"zeke" poems - Hello Poetry

Mark A. Williams SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018 ___________________________________________________________ Wow Mark, Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later! Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker. All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota. (RIP Jimi Carlsen) Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons! Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories. I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend. I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together. Jeff Gaines July 28, 2018

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Aug 2, 2018

Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC

Jeff-Gaines

Message to a Friend

Mark A. Williams SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018 ___________________________________________________________ Wow Mark, Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later! Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker. All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota. (RIP Jimi Carlsen) Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons! Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories. I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend. I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together. Jeff Gaines July 28, 2018

14

The 7 wonders of the world Is quite a sight to see But it don't compare to what we have In the hills of Tennessee Uncle Zebs cow is a big ole thing Quite a sight to behold That cow's so big that when they milk her Her udders even have to unfold Cousin Zeke has a six-legged mule And man that thing is fast One time he raced a bobcat And the bobcat finished last My granny's teeth are made of wood Of course, they were bought from a store But ever since that termite season She don't use them much no more Aunt Imojean has a twine collection That she started when she was three I guess if we unwound that thing It'd reach clear 'cross Tennessee Cousin Jake has a rattlesnake He pickled and stuffed in a jar He caught that thing a year ago Trying to run off with his car Uncle Randolph has this chicken Who howls and barks at the moon That poor chicken is so dadgum old That she has to be fed with a spoon Uncle Sam has the seventh wonder An invisible moonshine still We ain't seen it since he made it But it's somewhere on that hill So, after you think you've seen it all You haven't seen anything yet Come to the hills of Tennessee And see things you'll never forget

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Oct 8, 2010

Oct 8, 2010 at 9:07 PM UTC

larry-b

Hillbilly 7 Wonders

The 7 wonders of the world Is quite a sight to see But it don't compare to what we have In the hills of Tennessee Uncle Zebs cow is a big ole thing Quite a sight to behold That cow's so big that when they milk her Her udders even have to unfold Cousin Zeke has a six-legged mule And man that thing is fast One time he raced a bobcat And the bobcat finished last My granny's teeth are made of wood Of course, they were bought from a store But ever since that termite season She don't use them much no more Aunt Imojean has a twine collection That she started when she was three I guess if we unwound that thing It'd reach clear 'cross Tennessee Cousin Jake has a rattlesnake He pickled and stuffed in a jar He caught that thing a year ago Trying to run off with his car Uncle Randolph has this chicken Who howls and barks at the moon That poor chicken is so dadgum old That she has to be fed with a spoon Uncle Sam has the seventh wonder An invisible moonshine still We ain't seen it since he made it But it's somewhere on that hill So, after you think you've seen it all You haven't seen anything yet Come to the hills of Tennessee And see things you'll never forget

36

Davie is not like his older brother Solomon. In fact, he works hard at being different. He never makes his bed for weeks at a time. He wears the same grungy shirt until it falls off in shreds. He never washes his hands before dinner, and often comes to the table late. He doesn’t brush his teeth, has never been to a dentist, doesn’t floss, And avoids eating his vegetables, except for green beans. He spends his allowance on wine, women, and song, and friends Zeke and Abe, who are always in trouble. He frets about not having more money for wine, women, and songs. He avoids work, quitting early if Solomon is not around to yell at him. He loves upsetting his older brother, tries to do so as often as he can. Many nights Davie sits out under the Milky Way and dreams of what the world out there must be like. Nearly every day, Solomon complains to their father, “That kid is no good, lazy, irresponsible, and destined to destruction. Father, you need to do something about him.” Davie says, “I’m not lazy. I just have different priorities. Life is too short to spend behind a plow on this stupid farm. I just want to be free to live my own life in my own way.” He's sure he could make a go of it, given a chance.

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Nov 21, 2013

Nov 21, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC

bob-spears

Younger Brother Blues -- The Prodigal Son Revisited

Davie is not like his older brother Solomon. In fact, he works hard at being different. He never makes his bed for weeks at a time. He wears the same grungy shirt until it falls off in shreds. He never washes his hands before dinner, and often comes to the table late. He doesn’t brush his teeth, has never been to a dentist, doesn’t floss, And avoids eating his vegetables, except for green beans. He spends his allowance on wine, women, and song, and friends Zeke and Abe, who are always in trouble. He frets about not having more money for wine, women, and songs. He avoids work, quitting early if Solomon is not around to yell at him. He loves upsetting his older brother, tries to do so as often as he can. Many nights Davie sits out under the Milky Way and dreams of what the world out there must be like. Nearly every day, Solomon complains to their father, “That kid is no good, lazy, irresponsible, and destined to destruction. Father, you need to do something about him.” Davie says, “I’m not lazy. I just have different priorities. Life is too short to spend behind a plow on this stupid farm. I just want to be free to live my own life in my own way.” He's sure he could make a go of it, given a chance.

19

Sitting 'neath an apple tree In Edmond, Oklahoma Thinking of the days gone by And drinking my Corona Body beat all black and blue I've had less ups than I've downs I guess that's just all that I get As an old time rodeo clown Should I say another season? Is it worth what I will get? Money, pain and broken bones Those not broken yet I've been gored by bulls in Texas Stomped real hard in Abilene But, I got my worst **** beating By my ex, named Bobbie Jean With a bull you see it coming You just get out of the way But Bobbie Jean sideswiped me And I'll not forget that day Put on some clown makeup Some baggy pants, the game is on But, I came home from one junket And Bobbie Jean had up and gone I wasn't set to find this Fell in a bottle for a week It wasn't bad she left me It's that she took my hound dog, Zeke That hurt more than any beating I may have taken in the ring I can take the biggest brahma And the bruises it may bring But, Bobbie Jean done hurt me Blind sided me you'd say I know I'll not forgive her For taking my dog Zeke away Now, I sit and ponder One more empty by my side Am I fit enough to stay here? Can I stay for one last ride? I know it's a sad story Of a clown whose heart got broke But beneath the colored face paint I'm just an aging, sore cowpoke So I sit beneath this fruit tree In Edmond, Oklahoma Pondering my future As I drink one more Corona.

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Jun 17, 2018

Jun 17, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC

roger-turner

Rodeo Clown

Sitting 'neath an apple tree In Edmond, Oklahoma Thinking of the days gone by And drinking my Corona Body beat all black and blue I've had less ups than I've downs I guess that's just all that I get As an old time rodeo clown Should I say another season? Is it worth what I will get? Money, pain and broken bones Those not broken yet I've been gored by bulls in Texas Stomped real hard in Abilene But, I got my worst **** beating By my ex, named Bobbie Jean With a bull you see it coming You just get out of the way But Bobbie Jean sideswiped me And I'll not forget that day Put on some clown makeup Some baggy pants, the game is on But, I came home from one junket And Bobbie Jean had up and gone I wasn't set to find this Fell in a bottle for a week It wasn't bad she left me It's that she took my hound dog, Zeke That hurt more than any beating I may have taken in the ring I can take the biggest brahma And the bruises it may bring But, Bobbie Jean done hurt me Blind sided me you'd say I know I'll not forgive her For taking my dog Zeke away Now, I sit and ponder One more empty by my side Am I fit enough to stay here? Can I stay for one last ride? I know it's a sad story Of a clown whose heart got broke But beneath the colored face paint I'm just an aging, sore cowpoke So I sit beneath this fruit tree In Edmond, Oklahoma Pondering my future As I drink one more Corona.

48

this, this is completely new. ''I was born on the Summer Solstice, 92. I want to be free.'' eat a pomegranate together naked at a blue table don't care that the juice is everywhere. connect silently on the floor to Dark Side of the Moon skip in circles and howl to the moon embrace the cold of the fire escape, cigarette smoke and a view of the cathedral a voice that you feel in your bones, the most difficult night you have ever crawled away from in the morning light.

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Dec 6, 2011

Dec 6, 2011 at 12:18 AM UTC

kiagen-mcginnis

Zeke

this, this is completely new. ''I was born on the Summer Solstice, 92. I want to be free.'' eat a pomegranate together naked at a blue table don't care that the juice is everywhere. connect silently on the floor to Dark Side of the Moon skip in circles and howl to the moon embrace the cold of the fire escape, cigarette smoke and a view of the cathedral a voice that you feel in your bones, the most difficult night you have ever crawled away from in the morning light.

11

**i stood on a star and put the (uni)verse on notice.. in love for the first time; never prior to hearing her speak could i've known any emotion as forthright or that it had a voice a podium and an audience to give its whole mouth to... taught me how to pronounce the same scattered thoughts that once upon a self-conscious moment would dissolve on the base of my tongue like potent hallucinogens... the same sentiments i couldn't enunciate to save my life i've become an abstract illustration of what it is to be moved and a slave to vacant canvases bad ***** that she is... beauty to my beast and as feel good as a four letter word her poems are as fine as the source or a frozen red rose in an empty wineglass and hard to find vintage vinyl albums my drops are laced with the blood of wordsmiths we're hip-hop thick skinned an all-black cathedral choir a solar eclipse big things her poems are the bones of what's left of me or candy yams on sunday or a ***** dollar bill stuck to the bottom of my shoe good luck like that and her own personal soapbox our sessions are privileged my crystallized thoughts are off key all the rage... we work unsuspecting platforms like subway performance artists her poems are intimate touches in chantilly lace or a pair of oatmeal tim's refined and love me, love me nots penned in tear drop blue we're so cultural religious and impartial to love while our political joints march with their fists raised in protest of voter suppression baby girl's, frances to my zeke once upon a time in the projects and one way or another she's happy people dope like cannabis sweet like cane sugar and as beloved as ms. ida brown's tattered bible #myword dear shorty, i want my poetry and write it too all ink smeared roads lead back to you**

0

Apr 22, 2014

Apr 22, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC

derickgibbs

HELLO POETRY

**i stood on a star and put the (uni)verse on notice.. in love for the first time; never prior to hearing her speak could i've known any emotion as forthright or that it had a voice a podium and an audience to give its whole mouth to... taught me how to pronounce the same scattered thoughts that once upon a self-conscious moment would dissolve on the base of my tongue like potent hallucinogens... the same sentiments i couldn't enunciate to save my life i've become an abstract illustration of what it is to be moved and a slave to vacant canvases bad ***** that she is... beauty to my beast and as feel good as a four letter word her poems are as fine as the source or a frozen red rose in an empty wineglass and hard to find vintage vinyl albums my drops are laced with the blood of wordsmiths we're hip-hop thick skinned an all-black cathedral choir a solar eclipse big things her poems are the bones of what's left of me or candy yams on sunday or a ***** dollar bill stuck to the bottom of my shoe good luck like that and her own personal soapbox our sessions are privileged my crystallized thoughts are off key all the rage... we work unsuspecting platforms like subway performance artists her poems are intimate touches in chantilly lace or a pair of oatmeal tim's refined and love me, love me nots penned in tear drop blue we're so cultural religious and impartial to love while our political joints march with their fists raised in protest of voter suppression baby girl's, frances to my zeke once upon a time in the projects and one way or another she's happy people dope like cannabis sweet like cane sugar and as beloved as ms. ida brown's tattered bible #myword dear shorty, i want my poetry and write it too all ink smeared roads lead back to you**

74

Bitter cold winters kept me far and wrapped away but today the well beckons me.. the bucket and winch tied to my rope of hope. So one foot following the next with thawing frosty breath. I zeke.. Ezekiel. Approaches. The well of depth and revelation. My witherd soul cries for transfusion. Clarity from dark delusion.. The stinging cold as I place my hands on the frozen stone and lean forward to gaze deep to the murky bottom. Answers fermented but potent distilled. Zeke..I am Ezekiel...the bucket drops swiftly to the limited...submerges.. seeking answers. There it rises as I turn the handle slowly. There it rises with hidden freedom. There.Ezekiel's answe lies within the inner. Begin again..zeke Rewind...questions will always exceed answers..so begin Again...another day has been granted. Begin again... Renew the You within

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Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC

geno-cattouse-1

zeke

Bitter cold winters kept me far and wrapped away but today the well beckons me.. the bucket and winch tied to my rope of hope. So one foot following the next with thawing frosty breath. I zeke.. Ezekiel. Approaches. The well of depth and revelation. My witherd soul cries for transfusion. Clarity from dark delusion.. The stinging cold as I place my hands on the frozen stone and lean forward to gaze deep to the murky bottom. Answers fermented but potent distilled. Zeke..I am Ezekiel...the bucket drops swiftly to the limited...submerges.. seeking answers. There it rises as I turn the handle slowly. There it rises with hidden freedom. There.Ezekiel's answe lies within the inner. Begin again..zeke Rewind...questions will always exceed answers..so begin Again...another day has been granted. Begin again... Renew the You within

14

u deserve more just try to look around u deserve more please step out on that same ground

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Aug 22, 2016

Aug 22, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC

dochi-sedulan

zeke

u deserve more just try to look around u deserve more please step out on that same ground

4

I say your name like a prayer. It protects me from conversations that I can’t bear to hear, to rehash with myself or others. I can’t write it without unloading reverence into syllables and letters. I praise vowels for the ease they provide to your name and abhor them in the same breath. It is far too easy to let it slip off my tongue, an eternal mantra. I have no control over words that spill past my lips. I’m condemned to a phrase for the rest of my life. And the only complaint I have is that I wish you had a prettier name. Or maybe one less biblical. Sanctimonious. Transcendent. It keeps lifting me up and pulling down, down to where I’m forced to gaze upon it as a savior. Pleading to get me out a world where your name doesn’t mean everything. I can’t bear to be somewhere your aphorisms aren’t holy. Take me Home, where your words are ambrosia. The only food I will ever need.

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Jun 1, 2018

Jun 1, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC

avillagra

"It's Ezekiel. Call me, Zeke."

I say your name like a prayer. It protects me from conversations that I can’t bear to hear, to rehash with myself or others. I can’t write it without unloading reverence into syllables and letters. I praise vowels for the ease they provide to your name and abhor them in the same breath. It is far too easy to let it slip off my tongue, an eternal mantra. I have no control over words that spill past my lips. I’m condemned to a phrase for the rest of my life. And the only complaint I have is that I wish you had a prettier name. Or maybe one less biblical. Sanctimonious. Transcendent. It keeps lifting me up and pulling down, down to where I’m forced to gaze upon it as a savior. Pleading to get me out a world where your name doesn’t mean everything. I can’t bear to be somewhere your aphorisms aren’t holy. Take me Home, where your words are ambrosia. The only food I will ever need.

2

Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com The© Happy™ Home© Akku-Rite™ OTC Covid-1 Test© The picture on the box features a couple Cuddling cutely in domestic bliss As they poke the swabs way up each other’s nose (Oh, don’t be scandalized; they’re married, of course!) These and other fine products are distributed by Consolidated HelthKare Medical, Inc. Makers of the Kut-Kut© Home Vasectomy Kit And Ol’ Doc Zeke’s™ Happy Mule© Diarrhea Remedy™ Ol’ Doc Zeke’s™ Happy Mule© Diarrhea Remedy™ Is not approved for use in humans (wink, wink)

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Sep 3, 2021

Sep 3, 2021 at 2:29 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com The© Happy™ Home© Akku-Rite™ OTC Covid-1 Test© The picture on the box features a couple Cuddling cutely in domestic bliss As they poke the swabs way up each other’s nose (Oh, don’t be scandalized; they’re married, of course!) These and other fine products are distributed by Consolidated HelthKare Medical, Inc. Makers of the Kut-Kut© Home Vasectomy Kit And Ol’ Doc Zeke’s™ Happy Mule© Diarrhea Remedy™ Ol’ Doc Zeke’s™ Happy Mule© Diarrhea Remedy™ Is not approved for use in humans (wink, wink)

16