The Kid Could Throw
(as told by Dr. Seuss)


---

The kid could throw.
Oh boy—could he throw!
He could zip it through rain,
He could zip it through snow.

He could throw to the left,
He could throw to the right,
He could throw in the morning,
He could throw late at night!

The kid had an arm like a coiled-up spring,
And the way that he played?
Well, he just had that zing!

Scouts watched him in high school,
They came by the ton.
They said, “He’s amazing!
He might be The One!”

He threw like a rocket,
He threw like a breeze,
He could spot a defender
While tying his knees!

At fourteen years old—he was spotted! It’s true!
In Eastern Michigan, Junior League too.
He tossed and he turned and he set record pace,
Then he broke them again with a smile on his face!

He'd dodge and he'd spin,
He would leap and he’d dash,
And never once worried
About making a crash.

His coaches all loved him,
They’d cheer, “Let him play!”
They’d hand him the team
And then just walk away!

Three years he went undefeated, oh yes,
No losses, no fumbles, no panic, no stress.
He won with a grin and a nod of his head,
He played like a legend, the other team fled!

Colleges came like a wild, stampede herd!
“Full scholarship! Full ride! Just say the word!”
He picked out a team where he knew he’d win big,
And threw that ol’ ball like a greased-up pig!

He aced all his classes, he drew up the plays,
He practiced at night and through most of his days.
He tossed like a wizard, he dashed like a deer,
And the NFL said, “We want him next year!”

He played on the telly!
The fans went ker-splat!
And screamed, “This boy's magic!
Now how ‘bout that!?”

The coaches built walls to protect his two feet,
And everyone knew—he just couldn’t be beat.
Then came the time—oh, a big choice to make,
He said, “Going pro!” and made the earth quake!

The Texans came calling, they shouted, “He’s ours!”
They offered big bucks and a contract with stars.
He was gonna be great! He was ready to play!
The crowds all went wild on that hot Texas day!

But then—oh dear me—what a turn of the page,
A twist in the tale, a storm on the stage.

A party was held, with music and song,
But something, oh something, went terribly wrong.

A car drove on by, and BANG-BANG they did shoot,
And joy disappeared in the blink of a hoot.

He hadn’t played once, not a quarter or down,
Before fate came to town, and turned smiles to frowns.

They buried him softly, the fans wept with woe,
And whispered, “He could throw. Oh boy—he could throw.”

WHISKEY WISDOM 🎵
by Roger Turner

[Verse 1]
A man is always looking
To get some free advice
So go and find the fellow
Drinking whiskey over ice
Your friends will tell you one thing
While you're both knocking back a beer
But really, I mean really
Is this the stuff you need to hear?

[Verse 2]
Find a whiskey drinker
He'll tell you how to buy a car
He'll share his whiskey wisdom
About what's a good cigar
A man who drinks good whiskey
Whether neat or over ice
Is the best one you can turn to
When you're looking for advice

[Chorus]
🎶 Whiskey wisdom, smooth and slow
Poured out quiet, like you’d know
From an old soul in a leather chair
Who’s seen it all and doesn’t care
He’s not preachin’, he’s just nice
Giving whiskey wisdom over ice 🎶

[Verse 3]
He's made it and he knows it
He's not drinking at the pub
He's sitting in a wing back
Drinking whiskey at the club
He won't talk just to hear it
No small talk or some fad
He’ll tell you straight and simple
The kind of truth that your dad had

[Chorus]
🎶 Whiskey wisdom, smooth and slow
Poured out quiet, like you’d know
From an old soul in a leather chair
Who’s seen it all and doesn’t care
He’s not preachin’, he’s just nice
Giving whiskey wisdom over ice 🎶

[Bridge]
So skip the book, forget the blog
Turn off that podcast monologue
Sit down, pour ******* right
And listen to a man who’s lived some life

[Final Chorus]
🎶 Whiskey wisdom, tried and true
It’s not just what—but how and who
From love to loss, to deals gone bad
He’ll pour it out, the good and sad
No silver spoon, just lived it twice
Giving whiskey wisdom over ice 🎶

[Outro]
So if you’re lost or need direction
Or just some straight advice
Go get yourself some answers
Sharing whiskey over ice

---

The Conductor (Expanded Street Poem)


Nothing left in this old town,
I felt I didn’t have much choice—
I jumped aboard a westbound freight,
And that’s when I heard the voice…

“Boy, this here is my car,
You keep the rules, and you'll be fine.
I don’t know you, you don’t know me,
But boy, this car is mine.”

His words clanged like a coupler
When it locks and seals a train,
Rusted through with gravel breath
And notes of soot and rain.

I squinted in the darkness,
Tried to track where the sound came from.
That voice curled 'round the boxcar walls
Like smoke from burning ***.

I asked him where he came from—
He paused before he said,
“Everywhere and Nowhere...
And right now? From just ahead.”

“Now boy, keep your distance,
Keep quiet, leave me be.
I don’t like conversation—
You keep to you, and I to me.”

Just then the train car shifted—
That shudder, steel and soul—
“Them rails are singing, boy,” he said,
“That's the rhythm taking hold.”

“That’s the final shunt you’re hearing,
The coupler’s hymn of fate.
You’re safe now, tucked in iron walls—
No rail man's hand to chase.”

He leaned into the stillness,
Said, “That sound? It starts the song.
The music of the boxcar life—
The world is movin’ on.”

“You see while cars sit stagnant,
While they’re frozen still in place,
The rail men do their hunting—
And we hobo’s learn to brace.”

“But when that coupler snaps, my friend,
That’s when it’s time to dream—
A thousand miles of nowhere
With no promise but the steam.”

I asked him what he meant by that,
He said, “You’ll learn in time.
Just ride the rails and listen, boy—
There’s truth in every line.”

This is an expanded version of my 2020 piece "A Ghost Story".

The Ballad of the Nell McBride (Expanded)

We all have heard the stories
Of spirit ships and ghosts
That sail upon the oceans
And up along the coasts

This tale is a whopper
And I'll not forget the day
So as God is my witness
Listen now, to what I say

We were sitting in the tavern
Telling tales of days of old
When the door, it burst wide open
And Bill came running from the cold

His face as white as ever
Like he just had seen a ghost
When we told him that we thought this
He said, "I did, just up the coast"

We laughed and ordered whiskey
To warm us up inside
"I did, by gum, I saw it—
I saw the Nell McBride"

"There's no way that you saw that boat
It's been sunk a hundred years!"
"A hundred sixty," said a voice
As we tended to our beers

"The Nell McBride was lost, boys
Late eighteen and fifty-nine
You didn't see her, Billy
She's sunk down in the brine"

"I did," said Bill, "I saw her—
I was standing on the beach
She came out of the clouds there"
"Aw, Bill... cut back on the screech"

"I haven't had a drop today
And you know, I don't tell lies
I saw the Captain up on deck
I looked right in his eyes"

The wind was really howling
We all huddled round the fire
As far-fetched as the story was
Old Bill, he was no liar

"The Nell McBride was lost at sea
All fourteen men were drowned
The ship went to the bottom
And no bodies were found"

The barkeep chirped, "We have ghosts here
I've seen a few, I swear
With all those lost at sea near here
I believe they still sail there"

We laughed at him and Billy
"Ghosts? Nope, dead is dead"
But Bill just sat there shaking
He believed the words he'd said

Now me, I was a pup then
Just a minnow, if you please
But I sat and felt my hair rise up
I'd not heard of ghosts like these

"The last time the Nell McBride
Was seen was in aught-four
Old Johnson, at the lighthouse
Said he saw that ship and more"

"They proved Old Johnson crazy
All alone out with the light
‘Twas just the moon a-playing
There was nothing there that night"

Another man chimed in then,
"Old Johnson was no loon
His diary says he saw that ship
'Twas no trick of the moon"

"Okay then boys, tomorrow
We'll meet here and head on out
We'll see the ghost ship sailing
Or we'll see that she is now't"

The wind was really whipping
It was louder than a train
Nobody made a move to leave
They feared the dark, the rain

"Ghost ships sail the waters
I believe to warn us still
I believe the Nell is out there
I believe in our boy Bill"

"There's tales of ships and mermaids
There's been sightings of great whales
Their stories, boys—just stories
They ain't nothing more than tales"

At this the wind was screaming
Like a wail now or a scream
My skin turned cold, my breath stood still—
This could only be a dream

"I remember when Mike Watson
Said he saw that woman black
Standing on her rooftop
Waiting for her man come back"

"I remember that as well," said Bill
"God, old Mike, he loved to talk
He saw her up there weeping
On the iron widow's walk"

So tomorrow it was settled
We would meet and hit the shore
We'd watch for ghostly sailors
And the Nell McBride once more

"Boys, we never made it
We don't talk about that night
See, Billy boy, he left us there
Then vanished out of sight"

"Turns out Billy Boyle
Drowned early in the day
Was it his ghost come calling?
It is not for us to say"

"Bill Boyle washed ashore, you see
Around two, cold and dead
So who it was came through that door
And said the things he said?"

There's ghosts out on the water
Like the ghostly Nell McBride
I swear and cross my heart now
But boys… you must decide

Some say she sails at moonrise
When the tide is running high
With phantom sails a-glowing
And a captain’s hollow cry

And some still hear old Billy
At the tavern, clear as glass
Recounting what he witnessed
As if time refused to pass

So if you walk the shoreline
And the sea begins to moan
Take heed, my friend, and mark my words:
You may not be alone

We all have heard the stories
Of the haunted and the drowned
Of those who sail forever
And are never homeward bound

---

‘Twas the Night Before Cooperstown
(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and through every hall,
Not a creature was stirring — not even a ball.
The jerseys were hung in their cases with pride,
While echoes of greatness still whispered inside.

The plaques on the wall stood silent and still,
Honoring legends of talent and skill.
When out on the concourse arose such a chatter,
The ghosts of the game said, “What could be the matter?”

I peeked from the shadows, all quiet and small,
And what did I see in that sacred hall?
A gathering unlike any seen in the park —
Voices of baseball, lighting the dark.

Vin Scully came first, with a grin ear to ear,
He whispered, “It’s time — pull up a chair here.”
And lo! with his rhythm, so calm and precise:
"It’s time for Dodger baseball!" he said, oh so nice.

Red Barber chimed in with a confident drawl,
“Sit back, folks, relax — this catbird’s gonna call!”
With a wink, he sipped tea from a Brooklyn-style mug,
Declaring, “He’s sittin’ in the catbird seat, snug.”

Mel Allen arrived with his signature cheer,
“How about that?!” rang crisp through the air.
A home run of joy from his booming refrain,
Made the whole Hall of Fame feel young once again.

Jack Buck wandered in, eyes twinkling bright,
“I don’t believe what I just saw tonight!”
And walking beside him with cool Midwestern grace,
Was Harry Caray, joy wide on his face:

“Holy cow!” he roared as he stumbled in bold,
Wearing Cubs blue and a scarf to beat cold.
“Let me tell ya somethin’!” he cried with delight,
“This place is more fun than Wrigley at night!”

Ernie Harwell stepped forth with lyrical pace,
“A foul ball for a young man from Syracuse — front row, third base.”
He nodded to Russ Hodges, who let out a scream:
“The Giants win the pennant! It wasn’t a dream!”

By now the Hall glowed with a magical cheer,
As the voices of baseball rang crystal clear.
From Lindsey Nelson in plaid to Phil Rizzuto’s glee,
“Holy cow!” again echoed with spree.

Bob Uecker rolled in, not one to be late,
“I must be in the front row!” he joked at the gate.
The laughter rolled deep from plaques on the wall,
As legends and stories bounced down every hall.

Then a hush filled the room, not out of fear —
But respect, for The Game was drawing near.
Each voice took a seat, in silence they bowed,
As a figure walked in, calm, humble, and proud.

It wasn’t a slugger, a pitcher, or scout —
But the spirit of baseball, without any doubt.
He tipped his cap gently, and smiled with grace,
“You kept it alive, gave it rhythm and pace.”

“To every kid who fell asleep to your tone,
Who learned of the game through your microphone —
You are the heartbeat, the rhythm, the rhyme.
You made innings into poetry, timeless through time.”

Then back to the mist, each legend did fade,
Back to the ether where memories are made.
But if you listen on clear nights, alone with the score,
You’ll hear Scully, or Buck, or Caray once more.

And as I slipped out of that hallowed domain,
I heard them all call in a soft, sweet refrain —
“Merry Christmas to fans, both the old and the new,
From the voices who brought baseball home… just for you.”

Here's a short story in the style of Stuart McLean’s Vinyl Cafe stories, featuring Dave, Morley, and their annual reluctant plunge into hosting Christmas: his Dave cooks the Turkey is an annual reading in our house. I hope you like this


---

“Dave Hosts Christmas (Again)”

A Vinyl Cafe-style story

It was December in the neighbourhood, and that meant a few things.

It meant the old man across the street had once again mounted a plastic Santa on his roof without any obvious method of anchoring it, which meant it would fly off sometime between now and New Year’s. It meant the mailman had switched to a red scarf and a dangerous twinkle. And it meant, most of all, that Dave and Morley were once again preparing to host the Annual Family Christmas.

Not because they wanted to.
But because they had the biggest house.

“It’s not even that big,” Dave grumbled, standing in the living room with a measuring tape and a wounded expression. “The only reason we have the most space is because I didn’t tear down the wall to make an open-concept kitchen like everyone else. And for that, we get thirty-five people and two folding tables?”

Morley, bless her, had stopped listening after the word "wall."

Christmas, you see, did not bring out the best in Dave. He was not what you'd call a festive soul.

Morley, on the other hand, was twinkly and soft around the edges. The type who decants eggnog into a punch bowl and says things like, “Oh, it’s the spirit of the season, Dave,” while Dave mutters things about the spirits disappearing from his liquor cabinet.

Which they did. Every year. Like clockwork.


---

The preparation began, as it always did, with the boxes.

Morley would go into the basement to retrieve the boxes of decorations, and Dave would follow her like a reluctant archaeologist uncovering a tomb he had no intention of opening.

One year, a mouse had gotten into the fake snow and made what could only be described as a "holiday nest." Another year, Dave threw out what he thought was a tangled mess of tinsel and lights but was actually Morley's grandmother’s antique angel hair garland. There were repercussions.

This year, things went wrong even earlier than usual.

While hauling up a box labelled “TREE LIGHTS (DO NOT TANGLE!!!)” Dave tripped over the cat and knocked over Morley’s ceramic nativity scene.

Mary lost a head.
The donkey lost a leg.
And the baby Jesus ended up lodged inside Dave’s slipper.


---

By the time Christmas Eve arrived, Dave had polished the good glassware (and by “polished” we mean run under warm water and dried with the T-shirt he was wearing), rearranged furniture, and stocked the liquor cabinet, a task he approached with all the solemnity of preparing for siege warfare.

“Do not touch the Lagavulin,” he said to no one in particular. “It’s hidden behind the oatmeal.”

Of course, it was the first bottle gone.


---

The family began to arrive.

There was Uncle Reg, who always brought the same thing: a tin of expired smoked oysters and a story about being "nearly deported" in 1978.

There was Cousin Lynn and her gluten-free stuffing no one touched, and Morley’s sister with the purse dog that barked at tinsel.

As usual, no one brought liquor.
But somehow, Dave's bar was bone-dry by 8:00 p.m.

The same jokes were told. The same stories rehashed. Someone (probably Uncle Reg) would invariably ask Dave if he “still sold records out of a van.” Dave would smile, politely, like a man being slowly buried in snow.


---

Then the turkey caught fire.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no explosion. Just enough flame to set off the smoke alarm and sear the side of Dave’s hand.

He stood in the kitchen, looking at the charred remains, holding a spatula like a man considering new paths in life.

“We could serve pizza,” Morley offered gently.
“Or move,” said Dave.


---

But here’s the thing.

Later that night, after the pizza boxes were stacked high and the last cousin had finally left with a Tupperware full of regret, Dave stood in the quiet living room. He looked at the crooked tree. He saw the crumpled paper, the dented angel, and the half-eaten plate of gingerbread someone had left behind.

And for a moment—just a moment—he smiled.

Because somehow, despite the chaos and the flaming poultry and the looted liquor cabinet… it had been nice.

Not perfect.
Not even particularly good.

But warm.
And full.
And theirs.

Morley came in with two mugs of peppermint tea.

“You survived,” she said.
Dave took the mug. He didn’t answer right away.

Then he nodded.
“Only three hundred and sixty-five days until we do it again,” he said.

---




---

I.
In the hush before dusk on All Hallows’ Eve,
When the wind scratches softly at shingles and eaves,
The children emerge in their costumes adorned,
While chimney-smoke dances and pumpkins are warmed.


---

II.
They march in procession, sugar in sight,
Through cul-de-sacs dreaming in sodium light.
With sacks that swing and masks askew,
They chant the liturgy: “Trick or treat — boo!”


---

III.
The doors swing open with syrupy grins,
Parents as pirates with bowls full of sins.
Chocolate coins and caramel lace
Stick to fingers in ghostly embrace.


---

IV.
But the rhythm will shift at the end of the lane,
Where a house hunches down in perennial rain.
It leans like a sigh with its shutters drawn tight—
The house never speaks, but it watches the night.


---

V.
With gingerbread trails and jellybean tracks,
The children steer clear, never turning their backs.
For whispers like rustlings drift through the weeds,
And the wind knows a name that nobody repeats.


---

VI.
They say there was once, in a season now past,
A boy who dared knock, then vanished too fast.
The house took him in with a crack and a groan,
And all that was left was his flashlight — alone.


---

VII.
Windows like eyelids, tight in disdain,
Refuse every echo of laughter or name.
And the steps, like old verses half-forgotten in snow,
Are slick with regret and the grime of woe.


---

VIII.
A woman once lived there, or so the tale goes,
With three clocks that ticked in perpetual throes.
She brewed bitter tea with a teaspoon of coal
And stared through her curtains as if counting souls.


---

IX.
The cat still remains, though no one has fed it.
It blinks in the attic, like it almost regrets it.
Some claim it can speak when the moon is just right,
But its words are like shadows: thin, brittle, and white.


---

X.
Still, once in a decade (or so it is told),
One child is tempted — too brazen, too bold.
They march to the door with the courage of flame,
And knock three short knocks… then forget their own name.


---

XI.
So the children pass by with a reverent tone,
Their candy bags heavy, their chatter all gone.
The wind holds its breath as the hedges grow thin—
Even leaves hesitate to rustle that bin.


---

XII.
And though no one has seen her, the Woman still waits,
By a clock that ticks backward and grandfathered gates.
She hums something distant, not meant for the ear—
A song for the vanished, not meant for the here.


---

XIII.
Thus the street carries on, with its sparkle and fright,
Each Halloween passing, avoiding the blight.
For children know truths that adults won’t recall—
There are doors on this night...
that should not be knocked at all.


---

---

The Ballad of the Northern Land
(A Folk Song for Canada)


---

1
In eighteen hundred twelve, the cannons roared,
A young land stood with sword and board,
With Brock at Queenston, brave and true,
And Laura Secord carried through.


---

2
She walked the woods with silent tread,
To warn of plans the redcoats dread.
A whisper passed from tree to tree—
The roots of freedom run deep and free.


---

3
The fur trade waned, the forests called,
From Hudson Bay to Montreal,
With voyageurs and bark canoe,
The rivers told what we once knew.


---

4
Then westward ran the iron rail,
Through mountain mist and snow-blind gale.
The hammer rang, the spike was gold—
A ribbon tied to dreams grown bold.


---

5
Macdonald raised the nation’s spine,
A thread through rock and timberline.
While on Red River’s silent shore,
Louis Riel cried out for more.


---

6
A voice for those the Crown forgot,
For Métis lands and lives they bought.
He stood his ground, then stood alone—
A noose was tied where peace had grown.


---

7
The fisheries fed the east coast pride,
With cod and salt and ocean tide.
But quotas came, the stocks grew thin,
And storms rolled in again, again.


---

8
In muddy fields of Vimy Ridge,
Our boys held fast, then crossed the bridge.
A maple leaf in foreign mud—
A nation born in fire and blood.


---

9
The Great Depression struck like steel,
The hungry lined from mill to mill.
Yet fiddle tunes and kitchen light
Kept hopes alive through blackest night.


---

10
Then once again the war drums rolled,
And Halifax lit up with coal.
From Dieppe’s shores to Ortona’s walls,
Our fallen sons still hear the calls.


---

11
The UN flag flew proud and high,
In Egypt’s dust or Korea’s sky.
We kept the peace where others ran—
A gentle voice, a steady hand.


---

12
Joey Smallwood’s island dream,
Brought Newfoundland to the Canadian team.
With boats and boots and outport pride,
They joined the fold with hearts wide-eyed.


---

13
The sixties roared with Expo's flame,
And Trudeau rose to bold acclaim.
He danced through question, law, and line—
"Just watch me" echoed down through time.


---

14
But darker days in Montreal,
The FLQ made its grim call.
A poet died, a country strained,
And civil peace was barely gained.


---

15
The Charter came, a bright new page,
For rights to last through any age.
With Meech Lake lost and voices torn,
Quebec still sang both proud and worn.


---

16
The Arctic called with melting ice,
The North awoke with warming price.
Inuit lands and northern skies
Looked south and asked for just replies.


---

17
The Red River rose, the floods came fast,
But neighbours stood and held the blast.
From Winnipeg to Cape Breton shore,
We lifted each, we built once more.


---

18
The loonie soared, then took a dive,
But still we worked, we still survived.
With oil and grain, with snow and stone,
The land was wide, but not alone.


---

19
The Mounties rode in scarlet pride,
Their legacy both hailed and tried.
For truths long buried came to light—
The past would haunt the quiet night.


---

20
The schools of pain, the stolen years,
The calls for truth, the flood of tears.
Orange shirts and empty shoes—
A nation learning, slow to choose.


---

21
The towers fell, the world turned cold,
And Canada stood firm and bold.
We welcomed many through our door,
Each voice now part of something more.


---

22
With wildfire smoke and floods and drought,
The earth cried out with rising shout.
Yet turbines turned and green grew near—
The North still finds a way to steer.


---

23
A virus came, the world went still,
But kindness climbed the highest hill.
We sang from porches, masked and far—
Still stitched beneath the northern star.


---

24
Now comes a time both rough and wide,
With truth and tech and clashing pride.
But still we build, and still we try—
With steady hearts beneath the sky.


---

25
From battle’s smoke to silent snow,
From one small spark the tall flames grow.
O Canada, still rough, still grand—
We write your song with calloused hand.

1
In a snug little nook at the top of the globe,
Where the snowflakes all shimmer and whirl as they strobe,
Old Santa was humming his jolliest tune,
But something felt off that cold afternoon.


---

2
The letters came in by the sackful, as ever,
But something had changed—something strange and quite clever.
No teddies, no jump ropes, no sleds made of pine,
Just gadgets and gizmos and tech by design.


---

3
“I’d like the new PhoneZilla X with AI!”
“I want a drone suit that lets me just fly!”
“A gaming chair throneship with ten turbo jets!”
“Ten thousand new skins for my streaming presets!”


---

4
He frowned as he flipped through the list after list.
Where once there was magic, now circuits exist.
“No puzzles? No marbles? No tea sets or blocks?
No trains that go chug-chug, no musical clocks?”


---

5
He walked to the shelf where the old toys were kept,
All dusty and quiet, like they hadn’t slept.
The wooden giraffes and the tin wind-up bears,
The ragdolls still waiting to dance down the stairs.


---

6
“In my younger days,” Santa said with a sigh,
“Kids dreamed up whole kingdoms with pie in the sky!
They’d turn sticks into swords, and a box to a ship—
Now everything’s screens and a battery clip!”


---

7
The elves looked around and just shrugged with a pout,
“It’s progress,” they mumbled. “You can't toss it out.
Kids follow the trends—it’s what they all do!”
But Santa just grumbled, “It’s lost something true…”


---

8
He missed when the holidays glowed in their hearts,
When joy wasn’t powered by microchip parts.
He missed little voices all squealing with glee
As they played with a slinky, or climbed a fake tree.


---

9
So he wrote a new note to be sent far and wide:
“Just mix in some magic with your techy ride.
Imagination's a gift that won’t ever expire—
It runs without chargers and never needs wire!”

It's time to come together
There's no better time than now
Elbows up  for Canada
Time to be like Gordie Howe

It's time to tell the stories
Of Canada the good
It's time to tell the stories
Like Gordon Lightfoot would

Fight like you are cornered
Drag them screaming on this trip
It's time to tell our story
Like Gord Downie and The Hip

Keep the elbows up forever
Show them the best of what you do
Dance and tell the story
Like BTO and The Guess Who

Show the world what makes us special
Sing of all our loves and likes
Tell the story of our country
Play it loud just like the pikes

It's time to write the story
Come together, be as one
Elbows up like Gordie
Be a true Canadian

Every year things stay the same
Things have to be that way
We've done it since forever
And that's how it's gonna stay

The tree goes in the corner
Then the tinsel and the lights
Leaving it the same has stopped
So many, many, fights

The music never changes
The films we watch don't change
It's just a family tradition
Though it may seem kind of strange

In the hallway hangs the mistletoe
It's pinned up in the same place
It's where over perfumed aunties
Kiss and slobber on your face

The wreath hung on the front door
Has been fixed over the years
But, nothing has been added
Gran bought it way back when at Sears

The food, now we're talking
I'm surprised we aren't obese
With the butter and the crisco
And all the other types of grease

The women hit the kitchen
While the men all go and drink
For once the feast is finished
It's the mens turn at the sink

The younger ones do clean up
And they help to do the dishes
For as Uncle Leo said if they don't
They'll be swimming with the fishes

There's the same old conversation
About Christmas' long past
There's no talk of politicians
That get shut down fast

There's fewer there each Christmas
Time will wait for not one man
As the elders make their exits
We try the best we can

We try hard to get the dinner
The way grandma used to make
We make sure to put the money
In the dried out Christmas cake

But, as people leave the circle
They take their tradition to the grave
And each year it just gets harder
Knowing which ones we should save

So, as you gather round this Christmas
Sitting in the same position
Don't change a thing...not one thing
And remember it's tradition

The tree still in the corner
The men awaiting dinner's call
And a group of perfumed aunties
Set to kiss you in the hall

Merry Christmas

It wasn't s'posed to happen
Not this way at least
But, as folks always tell ya
It's just the nature of the beast

Go to High school, finish college
Then get married, all to plan
Girl got pregnant, plan averted
Time to step up, be a man

Trouble comes when least expected
It sees you down, it has a feast
Trouble comes when least expected
It is the nature of the beast

A second child, a crap apartment
Robbing Peter to pay Paul
Nothing goes the way you planned it
Nothing's working out at all

Rent is due, the bills are mounting
You need to find a better way
Can you fix all that is broken
Or do you just run away

A pretty girl shows some attention
You do not mind it in the least
You then return her sweet affection
It is the nature of the beast

The kids grow up and time passes
Your secret buried deep within
But life at home is still disrupted
And then you do it all again

You harbor guilt for all your failures
It's not your fault, what's gone before
You blame your spouse, it's just too easy
But you can not leave,  walk out the door

The stress it builds just like a fire
Not just yours, hers too increased
She leaves to move on with another
It is the nature of the beast

I just want one last hurrah
Before I ring the bell
One more celebration
A story others tell

It doesn't need to be so grand
But it has to make folks smile
When someone maybe speaks of me
Once I've been gone a while

Maybe I could save a cat
Stuck up in someone's tree
But, I've a decent fear of heights
So, that's no good for me

I could stop a robbery
A hold up at the store
But, since Covid hit I stay at home
I don't go out much more

Something people will remember
But, most days I stay at home
I will not get my last hurrah
So, I'll just sit and write a poem

The words, they tell the story
But the music makes the song
The story disappears
When the volume is all wrong


If you want folks dancing
Sing it nice and loud
Take the hint and listen
Sing it for the crowd

But, if you want to tell...a story
That's when you make a choice
To turn the volume down a bit
Let the people hear your voice

The volume kills the story
But it also sells the song
You'll never have a hit my friend
If you get the mix all wrong

Anthems, scream them loudly
Make the walls fall to the ground
Make it like an earthquake
Just do it with some sound

Get the heartbeats racing
Get the people on the floor
You just won't have it happen
If the volume is at 4

If you want to say I love you
And make folks feel it in their heart
Remember words will express feeling
And lower volume plays a part

So, when you play your music
May you play it loud and strong
Remember turn it down sometimes
Because, the volume sells the song

Roll up Roll up
This will cure all your ills
Throw away the crutches
Dispose of your pills

Keep away from the tent boy
Keep back from the curtain
This is just what you need
To stop all the hurtin'

Roll up Roll up
Mind the glare of my teeth
Avoid my forked tongue
Hide from what's underneath

This elixir's a wonder
More a distraction I'd say
Takes your mind from your troubles
At least for the day

Drink a little, drink a lot
It doesn't matter much
You will soon discover
You can throw away your crutch

This potion will cure cancer
Grow new hair on your head
Help the flowers in the garden
Make you better off in bed

Roll up, Roll up
Buy a bottle maybe two
It's magic like no other
See what it can do

The idea is now planted
Is it fake or is it real?
Will it deliver on it's promise?
Is it really such a deal?

Listen to the barker
Listen to his spiel
Sounds like a politician
Now, how do you feel?

Don't look behind the curtain
You'll hate what you will find
Roll up, roll up and see
It may mess up your mind



Take a drink and you'll get bigger
Take a drink and you'll be small
Take a drink, I'll raise your taxes
To pay for my new mall

Roll up  now to the counter
Roll up here and see
That things with this much promise
Are never cheap and rarely free

It's not Christmas without Santa
Or without the jingle bells
But, in the darkness there's another
Taking children down to hell

Yin and Yang, a balance
There is darkness and there's light
Santa on the left side
And Krampus on the right

Parents watch your children
If they're on the naughty list
Because Krampus is out hunting
And these children are not missed

A myth, or dark reality
A monster from below
Did Johnny just go missing?
Or was he taken down below?

Jingle Bells, both have them
One is joyous, one is not
Santa lives where it is colder
Krampus lives where it is not

Bad children do not fear him
But soon enough, he'll find them out
With dark hair, claws and cloven hooves
They'll learn what he's about

He doesn't have a favorite
He'll take girls as well as boys
He doesn't mind the screaming
In fact, non one hears the noise

So, if a child disappears
And no one seems to care
You'll know he was a bad one
And that Krampus, well, was there

Halloween is here again
I used to love it so
But, now when it's shell out time
My face I do not show

I hide down in the basement
No light will people see
"No Candy Here" upon the door
There's nothing here from me

Ghosts and Ghouls and Spirits
Up my street they creep
But, I see them nightly
When I try to sleep

Four faces of four children
Out to trick or treat
Run down by a drunk driver
While trick or treating on my street

Seven children run down
Time....eight seventeen
Three were injured, four were killed
On that horrific Halloween

Each day for me is Halloween
Each day I hear them screaming
The worst part is that I'm awake
I don't hear them when I'm dreaming

Two who died, I knew them well
Dressed as cowboys on that night
Now they're gone, to ride the range
Their souls have taken flight

The street was closed for near two days
There were many questions asked
And in the end, nothing has changed
The answers hidden by a mask

The driver, he was plastered,
Didn't know what day it was
He's out now, paid his penance
I hope he feels a sense of loss

Myself, I cannot bear it
Every year I stay inside
I see those faces on new children
So, in my basement I will hide

No Candy Here, I'm sad to say
It hurts as much today
I still grieve for those poor children
In my own, respectful way

the wild west's still with us
it isn't gone at all
8 shot inside a high school
11 at the mall

Tombstone is no longer
Dodge City, it's now dust
But, the wild west's still with us
Believe me...in disgust

They no longer use revolvers
And have show downs in the streets
They've moved it to the school room
Where children hide beneath their seats

The press are there like vultures
The NRA cries foul
11 dead inside the mosque
But people wail and howl

They've the right to carry guns
You can't take that away
So, when you explain that to their folks
Just what do you say?

The wild west's still with us
It's a fact, that's true
It's not the same as it once was
This wild west is new

Shootings in the workplace
Shootings at the schools
Shooting in the churches
Are there any rules?

Each night the news is showing
A new shooting, it won't stop
The shooter dies a victim
And it's always death by cop

The wild west's still with us
It isn't gone at all
7 dead inside the church
11 at the mall

I need a gift for Grandad
Something that he'd like
Maybe just a book to read
He's too old to get a bike

A mystery? a bio?
A book of poetry?
It don't matter, he won't read it
But maybe, we'll just see

One with a nice title
One that makes you dig on in
Under fifty pages
A book that looks quite thin

A waste of money maybe?
But, it's for grandad not for me
A fine thing to buy others
A book of poetry

A house that needs a cleaning
Gardens that need tending
Groceries for the larder
And a fence that needs some mending

Grass is nearly one foot high
The dog, he needs a walk
He's gotten just so overweight
But, who am I to talk

Donations to deliver
Things that need be done
A tree to trim a little
But no time to have fun

It takes up all of my spare time
It almost makes me dizzy
I've been retired seven years
And I've never been so busy

From the east coast to the west
And all points in between
Exploring places unexplored
Places no one's been

Ship disasters and the railroads
The highways and the sea
The woodlands and the cities
A trip through history

Who will tell the stories?
Now the painter has passed on
Who will tell the stories?
Now the Troubador is gone

Painted ladies in the taverns
Sailors on the ships
Don Quixote on the shoreline
The words flow from his lips

Lost loves and the heartbreak
Snowfall and some wine
The circle that is  smaller
A navvie on the line

Who will tell the stories?
Now the painter has passed on
Who will tell the stories?
Now the Troubador is gone

Reading minds and pony men
A nation at its' start
A love story at sundown
Songs sung from the heart

Painting pictures in our heads
With no paint just words
Close your eyes and listen
His voice flying with the birds

Who will tell the stories?
Now the painter has passed on
Who will tell the stories?
Now the Troubador is gone

The world is now in mourning
For our Queen who has passed on
A son succeeds his mother
A mother who has gone

A King who stood in waiting
Learning lessons from the past
A Prince while on the sidelines
To whom the mantle now is passed

Another one is watching
For his turn the Prince will wait
The King is King through bloodlines
The Queen was Queen by fate

So, once the mourning's over
Let the church bells ring
The Queen has gone to heaven
And so...God Save The King

Life is more than a straight line
You're born, you live, you die
You can't avoid the ending
No matter how you try

The middle part, son...that is yours
How you live is up to you
Forget about the ending
Go do what you must do

Go.....Celebrate your crazy
Go streaking in the wood
Go...Celebrate your crazy
Around your neighborhood
Go...Celebrate your crazy
Kiss someone you don't know
Break the mold from normal
Go...let your crazy show

Go to work each morning
Don't think about the ride
Do your eight and hit the gate
Keep your feelings deep inside

Hit the house, and grab a beer
Walk the dog, then home
Boring stuff, no fun at all
So, Let your crazy show

Go.....Celebrate your crazy
Go streaking in the wood
Go...Celebrate your crazy
Around your neighborhood
Go...Celebrate your crazy
Kiss someone you don't know
Break the mold from normal
Go...let your crazy show

Life is just a journey
It's a one way ticket trip
So...change the way you live it
And...Let your crazy rip

I woke up, it was a 3 whiskey morning
I still felt the night before
Partied hard, till the sun was dawning
I woke up on the floor

A 3 whiskey morning is the one that you find
You need to shotgun 3 before you lose your mind
I woke up to a 3 whiskey morning
Trying hard to leave last night behind


I woke up, it was a 3 whiskey morning
Can't remember what I'd done
But you know when it's a 3 whiskey morning
Whatever happened must have been fun

I woke up it was a 3 whiskey morning
I'll tell you why it's 3 and not 4
Ran out of whiskey the first time it happened
Empty bottles, well son, they don't pour

A 3 whiskey morning is the one that you find
You need to shotgun 3 before you lose your mind
I woke up to a 3 whiskey morning
Trying hard to leave last night behind

Anyone can enter your church
No matter what their age
Mine, well, you have to be legal
At least in the section that doesn't serve food

Yours smells of incense and candle wax
The air smells of wood polish
Mine has stale beer and on humid days
Remnants of cigars and cigarettes from years ago

We have windows that can open
But, most times they are painted shut
Yours, beautiful colors of glass
Images from the bible, glorious

You have a choir singing the grace of God
My place of worship has live bands once a month
Karaoke on Fridays with wanna be singers
Making us pray to God for it to end

You have pictures of Saints on your windows
And tapestries on the walls
The closest we have is posters of sports teams
And The St. Pauli girl promoting beer

You will never find me at your church
But, we may find you in ours on occasion
We don't have sacramental wine like you
But, we do have a larger drink menu for all

People come to your church to wash away their sins
Then a few hail Mary's and a Lord's Prayer
With us, they come to drown their sorrows
And our hail Mary's have bacon, 2 for 1 on Sunday

Our sky pilot will listen like your pastor
He doesn't judge unless you get too drunk
But, that's on him, not you
Your pastor won't judge, but, still gives penance

I know where I am Sunday
I know where you are too
Your church is not always open
Mine's good from 10 till 2

Last night I heard a Nightingale
My wife, she heard it too
I yelled out the bedroom window
Florence. Is that you?

Apple pie and hunting ducks
rusty, worn out pick up trucks
tales of being out of luck
The story's in the song

Broken hearts and drinking beer
Friday nights, the weekend's here
Strong enough to shed a tear
The story's in the song

The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
If you can not hear the tale
I've told the story wrong
The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
Listen close and you will find
The story's in the song

Driving on a red dirt road
Carrying a heavy load
Living to a cowboy's code
The story's in the song

Backroad driving in the dark
Pick up games down at the park
Memories that leave a mark
The story's in the song

The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
If you can not hear the tale
I've told the story wrong
The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
Listen close and you will find
The story's in the song

Christmas is the loneliest time of year
Christmas is the loneliest time of year
A time when all the wrapping and bows
Can't hide the pain you try not to show
Christmas is the loneliest time of year

Christmas is the loneliest time of year
Christmas is the loneliest time of year
The kids are grown and all moved away
They've all grown and can't come to stay
Christmas is the loneliest time of year

You think of all the Christmas' past
Some are blurred the memories don't last
You try to keep the feeling inside your heart
But wishing this just won't make it so
The sky is grey with clouds full of snow
The dreariness is where loneliness gets it's start


Christmas is the loneliest time of year
Christmas is the loneliest time of year
TV specials are not the same
You don't know anybody by name
Christmas is the loneliest time of year

Christmas is the loneliest time of year
Christmas is the loneliest time of year
The mantle has some cards, maybe three
You're all alone, you don't need a tree
Christmas is the loneliest time of year

You think of all the Christmas' past
Some are blurred the memories don't last
You try to keep the feeling inside your heart
But wishing this just won't make it so
The sky is grey with clouds full of snow
The dreariness is where loneliness gets it's start

Twelve reindeer hooked up to the sleigh
One for each month through December
Santa said "That's a lot of reindeer names"
"For this guy to remember"

Santa said "I must lose one"
But he could not pick just who
So, he sat and made the choice
"Instead, I'll just drop two"

Ten reindeer hooked up to the sleigh
But two were always late
"I can't drop one, they both must go"
So, now the sleigh had eight

Eight reindeer hooked up to the sleigh
To Santa, this was right
Enough to pull the sleigh above
And fly into the night

But one was waiting in the wings
You all know how this goes
Whenever there's a real bad storm
He call on Rudolph and his nose

Now, Santa's team is ready
To take their Christmas flight
You'll know they've been when you hear
"Merry Christmas and Good Night"

Sitting in  my alleyway
I watch people every day
They see me in my cardboard box
I hear the things they say

It used to bother me, but now
I just let them look and pass
I used to beg for their spare change
But, now I do not ask

I think that as they pass on by
It's my situation that they see
Homeless, living in the cold
They're not seeing me

Some stop, and stare in silence
They don't have the words to say
they see just what they want
While others turn away

Some who pass, they cross the road
On to the other side
They'd rather think I don't exist
Although it's here that I reside

I think that as they pass on by
It's my situation that they see
Homeless, living in the cold
They're not seeing me

If you ask, I'll answer
I'm a man, I have a voice
Although I'm in this alley
I am here by my own choice

Alternatives are out there
But they are not for me
Remember, it's my situation
Not the man I am you see

It is a thing of magic
The first snow that we see
A sign of winter's coming
A sign of what will be

It never comes during the day
The first snow comes at night
It's blanket forms while we all sleep
In a coat of winter white

It may arrive and disappear
All in the same day
But, there's magic in that first, fresh snow
Although it may not stay

The first snow has us dreaming
That Christmas is now near
A feeling of remembrance
Of those we held so dear

The first snow has us feeling
What words will never say
With frosted patterns painted everywhere
Each different in their way

You'll wait for it's arrival
When the world is painted white
Watch the window into winter
Open wide beneath moon light

Sophisticated elegance
Pornographic decadence
Psychedelic trip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Hot spots undiscovered
History recovered
Dig in and take a dip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Darkness in the daytime
Sunlight cleans the slime
It's easier to grip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Tales of olden Hollywood
Hangers on and hoods
Changing what is hip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

Sophisticated Decadence
Pornographic Elegance
The Chateau for a nip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip

I can't make a statue out of clay
I can't paint a painting like Monet
But the three words I do know how to say
I Love You...I Love You

I will swim the roughest, deepest sea
I will climb the highest, tallest tree
I'll do it just so you can plainly see
I Love You...I Love You

These three words are never hard to say to one you Love
If you truly feel it in your heart
If you say it and you mean it to the one you dearly love
You'll be one and will never ever part

I can write, but I can't write a book
I'm not a chef and I can barely cook
You know what I'm feeling by a single look
I Love You...I Love You

I will climb a mountain just for you
I'll hold my breath until my face turns blue
You know I will, and I know you will too
I Love You...I Love You

A man is always looking
To get some free advice
So go and find the fellow
Drinking whiskey over ice

Your friends will tell you one thing
While you're both knocking back a beer
But really, I mean really
Is this the stuff you need to hear

Find a whiskey drinker
He'll tell you how to buy a car
He'll share his whiskey wisdom
About what's a good cigar

A man who drinks good whiskey
Whether neat or over ice
Is the best one you can turn to
When you're looking for advice

He's made it and he knows it
He's not drinking at the pub
He's sitting in a wing back
Drinking whiskey at the club

So, if you're looking for assistance
And you need some good advice
Go get some whiskey wisdom
Sharing whiskey over ice

I used to have a little bird
Bernard was his name
Whenever I would call to him
Bernard always came

One day when I was cleaning
I left the window up a bit
Bernard up and flew away
The ungrateful little ****

If you want to **** yourself
There's lots of ways to go
You can do it really quick
Or you can do it slow

If you want to hang yourself
The knot will hold, you hope
The pressure is all on the knot
You best have a strong rope

You can always shoot yourself
Cut your wrists, but I confess
These ways aren't too pleasant
And they leave a nasty mess

Pills are not the best way
Too much time to save your life
The best way that I've ever found
Is to get yourself a wife

Suicide through marriage
I think that's the way to die
I mean, you're gonna pass on anyway
No matter how you try

So, suicide through marriage
Takes some time, but in the end
You'll end up dying anyway
And live your life with your best friend

Pumpkins carved and brightly lit
Children knocking at the door
Celebrate All Hallows Eve
With candy by the score

Somewhere on the moon you'll see
A shadow in the light
Celebrate All Hallows Eve
With spirits in the night

Don't let a black cat cross your path
It signifies bad luck
Celebrate All Hallows Eve
As the children run amuck

Avoid the haunted houses
Who knows what you may find
Celebrate All Hallows Eve
Keep the darkness far behind

Keep the werewolves howling
Let the ghosts and witches fly
Celebrate All Hallows Eve
And look for shadows in the sky

“The usual….perfessor”…asked the bartender.
“Not tonight Sam….celebrating….gonna hike it up a notch”….”Something from a bottle this time”.
“Maybe a PBR” he laughed, “…instead of the usual…draft PBR…bottle….”.
“On it’s way”….”why the upgrade”…”…it’s a whole twenty five cents more on the tab” laughed the bartender.

“Tonight, my dear sir, Tonight….was the opening of the school play…and I survived…barely….but, I survived..and I’m here to tell the tale”…”so….Tonight….we splurge!”.

“I forgot” said Ted, the barkeep. “I knew it was coming up….but, well…you are here…and not cowering in a corner somewhere, curled up in the fetal position…so, I am assuming that this year went better than last years version of “Death of a Salesman”.?”

“Better? it would not have been to tough to be better than that catastrophe…it was the best…THE BEST….out of all of the previous school plays…I couldn’t be more proud of how it turned out…..**** it..PBR and a chaser…it was that freaking good!”

“Really? In all of the years you’ve been teaching at the school you have never…NEVER come in here this happy about how the show went. I can’t believe it!”

“Don’t…It was crap. What I just did was acting. What they did, was crap. You know we did “Death of A Salesman”. Classic play. Great play. It’s been done by some of the best actors in the industry. Then, there was our version. It should have been called “Death of A Theater Arts Program”.

“Sorry to hear that Professor,  two more?”
“**** right, and keep them coming.”

“I was a working actor for years before I took this gig. I wasn’t great, but, I got by. These kids, I just don’t know, I just don’t get it.
The lights went up and they just lost it, it was more Monty Python than Arthur Miller. I mean, he must be spinning in his grave at some incredible speed right now. These kids made my brain hurt”

“It couldn’t have been that bad Professor, I mean, they did all right in rehearsal, didn’t they?”

“Sure, no family watching, no pressure at all…they did fine. But, once those lights went on and the curtains went up, it was every man for himself, total deer in the headlights on stage.  And through it all, I couldn’t do a **** thing except stand stage left thinking, “So, this is what the Captain of the Titanic felt like that fateful night”.

At this point in the conversation, the door opens and a man walks in. He hangs up his  overcoat and joins the men at the bar.

“****…what are you doing here?”

“You two friends?” asks the bartender

“Principal Paul Jackson” says the newcomer. “From…”

“Let me guess” said the bartender, “from the same school The Professor teaches at?”

“Two more…and one for him” says the teacher.

“Yes, that school. The Professor, I like that, I can get on board with that”.

“So, what brings you here? I mean, the play is over, the kids ******, and let me guess…oh, maybe you are here to dump on me, and give me my walking papers in private”

“******, I wouldn’t go that far Professor, I can call you that can’t I? It wasn’t great, but, I must say, after what we’ve had before, it was okay. I mean they tried, they were engaged, and nobody cried on stage like they did when we did Little Women”.

“Were you watching the same thing I was? They called ***** Loman “Wally”, eleven times….ELEVEN times!!! Engaged? they were so far off script, there was no way in the world we could get back. I mean, I tried, I really tried, and I thought we had it down. But, tonight, those lights went up and it was total deer in the headlights on stage, for each and every kid”.

The drinks arrive, and the bartender leaves the men alone.

“*****, Wally, what does it matter?” They winged it, and got through. I mean, it could have been worse, but, they forged ahead”.

“Forged ahead…Washington forged ahead  crossing the Potomac, these kids, wrote a whole new play on stage in real time. Nothing made sense. It was hard to watch. I was waiting for the audience to leave, which, I think…may have happened, had they been given a
chance with an intermission”.

“See…right there, nobody left. That is a plus. You have to admit that is a win right there…nobody left, and that sir is a winning program. They had to see where it went, what happened and Professor, what comes next?”

“You can’t be serious? or are you just being facetious? “, said the Professor.
“Oh, I am serious, deadly serious. You weren’t expected to put on an award winning play, just to entertain those who attended and most important, to be able to put on the play. Most times, it never sees the light of day, teachers quit the production, students quit, hell, I quit…twice. The goal was to put on a production and you did. It wasn’t great, hell, it wasn’t even good, but, it was entertaining in the way people drive slowly by a fire or a train wreck sort of way, and you did it.”

“Bartender, two more beers, make that three….one for you and more shots” yelled the Professor.

“Start picking next year’s show and no matter what happens…save these seats for the after party”.

I thought a bit today
That I've shed more tears
For those I don't know
These past two years

I cry for those who've battled
For those who lost their fight
For the workers who aided them
As they pass on day and night

I've cried at situations
When I'm safe behind my door
For those who are unable
To see the arrows on the floor

I cry because the future
Isn't coming soon enough
Solutions are just smoke rings
Disappearing with a puff

My eyes are all blurry
Red and always burning
I cry because from what I see
So many just aren't learning

My tear ducts keep releasing
Prayers for those now dead
Hope for those still living
Believing lies that they've been fed

Anger, I don't feel it
I haven't for two years
I only feel frightened
And I can only share my tears

I sat down in the basement
Safe and hidden from the storm
I wrapped up in my blanket
I was keeping safe and warm

It sounded like a freight train
As I listened to it blow
The rain was going sideways
But, at least there wasn't snow

The maple in my back yard
Was straining as it blew
Some branches snapped in pieces
I counted twenty two

I watched out the small window
As projectiles whistled by
It was noon but felt like midnight
From the darkness of the sky

I saw a picnic table
Fly from two houses up the street
Although it was quite scary
It was also kind of neat

We get these storms quite often
And when the wind is dead and gone
The best part is the garbage
Has all blown off my front lawn

I'm going up to look out
As the winds are dying down
To check on what's been blown here
From other parts of town

I'm looking from my kitchen
To see the damage the storm did
I've now got six umbrellas
Two swing sets and a kid

A wading pool, two lawn chairs
Some cushions and a slide
A pool cover all torn up
And a small boat on it's side

No leaves and that's a good thing
Because my sheds gone with the rake
So I can score one on the plus side
Though I now own a small lake

Shingles from the rooftops
Of nearby homes abound
I've fourteen in my fence now
And a hundred on the ground

Last storm, when it blew through
It wasn't quite a twister
My friend, he lost his tent trailer
But he gained a cat and sister

We've twenty three blue boxes
From storms we've had before
A dozen real nice planters
And a beat up old car door

I get another backyard grill
About every year or so
I just move the old one out some
And let the wind storm blow

The storms done finally
So, the clean up now can start
Tomorrow it'll be out front
Like a yard sale at Wal Mart

The damaged goods get recycled
The good stuff's rarely claimed
It's all covered by insurance
And the victims never named

This year will be different
We won't keep all things hid
We've got an extra swing set
And I'm not keeping the kid

Gram had an old piano
It sat in the front room
There was a scorch mark on the top
Made by a cigar from the past
It always sat there silent
I never ever saw it played
But, I heard of all the parties
And the music from gram
She told us kids "don't touch it"
"Just leave it all alone"
So, we left it like she told us
We did as we were told
Even though we'd heard the stories
Of the music and the parties
And the fun that used to be
We watched as Gram would sit
Close her eyes, and fade out
To the parties and the music
And the good times of the past
She'd leave us to our own devices
Of which one, was not the piano
She told us it had been there
Since about nineteen sixty four
And to me, that's a long time
Especially for a piano to not be played
It had to be out of tune by now
But, we'd neve know
She'd tell us of the parties
How the neighbors would drop by
How the music would be lively
Then, she'd fade off once again
Back to the parties and the past
There were mice living in the piano
At least if not now, there once were
You could see droppings in the corner
And the scratches by the pedals
But, we never saw the mice
I guess they knew the piano was out of bounds too
As we got older and time passed by
We wouldn't go to Grams place as much
And she never moved the piano
We would still hear the stories
Either on the phone or during the visits
Both were more infrequent as we all aged
We knew she'd fade off
Sometimes during our chats on the phone
Sometimes during our visits
Back to the past
To the parties and the music
Gram passed last year
While she was sitting in her chair
She went to the past
And stayed there while I was making tea
I ended up with the piano
I can't play, not that I ever would
None of the other could either
But, I was the oldest
Now, every so often, I'll fade out
Back to the stories of the parties
That I never went to
And I think about the music
That I never heard
But, I remember how she said it was
How it must have sounded
The fun they had
The fun she was reliving
Grams piano sits in my house now
In the hall never played
It sits with its memories
Announcing what we all had missed
It sits, silent, and it's me who shares the tales
To all who will listen when they visit
I got Grams piano and I didn't get the mice

If love surrounds us
Why is it that I just see
Snow to be shoveled?

Lord hear my prayer
The words I want to hear now
Under the B...2!

I remember that day like yesterday
Always will till I die
We were watching in the back field
Bobby took his final ride
The summer of love was over
The season sure had changed
Camelot and MLK were gone
The future looked quite strange

Thousands lined the tracks that day
Rich, poor, black, and white
Teachers, kids, policemen
Nuns, to see the sight
A train en route to Washington
A short 225 mile ride
We were there to watch in silence
For the man who lay inside

We all knew no one would wave back
But, we needed to say thanks
To the man inside that casket
As we stood on the track banks
There were people on their houses
In ditches, holding hands
To watch for a short moment
And say goodbye to the man

We'd never met him, but we knew
This man was one of us
He'd roll his sleeves up, and dig in
Do the work without a fuss
He was Catholic, we were Baptist
There were Jews and others too
Waving flags, and some saluting
Doing what we had to do

No cheering, only silence
Respect for the rider there inside
We stood as one together
Watching Bobby's final ride
I still go out and stand there
I can find the spot in light or dark
My old dog comes out with me
Watches me, and doesn't bark

Sometimes while I'm out watching
I see the shadows by the track
Of those out standing quiet
For a man not coming back
I've seen a thousand trains pass by
Sometimes, I wave and see
People in the windows
Sending back a wave to me

I remember back in sixty eight
The school was closed just for the day
So we could watch the train go by
And get our closure for the day
A nation was on fire
A powder keg waiting to explode
We stood and watched a train in silence
Carrying a nation's heavy load

New York up to D.C
Then to Arlington to lie
With his brother gone forever
Both were far too young to die
I still remember everything
But I keep it deep inside
As I stood and watched in silence
Bobby take his final ride

rural or urban
urban or rural
no matter who says it
it always sounds turrible

It came out all wrong
when joe biden tried it
tonight watching the news
our newscaster fried it

two little words
that everyone knows
say them together
your mouth sounds all froze

city or country
nor urban or rural
they both mean the same
But the second pair sounds turrible

If you've loved a cowboy
You know it can be tough
A cowboy's soul is different
They're made of sterner stuff

A cowboy loves forever
They are always moving on
But one thing bout a cowboy
That love is never gone

If you love a dreamer
You have to see in space
You know you've got a dreamer
You can see it in their face

A dreamer sees the future
They have to know what if
Thoughts always in motion
Flowing water, never stiff

Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find

A cowboy's a loner
They believe what they see
They live by a code
Of what will be will be

A dreamer sees something
Where others ask what
They can not keep grounded
And they answer, why not?

Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find

A cowboy who dreams
Is the one you should rope
They know that true love
Take work, not just hope

A dreamer can cowboy
They'll see the same stars as you
They'll lasso those stars
And they'll want the moon too

Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find

You can love a cowboy
And a dreamer as well
If you're unsure of which
Ask your heart, it can tell

A cowboy has dreams
A dreamer inspires
They're one in the same
Burning two different fires

Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find

Don't fence in a cowboy
He'll just move along
A dreamer must dream
To not would be wrong

Come along for the ride
No matter how hard it seems
Whether cowboy or dreamer
Hold on to those dreams

Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find

Want to get a mortgage?
A loan to buy a car?
Tickets to a Aruba?
You need not go too far

You want to take a photo?
Check to see if it will snow?
Do a search and you will find
All you need to know

Oh...buddy, there's an app out there
For all you want to do
Even things you do not like
There's apps for those things too

You're in to online gaming?
You need groceries, maybe beer?
Don't worry, bud, it's out there
Thousands more show up each year

Lyrics for a song you like
You can find them in three notes
You want to lay a bet in Vegas
You need to buy some extra totes

Oh...buddy, there's an app out there
For all you want to do
Even things you do not like
There's apps for those things too

You want to find a certain app
There's an app that does that too
There's an app that knows just what you want
Before you know you do

If you want to write a novel
Who cares that you can't spell?
I'm sure that you have figured
There's an app for that as well

Oh...buddy, there's an app out there
For all you want to do
Even things you do not like
There's apps for those things too

So, now, in summation
Listen close to me
There's an app out in the ether
You can download it for free

If you want to buy your groceries
Get a girlfriend, buy a cat
You can always know that somewhere
That there's an app for that.

Of all the things I've said and done
I can't remember most
My mind just lets them disappear
Like a wave upon the coast

I remember faces
It's names I can not find
My heart holds on to so much more
Than is buried in my mind

My heart holds on
My heart holds on
Even things I think are gone
My heart keeps holding on

Some things that I recall
I'm not sure If I did
The stories kinda muddy
My mind has them well hid

Good times, and the bad ones
My heart it knows so well
My mind has gone and altered
The truth, I can not tell

My heart holds on
My heart holds on
Even things I think are gone
My heart keeps holding on

Sometimes I'll remember
My mind and heart agree
The times we were together
My heart, and you and me

If I get muddled,
And the memories don't fit
My heart might just open
My mind just a bit

My heart holds on
My heart holds on
Even things I think are gone
My heart keeps holding on

My heart remembers much more
Than my mind will ever do
It remembers every word
My love, I heard from you

My mind, it is a builder
It's built a strong and mystic wall
It only tell me what it wants
While my heart, it tells me all

My heart holds on
My heart holds on
Even things I think are gone
My heart keeps holding on

I see people driving
A normal, daily task
Even though they are alone
They're still wearing a mask

I find this confusing
A mask inside the car
But, who am I to judge them
It might not be their car

They follow all the road signs
Stop when the light is red
But, still they go on driving
With a mask there on their head

They drive with such precision
Their aim, to reach the store
Once there, they can not follow
Simple arrows on the floor

They head up every aisle
Against the shopping flow
The arrows show direction
How can these folks not know?

Their mask is also missing
It is hanging off their chin
And when the mask is *****
They can't throw it in the bin

They drive home with no problem
They have no mask this time
They do things without reason
They do them without rhyme

It's really, really simple
When you're shopping in a store
Wear your mask correctly
And follow arrows on the floor

Stay safe, keep your distance
Wash your hands, and follow rules
Kids make it look easy
While adults look like fools

Wear your mask inside the car
No one says you can't
But, please follow the arrows
So others do not rant.

It was early Christmas Eve Day
There was light snow on the ground
And lightly, if you listened
You could hear the slightest sound

It wasn't from a choir
Nor, a speaker on the street
But, a voice, tired and raspy
That would not admit defeat

Normally, at Christmas
The street would be alive
With last minute visits
Before Santa would arrive

Gianni held a party
For the vendors out this way
But, this year, there'd be nothing
There was no party today

Behind his place, The Bluesman
Had moved inside from the cold
He'd moved to the old Church basement
Where his stories were still told

He'd head outside and sing some
His "med-cine" in his jug
Behind the Church he'd set up,
On a wood chair, with a rug

The Bluesman sang to no one
His voice crisp, but not as strong
The elements were tough now
But, they would not take his song

The pastor, always present
Standing, watching by the door
He loved hearing the Bluesman
But, he loved the people more

Some Sundays, not all though
The Bluesman would begin
The service for the pastor
Then the choir joined in

He'd sneak off to the basement
Or outside, with his guitar
The Bluesman, felt his music
Was his lightning in the jar

This morning, though not Sunday
He was singing to the few
Lost souls, and some locals
Who had nothing else to do

The church doors were wide open
Every candle had been lit
It wasn't cold inside there,
But, maybe, just a little bit

He sang some Christmas carols
Some old blues, and Lennon too
He stopped and took a swallow
That was the choirs cue

They'd come in from the alley
The pastor had them in behind
The Bluesman, kept on singing
He was lost inside his mind

The church was filling up though
The voices carried on the wind
To those who always came here
And those who never sinned

There were masks of every colour
In every second row
The pastor kept folks distanced
For this little make shift show

The Bluesman sang a few more
Then he spoke unto the crowd
"Keep those you love inside your heart"
Though it wasn't very loud

He walked on past the pastor
By the choir, to the stair
And like Clement Moore's old Santa
In a blink, he wasn't there

Things this year were different
Not like parties in the past
Held up at old Gianni's
No one knew how long they'd last

There was no star to sing to
It was early in the day
But, we'd got our Christmas present
We'd got to hear the Bluesman play

Maybe next year, would be better
Back to normal, as before
But, who knows, just what will happen
What the muses have in store

So, take the Christmas message
"Keep those you love inside your heart"
God bless you all this Christmas
Another year is set to start