worse..
I was always an emotional state of sensing another‘s emotions.
At an early age I was that child who spoke with colors: I held on so tight, to my crayons box and silly putty that I made an image of my fist:
As an adult we hold on to grudges and bitterness
I too am guilty of that: when would it end.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
they used to ask me?
yo yosef do you feel pain?
I said he'll yeah all across my membrane
use the hair strains
off my ***** mary jane
can't **** with that *******
it's the only way to keep my mind sane
gotta dame yeah she's far from tamed
but I gotta dig deeper
cuz if not she'll leave ya
I told her I'm on some revolutionist ****
she look at me confused *** ****
I told her ya know we kings and queens
but it seems
they always discredit us in a magazine
stereotypes and ******** movie hype
thinkin every ***** is out to snipe
I gotta cope nope I don't sell dope
but my rhyme is dope
to this beat y'all elope
married to tune sounds of doom uh
ya better know the game G
cuz I ain't down with buck dancing G
**** this new slavery and this new waverly
of fashion form **** the uniform I don't conform
to no ********
I'd rather be a dude that a lunatic
I gotta stay true to my barrio
ever since K-rino bumped in my stereo and now I know
why they hate me
it's cuz of my masculinity
wishin they could be us notorious
and dangerous
in lies we trust
government gonna get a gun bust
from every last on of us
my ancestors are my protectors
mama didn't wanna hear me or steer me
so I turned to the universe
and they cleared me
guilty from the system
ghostly farms coming for the lynching
don't be alarm black folks
it's just us returning the yoke
forty acres and a mule
check the clips from the sound of my tool
my Drago leggo my eggo
we beat any scenario
puff another blunt of indo
see me through ya Window
I'm in the thoughts of ya temple
chambers deep creep like TLC
we cool strong and crazy
fools don't phase me cuz lately
I been seein thangs
that the average
eye can't see
so sit back as I wreck the place
holding the world hostage no ransom
prepare for the coming of Scarface
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
Picturesque Edinburgh symbolizes Scottish regal splendor,
Which can be seen in buildings that are truly rich in decor,
The solid architectural structures are such a visual marvel,
Replete with history when one tries to unravel
Mary, Queen of Scots is a name we remember from school history,
The palace where she was born speaks of tales that remain a sad mystery,
That she was ordained to be the Queen as soon as she was born, was destiny,
It was her mother's foresight and Providence that enabled her to survive the mutiny
The palace rooms and items therein portray her tragic life,
Their vividity saddens the visitor when seeing how full it was of strife,
The room in which she was kept in isolation by her better half,
Spoke volumes of the agony she endured at the hands of her bitter half
The Royal Castle has a whole history behind its walls,
The gusty Scottish winds in no way diminishes visitors' footfalls,
The audio tour reveals fascinating stories little heard of elsewhere,
Which we would never come to know if we had not been there
The prisoners-of-war cells and isolation wards that are centuries old,
Depict in great detail the meted treatment which was a sight to behold,
One cannot but wonder at the related stories of medieval times,
The mannerisms of people of warring nations, that was less than sublime
The difference in Scottish and English (London) accents is quite striking,
One needs to listen closely without too much jaw breaking,
Where the former is more subtle and measured and in consonance with word spelling,
The drawl and crunching emphasis of words in the latter is more telling
While walking through Princess Street Garden at leisure,
Taking in the floral beauty is such a pleasure,
The spectacular view of the castle atop the hill,
Screams for a photo shoot of your own free will
The Waverly Bridge junction is a busy thoroughfare all day,
As automobiles ply by and pedestrians wend their way,
The hustle and bustle is not too over the top,
As people seemingly find time to stop and shop
As a nation the Scots can be justifiably proud,
By nature they seem modest without being too loud,
Their common bond with the English is that they share the same Queen,
Their rivalry otherwise is perhaps latent and needs to be seen
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC
Th' sound o' th' bagpipes
howfur it stirs th' soul
tae battle oan
ah wis tellt
by mah faither
that whin th' Germans
sawed a lone ****
comin' up th' beach
blawin his pipes
thay didnae fire
thinking mibbie
he wis a bawherr
touched in th' heid
'n' let him be
as ither soldiers
aroond him lay wee
or lay deid
moved back 'n' forth
by th' sea
ah mind hearing
a lone piper speil
in Auld Reekie
by Waverly Station
dressed in kilt
'n' stowed oot regalia
closed een
'n' ah thought
o' th' lone ****
comin' up that beach
blawin awa'
'n' aye
blows th'day.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 4:48 AM UTC
The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and Time Travel
On a stack of giveaways, a paperback:
The Man from U.N.C.L.E. – The Mad Scientist Affair
Napoleon with each sable hair in place
And Ilya in his groovy turtleneck
Poised for action on a four-color cover
With clever gadgets against wicked T.H.R.U.S.H.
Spies, guns, jet planes, secret lairs, beautiful girls
Mr. Waverly, and “Open Channel D”
Solo and Kuryakin, so cool, yeah, man -
Teachers and parents – they just didn’t understand!
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC