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 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
Better days were in the past
For the bar and all inside
Windows broke and lights burned out
The bar had long since died

Carpets gone and floors all worn
Scorch marks on the wall
Smells of stale beer in the air
the bar had it's last call

Welcome to the Stagger Inn
Good Food and Cold Beer Too
Live bands every single night
And it's air conditioned too
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
A bar befits it's name
We'll take you the way you are
And we're mighty glad you came

The stage was now an eyesore
As was most of what was here
Way back in the corner
Sat a woman with her beer

Hair was streaked with boot black
From a time, who knows when
The bar was dead or dying
As were most in this old den

A few nights folks would still come here
To see the towns old jewel
What once was gold and glistened
Now was just no longer cool

The lady way back in the corner
Hadn't danced since eighty three
Ten times a night she'd go and
Play the jukebox tune  5B

A song about the devil
calling him silver tongued was  her pick
She'd hit the worn out buttons
While giving her  chapped lips a lick

Sitting in the back and nursing
A beer as dead as the bar
On a steady diet of Winstons
That had made her voice as thick as  tar

Welcome to the Stagger Inn
Good Food and Cold Beer Too
Live bands every single night
And it's air conditioned too
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
A bar befits it's name
We'll take you the way you are
And we're mighty glad you came


Maybe fifteen people came here
When the other places were full
You could see the worn out tiles
Where there once was a mechanical bull

Trends were never big here
Though they tried a few to survive
The bar was dead and dying
Housing folks who now were barely alive

The last band that they had here
Was a cover group from down in NC
They didn't last the evening
Getting out done by  old 5B

The woman in the corner
With the boot black streak of wild
closed her eyes and listened
To the memories she had compiled

If you ever choose to come here
I don't think you'll stay long
But, I know you'll hear a singer
Talk of the devil in that 5B song

The door is always open
At the dead and dying Stagger Inn
A place that still lives through the ages
And the folks remembering what might have been

Welcome to the Stagger Inn
Good Food and Cold Beer Too
Live bands every single night
And it's air conditioned too
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
A bar befits it's name
We'll take you the way you are
And we're mighty glad you came
 Apr 2014
Paul Hardwick
One night
I heard the bell ring at my door
there I saw my friends
ask them into the hall
there they stood
all ten members
of the Tri-ang bother hood
number right there at the front
then came a sound
I did twist around
to see
the top of the stairs
big momma did fall
and just like a ball
did knock all
NINE
of us down
and left standing
was just one
the last member
of the Tri-ang bother hood

PROUND   W  E  SAW HIM

and all agreed MAN
He was IN.
Sub NOT: no big moma's where hurt in righting this poem, for
NINE of us broke her fall.     :  Love  P@ul  :-)
 Apr 2014
Paul Hardwick
Easy for me to say
where did I leave my head
but yesterday
when my head had gone
I would not have known
what the question was
ipso-facto
so that is what that was.
Might have to visit my doctor again for more tablets. :=)
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
There is a story of the beach that's been told
Of shipwrecks and pirates and their ***** of gold
Of devils and angels and souls that were sold
For the location that's hiding the treasure so old

During the day, the beach is quite full
Of tourists and locals and such
But, when the sun's going down
The locals don't go there so much

Most nights in movies there's groups at the beach
Singing songs round a large burning fire
But, this beach is different, no one goes there
Cross my heart, you can call me a liar

Out at the end of the breakers and rocks
Is a graveyard of old pirate ship hulls
Divers have checked them and nothing was found
Now they're home to just crayfish and gulls

The story is told of the pirate....Muldoon
And the treasure buried round in these parts
It's protected by witchcraft and devilish lore
And is covered by ten pirates hearts

They say that Muldoon took down ships by the score
From Jamaica on up to Gaspe
But whatever he took, no one knows where he left
his treasure from then to this day

His ghost it is said, roams the dunes in the night
His wailing is heard near the sea
Folks don't stick around when the day is done
There's nary a soul there to see

Muldoon was a man with a penchant for gold
He made deals with the devil as well
Witches have said that the last deal he made
Let him take all his ***** to hell

Pirates and Ghosts and Witches and ships
These are tales that will play on your mind
But for all that he took, and through all the years past
Not one single dubloon will ye find

From cradle to grave the folks in these parts
Know the story of the Pirate Muldoon
The tree where he died still stands by the shore
Glowing bright when there is a blood moon

The word is that he, was hung from the tree
And Muldoon cursed the beach as he dropped
He said that his gold would never be found
Though the searching never has stopped

Fires go out, and the wind whips his cry
Is it Muldoon or just tricks of the air
It doesn't much matter, for no one will know
Because at night, there is nobody there

Muldoon walks the beach with his leg made of wood
Guarding treasure, of jewellery and gold
He will stay there forever, for it will not be found
This I say, being ever so bold

If you should find yourself down at the beach
And the sun starts to set in the west
You'd best make a move and get home where it's safe
Or meet Muldoon who is guarding his chest.
 Apr 2014
Paul Hardwick
Blot came to be
blot was,    and seamed to stay there
for nothing else than to be there,
that was what blot was
and that was what blot does.

Blot had two left feet
so moving around was hard
and just because,   life was hard
that's what blot wound do.

now i ask myself
is blot me or you?
Come on budding artist's draw blot.
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
Listen to me and I'm sure you'll see
That because of the brave
We all live free

Freedom to choose what we will be
Because of the brave
We all live free

I pledge my alliegence
I honor my flag
I honor my country
My support will not drag

We whine about government
We whine about crime
We whine about taxes
We whine about time

The freedom to choose
Of how life will be
Is because of the brave
That we all live free

We live life as free men
and women as well
For if we did not have freedom
Then we'd be in hell

We complain to the masses
Because that is our right
We enjoy that freedom
Because of the ones who did fight

They sacrificed all
So our ideals we'd save
We're the land of the free
Because of the brave
 Apr 2014
Paul Hardwick
This old country teach me nothing else
for I can tell you that myself
for I will just wither and die
and never be the man I sound to be
and no longer myself
so UK country
give to me
something
I
want to be

For this old country gives nothing to me.
 Apr 2014
Paul Hardwick
Left my happy home
To when, who knows
if I will return
and found my head one day
without trying
is that bad or is that good
maybe self medication misunderstood
say to myself do not worry

You sill have the T-Shirt
and it says

H OP E  A  N  D   G  LO  R  Y.
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
There was a shooting in Redstone
Only one man dead, none hurt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt

He was lying in the main street
Face down, right there in the dirt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

The crowd had formed around him
Lying there, all hard and cold
No witnessess to the shooting
At least not one so bold

They knew him from his weapon
The sixteen notches on the grip
He came in on the Flyer
He won't be on the return trip

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

He was staying at The Belfry
He only brought one bag to town
No one knew why he had come here
Except to shoot somebody down

The papers ran the story
The next morning in THE SUN
They ran a picture and a story
Of the "Man With The Pearl Gun"

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

The story was quite lengthy
Considering no one saw him shot
But, as usual there was someone
Who had a story to be bought

He'd been shot from an end window
Above the Local Mercantile Store
One bullet from a rifle
And the gunman was no more

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK

Turns out the gunman's killer
Was the one he'd come to find
The shooter was the killer's child
The only son, he'd left behind

They never met before this
He'd never ever met his Dad
But, The Gunman came to find him
And in the end, it's kind of sad

I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT BY MY SON
I WAS GUNNED DOWN WITHOUT KNOWING
I GUESS HE'S NOW THE WANTED GUN.
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
I was sitting playing slots
It was two a.m. and vacant
When a man came up and asked
Is this seat beside you taken?
I turned and told him no i'ts free
I looked deep and saw despair
He dropped his rumpled duffle bag
And plopped himself into the chair

He let his body acclimate
More to the warmth, than to the seat
I turned and played my game some  more
This man was basking in the heat
I watched him pull the tickets
From his pocket one by one
He laid them out before him
Until he'd counted twenty one
He fed them to the slot machine
Some kicked back, he got real tense
When he was finished I looked over
He had put in just ninety cents

The tickets were the remnants
of what others may have lost
But to him, they were a rental
To keep him not from getting tossed
He watched me for a while
Not hitting one button on his side
I could not help but look over
No matter how I tried

His hair was grey and matted
His fingers showed the stains
Of many years of nicotine
His eyes just showed the pain
He lit a smoke, second hand I'd say
He'd pulled a bag from in his coat
It was full of butts, all well worn down
Already ****** down someone's throat
He gave a cough and coughed a bit
Like he was getting set to speak
Then this man, slid over some
And in a voice, weary and weak
He said 'you got to line them up
I'll give you some advice
I knew that slots were random
But, this man....he had a price

He stared close at my empty glass
I'd just finished a cold beer
He coughed again and then he said
Son, it's surely dry in here
I waved a drink girl over
And I signalled to her "two"
I mean, it was cold outside
And I couldn't let him go  with out a brew
He kept eyeing up my ashtray
Where I'd left half a cigar
I knew that he would have it
in his grasp, before I went too far
I watched as he kept staring
Looking round, checking his back
He was fidgeting, and shaking
Waiting for the drink girl to come back
He had no bills to tip her
So as he saw her coming near
He got up to use the restroom
He said son....please watch my beer
I tipped her for the two of them
He was watching from the door
I guess when you've got nothing
You've got to learn just how to get more
I lit a second cigar up
clipped the end and took a puff
He sat back and breathed the smoke right down
Until his lungs had had enough
I asked him if he'd like one
His eyes lit up at this
He said thank you and was grateful
He said sir, I'd be remiss
But, can you cut it with your cutter
It's been so long since I've had one
I used to smoke them in Miami
When I used to winter in the sun
Lately, though, I've had hard times
I'm not half the man I was
I can't tell you what I used to have
I can't total up the loss
I lit the smoke, he ****** it in
Almost passed out from the taste
He said, I see these on the street some days
All crushed, son....what a waste
I used to winter in Miami
Watching jai lai, betting big
spending cash like it grew on trees
His eyes, they danced a jig

You know, now, when I think on back
I'm more thankful now than then
But, son, if I had the choice
I'd do it all again
Now, I come on in here
I pick my row seat in the fifth row, son
The fourth one in by the third glass door
The second seat, just over one
I listened to his seating plan
I looked around and tried to see
He said, you're looking at what seat I'm in
Looking for door number three
I'm kidding with you, there's no seat
I just move around to where it's warm
to where I might find some conversation
A place, some shelter from the storm
I knew he was a grafter
And in the end would be found out
He was looking for the easy way
Of this there was no doubt
whether he'd ever seen Miami
didn't matter all the same
But, in truth how many drifters
Know that jai lai is a sport and not a game
I finished up and told him
Keep warm and find a bed
He told me thanks, and shook my hand
And ran his hand over his head
I got up and I left him
Leaving five bucks on my machine
A fresh cigar in my ashtray
all where it could be seen
I walked away in silence
Heard the ticket get spit out
I then turned to see him leaving
Looking around for his next route
Whether he'd ever seen Miami
had cash, or food to eat
didn't matter in the long run
As he searched out another seat
 Apr 2014
Roger Turner - Poet
I remember leaving
I'll not forget the in between
There's nothing in the world
Can erase the things I've seen

But, today I got my papers
got a call upon my phone
My duty now is over
and I am coming home

I've missed a lot
since I've been gone
I've never seen my son
I've never held him in my arms
I missed seeing him turn one

coming home my time is over
coming home my time is through
coming home to be a father
and a husband dear, to you
coming home a tired soldier
coming home but, not the same
coming home to be a person
I'm not a rank and a last name


I missed his second birthday too
But, I won't miss any more
I wasn't there when he turned three years old
But, I'll be there when he turns four

Things have changed
Things will be new
I know this will be tough
I can only promise that I'll try
And hope that  it will be enough

I've thought about you every day
You're in my heart and soul
I'm coming home to you my love
And then together, we'll be whole

coming home my time is over
coming home my time is through
coming home to be a father
and a husband dear, to you
coming home a tired soldier
coming home but, not the same
coming home to be a person
I'm not a rank and a last name
 Apr 2014
Paul Hardwick
While I spend time looking over this top shelf
all I found was myself
not a book
just this page full of words
that explains me not
My own words.
For Raygan   ;-)    P@ul
 Apr 2014
Paul Hardwick
John Brown bring him down
pull his body to the ground.
bring him down.

Holiday, Holiday, I just declare a holiday
left him up just enough
pull his body to the ground.

Holiday, Holiday, I declare a holiday
even what the doctors say
John Brown.

You going on a holiday
on the holiday that is
truly yours.
You can thank me later Regards P@ul.
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