Hour 20 Not My Genre

Not my genre


I find it hard to describe

art, that I can’t get into.

No offense to the painter,

it’s all good and in the

pupils to remember.




Welcome home!

Thank you,” he said to appease me.

“How are you?” my sentence began.

He replied,  “I’m fine, how are you, my old friend?


Now there’s someone who knows

where respect grows. Pardon me,

if I lose you, on this one.


“Excuse me,” he said, as

he pushed me away, without malice.


Have a nice day” I said as I left…

Pardon me” “How are you?” “What do you do?”


So this poem sucketh

without an ounce of true.

If I could make it go away

would you tell me,







HOUR 18 Veirdoff… who needs it!

Veirdoffus Chuben… who needs it!


I have so many stories all of them true

most about dogs,  as I’ve had a few.

From shepherds to dobies and a mixture or two.


Let me start with our shepherd,

who had a friend Benjy,

a beagle he knew.


Our dog was named, Veirdoff, one of a kind.

My mother named him or he’d be left behind.

It’s a deal that we made, to take him home.

That big pawed puppy, if only we’d known.


“So who needs it?” Is the translation, you see;

a name he would carry without shame.


Veirdoff was a smart one, yet dumb in some ways.

When his friends came to call, he bolted like the wind.


This cute puppy grew to a beast of a dog

so his friends learned to use his strength.


Let me explain a thing or two

before I divulge, what he did.


One day he came home with a large gash

on his nose that didn’t seem to bother him.

He didn’t complain, but we called  anyway.


His vet said to use, blah, blah from the house

and it would heal, quickly, without a bandaid.


To our dismay the lesion remained

without getting any better.

Just when we, were going to call for 

an appointment; he was spotted, across our lawn.


We watched as Benjy and a new friend

got out of the way, for Veirdoff.


Lo and behold, there was our dog, brave as can be,

removing a metal garbage lid with his nose. 

From our neighbor’s, trash can, no less.


Yes, he used his nose to lift off the lid,

then he put his front paws on the side

of the pail, to tip it.


As soon as it tipped, Benjy and friend

dove in for buffet, while Veirdoff stood

guard, behind them.


We watched his escapade

from start to finish

not a scrap did he have

in his mouth.


We opened the door and called him;

his buddies ran, leaving him alone

to face the doggie music.


Of course he could’t clean the mess they made

so we picked up the smelly garbage remains.


There’s many a story to be told about Veirdoff,

our big boned shepherd, a pooch to behold!







I wanted to figure, out

why I hated to cook,

so I went back a few years

and took a look.



I was young, barely four, but

an independent streak, had I.

I reveled in a house of

love, music, and song.


No foul words,

from my parent’s lips

did ever pass. Only

love, hugs, and kisses,

ya  know.


In my happy home, my

favorite toy was a stove.

I was told to play with

either Mom or Dad.

Why, I didn’t know.


Well, being who I am

and always was;

I plugged in my stove

while they slept.


I wanted to make

a surprise breakfast

with milk.


So I filled the pot

and felt so secure

as I boiled the milk

for cocoa.


I stirred and I stirred as

the smoke swirled around

then Daddy came in, in a rush.


I gushed, Daddy I’m cooking,

it is a surprise, is Mommy up yet?


My Father, with a crazed

look in his eyes, pulled the plug,

and yelled for my Mom.

Mother arrived, with a

that same look on her face.


Dad left for a moment and

when he returned

he cut the plug on my stove.


I looked at them

with a broken heart

and said, “Now it won’t work!

I’ll never cook again!”


I abandoned the toy,

that had no plug.

And to this day, I won’t

cook or play with a stove!





HOUR 16 Her Third Eye


She’s a psychic in denial.

as everyone knows.

She’ll deny her third eye

though  brightly it glows.


Along with her aura

she will deny

that her aura bangs it

right out of the sky.


Ask her a question

she’ll tell  you

the truth.


No fudge in her answers

she’ll brutally bruise.


She’s a little pudgy

men flock like flies

she could care less,

her love is true, no lies.


Centered on earth

her faith has been



No glory in war, but

what does that matter?

She fights the light

that comes and goes.


She fights the light,

not darkness you see.

For the light keeps on

calling both you and me.


Don’t get her wrong,

she hates the dark,

and all that it stands for.


Evil versus Goodness

and sometimes it wins, but

she encapsulates sweetness

and let’s the light in.


Don’t be confused

with the one you will seek

when leaving this earth,

when climbing that peak.


In her heart and in her soul

though she will deny it

a mighty force grows.


Bring her your questions,

bring her your fears.

she’ll always try to help you

and clear up some tears.


Now you may feel this person, is you

I know first hand, there’s more than a few

Remember, she will deny her third eye

She’s a psychic in denial, but she’ll never lie.




HOUR 15 The Zipper


A friend almost died

his ticker, the cause.

Does he need stints or

is a by pass the cure.


Today I went to see him

his hospital bed was empty.

My body trembled as I

looked around his room.


“Nurse, nurse where is

Mr. G?

I think I have his room right.

Where might he be?”


“Are you a relative,” she sighed.

“I am, I am. Is he alright?”

“They sent him down for surgery,

he’s getting his zipper tonight.”


I looked at her queerly, so

she explained it to me.

A zipper is a term they use

for by-pass surgery.




HOUR 14 Mossy Death


There’s a cemetery few have seen;

it hides its dead, in the forest.

No visitors allowed.

Reads the sign.


Apparently when death arrived,

no one cared.

Piled on top of one another,

some do lie, for eternity.


Death cars, you heard me right.

Covered with rust and moss

some with trees, grown through

the body of steel.


Moss is natures carpet

to cover moist ground,

but when you slip in there

the car graveyard, that is.


You will find nature loves

and returns to the earth

that which belongs to her.







HOUR 13 Wrapped!


I stole myself away.

They didn’t know how strangled I felt.

The umbilical chord still attached

wrapped tightly round my neck.


I didn’t mean to hurt anyone or put fear in their hearts.

I wanted freedom, I wanted a new start.


I said goodbye to only a few

not the ones that mattered.

I wrenched a heart, that was easy to claim.

He kept his promise, but cried all night.


I didn’t realize the pain I had caused

when setting my pain free.

I wanted freedom, an apartment and

of course my own key.


I was missing, no where to be found.

I was happy, delirious with joy, while

they were crying, worried and scared.

I had no idea, I didn’t care. I was free.


Was I alone? Well I’ll never tell.

I went missing, they were in hell.

Do I regret it? I guess in some ways.


I wish there had been, a better way

HOUR 12 Moon Dittie


Glory to the moon

that shines above

shooting its  beams

to the lake below.


Make no  mistake

it may not always

be there.


Don’t panic my friend,

I hear Gods got a spare.

HOUR 11 Travelin’


With pencil and paper in hand

I jot down the name,

I jot down the brand.


For other folks

the brand don’t matter

but I write it down

it saves on the chatter.


I travel from town to town

aching with pain,

but I like what I do.


Of course I’d prefer

for a doc to see

I let my wounds to heal

no docs are  around


I don’t trust em barbers

and I never will

I’ve seen what they’ve done

to a cadaver or two.


I’m feared by particular men, you see.

Dirty stink’n rotten men, the kind you want to bury.

The kind that steal your horses and cattle

and know, if caught, they’ll be heightened for death.


Perhaps it’s the platform,

they desire to speak

most hold their tongue

many of ’em freak..


They whine and squeal just like little pigs.

Two more miles to go and I’ll be there by sun-up.

Reckon they’ll be waitin’, for this travelin’ man.


I’m the one with the rope,

I’m the one with the plan.

They stretch if I leave em

don’t want no complaints.


So they’re down in a day.

The crowd that amasses

boggles my mind

They line up a few men for the day.


For I may not return

for months on end.

I’m the hangman

I move from town to town.


My horses are tired

they have a right to complain.

I’ll set down me britches

one of these days.


For now I’ll keep movin’ and hanging away.




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