Archive for the ‘A Feckless Attempt at Poetry’ Category

Chatter In The Forest

May 3, 2015

Chatter In The Forest.

There’s chatter in the forest from the chipmunks and the birds.
There is positive excitement ever since they got the word.

They say, a stranger is amongst us that we’ve not seen before.
And they are shouting from the treetops down to the forest floor.

The scholars claim he could exist although he is quite unique.
For he’s written in mythology of the Norsemen and the Greek.

The native tribes are adamant; he’s been seen in days of yore.
For he’s chiseled in their petroglyphs and storied in their lore.

We know, in the book of Genesis, the Lord created quite a few.
But by the time Noah launched his Ark, he had only two.

There’s chatter amongst the masses too, the peasant, doctor, saint.
Of whether a creature could exist that really is that quaint?

The doubters are quite cynical and claim a right to ask.
Could he be with us now though dynasties have past?

Now my friends, I’m here to tell how fate had chosen me.
Perhaps by luck or happenstance or serendipity.

For while I was strolling through the woods, I saw him in a tree.
I was staring up at him and he was glaring down on me.

Time stood still. I could not move. Then I heard his plaintive call.
For this creature is none other than the Seven-Peckered Owl.

Oh, the Seven-Peckered Owl is majestic and he is wise.
And each one of his peckers is twice the normal size.

I am here to tell, this bird is more droll than one would think.
Once I was staring at his peckers and I’m sure I saw him wink.

This bird deserves to be left in peace to feed his little brood.
But like so many mortal men, I had a change of mood.

I could put him in a circus tent and place him on display.
Folks would come from miles away, no telling what they’d pay.

So I carried out my ladder and leaned it against his limb.
And left it there long enough, til it didn’t bother him.

One morning while my precious find, took his diurnal sleep.
I crept up behind that somnolent bird trying not to make a peep.

But owls are noted for their hearing and their sight.
For when I made a lunge for him he took to wing in fright.

He flew into the chicken coop and hid amongst the flock.
So I crept in between the hens and grabbed him by the cock.

The cock was quite indignant that I’d caught his avian friend.
That’s when I felt his yellow pecker pecking on my hand.

While laying in the dark and dust I loosened up my grasp.
And the last time I saw that bird, he was heading west.

Oh somewhere there’s a forest and in it there’s a tree.
Where a proud owl safely sits with his family.

Let us wish him well in his quest, for the solitude he seeks.
For we know his seven peckers are his seven beaks.

Nubile Women

August 4, 2009

It’s the tenth of July and lordy it’s hot.

And the boys have all gone swimmin.’

Me, I’m ridin’ to town.

To find me some nubile women.

It’s times like this I talk to my Pa.

He’s always free with advice.

When it comes to women he’s had him a fe.

Though he… uh…never had time for a wife.

When it comes to y’ur sexual preferences.

He says there’s a number of things you can try.

There’s y’ur hetro, y’ur homo and y’ur metro.

Y’ur A and y’ur trans and y’ur bi.

Now I’m findin’ this all real confusin’

It’s enough to boggle the mind.

So, I thought, I’ll get me to town.

To see what women I’ll find.

So here I was ridin’ old Dusty.

To find what the night life’s about.

I figured I’d take the old gelding.

‘Cuz his gender’s not really in doubt.

So I find myself lopin’ down Main Street.

And really hadn’t got all that far.

When I spied a bright light a flashin’.

From a sign hangin’ over a bar.

So I sidled in real casual.

Not meanin’ to be forward or bold.

Took time to look the place over.

Just the way I’d been told.

So I sat me down at a table.

And a pirate served me a beer.

I could tell by the hankie he had on his head

And the gold ring he wore in his ear.

When my eyes got used to the darkness.

I noticed two young women sittin’ near.

So I motioned the Pirate over and said,

“Bring them two gals each a beer.”

Now the Pirate gave me a sideways look.

And says, “You don’t understand,

Those two women are lesbians.

They love women, not men”.

So I mulled that over for a minute.

And I let ‘er sink in really slow.

And all the while I’m a thinkin’.

There’s two women I’m wantin’ to know

So I says to that there pirate.

“Bring us over three brew.”

“Cuz according to that definition,

By gar, I’m a lesbian too.”

A Very Strange Bird

August 4, 2009

A very strange bird is the Senator.

He sits in his chamber all day.

He sleeps while he works,

Enjoying his perks,

Pretending he’s earning his pay.

I long for the life of a Senator.

It would free me from worry and strife.

If they would just hire me,

And when they retire me,

Give me a pension for life.

But I know there’s no need for a Senator,

Though he is sober in thought.

I say don’t hire him.

I would just fire him,

For it’s all a capitalist plot.

A Lost Love

August 4, 2009

I come to this bar when I’m able.

There’s wine and whisky and beer.

You’ll find darts and a shuffleboard table.

But that’s not the reason I’m here.

It’s that woman who waits on the tables.

If you ask which one you’ve gone blind.

She has a cleavage almost to her navel.

And she is driving me out of my mind.

I watch as she flirts with the cowpokes.

The one’s by the bar, on the stools.

And I see how she laughs at their old jokes.

She surely must take them for fools.

But there they all sit with their Stetsons.

Each with its sweaty headband.

Can’t she see how they all suck their guts in

Whenever they walk to the can?

I have never seen one so graceful

As she flits between tables and bar

Ignoring remarks so disgraceful.

As she cashes their tips in her jar.

She’s pleasant enough when she serves me.

She smiles as she hands me my glass.

But somehow this woman unnerves me.

And I’ve never the courage to ask.

Would you like to go out for the evening?

We could go to the club for a drink.

Or perhaps we could take in a movie.

Or a couple of games at the rink.

But when I speak my mouth fills with marbles

And the sweat on my palms gets worse.

And the words that come out are all garbled

Those lines I’ve so carefully rehearsed.

And I feel as if everyone’s staring.

All of the patrons and staff.

Is she smiling to tell me she’s caring?

Or is she suppressing a laugh?

I cast my eyes to the rafters.

And try to avoid all their stares.

That’s when I encounter their laughter.

And I sink further down in my chair.

And there I just sit and get older.

And ponder this taciturn curse.

For time doesn’t let me get bolder.

And sometimes I think I get worse.

I know some day I’ll be carried.

To that hill where the crocuses wave.

For that’s where I’ve asked to be buried.

With a small bronze plaque on my grave.

It will say he was a good lover.

For he loved the way good cowboys do.

And he had one love above others

But that one love never knew.

To The Moon

August 4, 2009

Moon, you too have been defiled.

Like earth, by man.

You suffered the brief indignity

And survived,

Perhaps to recover.

Time will tell.

Once your baleful eye

Gazed with envy

On your glamorous sister,

But no more.

He ignored her beauty

And took her for her riches.

How sad!

Will your homely countenance

Save you from the ravages of man?

Your sleep is restless.

He will be back