KEY: H: Heart h: hearth
h: I can see footsteps coming close to me a mile away but if they stand in front of me, the noise will be blinding.
h: I stand flat-footed on my bedboard perpendicular to my body. Beyond my pane, are the viewpoints on life from the many. 'His slants differ from my own.
He constantly reminds me that when he's out of prison, he'll find me and get me.
H: But he's standing right there.
h: But he won't do anything.
H: Why not?
h: His parole officer is standing behind him.
H: But it's a woman?
h: His mother.
H: Oh, making certain that her son stays on the straight and narrow, eh!
h: Ohh! You are a right smart person--she's his lookout!
Whoever came up with the bagel
was a right-smart clever fellow
His brainstorm surely ranks up there
with taste treats like pudding and jello
For I'd never put toppings on pudding
like lox, tomatoes or cream cheese
And who would think of serving jello
with an assortment of delicacies
So, a doff of the cap and three cheers
for that purely anonymous soul
the centerpiece of whose discovery
was quite an ace in the hole
I'm coming back to you, Sooling. I'm on my way.
Hear the sheets flapping in the gallants and royals.
The spray is wet upon my cheeks and in my beard.
Soon we anchor at Lahaina in the Sandwich Islands
where we take on supplies and refit the ship.
There's a right smart breeze this morn and we sail
before it. The sky is red and the sea seems
to take on its color in places. There are whitecaps
and each one by the boards only means that I'm that
much closer to you. My Sooling, my Sooling. I love you so
and that English town I left behind was so cold and foggy.
Sooling ---- I want to hold you again in my arms and kiss
your soft lips beneath a beautiful South Sea
sky within the gentle darkness of you bamboo home.
I want to hear you say, " My Jack, I love you."
Scallywag stays but a short time in Lahaina. I'm coming
back to you my Sooling.
Well lemme tell ya a thing er two bout people,
Ben round plenny of em and ah got sumpin figerred,
Don’t make no diffrence if’n they is under a steeple,
If’n they small, medium, smart, dumb, big er bigger,
Ah seen that most ever body kin dish it out,
But ain’t many a tender body kin take it.
Ya see criticizins fair easy to do as shout,
To do that folks are a chompin at the bit.
We thinks we got everthin lassoed right smart,
And got a holt a the branded calf by the tail,
But truth is we ain’t hardly got no heart,
Gotsta look at ar own sels ..else we fail.
So yup, ah reckon that’s what most a us folks are all about,
We cain’t take it but sure as grass grows we uns kin dish it out !
BUMMER
The last sad day of June my true love said goodby
She packed a bulging overnight
and baked an apple pie
We had a hearty dinner then
but scarce a word was uttered
The steak was tough as shoe leather
stale bread left unbuttered
I asked her for a farewell kiss
her eyelids how they fluttered
“I shore shore shore will miss ya, Bess.”
I blubbered and I stuttered
She paid my sadness little mind
but scooped an apple with her spoon
I watched the juice run down her chin
while mentioning our honeymoon
“Oh, Bess, we had such happy days
remember all the golden hours?”
She winced right smart and spit a gob
“This apple pie is SOUR!"
The ingrededents in cowboy stew, is what he is about
It needs to simmer a right smart, much like his philosophy
In a black cast iron skillet over a campfire
With time it will taste pretty good there is no doubt
A lot of hard earned wisdom, plenty of black coffee
God knows all about prickly pear and barb wire
Needs to have a lot of seasoning
To give it that taste and a helluva a lot of backbone
A bunch of testicles and a lot of hair on his behind
Goes right along with his reasoning
A good bit of bad weather and being alone
Just seems to go with his kind
Crazy cows and locoed horses have to be in the stew
It is no disgrace being bucked off in the rocks
Lumps, bumps and taking a lot of chances
Some tequila and a senorita or two
Got most of his schooling in the School Of Hard Knocks
Mexican sipping whiskey and Saturday night dances
Fat cattle and green grass in his dreams
Dust storms, droughts and tumbleweeds were his reality
Hang with the rigging, don't quit until you are through
Old windmill pumping cool water in streams
Is the making of his sanity
Ought to be about done, this old cowboy's stew
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