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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
A Dog Named Sex
My pooch is not named Rover, Fluffy, Spot or Rex.
I wanted something different, so I named my puppy, Sex.
To renew my doggie’s license. I went down to City Hall.
“I’d like a license for Sex”, I said. He said, “Wouldn’t we all?”
“You must not have understood, I need it for my mutt.”
“I really don’t care how she looks, if she’s ugly, fine or what.”
“But Sir, I must tell you, I’ve had Sex since I was four!”
You are no more than a braggart”, and he showed me out the door.
Newly married, we brought our pet along for the honeymoon.
I told the clerk, “A place for us and for Sex, a special room.”
“Every room has a place for sex. Every room has a bed.”
“But Sex keeps me up at night.” “It keeps me up, too”, he said.
At our divorce the court gave all my possessions to the wife
I protested, “Please Your Honor, I had Sex before my married life!”
The judge then said that he did, too. “It’s not a real big crime”
“But Sir, before we tied the knot, I had Sex all the time”
The judge said that I could still have sex, so I took my hound and ran.
My wife then said that she’d miss Sex, so I stayed a married man.
Last night Sex ran off again as we walked around the block.
A cop pulled up and asked me if I knew it was three o’clock.
I told him that I was looking for Sex and he took me straight to jail.
Now I’m waiting for my trial to come and can’t get out on bail.
…if I ever get another dog, I think I’ll name him,
“Whoopie” or “Boom-Boom!” Anything but Sex!
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2016
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
Hurry Up and Wait
Sir, permission to speak, major sir. Go ahead, private.
Sir, what time is the 10 o'clock inspection, major sir?
You mean the ten hundred hours inspection, private?
Sir, yes sir, I mean ten hundred hours inspection, sir.
The inspection will be at ten hundred hours, private.
Sir, yes sir, however we've been standing here since
ten hundred hours for thirty minutes now, major sir.
It will be ten hundred hours when I say it is, private,
as he checks his watch, waits for the colonel to arrive.
Will I ever get the military out of my mind, must each
situation become another army wrinkle in time? While
I wait thirty minutes past my 10 o'clock appointment,
ponder if I should be the private, ask the receptionist
how much longer until my 10 o'clock job interview or
take the role of major and wait for the colonel to arrive.
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2018
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
Oxymoron of the day: Politically Correct
“Hi, I’m Carl Palmer and I approve of this poem.”
The Informed Voter
Donald Trump called, knew my name,
called me Carl, left a message, I wasn’t home.
Hillary Clinton called, knew my name, called
me Carl, left a message, I wasn’t home, darn.
Excited that so many candidates want my vote
who sent me mail, filled my box, I read it all.
Thrilled my yard is decorated with free signs
from both democrat and that other party as well.
Befuddled am I by the newspaper articles and letters
to the editor changing my mind over and again,
confused by the television ad contradicting the
commercial just aired by the opposing opponent.
Tediously taking notes while listening to talk radio
refuting facts from previous pundits interrupted
by my ever ringing doorbell announcing another
concerned citizen soliciting suggested suffrage.
Today is Monday, I still don’t know how I’ll vote,
who best represents my interests, cares about me.
I’m just thankful that tomorrow it’ll all be over
at least until Wednesday when the recounts begin.
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2016
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
Her Candle
So many candles I’ve never burned.
A marriage candle,
two first communion candles from my kids,
a bicentennial candle,
millennium candle.
So many candles I’ve never burned.
Her candle I’ve burned for over twenty years,
not every day, but most every day.
A memory of what once was,
of what we had
me and her,
her candle.
Originally voluptuously large,
beautifully ornate,
burning bright hot and fast.
We were young then.
Gradually her candle grew old,
became hollow.
Most of the outside still holding fast,
dusty with age,
the wick long lost,
in darkness temporarily filled
with a tea light candle.
Certain songs, movies or moods
seem to rekindle the freshness,
remind me of when her candle was new.
In the light of day reality blazes,
her candle actually an empty shell.
So hard to visualize as it once was,
as in last night’s memory.
Beginning to wonder,
continuing to wonder,
if, after all this time,
I shouldn’t just throw it out.
This foolish vigil,
this senseless old man,
end this memorial,
this ritual and move on.
But, as the room grows dark,
the many candles I’ve never burned
remain so.
A new tea light candle
and she is back.
We, me and her,
her candle
and my thoughts
of twenty years ago.
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2016
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
Her New Room
The house was small
where she raised her five children,
but not as small as her new room.
She lived in her house fifty-two years,
but only for a couple of months
now in her new room.
She loomed large in her small house,
yet now seems so tiny
in the corner of her new room.
Her house held the aroma of flower sachet
with smells of delicious wonderment
flowing warmly from her kitchen.
Her new room has the reek of medicine
with an underlying odor
of pine oil disinfectant.
She seemed to know everyone
wherever she went
and everyone knew her.
Today she needs to be reminded
of her daughter’s name, sitting
beside her, holding her hand.
Waiting in her new room
she asks once more
if it’s time to go back home.
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2016
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
Tongue Twisting Triolet
where once was one wondrous whale
whom we wearily watched wander away
wild whirling winds would wail
where once was one wondrous whale
when war worn wars wore well
while wondering what wile will weigh
where once was one wondrous whale
whom we wearily watched wander away
~ TV stations air the saved beached whale swimming back out into the Strait of Juan de Fuca during the storm at Whidbey Island’s historic Ft. Ebey, WA.
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2016
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
His Limbo Soliloquy
Actually, I like lockdown. I already was before COVID anyway,
but now I’ve got my privacy. No family feeling forced to visit
or hold vigil in my netherworld, he confides through the phone.
Both of us former Army soldiers placing us on common ground
made introductions easier with the usual “where were we when”
comparisons of duty assignments all military members embrace.
Though sharing multiple telephone calls these past seven months
since my assignment to be his companion as a hospice volunteer,
I have yet to meet him face-to-face due to pandemic restrictions.
Using his bedside number at the nursing home I can call anytime,
not worry about visiting hours, ask if he’s busy, got time to talk.
His answer’s most always the same, Just busy here being alone,
too close to death to complain. Clicking me to speaker he begins
what he calls “me-memories from a time when when was when.”
Mostly musing of being anywhere but there, lost in an actual place,
blurring “what was with what is” behind and in front of his shadow,
recalling dreams as a younger man, of a future in past perfect tense.
And times talking of present times from his no man’s land outpost,
All days end as they begin in purgatory, today recopying yesterday,
cared for by hosts of faceless masked angels not letting me die alone.
Forgive me only thinking of myself, I just need you to hear I’m here.
Inside I’m your age, the two of us sharing a brew at the NCO club,
years ago and oceans away, comrades-in-arms talking of our day.
To me he’s the sergeant with permanent change of station orders
in transition for his final mission, ending his time on active service,
in hopes his God is religious and his terminal assignment is good.
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2021
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
the ride
the world waited
for me to catch up
I did
found it moved much too slow
I whirled twirled laughed and danced
much too fast
reluctantly slowed became aware
found the precise speed
in tune in synch in love
harmony marriage family friends
so vivid so vague
the world now too fast
watching it orbit leaving me behind
but oh what a ride
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2016
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
His Limbo Soliloquy
Actually, I like lockdown. I already was before COVID anyway,
but now I’ve got my privacy. No family feeling forced to visit
or hold vigil in my netherworld, he confides through the phone.
Both of us former Army soldiers placing us on common ground
made introductions easier with the usual “where were we when”
comparisons of duty assignments all military members embrace.
Though sharing multiple telephone calls these past seven months
since my assignment to be his companion as a hospice volunteer,
I have yet to meet him face-to-face due to pandemic restrictions.
Using his bedside number at the nursing home I can call anytime,
not worry about visiting hours, ask if he’s busy, got time to talk.
His answer’s most always the same, Just busy here being alone,
too close to death to complain. Clicking me to speaker he begins
what he calls “me-memories from a time when when was when.”
Mostly musing of being anywhere but there, lost in an actual place,
blurring “what was with what is” behind and in front of his shadow,
recalling dreams as a younger man, of a future in past perfect tense.
And times talking of present times from his no man’s land outpost,
All days end as they begin in purgatory, today recopying yesterday,
cared for by hosts of faceless masked angels not letting me die alone.
Forgive me only thinking of myself, I just need you to hear I’m here.
Inside I’m your age, the two of us sharing a brew at the NCO club,
years ago and oceans away, comrades-in-arms talking of our day.
To me he’s the sergeant with permanent change of station orders
in transition for his final mission, ending his time on active service,
in hopes his God is religious and his terminal assignment is good.
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2021
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Carl Papa Palmer Poem
Elementary Abecedarian
A
bee seedy
if gee age eye jake
hay elm minnow pea
cue arrest tea hue fee
dub all you hex
wise sea
Copyright © Carl Papa Palmer | Year Posted 2017
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