Long Ollie Poems
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We watched our neighbor, Ollie, play in his first official ’T’ ball game
from our seats atop the bleachers…in the shade.
It was a treat watching the innocent exuberance of children…
before they have a clue as to how the game is played.
With little heads swimming in big helmets they’d approach the ’T’
and when they finally hit the ball…
sometimes they’d run to first, sometimes to third…and sometimes…they forgot to run at all.
And when the ball was rolling towards them in the field
if they’d miss it…no one would get mad.
They know it’s hard to see the ball when you’re playing with your friend,
looking at the clouds, or waving to Mom and Dad.
Atop the bleachers through it all you could hear their friends and family cheering
whether the ball rolled by their children…or if it happened to be caught.
as they walked up to the ’T’…whether they hit the ball…or not.
Their children made a lot of mistakes….but their parents were not concerned….
for they know as their children keep playing…all the things they’re going to learn.
They will learn humility…for no matter how hard they work…on whatever path they choose….
sometime they’re going to win…and sometimes they’re going to lose.
They will learn perseverance, determination, tenacity…and grit….
and not to worry if they strike out…for there will be another chance to hit.
They will learn to endure the slumps in life and the havoc they may wreak…
because those slumps will help them enjoy a little more…when they’re on a winning streak.
But those are lessons for another time…to be learned as their children grow…
today atop the bleachers…their parents just wanted them to know…
that whatever path they choose…wherever they may roam….
as they run around the bases of life…they will always be safe at home.
Ollie Ollie Oxen Free
by Odin Roark
Corners to peer around
The harlequin of angles
Where peeking
Reveals
Where being stuck
Confines
Where feeling trapped
Separates
Our remembered child stands
Eyes squeezed shut
Face buried where two walls meet
Counting to one-hundred
While confidence sought
To play out our innocence
Beneath
Behind
Beside
A trusted game
Waned
Time passed
Shorts became pants
Pants became suits
Nostalgia echoed once more
“Ollie ollie oxen free”
Still we remained
Unwilling to believe
The forged sincerity
Baited with fiendish smile
Enticed with charm
Was but to set up
The next furtive trap
Suddenly
Acquiescence lay naked
Villainous schemers
Knowing but numbers
Who lured
Cajoled
Seduced
Our reluctance to cave
Are…
Later
We dragged ourselves away
Kicking and screaming
“We only wanted to play the game
Not be the game”
Emptiness invaded
Freedom to respond
To return home
To trust a voice
Wasn’t so
Anymore
Ollie ollie oxen free
So simple
So everlasting
Now but an epitaph
After debauched dearth of scorched earth & Aussie mirth
New Gay opener in the berth & Ollie back to surf the turf
Bazball less gall but more girth a rebirth but what’s it worth?
“Lack of nous is now notorious
More cat less mouse us furious
They say will try to do laborious
In house be bit more studious
About game’s history curious
No tantra mantra is spurious
“Bazball” is in the thesaurus
Moan it is prone to bore us
No more lone tyrannosaurus
Crazy tone like I am a Walrus
Toil of Sisyphus & boil of Icarus
Obstreperous schlep to leprous
Horn shorn a blunted rhinoceros
Hunted stunted shunted corpus
Sunken drunken hippopotamus
Wet beset with regret so porous
Raucous ruckus need new caucus
Mac attack Bull too full of Taurus
Cruel winter as they all lost focus
Plans to be a sprinter were bogus
Ken Baz & Ben splinter the onus
Dump us after screaming rumpus?
Key thick dreaming hocus pocus
Fans stick sick streaming mucus
So pick a well known local locus
Go to town not clown at a circus
Survives revives is a new crocus
Forlorn past forsworn vocal chorus
Reborn alive strives thrives..Lazarus
Our sown homegrown magnus opus?
BIRD FROM A CARTOON
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ollie the ostrich one day did say
As he looked in the mirror, “Oh bother! "Nay!
Is that really my beak?
And my feathers once so sleek?
I seem to have lost my handsome ways!"
He fluffed up his feathers with flair,
And practiced a dashing new stare.
"Mirror, you jest!
I’m truly the best!
Just look at this fabulous hair!"
“Just look at my feathers!” he swooned,
With a frown he said, “I must be a loon!”
“Eegads! I’m a horrible sight to behold,
And the truth must be told,
“I look like a bird from a cartoon.”
Moshe, Larry, Curly,
Howls, cries, nyuks;
Three silly comic stars:
Smile, clown -- Cluck!
Chico, Harpo, Benny, Berle,
Moron grins, happy chins;
Crazy nutty comic kooks:
Funny jokes -- egads zooks!
Alvin Ailey, dance gaily,
False teeth: Brush daily;
Silly Sally, Dilly-dally,
Ollie, Holly, Mollie!
Belly flops, fatal plops,
Messy slops, lemon drops;
Harry Caray, Tooth Fairy,
Music Maven -- Chuck Berry.
Pitty-patty, kitty-katty,
Ticky-tacky, Cinci-nnati
Polly-Wolly, Wooly Bully,
Diffy-daffy, Laughy Taffy!
March 22, 2018
Contest entry in "A little laughter five," sponsored by
Edward McCall, closing date - March 23, 2018
Notes: Moe Howard's (of the Three Stooges) actual first name was Moshe.
'Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk' was a trademark line of Curly (3 Stooges.)
Berle is comedian: Milton Berle (aka 'Uncle Miltie').
'Egads zooks' is an exclamation my mother and others of her
generation used to use (frequently).
'Wooly Bully' was a pop song by Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs,
released in 1965; it soared high on the Top-40 charts.
For years the otter stood on a shelf in the toy store…stood up proud and strong…
waiting for the right child to choose him…then Ollie came along.
In his stroller while in the store…long before he had a voice…Ollie let his parents know…the otter was his choice.
From that day forward they were inseparable…playing in the yard…the sand…the water…they did everything together…Ollie and his otter.
When Ollie was a child…not yet grown up…still quite small…his hopes…his dreams…his wishes…the otter heard them all.
There comes a time in a child’s life, however, a time all their favorite toys dread…when the toy spends less time with the child…and more time on the stand beside his bed.
But Ollie’s otter didn’t mind…he knew they were still a team…that even though he didn’t play with him as much…Ollie still shared with him his his hopes, his wishes…his dreams.
When Ollie went off to college…his otter stayed back…he didn’t roam…
waiting proudly on that shelf…for Ollie to come home.
Happy to welcome Ollie back…happy to visit for a while and then…
proudly taking his place until Ollie returned again.
When it came time for Ollie to move out…to start a life…more independently…
“Mom!” He said as he was packing, “Otter comes with me.”
Throughout their years together…their friendship would endear..
both of them glad just knowing the other one was near.
Ollie’s otter got to meet Ollie’s wife and children…and they all cam to know…
the meaning of a lifelong friendship formed so many years ago.
And Ollie’s family loves to tell the story…
of how once in a toy store this otter stood up proud and strong…
and how both their lives would change forever….
the day that Ollie came along.
LAST NIGHT THE NIGHT BEFORE 24 ROBBERS AT MY DOOR I GOT UP LET EM IN HIT EM IN THE HEAD WITH A ROLLING PIN OLLIE OLLIE UMPHREY CORRUPTION AND ORGANIZED CRIME IS LIKE PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK I'VE BEEN IN CONTINUOUS CONSTANT CONTACT WITH THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION SINCE 1985 NO FEAR OF BULLIES INVESTIGATION ABUSE OF POWER EXCESSIVE BULLYING MEANWHILE MY IDENTITY JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY IDENTITY THIEF FAKES HER DEATH IN A HYUNDAI IMPERSONATING MY IDENTITY CLAIMING TO BE 24 REPRESNT DAVID BARKSDALE THE FOUNDER OF THE BLACK GANGSTER DISCIPLES NATION DEAD I 1974 TODAY A RAM TRUCK SLAMS ON BREAKS U24 I AM REMINDED OF FOLKS 24 LAST NIGHT THE NIGHT BEFORE 24 ROBBERS AT MY DOORS WHEN CORRUPTION BECOME HITMEN FOR ORGANIZED CRIME I AM HAPPY AT THE THOUGHT JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY FATAL CRASH IN A HYUNDAI WHILE IMPERSONATING ME IN SPRING HILL FLORIDA AND I NEVER DROVE GARGANO ORGANIZED CRIME CRIMINAL GROUP
Christmas is the season to be jolly
The holiday brings merriment and joys
With ho ho ho's and halls decked with holly
There's mistletoe and pine of loblolly
Santa has many elves that he employs
Christmas is the season to be jolly
He got letters from Andrew and Polly
Reading them is a task Santa enjoys
With ho ho ho's and halls decked with holly
Polly asked Santa for a sweet dolly
One calling, "Mama," in baby noise
Christmas is the season to be jolly
One elf got silly, ending in folly
Santa forgave him for the broken toys
With ho ho ho's and halls decked with holly
A boy name Ollie, wanted a collie
The perfect present for good little boys
Christmas is the season to be jolly
With ho ho ho's and halls decked with holly
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
December 12, 2020
Deck The Halls Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Never an Oliver but always Ollie
Not very serious but full of folly
A smile that warms the Sun
A heart that beats for fun
Ollie never dress to impress
The boy kinda looks the mess
Dusty blonde hair boy
Bluest eyes see so coy
Mischief, pranks being bad
His pouting face knows you've been had
To punish him makes you sad
Your heart melts with I love you Dad
Spare the rod and spoil the child
But how can you discipline such a smile
In your youth were you not wild
Your Mother's curse curses you now
It will happen to you when you have a child
Boys are silly, boys are loud
Boys are dirty, boys are foul
Boys are boys, things break somehow
Go online and try to fine Ollie's Moms vase
The one that graces the foyer in it's special place
Google this, Yahoo that, is if your in a race
Eureka! Ollie the old antique store has one to replace
Sweep the floor leave not a clue or trace
The new vase is here not a second to waste
Mom drives up, Dad opens the door
As Mommy steps in the vase hits the floor
Its time to be Oliver, no more Ollie
Weeping in the corner, his behind tan by golly
But who stands beside him is that not Dad?
$600.00 for a ten dollar vase! Mom can't be had.
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.
You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.
"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.
Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.
You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.
You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.
You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)
When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.
I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”
You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.
We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.