A Simple Joy
This man was reading in his room ~ William Wordsworth
My last hour each day
as I hit the hay
is unwinding time
relaxing as I’m
feeding my obsession.
Not just wanting, but needing
to turn pages, reading
this chapter and next
taking in text
until me or my book is done.
No way can I measure
my nocturnal pleasure
of lying in bed
with a book to be read,
new adventures to devour.
I can go any place
while staying home safe
with no social distance
or mask for existence
in my nightly ivory tower.
When younger, I would stay up late
And drink a lot of wine,
But nowadays, with half a beer,
I hit the hay at nine.
My teaching days, once filled with work,
Plus quite a long commute,
Would wipe me out for reasons that
Nobody would dispute.
Yet, now retired, I walk three miles
And pass the extra time
With reading, crosswords, phone calls
And, of course, my daily rhyme.
Though in the afternoon, I feel
Exhausted, truth be told,
Except that now, my main excuse
Is that I’ve gotten old.
Sweet thoughts, rainfall
It's just that kind of day
Sitting in my favorite chair
Words here on display
Before too long a finished post
A new morning bouquet
That's meant to say ILU
And get you on your way
For you to know that I'm right here
And that I'm always TAY
Just message me and you'll receive
Response without delay
And even intermittent
I'm still not far away
Anything concerning you
Is never done halfway
My dreams of us together
Span quite the vast array
But there's one recurring dream I have
Its substance I'll convey
It's...
A first class French excursion,
A personal chalet,
Long and lazy afternoons
At quaint outdoor cafés
Romantic Paris evenings
A Moulin Rouge soiree
Moonlight strolls along The Seine,
Then up Champs Elysees
Sup late European-style
That's how they do it anyway
Why not? Just like the old adage,
"When in France," they say
And when the final curtains close
On our self-directed play
'Tis the season to head back home
And prepare to hit the hay
Then just before you fall asleep
A few things if I may:
One, I love you very much
Two, with me forever stay
For fifty years I went to work
Minimum wage; was I a jerk
I'd slave away every day
Bus ride home, eat, hit the hay
Now a new life has opened up for me
Doing something I can hardly believe
Waking up, I go outside; gaze at the grass, sky and trees
Thus fortified, I head back in and write poetry
It'll never pay the bills, but there are no bills to pay
Only one complaint ~ I keep on hitting the hay
The highlight of their day
is when they hit the hay
Used to be a roll in there
~ Life's not always fair
Sunday evenings, not much to do
Pack a bag lunch, dust off your shoes
Hit the hay early, dread the alarm
As if Monday's the source ~ of all worldly harm
The ups and downs of life
Somehow seem to be condensed
When a family weekend has,
After too much time, commenced.
For excitement, filled with smiles,
Leads to tantrums and to tears,
Though some ice cream stops sure help
Tilt the balance (as do beers).
Just when things are smooth as silk,
There’s no water from the sink,
Nor for showers or to flush -
Glad there’s bottled stuff to drink.
There’s a water main that broke;
Takes 4 hours to repair.
Just before I hit the hay,
It’s all fixed - no more despair.
Still, the sky is filled with stars
And the days are streaked with sun.
All the downs are soon forgot,
Overshadowed by the fun.
Me and my fellow buckaroos have had a real rough day.
Plumb tuckered out, we still are not ready to hit the hay.
Our bacon, the beans and biscuits have all been gobbled up.
My coffee now is growing cold inside my old tin cup.
Sitting around the fire, it feels good to just lean back.
A harmonica my friend is taking now from his "war sack."
melancholy is his tune. Two cowpokes who have guitars
are joining in with my friend Jake. I look up at the stars.
I want to liven up the scene, so I sing them my new song -
the one I wrote a month ago. The others sing along.
I love this life and being on this current cattle drive.
Not married yet, I'm saving up. At least I can survive!
It's time to get our sleep in. My bedroll's spread out. By and by,
I'll be deaming about my gal Sal beneath this starry sky!
Jan. 27, 2021
Jan. 27, 2021 for Line Gautheir's 'Cowboy Poetry' Poetry Contest
My cat Jeff snuggles when I hit the hay
He's strong-minded and always has his way
He snores as I try to doze
His whiskers tickle my nose
I'm sleepless while he snoozes night and day
Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Sleepless" Contest.
(Placed No. 2 In the Contest)
When all the wranglin' chores was done and the sun settled in the west,
The cowboys was lollin' about the campfire savorin' much needed rest.
From early dawn they'd branded dogies and herded cantankerous steers,
Now it was time to unwind, spin some bull and toss back some beers.
Fer supper they had the usual beef, spuds and beans as hard as stones,
Now they fired up their cigars, pipes and a few fellers lit roll-yer-owns.
A guy played melancholy tunes on his harmonica to calm the antsy herd,
And in the distance the yips and snarls of pesky coyotes could be heard.
They had fed and tethered their hosses and kicked off their boots,
And leaned back on their saddles - what a band of hell-raisin' galoots!
They spun tales of wimmen, whiskey, horses, gamblin' and such,
And took turns bad-mouthin' the trail boss who they didn't like very much!
Their slurred twaddle dwindled to a close and it was time to hit the hay,
Knowing that they had to rise early and face another saddle-sore day.
Usin' their saddles fer pillers they sprawled 'neath a big yeller moon,
Snorin', groanin' and breakin' wind, each emittin' a melodious tune!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Slip in shades of grey,
new dentures have poli-grip,
time to hit the hay…
2-19-17
mcdonalds wife use to say
too much work for me today
an illness i'll fake
and after a break
maybe i will hit the hay.
Through day and night
She cooks and cleans
Kissing boo-boos
And creating dreams.
She loves you more
And more each day
Even when
You hit the hay.
Through good and bad
She stays tough
Even when
We look real rough.
Speedily she drives
From place to place
Hoping it won’t be
A wild chase.
She's always there
Through thick and thin
She loves us so
Even when we sin.
Making dinner
Is her cup of tea
She cooks like a superstar
And especially loves me.
She braids my hair,
Cleans my underwear.
She also drives me everywhere!
She Loves me to the moon and back,
Farther then you can see
But the best part about my mom
Is that she loves you and me.
Mama
The one who wipes your nose and rinses you off with a hose.
She picks you up and you drop your cup.
You make a mess and she ruined her new dress.
Your toys are left out but she never pouts.
The crying never stops until you suddenly saw rain drops.
Dad comes home to save the day and mom wants to hit the hay.
Your first word was candy because you couldn’t say Andy.
Nothing beats mamas love yet she’s as calm as a dove.
The band's trumpeting out the Bose
A dozen red roses for thirteen chicas
In that old cantina
Looks like one's left cold
But it's colder still out that
Crooked oval door
As Jorge keeps 'em entertained
With his liquid tambourine
Hey Mr. Cobbler shaker
Play a tune for me
Keep those ice cubes clinging clanging
Cooling that Agave Blue for me
He played that song 'til the early morn
The man of her dreams hails a cab
She smiles all the way back home
What a night it was
All the things they'd done
The excitement wakes her
As she rolls over to kiss her lover
And finds he never hit the hay
Hey Mr. Cobbler shaker
Play a tune for me
Keep those ice cubes clinging clanging
Cooling that Agave Blue for me
Did he always have to leave
Her this way
Alone and confused
Where did they depart
She'd go back yet another time
To try and find the man
Who has her heart
Hey Mr. Cobbler shaker
Play a tune for me
Keep those ice cubes clinging clanging
Cooling that Agave Blue for me
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