Poetry Reading

Posted on December 19th, 2014 in Stories

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For the poetry reading last night, I wore my Luccheses Dad gave me and my compression socks (rolled inside, of course.)

 

Along with the gravy poem and horse poem, I read this Harvest Moon poem.  It was a great way to end the semester, though I confess, I won’t miss the class!  Next semester is going to be even more crazy with 12 hours: Grant writing, Creative writing, and two core classes!

 

Under the Harvest Moon

 

Saturday night, the whole town was at the Harvest Moon Fest,

It was free, after all, and you couldn’t do better than that.

The City held it in the historic visitor’s center,

Really known as the Wal-Mart parking lot,

So you could stroll in and get some batteries, duct tape and a six-pack,

Before conquering the Moon Bounce and buying a hand-painted gun rack.

 

Well, my editor sent me to take photos,

And it’s amazing what the camera sees,

Like Darth Vader flirting with Nefertiti.

The Fire Department’s oogling the Park and Rec girls again,

The librarians are pitching a fit,

They all bought new khaki pants, but only the creepy balloon artist noticed.

 

Turn the corner and there’s the newlyweds making out,

A Kleenex Box, pregnant witch and six-foot pizza slice with a beer belly.

The psychic just told a little girl she was going to grow up and have seven children,

While being an astronaut, curing cancer and winning Miss America Christian.

Meanwhile the belly dancers have pulled out a slithery friend,

But the Baptists refuse to wiggle along,

All except Leroy who had a few too many at the Random Beer Garden Booth,

Looks like I just found my front-page shot.

 

Grandma Riley’s caused a ruckus in the face painting line,

Not even the Lutheran’s preacher’s mother can put Jesus on a 5-year-old’s cheek.

She’s hollering about blasphemy, the artists protest their creative rights,

They called for Sherriff Bill, but he’s Methodist and in the henna tattoo line.

 

The Celtic dancers are starting up.

Clogs don’t really work on grass, but they’re trying,

Which is more than you can say for the mentalist,

Pulling out magic post-it notes from his pockets that fool no one,

But hey, it’s all in fun.

 

Someone tugs on my dress,

And what do I see,

But three little princesses grinning up at me.

“Excuse me, ma’am, can you take our picture?  We’d like to be in the paper.”

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Good Gravy, Round 2

Posted on December 17th, 2014 in Stories

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This poem, written at Dad’s request, was a huge hit.  I revised it based on some suggestions and may even read it tomorrow at the poetry reading we have to do for our final at Barnes and Nobles…in public.  (Shudder).

 

Cowboy Dan liked a little extra with his dinner,

A little something for his brisket and his biscuits,

Some sizzle for his steak and some drizzle for ‘taters,

Out on the range, gravy’s practically a food group.

 

There was only one problem.

You see, for Cowboy Dan, gravy was everything

And anything.

There was gravy for biscuits,

Gravy for cornbread and beans,

Cream gravy for chicken fried steak,

BBQ gravy for brisket and ribs.

 

Red gravy for spaghetti,

Cream cheese gravy for cake,

Mayo gravy for hamburgers,

Alfredo gravy for noodles,

Skillet gravy for sausage, giblet gravy for turkey.

There’s even gravy for jerky.

 

Ranch dressing gravy on tomatoes,

Buttercream gravy on cookies,

Whipped cream gravy ice cream.

Red gravy for enchiladas, brown gravy on beef tips,

Grape gravy for toast.

 

Meringue gravy on coconut cream pie,

Chili gravy over Fritos,

Squeeze butter gravy on rice, salsa gravy on chips,

A proper cowboy eats gravy, not sour cream dip.

 

Mama told Cowboy Dan she wasn’t cooking any more gravy,

Got caught in his beard and it sure wasn’t healthy.

So Cowboy Dan went to Luby’s every night,

Because without gravy, Cowboy Dan might as well eat Alpo,

(and he’s a little higher on the food chain than that.)

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There’s a Horse in my Driveway, round 2

Posted on December 14th, 2014 in Stories

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So, I was revising poems for my poetry portfolio tonight, and I started on this one.  Earlier in the semester, I got slaughtered for not being ‘serious’ and writing ‘fairy tales and nursery rhymes’.  This is not a children’s literature course, I was told.  This is poetry.  It’s about emotions and imagery and feelings.

 

Well, horses have feelings.  If a horse gets into your house, there’s bound to be a lot of emotions.

 

So, I revised the poem, heavily influenced by reading a Baxter Black book, I’m afraid.  I like it much better.  What do ya’ll think?

 

There’s a horse in my driveway,

She belongs to the gypsies next door.

They’re going to curse me once they see her eating my lawn,

But that doesn’t seem to be a concern of hers.

 

I tell her she should go home,

And she just gives me a look,

Saunters right into my garage,

And sticks her greedy little snout into a bag of deer food.

 

Well, the deer don’t like that at all.

Ol’ Rudolph is howling and running down the hill,

He’s a half-Axis, half-whitetail crossbreed,

So scary even the coyotes give him a wide berth.

 

 

This horse doesn’t figure it out,

Until Rudolph comes tearing in after her,

Flanked by a dozen whitetail,

And the King of the Axis with a six-foot rack.

So she spooks and storms the kitchen door,

Now she’s sliding all over the just-mopped hardwood floors.

 

The gypsy horse,

Has angered Queen Bitty,

The four-pound Chihuahua that runs this house,

So she sics her poor brother Bear after the horse,

Who, convinced a fat squirrel has gone rabid, tries to run upstairs.

 

Try, is the operative word.

You see, hooves don’t like carpet,

And Chihuahuas don’t like horses,

And they’re definitely annoyed at the deer grazing in the pantry,

And scraping their racks across the leather sofa.

 

 

The horse flips off the stairs better than Mary Lou Rettan,

And hurries out the back.

The deer run after her with Rudolph leading the pack,

So Queen Bitty goes back to her nap.

 

Meanwhile, I can see the gypsies up the hill,

Too bad I can’t see if they’re smiling,

But I’m not risking a curse this close to Christmas,

So I just get a broom and call the repairman.

Next time there’s a horse in my driveway, I know just what to do.

Run like crazy and close the garage door!

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Good Gravy

Posted on November 2nd, 2014 in Stories

 

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Cowboy Dan liked a little extra with his dinner,

A little something for his brisket and his biscuits.

“What good is chicken fry without gravy?” he’d cry,

“Why, that’s like cake without icing! I might as well eat dirt and die!”

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There was only one problem.

You see, for Cowboy Dan, gravy was everything

And anything.

There was gravy for biscuits,

Gravy for cornbread and beans,

Gravy for chicken fried steak, roast and another gravy for brisket.

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Red gravy for spaghetti,

Cream cheese gravy for cake,

Mayo gravy for hamburgers,

Alfredo gravy for noodles,

White gravy for sausage, skillet gravy for turkey,

Every good gravy-loving cowboy is a little quirky.

 

Ranch dressing gravy on tomatoes,

Extra buttercream gravy on cookies,

And whipped gravy on pie.

Red gravy for enchiladas, brown gravy on beef tips,

Every good cowboy knows the difference.

 

If a dish doesn’t require gravy,

Cowboy Dan will be sure to oblige,

Meringue gravy on coconut cream pie,

Gravy on rice, gravy on chips,

A proper cowboy eats gravy, not sour cream dip.

 

No matter what’s on Cowboy Dan’s plate,

He’ll never really get a taste, but that’s all right.

As long as he’s got a bowl of gravy,

Every dish will be mighty tasty.

 

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Halloween

Posted on October 28th, 2014 in Stories

Halloween

 

In disgust,

The creepy and the crawly,

The weird and the ungodly,

And even the scary and terrifying,

Gathered together Halloween Night,

Praying it would be a trick-or-treater free sight.

 

“No one wants any decent spells,” the witch grumbled,

“All they want is love and money,

Looking good and getting skinny.

If it weren’t so sad, it might be funny.”

 

“At least you don’t sit all day,” the jack o’ lantern cried,

“Fearing you’ll get carved up or made into a pie.

Ol’ Bob got bought and painted to look like a princess—

Pigtails made of yarn and rhinestones glued to his head!”

 

“Oh blah blah blah,” the ghost mimicked,

“I’m a pumpkin and I’m so persecuted.

Kids today aren’t scared of anything!

Walking through walls, moving stuff across the ceiling—

I set fire to curtains the other day and they just giggled—

GIGGLED! If I were a poltergeist, they’d be screaming.”

 

“At least you don’t have a movie franchise,” the vampire groused.

“A bunch of teenagers wearing glitter mooning around,

Fighting with werewolves like a bunch of clowns.

Getting girls has never been easier,

But instead of just their blood, they want forever!”

 

The black cat licked her black paw. “It could be worse,” she mused,

“You could all be running the streets in cheap costumes,

begging for candy for bratty children,

just to put them to bed and be called a villain.”

 

The creatures looked at each other and shuddered,

For the cat was right.

Perhaps it was the perfect Halloween night.

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