There stood a man in coveralls all greased up with a smile on his face
It was our first time meeting but still welcomed me to his sacred place
The shop his cave sometimes even just a place to get away
I got to become part of his world shortly after that first day
I don't know how and I definitely did not know when
I just knew from my heart that I was going to see him again
I felt a connection that I had never felt at all before
It was so unimaginable what could be next in store
We talked for some time and we both felt it getting stronger
But the time not spent was hard and they were getting longer
Then there was a bump in the road and we had just stopped talking
There was no more contact and it even lead to some blocking
A few weeks went by and my feelings were still there
I did not understand what made him just stop care
Then the bubble with his name came on to my screen
With a happy message of a hi and how have you been
My hairs stood tall and shivers covered me from head to toe
I knew at that moment I would never again let him go
Now my hair is standing tall and goosebumps all around
I now know that this was my true love I had found
A mass of emerald and ochre leaves,
sway upon the light summer breeze.
Suction of boots to big, wrenched from the muck,
grunting, banging, the metal bucket thunks.
The old farmer in his coveralls stands at the fence,
watching the struggling girl, bucket bangs, eyes wince.
'Ya wanna ta' feed um' he urges her on,
huffing, puffing, nose wrinkled of odors not fond.
A glorious glint of green and blue plumage,
is all that's needed to encourage.
Shrieking cries they emit, she jumps in fright,
screaming, slipping, sliding, then caught in plight.
Stuck in the mud, smelling quite rotten,
are boots too big, long forgotten.
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If I were your fantasy man
I’d welcome the morning alarm.
I’d jump out of bed, put my coveralls on,
Match each sleeve of my shirt with an arm
And I’d get on the road, gladly carry the load,
If I were your fantasy man.
You’d e-mail inviting me to take your clothes off
And give you a hot oil massage, if I were your fantasy man.
If I were your fantasy man,
This job wouldn’t be such a drag.
I’d whistle and smile while I worked in the heat;
Eat my lunch from a brown paper bag.
I’d be so damn inspired, hell, I’d never get tired
If I were your fantasy man.
You’d e-mail enticing me with sweet seductions,
While wishing it all would come true, if I were your fantasy man.
If I were your fantasy man
I’d never be lonesome or low.
I’d be dreaming of you fondly dreaming of me;
You’d be with me wherever I go.
I’d take comfort in faith that my trust was well placed
If I were your fantasy man.
The lady down the lane
Kept daisies by her windowpane
Clad in sun splashed coveralls
Her hair, a silver waterfall
Proudly she wore her bluebell bonnets
As she composed her floral sonnets
We would smile a shy hello
Her name, I never got to know
Now - dusty silence coats her stair
The bones of color, stripped and bare
Abandoned seedlings, parched segments
So largely felt, those little dents
A 'For Sale' sign sits on the lawn
I guess seasons - and gardens - move on
Yet, sometimes I see, through stained-glass rain
Daises by her windowpane.
3/20/20
For 'The Lady Down the Lane' contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Deep in the Oklahoma woods
On an oil rig we couldn't foresee
Something not dropped in the snow
Could be disastrous to a degree
A guy I'll call "new guy", came in
He'd done a "Number two" outside
Thankful to get out of the cold but
With an odor not to be denied
Somebody asked,"What's that smell!"
What then ensued was quite an uproar
Ending with new guy shouting, "Oh no!"
And quickly bolting out the door
Here's the moral of the story
I'll tell you what it's all about
When you pull down hooded coveralls
Never leave the hood sticking out!
Every day I am leaping higher
Jumping from brown blocks and green pipes.
From the pluck of fire flowers steams this passion that I pursue So adamantly.
Question mark filled boxes highlighted yellow.
Flickering on and off.
The alchemy of white gloves, stomping and flipping the backs of turtles.
Small mushroom men with small feet.
Flying bullets of unusual size.
Large man eating plants.
I no longer fear the height of odd shaped trees, and small collapsing bridges.
What I fear most are the walls of empty castles.
Flying bullets and funny shaped ghost.
Soon to attack soon as I turn my back.
Lava filled pits. Huge block castles.
Torn blue coveralls. Dull and weathered black boots.
The slip of a shoe and everything I know comes to an end.
Still,
I travel land, sea, desert, space.
No matter what adversity,
In search of a princess that I love so adamantly.
No matter how long the journey
Walking my tiger home alone
In the background and unknown
With a rag I polish a club
Then you take it with a snub
I walk around keeping stats
Wet my finger for wind on flats
Calculate yards from here to there
So dimpled ball will stay in the air
As fast as you behind I lag
The difference is I carry your bag
All in white in bright coveralls
Marking the spot to place your balls
On the green is usually where
Sometimes you don't I won't go there
Have no problem choosing the club
Throwing it back an uneasy rub
I go the distance for eighteen
Making sure you make the green
Many tournaments you have won
Some are due to the work I've done
Raise the cup enjoy the win
I can take it on the chin
Beside you like some garden gnome
Here I'm walking my Tiger home
I donned my best Sunday working coveralls
Plopped the hardhat on my waiting head.
Just another twelve hours of service rendered
To an employer who cares not if im live or dead
Ive seen days and months and years fly by
As I travel horizons far and wide
You become bitter to the loves lost along the way.
But you learn to bury the pain deep inside.
Ive fought with men with hardened hearts
Who poured out their hurts in the fists they threw.
But in the next Port of Call all was forgiven
And you would share an ale or two.
The land dwellers never witness the struggles of this life
Or the burdens of each cross we bear
Or how much we anticipate coming home.
And falling into loving arms that still miss and care.
Ive seen young lads come up the gangway
Thinking they have found an adventurers paradise
And watch their smiles turn to grimmaces
Once the sea steals their soul and life.
Its a job unlike no other
Where your gone for months that just drag on
And when you finally make it home again
You find your feeling like you dont belong.
Oh hail the common man!
He’s something of a novelty.
Never has he asked for much.
Some people call him Hillbilly.
Watch, remember, celebrate
His coveralls are washed in lye
Then pinned upon a line to dry.
From rural soil his children sprout.
They’re raised on beans and sauerkraut.
Warp, weft, seam and weave
All for peace and love proclaim,
Have mercy on a peaceful man!
Of simple means and meager lot,
He rides with sure and even trot.
Canter, gallop, ambling gait
Though others fail, he finds no fault,
Endures his fate and woes begot.
His portion is at nature’s whim.
Long days are spent behind his team.
Summer, fall, wind and rain
He plows his fields in furrows deep
And plants his yams deliberately.
Then digs the yield with hoe and spade
To pace the sun in senseless race.
Winnow, thresh and sow the seed
Next year will bring a better yield.
He keeps his garden neatly tilled.
He bows his chest in hopeful gain,
Then hangs his head and prays for rain.
Struggle, plan, hope and dream
Like freshly laundered bed sheet,
nature spreads a white silken
gleaming, sparkling, eye blinding
cool earth coveralls.
~11/08/15
~Winter Dodoitsu contest by Heather Ober
Total Trash Pile
We had just been leaving our humble abode
When I told husband to keep eye on the road;
Stop looking at all of the scenery around
And always continue to be safe and sound.
Did drive by what was a big dump
Full of rusted out cars and a tree stump;
Free from Brunswick County, we finally are
After driving away in our incredible car.
While there had been riding on our bike
When we say a Louie Lewis look alike
And no matter which way all his trash falls,
There he was wearing his coveralls.
So back to high society returned again;
Then a great restaurant we went right in;
When by a waiter we had been met,
All of Brunswick County did try to forget.
PS. Louis Lewis is owner of a big bunch
of trashed cars.
Love isn't just a single word or feeling
Said to tickle an ear and leave you reeling
Nor is love abstract and void of care
But what one envisions and does all year
We convey our love by things that we do
When a loved one is hurting we hurt too
Love is conveyed by deeds not merely said
And connects us all with a common thread
Love is a word some find difficult to say
But it leaves an enormous price to pay
Love means when one hurts us, we forgive
Not five years later to bring up and relive
Love sometimes forces on us a long wait
But love never delegates us power to dictate
We don't have to agree with each other to love
For God gave me what I was unworthy of
What's held in your heart your mouth will speak
So before speaking do a mental critique
love is never idle or to be cast in mothballs
In short, I see love as a servant in coveralls
From Brother Jay's morning sermon
Happy Valentines day
Our patient needed some minor in-office surgery
This is a true story, can't sue me for perjury
Our new Dr M asked us the room to prepare
The next thing that happened is true, I swear.
The patient is ready, scared, and holding my hand
When in walked the Dr, its not we'd planned!
Wearing coveralls that had bold words on the front
BOB'S AUTO REPAIR ,what as asinine stunt!
The Doc is laughing, he thinks it' a grand joke
The patient, alarmed, had started to choke.
With great authority to the Dr I said..
"Go chance your clothes" as I'm seeing red
He meekly turned and slunk out the door
And BOB'S AUTO REPAIR was seen no more...,..
A true story.......
More than 10 lines so it won't be accepted for the contest..but I wanted to share it anyway..
Boy, do I have Dr stories lol
I’m totally one more give out old man---
Trying to cool it . I don’t have anything left
to hurt for an encore.
Naked to the waist with my coveralls
splayed over the chair back—drying.
The hot breeze mellowing over my torso
like the dancing fingers of a masseuse.
Afraid to merely hint at a touch
for fear of destroying the mood.
The hot breath scorching the surface
faster than evaporation occurs.
I don’t remember 103 affecting me like this
in the past. Maybe hotter.
I don’t know, but I can’t
take this heat any more.
Back over my shoulders go the
now half dry clothes
Intending to go back into that infernal
place and work a bit longer
but God only knows,
I’m already one strung out mess.
I think I’ll sit here just a few minutes more
I’m totally one more give out old man---
Trying to cool it . I don’t have anything left
to hurt for an encore
Jul 26 For Rambling's "Gosh that was fast" contest
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