There was once a dock worker whose name was Dick,
His employers knew not, Dick had worked out a perfect trick,
Forty five was his speculated age,
He dressed according to his meager wage,
Went home daily with a barrow, security noticed dick was quick.
On other days they noticed many a different kind of trivia,
Told security was selling empty boxes to buy pills, had leukaemia,
Will tell you more when I retire,
Continued with his routine and poorly attire,
His secret, confessed stole a barrow a day, headlines in media.
Moved to Mexico, learnt Spanish, dyed hair black so could blend,
Applied for a job in revenue office, made many a friend,
Managed and learnt to cheat a little,
Hey Dick be careful, don’t fiddle,
Persisted to play his tricky games, predictably caught at the end.
City of Wills
Cant say I love you
They say you got to know her
You can't just say she's beautiful
Enjoy the party with your heart in an hour glass
She sings when she talks
The songs of Saturdays and lying on the grass at the park
I love her like a distant horn of a midnight train
She is my heartbeat she is my ghost
The night is forever young and the days are to discover the length of my rope
She is possible in an impossible world
I have wined and dined her I have felt her needs and felt her sorrow
But the joke is on me
Between a foundation and a wheel barrow
If hard work hasn't cemented my soul
Music will provide the power to touch feel and smell her flower
No lazy eyed outlook
When this morn-stilled!
Points as what's on display: "there, look;
Old barrow, cart".
Can it be so excused
When this noon-stirred?
Points as what's just for show: "there, look;
Old cat; porched art".
As I walk through our paradise garden
With the birds and the bees
Three white Doves have joined me
Having flown down from the trees
They have called to say good morning
And enjoy the early Sun
The Flowers blooming brightly
A real joy to everyone
One lands upon my shoulder
And whispers in my ear
How much they welcome me in their midst
Their pleased to see me never fear
As I push my little wheel barrow
The flowers seen to jump on board
By the time my walk is over
I have quite a little hoard
My little Dove has quite a bit to say
About how wonderful it is in our Garden of peace
How both the Birds and Flowers talk
To them a wonderful release
So now I feel at home at last
Where the flowers talk to me all day
And the birds chatter and sing their songs
And in this garden paradise I want to stay
Sitting there watching from the corner of my eye
From my kitchen window, what did I see?
A leprechaun rolling his wheel barrow in his finery
Full of gold coins entering a black door
I looked around no one else was there
He shouted” give me my gold and I go”
“What gold” I shouted back
Or was he making it up, was I in debt to him
“No, no you got the wrong person” I shouted at him
“No just give me that gold ring on your finger, now you able to pay” he said
I shuddered went out the door and threw it at him
It vanished so did he.
the 1934 model 40 B Fordor deluxe sedan idled outside the gas station
Inside was Clyde Barrow, who was robbing the place
His moll, Bonnie Parker, sat inside the car, holding a shotgun
these notorious robbers were deemed “Robin hood figures”
This was the Great Depression; their crime spree teased imaginations
Stories and rumors followed them from Texas to Missouri
They took their gangster car to Oklahoma and New Mexico
Robbing gas stations, and small town banks
People liked watching them shoot things up and act wild
They were famous for their daring and their pizzazz
Bonnie was only twenty four when she died
Clyde was twenty-five, but they are remembered
and weirdly revered, even though they were gangsters
who terrorized people and small town bankers
they outsmarted the police for twenty-one months
their crime spree was a subject of books and a movie
which has continued their legacy; making them forever famous.
"Birds care not for whom they sing" - Silent One
For infants who feel the art of hearing for the first time...
For kids who don't distinguish between a rhyme and a chime...
For children growing up, seeing beings and non-beings...
When singing, does any bird care for anyone's feelings?
For students who are weighed down by loads of learning burdens...
For teachers who are occupied with their molding missions...
For parents who constantly care for their children's dealings...
When singing, does any bird care for anyone's feelings?
For hunters who're alert with a gun or bow and arrow...
For ornithologists who know birds of every barrow...
For birdwatchers who are fond of birds feeding on gleanings...
When singing, does any bird care for anyone's feelings?
For any vagabond, nomad, wanderer, or migrant
For any god, goddess, angel, cherubim, sage, or saint
For humans of selfish, sarcastic, sadistic leanings
When singing, does any bird care for anyone's feelings?
I’ve strolled down Bedford from Barrow,
maybe a couple times or more.
When I would get to 86,
I headed through the garden door.
I felt inspiration flowing,
from the rafters down to the floor.
Words for future generations,
by the authors that I adore.
They sat on these stools by the bar,
and drank their whiskey from this glass.
They saw the world through this window,
and watched it gently slide on past.
The true spirit of literature,
hangs in every sip I take.
I try to honor their presence,
in each single line that I make.
So, here’s to you Chumley’s Tavern,
drink a toast to your ancient past.
But alas, just like all good things,
you have come to your end at last.
Steinbeck and Millay may live forever,
through eloquent words that they wrote.
But as for you and me dear friend,
we’ll just be history’s footnote.
At 20 I never thought I’d have to work as hard
as I am at 60.
At 40 I never thought I wouldn’t want to.
Today I’m having my doubts.
A few days ago a man in town died suddenly
while out mowing his lawn,
and as I carry 60lb blocks and push wheel barrow loads of gravel
all day in the mid-summer sun
I think I’d be okay with keeling over doing this.
My will is in order,
those I love know I do,
and I’ve certainly had an interesting life,
but I think no matter if it’s today
or when I’m 80 or 100
when my heart finally does stop
I’ll be doing something
I didn’t think I’d still have to be doing at that age
nor that I’d ever want to stop doing,
and in that instant
this will all seem like it has been just the blink of an eye.
(from my fourth book, BEGINNER'S MIND, 2019)
By Shadows oh shadows grow dark in this life
Moving Further & further from a once Devine light
Farewell my soul mate
Time we go our seperate ways
Farewell my beautiful soul mate
I Do wish you could have stayed...
In The shadows
Our Paths became tangled
Our Crossroads became razor sharp angles
Nothing left but the melancholy outrow
Watchi a soul mate fade into the twilight
May we meet again in paradise
The shadows oh the shadows
Time was not ours to barrow
Farewell Nikole
I don't see the funny part
Of calling a woman Tart:
What you now plan to restart
And just burn a happy heart
Words of mischief stacked in cart
Had never won Purple Heart
The loosed tongue may around dart
But don't fail to smell like fart
I foresee some tomorrow
Face of repentance borrow;
The hacked heart still in sorrow:
Tina's: tears fill a barrow.
Ammonia-ed clumps of damp, dunged straw
forked onto her cold barrow, then rolled outside.
Across the field where her ninety pounds
thrust up the dray atop a mulching mound!
Nineteen times before the sour dregs
are swallowed by the day.
Bowed tendons stripe her calloused palms with pain.
She racks each open with a metal comb
to rake her horse’s mane.
Stall cleaned; horse fed, mane combed to shine as gold-
Showered, she brings her smile to our bed.
Sans seed - it’s not Spring now - green grass concealed.
Cute, cuddly happiness with floppy ears.
White rabbits leap, in the fluffy snow field,
when the zephyr and flower disappears.
Plush wings that sink into the angel-snow.
Flapping in the thirst-quenching cold, faux-fur
envelopes limbs with a diamond glow.
Flurries dash from above, brighten dark fir.
Buried halfway - barrow and bicycles,
shrubs and bushes, and children of small size.
Melting ice reshapes into icicles -
nature’s decoration delights the eyes.
1/17/2023
12 Lines of Rhyme - Winter Nature Themed
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
My Granddad can’t stay on the straight and narrow
Robs garden centres with his bow and arrow,
Police knew his scheming
So now he is screaming
Speeding downhill in a plastic wheelbarrow
As gramps in his wheelbarrow got lots of LOLs
The river impeded his getaway goals
When used as a boat
It just wouldn’t float
Since when did those wheelbarrows have drainage holes
He dragged out the barrow as fast as he could
Expecting somehow it could do him some good
He thought it made sense
To ask Fred the Fence
“Who launders wheelbarrows in this neighbourhood?”
He sold the wheelbarrow and tried to go straight
Then Grandad found weeds all round his garden gate
“Oh for goodness sake,
I need a new rake.”
Went shopping at ten ’cause the store closed at eight
He snuck through a window by breaking the pane
And made his way through to the garden tools lane
The alarm’s manic blast
Brought police really fast
He grabbed a wheelbarrow and set off again
See, forty bucks in cold, hard cash
can fill your trailer with gin trash.
And for growing fine tomatoes,
forty's pretty small potatoes.
The big box products like Black Cow
will truly set you back, and how!
The cotton hulls and seeds and stems
ejected from the cotton gin,
stored a year in a giant pile,
makes the heart leap and brings a smile.
Earthy, loamy, a little sour,
magical black growing power.
By the barrow, then tilled under,
it's a veggie growing wonder.
Its Round-up contents raise concerns;
the pile's so hot, it nearly burns.
Big veggies are the things it grows,
but I'll look out for extra toes.
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