I woke all the way up this morning
No snoozing around in my bed.
I was singing Summertime again
Music humming around in my head.
I was singing at a gathering too
A room full of mostly blacks.
With two white friends of mine
And they all asked us to come back.

And I wasn’t singing it like her,
That sad woman in Catfish Row.
I was singing it just like I always do
Since I started so very long ago.
I was singing about a person
Who life was treating way unkind.
A person who had lived through
Every bad choice he could find.

It was a kind of benefit performance
To thank these workers for their toil
And we didn’t want to leave them
Until we made their senses boil
With rhythm and tune and lyric
A break from sweat and tears.
We wanted to give them a show
Like they hadn’t seen in many years.

We each sang our own song
About work or losing a friend.
We blended together in between;
Made it come together in the end.
We let the heart and soul sing
And looked them in their eyes.
We reached down into our spirit
And let the loving feelings rise.

As we shared our last sweet notes
The audience got onto its feet
And sang it right along with us
And they didn’t miss a beat.
They clapped and yelled and said
That they wanted us all to know
They hadn’t seen anything that good
Better than a Broadway show.

I didn’t call her baby.
I always called her maybe
Because nothing she said
Could ever be carved in stone.
We’d have a date on Sunday
She might show up on Monday
And no word of apology to share.
I learned about love all alone.

I learned a painful lesson
About what was important
I mattered which you asked
Because she really didn’t care.
I’d have tickets for a concert
And she’d go to the desert
And come back some days later
Never said a word about where.

She called herself free spirit
But I really couldn’t see it
All I could hear was stories
And she was the star of every one.
Things might have been better
If she had written it in a letter
To tell me sweet goodbyes
And then it would have been done.

But when she was around me
She managed to astound me
With whispered words of love
And telling me I was the only one.
But they were just at hand
Like the lies of a one-night stand.
I wish I hadn’t fallen for them.
I wouldn’t have been the lonely one.

Little Lolly LOL is not too bright
She types LOL day and night
She seems to think that abbreviation is
To replace things like parenthesis,
Or hahaha, hello or goodbye.
She uses it constantly, don’t know why.
The way she uses it is a blight.
As I have said, she’s not too bright.

We never met, Little Lolly and I
But it’s almost as if I can hear it;
Her ending every single sentence
With LOL as if it were a period.
She can be chatting about ******
Disease or crooked officials
But she manages to end it with
Those silly, mirthful initials.

Little Lolly LOL I am sure totally fails
To understand what she has said.
I even tried a few times to get
The idea into her fluttery head.
But to her, she is being ‘with it’,
To her it’s just like saying ‘whatever’.
And that it means laughing out loud?
She never quite puts that all together.

With Little Lolly LOL, that is the price
One has to pay for her friendship.
To be sure, she’s not being funny.
LOL is punctuation, not a valid quip.
She saw and somebody explained it
So, she grabbed it and she uses it.
It never occurred to her addled brain
That there was any way to abuse it.

Here sits the poet
The scribe of the times
Rendering the wordless
Into heart-rending rhymes.
Listen to the poet
Who says what most do not.
Pay attention closely
And see what the poet has got.

Sometimes you listen,
Then must listen once more,
Because hidden inside
Might be the words to a score.
Only you don’t yet hear
The music it is playing
Because you are still listening
To the words they are saying.

And, sometimes you must
While reading the second time
Be careful not to penalize
Because the words don’t rhyme.
It is often about the cadence,
The way the words dance along,
That turns the words from prose
To the beginnings of a song.

The poet’s job is to treat you
With a bit more than just language
To give you all the artistry
That the spoken word can manage.
So we use things like spacing
And often joyous syncopation
To achieve your attention
And catch your imagination.

Whether in a limerick
Or in a soothing lullaby
We do our best to slip things
Like satisfaction past your eyes.
We are, after all, artists
Who take what you have heard
And use that to entice you
To fall in love with the spoken word.

I’m sure it has happened
To many other people before.
There comes a moment
A feeling one cannot ignore.
A want, a drive, an impulse
To have, to hold, to own
Something, someone or
A moment that is yours alone.

At a party, a face appeared
And our two eyes connected.
It seemed we were talking;
A dialogue was being erected.
A relationship of mere moments,
It seemed powerfully right.
And at just that one moment
Nothing could be more right.

We left the party immediately
And went to my place to see
If followers through with feeling
What just the right thing to be.
It was all a wonderful adventure.
I am sure we had no kind of fear.
It was an accident of timing,
One I would suffer for years.

Twice more and we were broken,
Never to be together again.
No thoughts about if ever
Not a question about when.
And after the last evening
I knew things had moved on.
When I looked into my wallet.
All of my money was gone.

All because of impatience
And not wanting to be alone
I let myself fall into a kind of
Rock and roll Twilight Zone.
Why didn’t I ask more questions?
Because in that single moment
I wanted a fantasy romance.
Nothing was more important.

It was months later I discovered
In a routine visit to my doctor
That I had contracted a disease
That would ruin my life forever.
They didn’t know what to call it
In those days before the name.
Those were the days before AIDS
And it’s horrific kind of sick fame.

And they had no way to treat it
So, most of us just quickly died.
We had no ability to resist it.
We had no resistance inside.
We lost all our friends and lovers
Because for one single moment
That one evening with a stranger,
Nothing was more important.

I fell into a frenzy of not caring,
Drugs and drink and debauchery.
I felt I had lost all hope in life
And lost all my chance at dignity.
Of course that made me sicker
My resistance went down further.
I no longer wanted to live like that
I was sick of my life altogether.

I am writing this to you, today
So you can share it with others.
Tell people that getting laid
Is not the same as a lover.
Point to me and advise them
We may have just one moment
For valuing ourselves as a person
Nothing must be more important.


(This is dedicated to many of my friends over the decades that suffered from *** and AIDS related issues.)

Halloween, nineteen seventy six,
My friend and I were prowling.
The holiday spirit was strong
It was powerful and howling.
We were visiting friends,
Both is and mine that night,
We saw some wondrous things
House to house that night.

One house was amazing;
A Los Feliz mansion.
It was glorious, a jewel
Both high, wide and handsome.
Inside, a silent movie ran
From foyer to the third floor.
And every room of the house
Was a delight to see and explore.

The next house was a study
Of **** smoking and chat.
We intended to stay awhile
We saw nothing wrong with that.
And, as we plowed through
The crowd ebbed and waned.
I giggle as we tried our best
To maintain the footing we gained.

Then, from the gabbing throng,
A face of a handsome guy
Came out and apparently he
Decided to give kissing me a try.
He pulled me close and it worked,
He planted on me a warm kiss.
He was aiming for my lips and
He aimed he scored, didn’t miss.

The thing that made it memorable
Was that it was a perfect kiss.
I remember thinking to myself
“It’s been years since a kiss like this.”
In a night of traditional revelry
And simulated comic danger
I got the best Halloween kiss ever
And it came from a total stranger.

I never saw him again or since
As he melted back into the crowd.
They were all talking and shouting
So no good shouting out loud.
I just had to accept this hot gift
And go on with my holiday journey.
But that was a most wonderful kiss
And it lives today in my memory.

Brown boys on the beach
All of them are great
So many just out of reach
Because most are straight.
Something close to mocha;
Unbelievably **** skin.
Some of it looks like heaven
And some of it purest sin.

Brown boys in shorts
Just covering bare *****;
Impervious to winks and
Any kind of gay passes.
But I hear rumors of them;
Legends may be a better word.
Gay things have been known
To happen with them I’ve heard.

Brown boys bare chested
Showing off their physiques.
Proud of that they take care of
Best I’ve seen in weeks.
It’s not that white boys here
Are that much less appealing
But there is something about
The way I have been feeling.

Brown boys can flirt here
In a way I have never seen.
It’s flattering without invitation;
Never insulting, never mean.
Someday I will get braver
And ask one of them to teach
How to tell which one is gay
Of those brown boys on the beach.

We talked about fun
A night of one and one
Two adults out dating
Not a lady-in-waiting.
Two people holding hands,
We didn’t have any plans
Not saying words like never
And always and forever.

It’s an unwritten verbal contract
With just the one signature.
The expectancy of longevity
Is more than a bit premature.
It is important to recognize it
When it’s all about fun and games.
It keeps temperature from rising
And avoids the calling of names.

Then it all got turned around
And quite suddenly I found
There were rules for me to obey
Like staying out too late in the day
And things I had to do with you
If I wanted to demonstrate I was true.
It was no longer important to you
It was not enough just loving you.

It’s an unwritten verbal contract
With just the one signature.
The expectancy of longevity
Is more than a bit premature.

I am a prisoner in your heart
When did my sentence start?
How long will I have to serve?
How did you get the nerve
To change a delightful love affair
Into something that would scare?
Sorry, I have to call a halt
You know it’s all your fault.

It is important to recognize it
When it’s all about fun and games.
It keeps temperature from rising
And avoids the calling of names.

We only had a few short dates
We barely made it to third base
And yet the thing is totally shattered.
You’re out looking at china patterns.
There were no promises ever made.
I do not mean to be throwing shade
But this is not the thing I agreed upon
Whatever we once had is now gone.

It’s an unwritten verbal contract
With just the one signature.
The expectancy of longevity
Is more than a bit premature.
It is important to recognize it
When it’s all about fun and games.
It keeps temperature from rising
And avoids the calling of names.

I don’t like wearing clothing
Unless there is a need to do so.
The minute nobody objects
The garment wearing has to go.
It’s not about being naughty
It’s about comfort and being free.
I really don’t care much if I am
Making other squirm uncomfortably.

You see, since this is America
And I am pursuing my happiness
I really shouldn’t have to put up
With people’s prudish snappiness.
Yes, I know that we were raised
To believe genitals are disgusting.
But that is wrong and the first rule
That I am here to aid in busting.

Okay, I grant that some of us
Are not all that pretty when ****.
But that doesn’t give anybody
A license to be so **** rude.
Can’t you just pretend she is
Wearing a less than pretty dress?
Wouldn’t you be polite to her then?
Come on. Own up to it. Confess!

It all has to do with parenting
And living by society’s dictates.
This is where bigotry comes from;
Name calling, bullying and hate.
Different people have different beliefs;
A different set of ears, eyes and nose.
And different people have other ideas
About what and when to wear clothes.

What did God do on the eighth day?
He couldn’t call Adam to come out and play.
Why wasn’t Eve also made from clay?
Where did Cain’s wife come from on Expulsion Day?

Killing off your neighbor clans is not genocide?
Next to these folks was not a good place to reside.
Couldn’t they just buy up all the land , let’s say,
And politely pay all of them to go away?

Did God make rabbits that can lay eggs?
Do the eggs fall out between their legs?
Did Jesus ever get to paint the eggs green?
It was probably the strangest thing ever seen.

Did Mary and Joseph put up a Christmas tree?
It seems to be a logical question to me.
Did Jesus get to help decorate it?
Did the Romans try to desecrate it?

What kind of presents did Jesus get?
Did he get a hobby horse and a pet?
Did Jesus know Santa Claus very well?
Did they play together, learn to spell?

Did everybody know the land was holy?
Were there three wise men, and three only?
It seems there might have been two or four.
What significance is the number three for?

So, Jesus pulled people from their funeral shelf.
So, why in the end didn’t he heal himself?
I mean, if you take all this scripture by rote,
Why in the world did Jesus need a boat?

And here comes the three again, I mean really,
What did Jesus do before he was thirty three?
Were there tourist guides pointing out Golgotha?
And there’s the crosses again: three! Gotcha!

There are more mysteries here, it seems to me
Than that thing about numbering things by threes.
In religion there must be a theoretical shift
That says God can make a rock he can’t lift.

Sitting in my easy chair
By the double windows
Happy just to be here
In my ratty old bungalow.
But happy doesn’t cover it.
It’s really dreams come true.
I have my own place here.
No roommate to suffer through.

It’s Saturday afternoon now
The sun slowly going down
Painting my walls colored
Like the face of a happy clown;
Reds and whites and yellow
Bouncing off the green lawn
And making art of my home
Until the sun at last is gone
Yet I still remember every tone.

Some days I sit under my tree.
I ate the avocadoes you know.
And I planted it right here
No idea that it would grow
Into this magnificent tree
It is twenty five feet or so;
A beauty that calms me
Just watching it grow.

Rain on the roof
Distributor of peace
Of rest and sleep;
A blessed release
For what better to do
What stronger proof
Than taking a great nap
With rain on the roof?

The slamwhackit bird
Just sitting in a tree
Laughing and calling me
Maliciously.
Threating with flying hordes
Of ziddlyboomers eagerly
He sits in that tree
Just constantly.

The tarfaplagedts fly
When slamwhackits cry
They fear the baffysmafflers
Scrafflenee.
The only hope that’s
Left to me, the tree the
Slamwhackit is sitting in
So smuggilly.

No good to run around
And try to avoid the glaffs.
They fly and I don’t
They always find me.
And they are loud birds
Jalking and blorgging
Almost happily.

So, now I resign myself
To coats of slamwhackit zleeb
Raining from the noobit tree
All over me.
It is my shame to say
This is my worst day today.
Slamwhackit birds proliferate
Everywhere for eternity.

Don’t leave me yesterday
Turn the clock back please.
Twenty four hours went by
Much too quickly like a sneeze.
You can tell I am trying hard
To keep a sense of humor here.
But no matter how many jokes
You still aren’t anywhere near.

Twenty four hours is forever
When it’s all about yesterday.
I find no way I can be strong
Now that you are gone away.
So, I really want to do it;
Turn the clock back some way.
That way I can say to you
Don’t leave me. Yesterday.


Don’t say goodbye yesterday;
Those words hurt to hear.
Please come back to me today
And stay at least one year.
Perform a miracle for me, please
By inventing time travel
And do it quickly, love of my life
Before I begin to unravel.

Twenty four hours is forever
When it’s all about yesterday.
I find no way I can be strong
Now that you are gone away.
So, I really want to do it;
Turn the clock back some way.
That way I can say to you
Don’t leave me. Yesterday.


Change your mind yesterday
And let’s make future plans.
If you pack and leave yesterday
Today is out of my hands.
Stay with me, please, yesterday
And today and all tomorrows.
I crumble inside and want to cry
Overcome with my sorrows.

Twenty four hours is forever
When it’s all about yesterday.
I find no way I can be strong
Now that you are gone away.
So, I really want to do it;
Turn the clock back some way.
That way I can say to you
Don’t leave me. Yesterday.

It’s the Wholly Babble!
Obfuscation for the rabble;
Its plagiarized bunk
Delivered in hunks
And carefully rigged
To put lipstick on the pig
That means, at least,
A good living for priests.

So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.
Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.

In the Wholly Babble!
Godly, revered people
You can search and find
Many murderously unkind.
Despicable tales galore
Talking snakes and gore;
****** and genocide,
Infanticide and fratricide.

So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.

Miracles are plenty there
To believe every word here
To tempt you with their glory
In the convoluted story
Of two people and two kids
Who did the son wed
When one got married?
From where was she carried?

Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.

And the saddest thing is
An ‘us and them’ myth is
The idea used to create
An established cause for hate.
It’s your God against mine
Yours is evil, mine is fine.
Now isn’t that a fright
To keep you up at night?

So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.
Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.

Just when I start to thinking
I am finally moving on
I look around and discover
You’re still gone.
I’m finding out how many
Hours until each dawn
By counting my own tears
Since you’re gone.

I tell myself to grow up
And then I want to throw up.
I feel like something died
And it’s right here inside.

I’m not making plans at all
I’m an ineffective pawn
To fate and all her harpies
On a limb halfway sawn.
I brought all this on myself,
I lie awake and I yawn
And hope when I wake up
I’ll find you’re not gone.

My life feels like it’s over
Like I’ll never have another
Chance to be in love like this
That yours was my last kiss.

Just when I start to thinking
I am finally moving on
I look around and discover
You’re still gone.
I’m finding out how many
Hours until each dawn
By counting my own tears
Since you’re gone.

I’m not going crazy.
I’m not being lazy.
Please don’t be a grouch
If I want to lie on the couch
And do nothing much today.
Believe me when I say
It’s not what you think
It’s not from drugs or drink.
It’s not a neurosis
It’s Multiple Sclerosis.

I may seem to stagger
I can no longer swagger.
So, understand this please
I can’t command my knees.
I’m fighting back day and night
And I won’t give up the fight.
What looks like one thing
Can be a much worse thing.
It’s not a neurosis
It’s Multiple Sclerosis.

Life is so full of challenges.
The list of what the damage is
Sometimes seems to outweigh
The cost of living life today.
But, I will not ever surrender.
I must be my best defender
As nobody pays my body bill.
I fight despair and always will.
It’s not a neurosis
It’s Multiple Sclerosis.

I have a wish
Though it seems unlikely
Hey Liley, Liley, Lo.
Arresting the GOP
Going on nightly,
Hey Liley, Liley, Lo.
It’s a lovely dream
It can’t start to early
Pick them up
By their short and culies.

I don’t know,
But I’ve been told
Republican pockets
Are stuffed with gold!
Sound off!
One two.
Sound off!
Three, four!
Kick their butts out,
One, two,
THREE, FOUR!

Hey Liley, Liley, Liley
They are most likely ******.
Living the life of Riley
Don’t go to dollar stores.
Most likely smiling slyly
They want to win again.
Hey Liley, Lilely, Liley
Finish off the working man.

I don’t know,
If you have heard.
The GOP are
Great big turds.
Sound off!
One two.
Sound off!
Three, four!
Send them back home!
One, two,
THREE, FOUR!

Listen my children
And you shall hear
How the USA
Went suddenly queer.
Not the kind of
Gays making love
But the kind the where hate
Rained down from above.

First there was Tricky ****
A special kind of an ***
Who robbed our fine country
Of any appearance of class.
Carter tried as hard as he could
In one term to put it all back
But all too soon started smoothly
Reagan lied him off the track.

With our economy in ruin
Reagan slunk off in fame
With voters with half a mind
Blindly, they fell for his game.
Eight long years later, then,
And we were nearly broke
With stupid citizens old and young
Still falling for the joke.

So, Clinton showed up and made
The Great Prevaricator look sick.
After seven years of fixing things
The GOP went after his ****.
Since they couldn’t fault his success
They really had no quarrel,
They made a manufactured stink
About Big Billy’s morals.

The Great Republican Lie Machine
Hyped up on twisted success
Decided things would be better
If their pet monkey made a mess.
So, they bought him an election
And the Middle East rebelled
So much that a few insane terrorists
Sent us a day of hell.

The second Bush, the monkey
A semi-literate hack,
To legitimize his father, chose
The wrong country to attack.
He decided Sadam Hussein
Would be his choice of foil.
We were not meant to notice
It was all about cheap oil.

Dubya started a war,
The Great Instigator
That is still going on today
And it’s fourteen years later.
Hiding behind blind patriotism
His band of merry crooks
Robbed and pillaged us all
And threw out all the books.

The Constitution meant nothing
In the Second Bush’s D.C.
He and his accomplices
Made short work of liberty.
The attitude was we deserved
The ******* that we all got
Because GOP were statesmen
And the rest of them were not.

As ridiculous as that sounds
The public ate it all up.
They happily drank and swallowed
The hemlock in the cup.
Not content with Dubya’s brand
Of sedition and of ruin,
GOP sewed seeds of greed
And knew what they were doing.

Hand-elected judges
Dubya left in the smoking wreck
Of a country that had become
An albatross on its own neck.
Suddenly the laws of the land
That gave us a meager say
Were sneakily nullified
Behind chants of USA, USA!
.


Right now in the USA
Only money is king.
Right, wrong, good, bad
They don’t mean a thing.
As long as bucks and lobbyists
Are left in the picture
America will choke to death
On the toxic mixture.

Barack Obama got elected
With promises that we can
Fix what had been stolen
Of freedom in this land.
For six long years he tried
With Republicreeps on his back
To get our ailing economy
Back on a healthy track.

And when he had done it,
GOP lies weren’t quite enough,
They shut down the government
And made conditions rough.
The Supreme Court decided
Rich Corporations were due
The advantages of human beings
And tax deductions too.

And then the Supremes removed
All chance of a reprieve
Five ninths voted that people
Could discriminate if they believed
In their heart that someone else
Deserved their rights to be ignored.
Suddenly the Supreme Court
Was where bigotry was stored.

So, tens of millions of dollars
And hatred right in our faces
The outrages began to rise
Like strife between the races
So bad that Obama had to
Do what Dubya did so badly.
He made some Presidential edicts
And he did so quite gladly.

Suddenly we had health insurance
Gays could finally get married.
Even the Supremes back that up
A vote for equality was carried.
The GOP decided then
Led by a lunatic fringe,
To take the Congress on a spree
A drunk with power binge.

They voted to shut the country down
They wanted charge of our bodies.
It’s almost like they wanted the right
To put cameras in the potties.
They hid behind the Cross of Christ
Quoting things he did not say
And that is where things are
To this sad embarrassing day.

We aren’t out of the Middle East,
That’s part of the horse trading
That goes on in the public swap
Of D.C we are all wading.
We have felt the boot of power
Bring down its mindless stomp.
We’re up to our *** in alligators
And the GOP drained the swamp!

There are ladies on the internet
Who are offering me joy.
They say they can transform me
To a man instead of a boy.
Another guy has promised me
A massive ***** size.
I’m not sure I am comfortable
To that talk from a guy.

Another woman from Nigeria
Said her husband has died
With a bank account chock full
Of Krugerands inside.
All they want from me they say
Is a check for one grand
And they will put half of the gold
Into my greedy hand.

Now, that and the ***** ladies
They say live near my place
Are part of what the internet
Pushes daily into my face.
But I have become smarter now
And I fully understand
That buxom comely lass is really
A fifty five year-old man.

Bill Gates will not be sending me
A lifetime Disney Park pass.
And there are no fifty dollar diamonds,
They are all made of glass.
There is no secret bank account
In Nigeria, I truly feel.
But that pill that makes my ***** grow?
Now that, I am sure, is real.

You talk about agape
And leave me agape.
Really Beulah
Go peel me a grape.
At least you’d be useful
Because now you are not.
A bunch of superstitions
That is all you have got.

A badly written compendium
Of fairy tales for adults.
The kind of book of spells
A witch might consult.
Gobbledygook and folderol
All except the dead cats.
This kind of mumbo jumbo
Tells us exactly where you’re at.

If you came to me and said
I really dig Carlos Castaneda
And I want you to live by him
And his rules, I’d say, “Later!”
The same would be true if
You told me to dance in skin
Under the light of the moon
In the direction: widdershins.

If you came to me with a rock
And said the thing was breathing
You might as well claim it a baby
And tell me the rock is teething.
If you tell me waving your hands
Makes my bad mood go away
I might, out of pure courtesy
Not have that much to say.

But if you tell me I must talk
To infantile pieces of stone
And wave my hands at you
I’ll tell you to leave me alone.
The same thing goes for folks
That read misquoted old books
And when I say I don’t believe
They shoot me evil looks.

The ringing of a telephone
A simple knock when I’m alone.
Someone just calling my name
And screaming seem the same.
A loud noise when I am sleeping,
Someone throwing open my door,
A car backfiring close by home,
The sounds of steps across the floor.

These are the normal sounds
The symphony of people living.
These sounds don’t normally
Carry terror along with the giving
Like someone living in a war zone
A place with mass invading troops.
They are isolated common things
Unless they arrive in huge groups.

Yet these things still bring me
A painful pounding in my heart
And it goes on for too long
From the moment it starts.
It is the gift of abandonment
Of childhood neglect and abuse
And is viewed by most adults
As ridiculous and abstruse.

But many survivors of childhood
Of threat and pain and fear
Will tell you the horror remains
After the passage of many years.
It has to do with the inner self
Being robbed of a basic trust
Of life itself by their care givers,
By God himself, if you must.

Because there feels a solid knowing
That truly, deep inside the child
There is nobody to save them
From creatures near and wild.
Nobody will come to rescue us
When the bad things come to bite
And everybody knows they come
In the deepest part of the night.

The whistler was a policeman
He whistled when he wrote a ticket
One citizen was so incensed
He told the officer to stick it.
But the officer understood.
He had heard complaints before.
They seemed to miss the point
As what this whistling was for.

They didn’t realize that he
Whistled as well when nervous.
He monitored himself carefully
When he was in the service.
War is often no kind of place
To be making unwitting noise.
He was reprimanded by
The officer and the boys.

But Sam, the whistling cop
Had done so all his life
He whistled different ways
Even like a sailor’s fife.
He could trill like a bird
And do the best of all;
That kind of whistle
That wonderful taxi call.

It was an amazing to hear;
He could whistle too
From the side of his face
So you had no idea who
Was making that music
As his lips were not pursed.
That made it more maddening
To a few people that cursed.

As part of his job, one day,
A hotelier called him in
To deal with the issue
Of a dead resident within.
Sam hated blood and death.
It made him quite queasy.
So, he went about this task
But for him, it was not easy.

With a dead body in his arms
Quaking with internal fear
The hotelier objected to his song
Sam asked what he wanted to hear.
He was whistling The Blue Waltz’
In his pitch perfect rendition
To keep his mind off of the corpse
And off of his own condition.

But, oh boy, could he whistle
Making music in every day.
Creating lasting memories
I recall up until this day.
That officer, Sam, you see
Too often in a spot of bother
Was known as Whistling Sam
And was also my father.

A little boy was singing
When we chanced to pass him by.
Such a big and booming voice
From such a little guy.
So I stopped to listen
Where he could not see me
And he went on singing
His music started moving me.

Golden voiced little boy
Sing and fill us all with joy.
Other kids might play with toys,
But you keep singing, golden boy.

Soon I saw the others
People who just passing by
Got caught up in the music
Of this talented little guy.
I saw them moving with
And bouncing and tapping feet
Listening to a prodigy
Singing on the city street.

Golden voiced little boy
Sing and fill us all with joy.
Other kids might play with toys,
But you keep singing, golden boy.

There was no hat or box
Laid there to collect some cash.
Just this wonderful lad
Singing next to cans of trash.
It looked like a light shone
Down on him as he was singing.
To me it was unforgettable
This golden gift he was bringing.

Golden voiced little boy
Sing and fill us all with joy.
Other kids might play with toys,
But you keep singing, golden boy.

If there are angels where you are
Can you ask one of them to come see me?
There are things I want to know
How do I live without you beside me?
Life with you was perfect for us
Now I have no idea what to do with my days.
I didn’t realize how much of me
Depended on you in so many wonderful ways.

Calling all angels.
I really need you here with me.
Guardian angels.
Sometimes I think I need three.
I’ll be here waiting,
Maybe not exactly patiently
But when you get here
I will be grateful as can be.

I know you’re in heaven
You were an angel here on earth
I always felt it;
Not only I knew what you were worth.
You made me stronger
So I have not quite fallen apart
But that is a miracle
Because I have lost half my heart.

Calling all angels.
I really need you here with me.
Guardian angels.
Sometimes I think I need three.
I’ll be here waiting,
Maybe not exactly patiently
But when you get here
I will be grateful as can be.

The white man was silly
He tried to buy the hill;
He thought it had gold
Like the superstition of old.
He said a Navajo chief
Had sold him a map.
So, then we told him
The map was crap.

Well, he laughed and then
He gave his knee a slap
And continued believing
He had a treasure map.
He bought some equipment,
About the price of his car,
But he hasn’t found anything
Like gold or silver so far.

Oh, hell yeah, we let him,
Once he ignored our advice.
After all we live here and
We were trying to be nice.
So, the guy from the city
Went to where it said dig
And set himself up a tent
And some kind of a rig.

He worked all day each day
And every day of the week
Knowing he was on the path
Of finding what he should seek;
That half-baked idea of his
Of getting filthy rich really quick.
And us telling him he was taken?
He wouldn’t let that idea stick.

So, we didn’t laugh later
When he came back into town
And sold his gear at half price.
We didn’t call him a big clown.
We treated him as if he were nuts
Or high on some bad marijuana.
And that’s why we call that hill
By the rude name of Belegana.

One-hour love
The kind of love nobody talks about.
Get-to-it love
Makes you want to howl and shout.
Not buying the cow
Just going go ahead and try it out.
One-hour love
The kind I can’t really do without.

Just an hour
That’s all it takes.
Anything less
You are no great shakes.
Just sixty minutes
And your world gets rocked.
Like changing your oil
On your engine block.

Not talking marriage
Nothing about forever and ever.
Straight up front truth
Just two people loving together.
No ring or anything
No possessivity, no never.
Just monkey love
Working ourselves into a lather.

One-hour love
It really shouldn’t take too long.
Hop-to-it love
Quit before anything goes wrong.
Impromptu love
Often the hottest you ever saw.
Shout hallelujah love
Never end up with a mother in law.

Just an hour
And you’re ready to run.
So little time
But so very much fun.
Just sixty minutes
And life is worthwhile.
Just the kind of exercise
Could make a statue smile.


Two-hippies love
Free love and all of that stuff.
Afternoon love
Without all the romantic guff.
Truck-driver love
Hard-driving without any fluff.
Sledgehammer love
Proving you both are tough.

Just an hour
That’s all it takes.
Anything less
You are no great shakes.
Just sixty minutes
And your world gets rocked.
Like changing your oil
On your engine block.

If I can see what you can’t see
Then it must seriously behoove me
To reflect back with total clarity
The image I see so readily.
If you could do it, you surely would
And, while I’m sure not everyone could
Maybe not quite so concise and good
As I can, so therefore I should.

This is not meant to be arrogance
Or some kind of verbal flatulence.
It is just a normal happenstance
That drives me to take a chance
And speak my feelings publically
Expressing myself poetically
And even sometimes politically
Espousing social practicality.

It’s the poet’s job to elucidate
To oh so carefully illuminate
And sometimes even exaggerate
The actions of the conglomerate;
The swath of all humanity
And do so without inanity.
Be the bellwethers of insanity.

So applaud the poet gratefully
For the gift of words used tastefully.
Abandon slams like ‘disgracefully’
And take their lessons gracefully,
Because knowing where we err
Separates us from common curs.
Still the harbingers we ever were
It’s not within most poets to demur.

White man, right man
Seriously uptight man
Black man, whack man,
Cutting him no slack man.
Red man, dead man
Never be the headman.
Brown man, down man.
Treat him like a clown man.

Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ***-wipes
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.

Poor man, for sure man,
Can’t afford a ***** man.
Waiting on the shore man,
Sweeping out the store man.
Broke man, stroke man
Too poor to smoke man.
Struggle under yoke man.
**** of every joke man.

Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ***-wipes
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.

Fey man, gay man
Nothing more to say man.
Please just go away man.
No equal rights today man.
Liberal man or little man
Nothing but a middle man.
Playing second fiddle man.
Never solve the riddle man.

Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ***-wipes
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.

If you are Christian
And ashamed of your body
Listen to Jesus
And pay attention to what he
Said about the issue
Of tissue around your bones
And how that makes you
Evil and some kind of crone.

Find where he says
Abomination is your own skin
And where he says
Shame on the shape you’re in.
Since that came from God
And by your teaching God is right
On everything he ever did,
Why this turning off of the lights?

And, if not Christian,
Isn’t it all really the same thing;
Covering up, a masquerade,
Posing, pontificating, pretending?
Why the hiding and lying
About who and what you are?
Why treat your healthy self
As if you were some big scar?

Isn’t it really that society
Has made you think badly of you,
And when the truth is told
It was not about something you do?
It’s more about what others
Think and feel and see as shame.
So quit thinking they are right,
And by all means quit taking blame.

You are like a beauty contest
Where nobody is keeping score.
The clothes make you beautiful
But I like you naked even more.
You’re a hot hunk of manhood
From your hairline to your boots
And you look a lot better naked
Than some men look in suits.

Yeah, I have to admit it here
It was your looks caught my eye
But as time went by I discovered
There was much more to you, guy.
There’s poetry and wit and then
That ever present sense of fun.

At first it was just infatuation;
A fan sitting close to the stage.
But later it turned into something
Beyond a **** picture on a page.
I found out there was more to you
Than the beauty that stops hearts.
There is something special there
That sets you delightfully apart.

So, I hope I can be forgiven
For being such a rabid fan.
I have excellent taste in things
Like the looks of a hot man.
I have heard so many call you
One hot, **** son of a gun.
Of the members of your fan club
I’m sure I am your number one.

I want to find those liars
That call themselves statesmen
And smack their faces
And take by the country’s *****
Because they have stolen
The innocence of every one of us
And pushed us off a cliff
In their ******* conservative bus.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

It’s the work of the devil
To behave the way they do.
Doesn’t seem to be an end
To the crap they put us through.
They are minions of evil
Paid to make our lives worse.
I would push the magic button
And make it happen in reverse.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

There is something wrong
That they outgrew any conscience.
They point the finger at gays
But really, they are the deviants.
They re-wrote the holy books
So they come out the winner
And the rest of our country
Ends up as the dog’s dinner.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

Lippy Dippy the hippie,
Always so much to say.
Protesting, picketing
Never quite gets his way.
So much about us
The world and how it runs.
Someone to carry a sign?
Lippy Dippy is the one.

He started out with war
Calling out President LBJ.
The issues kept happening
Up to and including today.
Lippy and his hippie cohorts
Protested for human rights
Whether it be about gays
Or brown, black or white.

Get him and friends arrested?
That just may have to be
As long as law and lawyers
Practice their legal infamy.
He reminds of Dred Scott
And how the law of the land
Immorally took the freedom
And dignity of that poor man.

Too little water here
Too much water over there?
Veterans getting gypped?
See if anybody ever cares.
Lippy Dippy and friends
Will gladly show up at your place
And show you what you are;
Bad example of the human race.

Oh, they made fun of him
They called him many names
Including Dippy, so unkind
But it gave him a kind of fame.
It would be nice if maybe someday
There were no need for him.
Unless things change someway
The hope of that is very dim.

So, he and others like him
Which will, of course, include me
With stand up and protest
As long as we citizens are free
To gather publically and say
This sort of situation is wrong,
Then Lippy Dippy and the rest
Will come sing our protest songs.

Dress your girls
To be a street walker
Teach your boys
To become trash talkers.
Why should they undergo
The first twelve years or so
With no solid understanding
Of prostitution and manhandling?

So paint her face
And shorten her dress.
Copy the working girls
Make her an immoral mess.
All that is important is
The approval of her friends.
Don’t worry about where this
Look of impropriety ends.

You boys wear chains
And motorcycle gang wear
So that you can recognize him
In juvenile jail cells everywhere.
Let him get tattoos young
Of skulls and snakes and chains.
Why should you worry about
The future criminal that remains?

Peer acceptance rules
Parents certainly do not.
Look at all the free time
You suddenly have got.
You can set your kid down
In front of the television
And turn them into totally
Nearly useless men and women.

Walking down Memory Lane
Living forgotten dreams again;
Seeing the faces and colors
Of friends, family and brothers.

Some of them good dreams
Of sunny days and pastures
And some were scary times
With fear in too large measures.
Many times the details there
Are cloudy and too indistinct.
Maybe they aren’t as important
As I may once have liked to think.

There are friends there, too
In the lane of remembering
And lovers and co-workers
That don’t deserve forgetting
But there are so many there
In any person’s lengthy time.
If Memory Lane were a hill
It would be a long hard climb.

There are playgrounds and parks
In the vistas of Memory Lane.
Some of them better forgotten
And some I want to see again.
I want to swing on that swing
And feel I am flying so very high
That I can let go and reach out
And actually touch the very sky.

And there lakes and flowers
On this journey through memory.
There were tasty walnuts and
Lovely pines and old hickories.
There were puppies I love so
And kittens and some horses.
So much better to remember
Than breakups, fights, divorces.


I am always so pleased when
I get to come back here again.
Rewarded for a lifetime of love
And walks down Memory Lane.

If everybody were naked
Nobody could make fun of my style
I would never be outdated.
I could go to parties with a smile.

Also when I live naked
Laundry bill can never go high.
I go jump into the shower
Suddenly I am a clean living guy.

Of course your clothing
Never gets sunburned
And nobody laughs at your zipper.
If you are the only
Person who’s naked
You look like a mescaline tripper.

But if everyone got naked
We might do away with all war
Because there would be little
That seems worth arguing for.

With all the women naked
There would be an end to their hose.
And girdles out of the question.
They’d be as natural as a spring rose.

But one must be careful.
A park bench can pinch
And hot car seats can burn.
Living **** has problems
But like everything else
It just more lessons one must learn.

But think about politics naked;
All those liars up on a public stage.
Without their expensive suits
Would they still manage to engage?

Olympians played naked.
Soldiers used to fight naked too.
Not sure what point I am making
But I think it means something, don’t you?

No matter just how many times I told her
She couldn’t seem to keep it in her head;
While everyone enjoys the circus,
I do not enjoy it in my bed.

I made it clear at the beginning
That I was a quiet kind of guy
Still she insisted on the drama
And I never found out why.

Roxie Moxie, Queen of my heart,
When did all this energy start?
Were you born in a hurricane
Never slowed down again?
You’re taking my Richter scale
Off of the charts.

Was she raised in a hippie commune or
Maybe some kind of traveling show?
Though I asked her many times
I will probably never know.

There had to be drinks and some food
By the bedside when we retired.
Though I begged not to drink coffee
It seemed she was always wired.

Roxie Moxie, Queen of my heart,
When did all this energy start?
Were you born in a hurricane
Never slowed down again?
You’re taking my Richter scale
Off of the charts.

She wanted to stay up late each evening
And then she’d sleep in way past noon.
Of course I was gone to work by then
So, we’d meet at the rise of the moon.

At first it was very exciting for me
To have this rigorous loving game.
So, I guess I brought it on myself
And I am the only one to blame.

Roxie Moxie, Queen of my heart,
When did all this energy start?
Were you born in a hurricane
Never slowed down again?
You’re taking my Richter scale
Off of the charts.

Twinkle, star, you are
So high, up in the sky.
And Little Muffett Miss
Has gotten so ******;
Very upset that from
Someone else’s thumb
That was stuck in a pie.
She didn’t know why.

So she cut off tails
Enjoying the wails
Of sightless mice
Though not nice
Not fooling around
She’d blow the house down
Then give a harsh drub
To three men in a tub.

She swiped all the ciggies
Of three little piggies
But she could not see
Why everything was threes.
Narcissistically proud
She was laughing out loud
Then she started to croon
About a cow on the moon.

She looked for a fiddle
She could hey ****** ******
But when she got there
The cupboard was bare
So, she left the dog home
And began to roam.

On the way past Saint Ives
A man beating his wives
Muffet did begin
Beating with rolling pin
And the guy ran away
Not seen since that day.
Miss Muffett turned old
Folk tales into gold.

Pitiful child, born by chance
Into a house that was haunted.
Quite the shock and surprise;
Ghost of Christmas Child Unwanted.
There he was with all his need
The wreck of so many plans
Of weekends movies and bars.
Too much for Mom to understand.

Pretend for the neighbors, then
Because that’s why you wed.
It was better to be pregnant.
Seen as gay? Worse than dead.
Or seen as weird, crazy, strange
Or in any other way un-weddable
Was something horrifying to them
And sure to turn out regrettable.

Pitiful child, grew up in the way.
Nothing to hope for at end of day.
Food, shelter, clothing, and told
That’s all kid is entitled to anyway.
None of this mollycoddling;
Nothing more, no true nurture.
What else could come about
But a dismal hope for the future?

It’s all about the relationship
Between the kid’s Mom and Dad
And anything that draws focus
Means the kid is being bad.
So, beat the kid again, slap him
Make him go without his meal.
Make him understand that rage
Is something expected and real.

Pitiful child, has no more trust
That the world will ever relent
And make a place for him to be
Until fires of hell are all spent.
Armageddon itself can come
And he knows that his parents
Will still be there to point out
It’s because he is totally errant.

I could not wear pink shirts
I could not wear fuzzy sweaters
I could not talk in my normal voice.
I had to change genders
When talking about my dates.
I could not keep my boyfriend’s picture
On my desk like everyone else did
Around the cluttered desks of others.

I could not talk at work about home;
I could not use the word married
I had to use words like ‘partner’
Even after years of being married.
Close friends and family talked
About him as ‘my little friend’
Even though he was older and
Bigger than a football tight end.

I had to put single on all papers
Including my tax forms in spring.
Being part of a gay household
To institutions didn’t mean a thing.
The bragging rights for gay people
Didn’t exist for anything essential.
The underscript was that gay folks
Were something vile and pestilential.

There was no recompense from god
Because we were called abominations.
Onward Christian Soldiers was a theme
That authorized the invasion of nations.
So, how were we to manage liberation
And pride in who we were as gays?
Some of us were murdered for this
Most of us harassed in ugly ways.

Let’s play Name That Goon.
How many can you get right?
Someone you see every day
In the news, in plain sight.

The first one looks very much
Like a troll doll but larger.
He brags about how much
Money he has in his larder.
But, his blather does not
Include many discernable facts.
He’s about half of the man
He stands on stage and acts.

The second one is a talker
In a very vaunted arena.
He seems as incapable of truth
As a citizen named Fiorina.
He’s been faking his credentials
And his skin has darkened.
He’s orange, so one wonders
If the old KKK has harkened.

The third one was a big cheese
And he was a big deal once
Until his mouth and behavior
Proved him to be a dunce.
But not before his crew
And his ineptitude managed
To leave the country *******
And semi-permanently damaged.

The fourth was the third’s pal
In all those dastardly deeds
That any tale well scripted
Or any tragedy needs.
He made a bundle for him
And all of his colluding pals.
Maybe he thought that might
Make him attractive to the gals.

The next one is the queen
Of the Washington crazies.
She might make a bigger fool
Of herself, but she’s too lazy
And as stupid as a box of lint.
She opens mouth and convinces.
Every time she speechifies
The entire country winces.

So, now we have done it
We have played Name That Goon.
If this glib poet doesn’t choke
We can have more real soon.
So, you all play nice and have fun
At your next political gathering.
And keep track of who is who
And what they are all blathering.

When you go back
Maybe it is to even the score
But it scares us.
Being hit one time should
Tell you that you are
Just going back for more.
The past has promised
Nothing will probably
Ever change.

You don’t seem to know
How it hurts those
Who love you so.
You can’t seem to fit it
Into your head
That we fear the next call
Will be to tell us
That you are dead.

He beats you and then
When he is not
He’ll saying ugly things.
That’s the kind of
White knight you have got.
You call him wonderful
When he’s not a snot.
We keep telling you
Wake up, wretched girl
He is certainly not.

Sometimes you tell us
You want to give him a chance
To explain things to you
But he can only give
Some more lies because
That’s what liars do.

And you tell lies as well
Or why else go back
To that personal hell?
You go back because
To be alone scares you
Almost as well
As being berated and
Beaten like a bell.

But we don’t want this!
To know you are hurting
And bruised by
A man you should be deserting
For a life where people
Can be trusted with love
And not to shove a fist
Into a battering glove.

Don’t go back, beloved.
If you do you tie our hands.
Some of us understand
But that doesn’t mean
That we agree with your choice.
Listen to the voice
Of reason when we say
Don’t go back for more today.
Or ever again.

There are too many hairs
I keep blowing off my keyboard
To pretend they aren’t there
And that they can be ignored.
I can't pretend I have gone blind,
I am admitting they are all there
And that they come from me;
They truly are my own hair.

It must be true, I hazard
Because I can see my scalp.
It’s a situation from aging
For which there is no help.
I have long expected it.
It will do no good to whine.
The disappearing tonsure
I needs must claim as mine.

And so I placate myself
With selfish comparisons
I may look older than others
But much better than some.
Not many decades ago
I once thought sixty was old.
I am thankful for my friends
Who decided not to scold.

They knew I was being
Just the least bit callow.
But they avoided labeling me
With words like vain and shallow.
So, perhaps the vain part
I have with me even now,
And I would abandon that
If I could figure out how.

Twinkle, twinkle, GOP
Scaring hell right out of me.
Platforms aren’t worth a crap
I’d like to give your face a slap.
All your antics have grown old
And your twinkle’s not from gold.

Twinkle tinsel seems to me
Not of diamond quality.
None is precious metal grade.
Fake as promises you made.
Hating is your stock in trade.
Embezzlement the game you played.

Missile epistle, you love war.
You forgot what we are for.
We were formed to protect
Not hanging nooses around necks.
Freedom was the reason why
Not to make foreigners die.

Swindle, chisel is your game.
Set the economy aflame.
Locking down the government.
We knew bigotry was meant.
Voters have begun to see
Your ranks filled with villainy.

Sizzle, melting is our wish
Just like Oz’s ugly witch.
That would be a perfect end;
Nothing but a smudge to tend,
Thirty years from now when we
Have repaired your bastardy.

Take one step forward
And two steps back.
Be sure you are following
The corporate track.
Pay out your earnings
Never give a ****
Now you are doing
The Uncle Sam Scam.

Bend right over and
Touch your own toes.
The politicians mostly can’t
And that’s how it goes.
They get their money
And big raises too.
Just like the CEOs
But none for you.

Take one step forward
And two steps back.
Be sure you are following
The corporate track.
Pay out your earnings
Never give a ****
Now you are doing
The Uncle Sam Scam.

Social Security funds
Came in mighty handy
When Georgie wanted war
And it was a dandy.
It made money for
His favorite buddies
And made our country’s rep
Murderously muddy.

Take one step forward
And two steps back.
Be sure you are following
The corporate track.
Pay out your earnings
Never give a ****
Now you are doing
The Uncle Sam Scam.

If you think more of CEOs
And big money corporations
Than you do of the people
Suffering in our nation
And you keep voting for jerks
And overrated hams
You are becoming champions
Of the Uncle Sam Scam.

What are we teaching?
Who are we reaching?
What have we taught today?
Buy him a toy gun
Looks like a real one
Who have they fought at play?

Cowboys and Indians
Act like the real ones
At least like we saw on TV.
Cowboys the good guys,
Indians the bad guys.
Perfect authenticity.

White folks meant no harm
Just came there to farm
Four thousand years of land.
They had no papers
Really invaders
Things just got out of hand.

A clash of two cultures
Then food for the vultures
Everyone thought they were right.
But in the long run
Law made decisions
All in favor of the whites.

Words were encouraged
Dignity disparaged
White people called them savage
Due no respecting
And fit for just killing
Then plenty of land they could ravage.

Textbooks got altered,
The ministry faltered;
Heathens deserve what they get.
Jesus cherished the meek
But whites turned no cheek.
They haven’t quite fixed things yet.

What are we teaching?
Who are we reaching?
What have we taught today?
Children play death games,
Who can we all blame?
Are there no other games to play?

Waiting all winter here
For summer to arrive
So we can go on every ride;
So good to be alive.
No more cold weather
Summer’s here, so are we
From morning until night
Playing continuously.

Hershey bars, bumper cars
Popcorn and a coke.
Maybe the operator
Will go out for a smoke.
Leaving us up high again
Way up on the top
Making us wish this all
Will go on and never stop.

The Fun House is just that,
As is the Tunnel of Love,
And the parachute ride
Drops us from above.
The House of Mirrors
Shows who we are not
And distorts our views
Of the bodies we’ve got.

Hershey bars, bumper cars
Popcorn and a coke.
Maybe the operator
Will go out for a smoke.
But first stop it high again
With us up on the top
Making us wish this all
Will go on and never stop.

Throwing ***** at targets
Like famous baseball stars
Wins us some ugly toys
We take home in our car
For some goodnight kisses
And after a perfect day,
Wish as hard as we can
That it would never go away.

Hershey bars, bumper cars
Popcorn and a coke.
Maybe the operator
Will go out for a smoke.
Leaving us up high again
Way up on the top
Making us wish this all
Will go on and never stop.

Let’s sit under this tree
Just you and me
And see what we can
From this piece of land.
Let’s see what is natural
And something others call
Contrived, manufactured
In their pricey lectures
To sell books and CDs
To clueless entities
Sitting on their couch
Ready to loudly grouch
About how poorly they are used
How they are abused
By the way others live;
Always have an opinion to give
Of what others should do
People like me and you
To whom they’re not related
But somehow got delegated
To a pool of the ******
Who they want to see crammed
Into flaming tour buses to hell
When Gabriel’s horn swells
And Jesus himself decides
Where the line divides
Those worthy to be saved
And those others who were brave
And tell the rest to adhere
To the line dividing queers
And the unbaptized sinners
From the rest of the winners
Who once read The Bible.
The rest are held liable
And will be sent to perdition
Due to their position
On The True Religion
Based on ancient renditions
Of fables and fairy tales
Of water wine and hungry whales.
There will be many Arabs in hell
And these folks know **** well
There will be no Mormons going
No Jewish representation showing,
Just good old fashioned Baptists
And maybe a few of the Papists
Certainly not that many
Maybe not any.
As I said, let’s sit and see
What happens to you and me
While we wait patiently
And see in the meantime
How many faithful commit crime
And intolerance in the name of God.
It should be pretty odd.

He was sitting on a fencepost
A mouth harp in his hand
He started making music
Like a ghostly rubber band.
He called me a stranger
And, I asked him how he knew.
He raised his head and stared
And seemed to look me through.
He said:
There is nothing down this highway
But heartbreak and a tale
Nobody will friend you here
There’s nothing good for sale
We are here with no way out
So move right on away
You only have your freedom
If you don’t let yourself stay.

Some people think it’s heaven
‘Cause they never had a chance
They never had a friend before
A storybook romance.
They made some stupid choices
Now there’s a piper to pay.
They’re deaf to rhyme or reason
No matter what you say.
Some believe they never had
The character to change,
That they were born without a dream
The hopeless and strange.

But we know lonely backroads
That never reach the bay.
We live in fogs of memory
Here in Futile Quay.
Where once we were children;
Now we never smile.
Our trip down this highway
Is a never-ending mile.
So go on back to comfort
To security and plans.
Stay too long in Futile Quay
You’re out of fortune’s hands.

I have a list of stuff
I want badly to fix
But I don’t really mean it.
I have in mind
A perfect world
I’ll know it when I’ve seen it.

It’s going to take
A while for me
To deal with all my issues.
It will be quite
A lot of work
And lots of boxes of tissues.

It’s rather like a
Treadmill thing
That only I can see.
It may not be
So visible but
It looks like work to me.

Sometimes I feel
Like Sisyfus
Pushing boulder up a hill.
It’s never ending
And each time
I think I’ve had my fill.

Then something comes
Along to show
The light shining up ahead
And I remember
Much of what
I’m fighting is in my head.

So, I complain
And ***** inside
But I should never doubt it
Because I know
I’m the only one
Who can do something about it.

I know from my past, gym class
From locker rooms, I learned fast
That lots of guys have winners
But my sausage is from Vienna.
I got a little bump, a tiny little lump,
Like a hamster has taken a dump.
Nothing bulges my shorts at the crotch.
Not much there for anyone to watch.

But our society puts the emphasis
On just how big your business is.
If you have a tiny peter, my friend
Many kinds of applause will end.
Go read the writing on the walls,
Because you will inherit the catcalls
And no matter how much you moan
They come through no fault of your own.

Regarded as less than a man; sick
Or perverted to have a small ****.
As too often I have been told
Since as a kid and not very old
Amid laughter and cruel jests
I have learned a big **** is best.
No matter it’s something I can’t change,
Apparently a small ***** is strange.

In time I left behind those taunts
As I left behind adolescent haunts.
The pain has become only a taint;
The scars of bullies with no restraint,
But I am sure I never will fully be
Free of their thoughtless bigotry
As I reach the age of an old codger
Dealing with life with a not so jolly roger.