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am i ee Sep 2015
the little tree
took root from
an acorn nut.

the years passed,
she watched the loggers
come and go.

taking her friends
and family off
on the big beds
of the timber trucks.

year after year,
season after season,
there she stood,
winter, fall, spring, and summer,
one slow grow.

first she was short,
barely a spurt,
then she branched out,
and up and up and up.

the trees stood
all around her,
so serious,
oh so silent company.

however,
never a mean word nor
loud shout was ever heard.

never any other music
but for that of the birds,
and the wind and the sun
and
the creatures walking the
woodland floor,
those traveling through to
far distant exotic lands.

at least she never heard
“girl, you are some fat tree.”
or was the target of any joke,
“when you sit around the house,
you sit AROUND the house.”

nor any
“you gotta do something with them leaves,
they are looking like a rat’s nest.
Oh i see, it IS a squirrel’s nest.”

or for a stray bump or large hideous growth
no one ever said,
“you better go get that removed,
that's one ugly lump!"

years and years passed,
her soul inside,
couldn’t be heard,
not a word.

then one day,
the fellows came through,
looking and measuring,
measuring and looking,
out came the chainsaw.

eyes alighting on she,
on all of her
tall, majestic beauty.
with swift, quick work
she fell,
down,
to the earth.

loaded on the flatbed,
chains wrapped securely around,
engine roared to life,
and she took off,
racing into the darkening night.

she knew tears did fall
as forests thinned
and were laid bare,
but all she could think,
all she could say,
was
“so long suckers!
i’ll see you on broadway one day!”

and so it became true,
her dream of yore,
it was finally in,
Radio City Music Hall,
she landed as the floor.

night after night
to her lasting delight
tap dancers tapped
making her sing
bringing out the music
in she
so previously
imprisoned inside,
for so long.

sanded and polished
varnished and cleaned,
her secret inner beauty
finally brought to life,
finally brought into the light.

she beamed and sighed,
every time a new star
stepped on to her,
to her extreme delight.

any day or night,
when every eye of
the house,
every one of the audience
was riveted on she.

oh what a thrill
when the Radio City Rockettes
did finally come out,
for only for she
could they dance
so straight,
so evenly.

Sometimes i look
at the woods laid bare.
my heart drops low
so sad i feel,
a tear spills out.

then i recall,
the tale of this tree,
the little acorn nut,
how a trip to
a city,
made her so
lastingly
happy &
so  very
pretty!
am i ee Sep 2015
prognostication
trognostication
snogmosstignation
flogtrosticatio­n

i don’t know what
prognostication means
so i thought i’d
take a little time
and make a rhyme.
seeking out Mr. Dictionary...i do now.
am i ee Sep 2015
Hey!
you!
yeah you!
you big fat bus!
with your big fat yellow bootay!

i'm just trying to get to the park,
when out of the dark,
of the trees,
there you be.

Four
FOUR
FOUR stops in four steps
no more
i swear.

sitting in my car
the minutes of my life
little grains of sand
sifting away.

little feet
and little legs
can you possibly
move any slower
across that street?

heavy with packs.
when did kids start
carryin' full backpacks
for a day a school?

where is that school?
top of Mt Everest?

Hurry up!

GET ON that bus!
get on that big fat bus!
with the big fat yellow bootay!

mama and papa
and gramps and grandma and all
kiss and hug you
like you are really setting off to sea.

gimme a break they'll be back at three!

i say,
now go on,
go on now,
GET ON that bus,
that big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay!

and *** your big fat yellow bootay
OUTTA MY WAY!

i say,
hey,
go on now,
get outta my way.

fat bootay
outta my way...
hey hey hey
get outta my way
you big bootay.
you big fat bus
with your big fat yellow bootay.
special request - fast poem for Joseph Red Hawk!  what do you say?

if you have a hankerin' to read from the beginning... see the Collections,  The Manly Cowboy & Chronicles of a Big Fat Yellow Bootay
am i ee Sep 2015
The manly cowboy put back his hat,
closed the door,
and so manly,
walked away.

Down the path he trod,
avoiding all the rolling rod.

Upon he came
to three little young lasses,

crouching over
looking silently intent,
little sticks in their hands.

There lay a little
grey mole*
dead to the world.

Stiff as tree
eyes no longer to see.

“Good day ladies”
said he,
the manly cowboy,
tipping his hat
so very gentlemanly.

“what’s  that i see you a pokin’?”

‘Only a dead mouse.”
said the three.

“Why don’t you move
the little guy,
over a little there,
over a little that way.

"slowly with your sticks.
gentle as tongs.

"cover him sweetly
with a blanket
of wild flowers.

"and leave him
lying there so lovingly."

i give you this advice
be nice to the mice,

instead of poking death
death in the head
so innocently
but
so disrespectfully.”

Then tipping his hat,
he was gone.
*or vole?

if you have a hankerin' to read from the beginning... see the Collections,  The Manly Cowboy & Chronicles of a Big Fat Yellow Bootay
am i ee Sep 2015
i'd rather live one day free,
than a lifetime,
behind glass,
a lifetime,
behind bar.

caged and pacing,
while the world stares on.
freedom taken.
wild nature's wings
grounded.

roaming and racing,
the wind in my face,
the wind at my back.
covering ground,
high and low,
near and far,
wide open spaces.

tiny or large,
majestic warm-blooded creature,
or insect so small,
all,
free at large.

i rather live one day free,
than a lifetime,
behind glass,
a lifetime,
behind bar.
am i ee Sep 2015
Arriving in this world,
naked and alone.

Departing the world,
naked and alone.

and all the time
in between,
naked
alone
and quietly free.
am i ee Sep 2015
Cool night air wafts in
through open door.
Delicately caressing  skin.
Filling  lungs with
peace so fresh,
ears with such
silence deep.
243 AM
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