Long Seventy four Poems
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Number forty six - White House occupant re:
guarding President elect Joe Biden
Within mein hermitage
now dwells one euphoric troglodyte who wept
upon hearing unbelievable news,
(albeit at snail's pace schlepped
finally proclamation emancipation
gave reasonable rhyme yours truly to ejaculate
(not prematurely), subsequently I leapt
into the air, and kept
myself aloft completing
one after another sumersault and except
for minor nuisance of gravity
nevertheless landed feet first and crept
back into mine mancave adept
to survive alone in the wilderness.
Seventy four million popular votes
tallied across country,
gives ample reason to grind hips and bump,
(cuz the most votes
cast for any presidential candidate in history),
which Republican contender finally plopped
hook line and anchored
courtesy Taj Mahal replica sinker
into dustbin of history
good riddance electorate voted out
loutish oaf, which voters chose to dump
best mandated to cavort with zoot suited frump
on any given Wednesday available to hump
rotund barenaked lady merging
into humongous protoplasmic lump.
Caught red handed concerning
more'n where's the beef
stole 2016 election
under nose of Hillary Clinton
abused role, when tasked
as commander in chief
good ole Charlie Brown nemesis
caused nothing but grief,
hence yours truly quite elated
upon occasion when figurative new leaf
turned over and booted out
as more onerous than Baghdad thief.
Hit the ground running
with nary a second to waste
Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and company
proving their steely eyed mettle
after victory lap Democrats did taste
usher in COVID-19 game plan
bolstering pandemic defences
where prior administration sorely misplaced
priorities United States Lady Liberty
wantonly, undeservedly, subsequently
her reputation disgraced.
Hope springs eternal - ah tis amazing grace
yours truly suddenly brimming with optimism
able bodied diverse cabinet to erase
formerly inept sycophants with intentions base
running amok within White House
at long last competent candidate won the race
adieu Donald Trump, who
did disappearing act at Mar-A-Lago without a trace
sore loser teed off absent American
delivering his humiliating defeat coup de grâce.
How I recall the day we saw
The running of the train
A booming voice filled all the earth
"Behold the great Ron Dayne!"
As did their forebears once of old
The enemy contain
So did these Spartans hope to hold
The thundering Ron Dayne
Could this ferocious force be checked?
The answer quickly came
For the first four plays alone did yield
Seventy-four yards to Dayne
Alas, State gave their best defense
Yet their efforts were in vain
Two hundred fourteen rushing yards
Amassed by mighty Dayne
"Thank you Son", said my ol' Dad,
"For our time at this game"
And I will treasure evermore
The day we saw Ron Dayne
Sept. 3, 2016
Commemorating Michigan St. vs. Wisconsin - Oct. 23, 1999
Final: Wisconsin 40, Michigan St. 10
In our neighborhood, moved a hermetic man named Nit who was gross, unseemly, and unbearable,
The neighbors sent me to see if I could muster up something about him that was care-able.
I sat down on his blue flowered chair-able putting my feet on his hassock, which was quite terrible.
After getting to know him, I suggested a shower, a shave, and a chin that was less hair-able.
Then I helped him select some clean clothes that were handy, free, and quite wearable.
I paraded him down the sidewalk to speak with the neighbors, in particular, a woman named Arable.
They were both 29, never married, loved kittens, and began to think of each other as Marr-able.
They now have two unkempt children, and seventy-four unspayed kittens which makes the neighborhood terrible.
I too
have found the truth
seen the deep state and the fake news in review,
only to find the great reveal
you know who is the real big steal,
and the swamp remains filled with unobjective fools
a dark conspiratorial growing cesspool,
the elections honest, verified, and true
counted and recounted just to satisfy the few,
seventy-four million voted for their candidate in the minority
but so did the eighty-four of the landslide majority,
so give a shout and one more prayer
for the republic and democracy still clinging here
one more authority clutching at power
just another loser soured.
Summer nights in Centerville, sleeping on the top bunk bed;
A transistor radio playing low, lying right there near my head.
The Big Red Machine was in their prime; those boys could sure play ball;
I fell asleep every night listening to the play-by-play of Joe Nuxhall.
I entered my life of puberty with Charlie Hustle running to first;
Davey Concepcion turning two and Joe Morgan with a speedy burst.
Johnny Bench throwing out would be stealers, Pedro Borbon with a bending curve;
All happening on the summer of my first kiss – once I finally worked up the nerve.
With Tommy sleeping in the bed below – nary a care in the world,
George Foster launched an enormous shot while I tried to figure out the girls.
Jack Billingham was striking them out – an apt metaphor for my chances,
As I fantasized about dating girls while two bases Ken Griffey advances.
Tony Perez was still strapping them on; Don Gullet piled up some wins;
Cesar Geronimo owned center field while my hormones multiplied within.
Coming of age in Centerville, back in nineteen seventy-four,
Meant listening to the Cincinnati Reds while thinking about the girl next door.
I walk outside after an 8 hour shift
Having no idea, it is a seventy-four degree day.
I am wearing my wooly hat, that covers most of my face,
And my coat is buttoned up to my nose.
How had I missed this sunlit day?
I didn’t even hear anyone say,”Hey,
It’s really warm out there!” Bullocks.
I can counsel children outside, as well as in.
I actually prefer listening to them outside.
I feel really strange that I totally missed this.
I missed an entire sun-filled afternoon! I strip
Off my coat, scarf, and fluffy overfilled hat, and
Get into my car thinking how silly I looked wearing
A hat with ear flaps as I left my school building.
“You’re ready for tomorrow,” another teacher had yelled at me
Before I could loosen all the locks and whistles that hold the
Ear flaps and nose-**** in place.
“It’ll be 30 degrees tomorrow, and that’s the high!”
Welcome to Kansas and Missouri.
Everybody loved his performances but he can't perform anymore.
Ace Frehley has died after having a fall at the age of seventy-four.
He was a man who millions of people will miss.
Frehley did a fantastic job as a member of KISS.
When KISS became a success, it was partly because of Ace's impact.
This man helped to make KISS a legendary band and that's a fact.
Because of his contribution, KISS is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
He has died and because of that, Rock and Roll will never be the same.
My deceased friend went to a KISS concert when they performed in Tennessee.
If the world lasts for a million more years, people will never forget Ace Frehley.
[Dedicated to Ace Frehley (1951-2025) who died on October 16, 2025]
O,' my Lord, Christ Jesus of Deliverance,
A gift faceted in distinguishing the humanities hoped
Human-kind had but one-rule
A commandment: for individualism. ('choice')
A natural-born leader over yourself,
Your thoughts, your intent of will
Your liberations, your goodness relished.
You there, they're reading it loud,
Don't get too far ahead of yourself
You were given a rare gift at birth
Now, you're empowered with it by worth.
Move on along, tell your anecdote,
However, you tell it so get it out
To find an end, to end this poetry
''Their 'choice' is by their loyalties.''
You were a great actor who was often cast in tough-guy roles.
You did a fantastic job as a police officer on Highway Patrol.
You passed away in 1986 at the age of seventy-four.
When you died, you were married to Mary Alice Moore.
Your first serious acting job was as a footballer in She loves me not.
Becoming as brilliant of an actor as you was what other actors sought.
You enlisted in the United States Army Air Corps. during World War II.
When people look up the word hero in dictionaries, they see a picture of you.
You have two stars on the Hollywood Walk of fame and you won an academy award.
Nearly a quarter of a century ago, you were sent to Heaven to be with the Lord.
(DEDICATED TO BRODERICK CRAWFORD WHO DIED APRIL 26, 1986.)
It's only a number you said to me,
you so much younger than I,
yet, thinking about it, I find I agree,
a number in the book of our lives.
I turn each page as if to rewrite them,
but reading the words, they define this inaness.
A boring book of too many pages
in a life of endless repetitive sameness.
My father's book ended on page seventy-four,
a book written in a language I never knew.
Filled with intrigue my mom's on ninety-two,
a Western Romance that never came true.
Several short stories that I won't speak of here.
Those lives cut short with characters undeveloped,
whose stories I would gladly have traded with my own,
if the jacket was changed and the pages re-enveloped.
Yet, I continue to read this story of me,
as the day of my birth is counted once more,
and pages turn with the briefest of breath,
while my body grows old with a mind I abhor.
The paper has worn and the numbers smeared.
Dogeared by time as each sentence entwines,
I'm trying to find the worth of my story,
but it's just so hard to read between the lines.
11/15/2024