Sometimes an obituary
Adds some background fact
That brings laughter, not the way
You’d think a reader would react.
Tom Shipley’s obit clarified
That he was feeling fine,
Perhaps a bit too much, when we went
One toke past the line.
A friend gave him some weed to smoke
Backstage between two sets
And warned him more than just two hits
Might cause him some regrets.
He didn’t listen, spurring him
To state the way he felt,
Yet a song was born resulting from
The hand that he was dealt.
What cracked me up, though, was to learn
Some clean-cut duo sang
That song on Lawrence Welk’s show;
Unfamiliar with the slang
Of the drug world, Welk declared
“A modern spiritual” was heard
Because within the toke line, to
“Sweet Jesus” was referred.
I wonder now if Lawrence Welk,
So strait-laced way back then,
Ever learned what he endorsed
And why folks shouted out, “Amen!”
A luminous, endless circle,
that icy pool with a noodle to hold.
An entwined reflection,
you can’t see where either one ends.
A heart made permanent with a sharpie,
love letters held inside a shadow box.
An irregular coffee stain on an old table,
we made a mess of lust that morning.
Finishing a sentence with no words,
enjoying an agreeable line of silence.
Little things, an incredible shape,
the outline of devotion.
A raw and calloused thumb
Sliding over steel
The sound of buzzing string
Is the only thing that's real
A kind and loving world
A place I saw on screen
That kind that won't exist
The kind that makes me scream
I strike another chord
I play until I bleed
It's the kind of sound I want
It's the kind of sound I need
To make it through the day
To make it through the week
To make it through my life
To lift me when I'm weak
I pay another bill
I write another check
I click another mouse
I'm at another desk
I wipe it all away
When I play the tetra line
I'm in another world
The kind of world that's kind
Where does capital end
and mere terrorism begin
Out of line sometimes life's events don't always rhyme and if I hear hey bro the line is over here, um going to lose it, throw a fit and then maybe get inline. In line out of line online all these lines still nothing straight.Lines-you going to make it, heard that line so many times it rhymes.you may not like it when I start cussing and again tell me sir you out of line..no worries today I will acknowledge that I am out of line no worries tomorrow I will get online, inline do rhyme cause yesterday I needed that.. I was . . .
They left Southampton with a coal fire down below,
Olympic class of the White Star Line, little did they know.
Irish-built in Belfast, one iceberg was all it took as,
with insufficient lifeboats, the whole wide world it shook.
Departing Queenstown, compartments not all watertight,
unsinkable or so they said, until that tragic night...
(almost a six-day cruise).
She was poorly equipped and, as all good Captains do
(tho' that is not his due), Edward Smith
(and fifteen hundred souls or more)
went down with the ship.
And the band played on as the ship was going down,
were they blind (drunk?), out of their minds,
they were all about to drown.
Some thought 'Bravery,' others, 'Stupidity,'
(altho' cold as ice), I can say, quite categorically,
I would have jumped ship if it were me.
Tho' it's a deep subject, rock-bottom at very best,
the play on Broadway (take a bow) you won't see,
of lost lives and broken hearts
is... 'The Titanic, In Two Parts'.
They just want your money.
Just want your wealth.
Meagre or major they’ll take it all else.
Post sale and the manner changes in tone.
Commission awarded - it’s time to go home.
They’ll try to convince you that you need it to live!
They’ll try to persuade you that you’re doing the right thing.
But they just want your money. They’d take it and take it all. Smiles and so jolly until the deal ends it’s call.
They just want your money. They don’t care how hard it came by. They just want your money and hope you’ll be swooned by their guile.
Who you wish to blind with a smooch
Alice was yours before she went through
Crazy are bedding sheets you drum,
randomly young and pumped of rum,
red, and white of spring blossoms,
sweet are the hiccup of break-thrus
left-field of the holly-wood signs.....
As a safety felt child shall hum
free of all the conundrums.....
Cheap are not in control of the wines,
but what's a sharp of ice-cream sooth,
when sin was ever your sense of fun?
A candy candle line of finally undone,
Rose, merry and subtle pieces of peaches.
I do all of my traveling on line
eating my favorite foods while I dine
close to my kitchen and comfy chair
spending no money on any plane fare
traveling to Florida or Georgia today
without paying a single dollar to stay
fearing no big cats on my rainforest walk
not hearing any parrots giving a squawk
between the internet, texting and zoom
I can travel the planets, go to the moon
eating what I want, sitting comfortably in my chair
roaming among alligators and pumas because I so dare.
There is a red line in the sand
they stand against it, hand in hand,
both face-to-face and toe toe-to-toe;
a grain that neither will forego.
It shifts, the sand, as winds do blow
but neither side will ever show
the kings and aces in their hand
blood has less value than the land.
THE LAST IN LINE*
~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem was inspired by my favorite Ronnie James Dio song/lyrics, “The Last in Line.”
In the fading light of day,
will I find the shadows of my soul
dancing in the twilight,
or will the light reveal my truths,
as I sift through the ashes of my choices?
I pause, pondering
‘am I the architect of my own despair,
or the quiet poet of grace,
each heartbeat, a question,
each breath, a fragile answer?"
I trace the lines of my existence,
wondering if I am the last in line,
or the first to rise.
In silence, I confront myself,
the duality of my being~
the sinner and the saint
the dreamer and the realist
the last in line,
waiting for the truth now unveiled:
I am merely a human,
lost and found,
the last in line,
waiting for the first light
to guide me home.
*Note: I originally posted this poem at Poetry Soup in June 2025, the deleted it. (poetrysoup.com/poem/the_last_in_line_1740132) This is my original poem.
Snooze of peace reigned on a collage
of sacred impulse for serenity of shelter —
bower-girthed and soul-inundated —
but along the line, a stampede, peccant
and harlotic,
framed the sun.
Let’s admit it and get it out in the open
That happiness is overrated, over emphasized
And hyped to the detriment
Of basic sanity and balance.
But the bottom line
Is that freedom is what we really need
And what when we get
Makes happiness a pleasant impermanence.
(8/3/25)
green praying mantis
winged emperor dragonfly
spotted ladybug
dancing stag beetle
fat chubby potato bug
sneaky silver fish
purposeful black ant
yellow striped mud dauber
our insect line up
Are you unwilling or are you lame?
I don't get hung up on a name.
I ask only "do or don't".
Screw the line 'tween "can't and won't".
The result comes out the same.
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