—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa
A ROCKIN’ ROLLIN’ SIXTY YEAR OLD!
I’m a rockin’ rollin’
Sixty year old!
Sweet dolly
Don’t you dare tell ya mommie,
‘Cause I live in a king’s palace of rhinestone
And gold!.
I’ve been going wild
Since I was five,
Dreaming of sailing the seven seas,
I do as I please.
I was hunting birds
Pretending they were lions
And tigers,
I was a true-born bush plane pilot,
I’m number one
‘Cause I’m the son of a dare devil bootlegger’s
Son,
I can still shoot a mean six-gun!
Honey
Your heart
And mind have already been sold,
Sweet Dolly.
Now I’m a rockin’ rollin’
Sixty year old!
I’ve poached more than a hundred deer,
I’ve caught at least a million pounds of game fish,
I played football where I caused whole stadiums
of people to cheer,
I’m still that wonderful leprechaun who can fetch
your best wish.
Honey,
Now what do you have to fear?
I can still rock
N roll,
Because I got that hard-swingin’
Bone-throwing soul,
I’m a poppin’
Boppin’
Sixty year old!
I’m still the perfect answer to a poor maiden’s
Midnight prayer,
I’m a drink of water
And a breath of fresh morning air,
I’m all yours right now
Honey,
If you only care
To take a dare!
I’ll beat the piper
As I raise hell for a thousand years,
I’m truly one of a single feather,
Watch me now ‘cause I’ll live forever!
I’ve just ran more than ten
Then swam for a mile!
I can really strut my stuff
Because I got style.
I’m the chief goat in your most sought-after fold,
Honey now
I’m a real wild child!
I’m a rockin’ rollin’
Sixty year old.
I’m a rockin’ rollin’
Sixty year old!
Sweet dolly
Don’t you dare tell ya mommie,
‘Cause I live in a king’s palace of rhinestone
And gold!.
I’ve been going wild
Since I was five,
Dreaming of sailing the seven seas,
I do as I please.
I was hunting birds
Pretending they were lions
And tigers,
I was a true-born bush plane pilot,
I’m number one
‘Cause I’m the son of a dare devil bootlegger’s
Son,
I can still shoot a mean six-gun!
Honey
Your heart
And mind have already been sold,
Sweet Dolly.
Now I’m a rockin’ rollin’
Sixty year old!
I’ve poached more than a hundred deer,
I’ve caught at least a million pounds of game fish,
I played football where I caused whole stadiums
of people to cheer,
I’m still that wonderful leprechaun who can fetch
your best wish.
Honey,
Now what do you have to fear?
I can still rock
N roll,
Because I got that hard-swingin’
Bone-throwing soul,
I’m a poppin’
Boppin’
Sixty year old!
I’m still the perfect answer to a poor maiden’s
Midnight prayer,
I’m a drink of water
And a breath of fresh morning air,
I’m all yours right now
Honey,
If you only care
To take a dare!
I’ll beat the piper
As I raise hell for a thousand years,
I’m truly one of a single feather,
Watch me now ‘cause I’ll live forever!
I’ve just ran more than ten
Then swam for a mile!
I can really strut my stuff
Because I got style.
I’m the chief goat in your most sought-after fold,
Honey now
I’m a real wild child!
I’m a rockin’ rollin’
Sixty year old.
JUST SITTING AROUND ON MY FRONT PORCH
I’m sitting on the front porch of the house
Watching the sun come in,
Drinking coffee
And feeling fine!
Yes I guess
I’m sitting here on this front porch
A-wastin’ time.
I’m sitting around here on the front porch
Watching the parakeets and toucans fly by!
I’m drinking freshly roasted black coffee
And I feel so alone,
Just wasting precious time.
Lord,
Wasting precious time.
Well
It's been nigh-on forty years
I’ve sat here watching the ants crawl
As I make up their labor song.
I’ve just been sitting around here on my front porch
All of this time,
My oh my,
How the years have flown!
I have a son who was born way back in ninety-
five,
When he sees me he shakes his head from side
to side
And asks me why,
Why did you not even bother to try?
Now
I doubt he barely even knows that I’m alive!
I’ve been sitting ‘round here on this front porch
Wasting time,
Lord yes,
A-wasting precious time!
It feels so good here in the morning wind
As I conjure up fantasia’s merry song,
How could this be so wrong?
Lord,
I simply can’t force myself to arise
And begin a daily grind.
I kind of love this freeborn sensation I have
When I’m just sitting here like this,
Wasting my time.
Will I soon change my swing seat for a homemade
hammock?
You bet ya,
Just as surly as there is poison in hemlock!
Will I soon mix myself a tall cold drink?
Well fellow,
Now you bet ya,
Just as surely as that luscious morning sun comes
up pink!
Do I love walking around in imagination’s enrap-
turing haze?
I want it to take me just as far as it can get me!
Do I care what any of my neighbors think?
Frankly I don't give a happy dime!
For now, fellow,
Kindly step aside
And let me enjoy the blushness of this rising sun
Before my day is done!
I’m so happy just sitting around here on this
tropical porch
Wasting time…
Lord yes,
But I feel so fine!
Yes,
What little I have is all mine,
Including my time.
I’m still happy when I’m only lonely,
‘Cause I don’t hear no complainers whine.
Like the sun,
One day,
Some way,
In my own way
I’m still gonna yet shine!
But right now
I’m sitting around on my tropical front porch,
Just wasting time.
I’m sitting on the front porch of the house
Watching the sun come in,
Drinking coffee
And feeling fine!
Yes I guess
I’m sitting here on this front porch
A-wastin’ time.
I’m sitting around here on the front porch
Watching the parakeets and toucans fly by!
I’m drinking freshly roasted black coffee
And I feel so alone,
Just wasting precious time.
Lord,
Wasting precious time.
Well
It's been nigh-on forty years
I’ve sat here watching the ants crawl
As I make up their labor song.
I’ve just been sitting around here on my front porch
All of this time,
My oh my,
How the years have flown!
I have a son who was born way back in ninety-
five,
When he sees me he shakes his head from side
to side
And asks me why,
Why did you not even bother to try?
Now
I doubt he barely even knows that I’m alive!
I’ve been sitting ‘round here on this front porch
Wasting time,
Lord yes,
A-wasting precious time!
It feels so good here in the morning wind
As I conjure up fantasia’s merry song,
How could this be so wrong?
Lord,
I simply can’t force myself to arise
And begin a daily grind.
I kind of love this freeborn sensation I have
When I’m just sitting here like this,
Wasting my time.
Will I soon change my swing seat for a homemade
hammock?
You bet ya,
Just as surly as there is poison in hemlock!
Will I soon mix myself a tall cold drink?
Well fellow,
Now you bet ya,
Just as surely as that luscious morning sun comes
up pink!
Do I love walking around in imagination’s enrap-
turing haze?
I want it to take me just as far as it can get me!
Do I care what any of my neighbors think?
Frankly I don't give a happy dime!
For now, fellow,
Kindly step aside
And let me enjoy the blushness of this rising sun
Before my day is done!
I’m so happy just sitting around here on this
tropical porch
Wasting time…
Lord yes,
But I feel so fine!
Yes,
What little I have is all mine,
Including my time.
I’m still happy when I’m only lonely,
‘Cause I don’t hear no complainers whine.
Like the sun,
One day,
Some way,
In my own way
I’m still gonna yet shine!
But right now
I’m sitting around on my tropical front porch,
Just wasting time.
AM I GOING CRAZY?
I think I’m going crazy,
I’m not going to lie,
As I woke up so early this morning,
I dreamed I grew wings
And could fly!
I think I’m going crazy.
Once when eating peach
Or kiwi fruit
From a moonthread gutter sprite,
I fathomed
Thinking back,
Somehow it reminded me of salty watermelon pie!
I had way too much Maddog Twenty Twenty that
night,
I guess.
After I wiped
The prickly juice from upon my face
And picked all the fuzz from in between my teeth,
When I glanced into my castaway timeless gothic
mirror
I almost hung my head
To cry.
I think I’m going crazy,
I never land a continuous job,
People claim I’m lazy.
After I’ve been there nearly a year
The companies always shut their doors
And stop.
I honestly think I’m going crazy.
When I drive down the road
The world before me appears all dark
And cold,
As the scene surrounding me turns hazy.
I sincerely think I’m going crazy,
So now I’ll hang my head
And cry.
I can’t figure out why everybody
Seems so shady.
I take a deep breath
And sigh.
I think I’m going crazy,
No,
I am convinced it might be really true;
As I walk down Main Street,
People stare hard when I talk to myself,
Like they believe I’ve come unglued.
When I carry my tent
And my pad,
You see,
I’m glad it's only me.
I spend my days pretending to read
Inside the local library,
Or at the park in the cool shade
Laying out
Underneath the old live oak tree.
I think I’m going crazy,
I’m not going to lie,
As I woke up so early this morning,
I dreamed I grew wings
And could fly!
I think I’m going crazy.
Once when eating peach
Or kiwi fruit
From a moonthread gutter sprite,
I fathomed
Thinking back,
Somehow it reminded me of salty watermelon pie!
I had way too much Maddog Twenty Twenty that
night,
I guess.
After I wiped
The prickly juice from upon my face
And picked all the fuzz from in between my teeth,
When I glanced into my castaway timeless gothic
mirror
I almost hung my head
To cry.
I think I’m going crazy,
I never land a continuous job,
People claim I’m lazy.
After I’ve been there nearly a year
The companies always shut their doors
And stop.
I honestly think I’m going crazy.
When I drive down the road
The world before me appears all dark
And cold,
As the scene surrounding me turns hazy.
I sincerely think I’m going crazy,
So now I’ll hang my head
And cry.
I can’t figure out why everybody
Seems so shady.
I take a deep breath
And sigh.
I think I’m going crazy,
No,
I am convinced it might be really true;
As I walk down Main Street,
People stare hard when I talk to myself,
Like they believe I’ve come unglued.
When I carry my tent
And my pad,
You see,
I’m glad it's only me.
I spend my days pretending to read
Inside the local library,
Or at the park in the cool shade
Laying out
Underneath the old live oak tree.
SUCH A DAY IN MY LIFE
Out roaming the hills
And wide-open fields,
Going to make my way
On mother nature’s bountiful yields.
Behind me looms this imposing feeling
Of G-men stumbling around on my trail.
Lo,
Such a fabulous story
Do I now have to tell!
A huge beautiful buck suddenly appears,
So I raise my bow,
Drawing my string as he gently walks forward
Seemingly without any fears.
I release the string,
My arrow flies while that winning sensation
Inside my heart cheers.
That magnificent form melts into a heap.
I sit motionlessly with nary a sighing breath
Nor a single peep.
I hear nothing,
So I ease down the tree,
Making my way forward.
I skin out the feet,
The legs,
The body,
And the head,
While backwards upon my hands
I allow that freshly shorn skin to drape
With nary a single nick upon the horns,
Nor the head
Or the cape.
I gut the carcass,
Spearing the tongue,
The heart,
The liver,
And the kidneys
With a freshly cut oak stick
Right from the start.
Then I chop the forehams,
The rear hams,
The ribs,
And the neck
In a single whack.
All of this luscious meat
And the cape
I wrap up in cloth
To form a pack,
Tying it
And slinging it
O’er my left shoulder
Upon my back.
The sheriff was hot after me
Following along with his hound dogs,
But I held him at bay
By tossing ready-made meat chunks behind fallen
logs,
Spiked with clear glass shards
Making his dogs remain.
I,
For certain,
With a wink
And a nod,
Now dutifully completed
My family-assigned job.
If that poor possum sheriff only knew,
I,
So skillfully was riding far away
From this night-time combat scene,
With a quiet trolling motor
In a jon-boat style of canoe.
Out roaming the hills
And wide-open fields,
Going to make my way
On mother nature’s bountiful yields.
Behind me looms this imposing feeling
Of G-men stumbling around on my trail.
Lo,
Such a fabulous story
Do I now have to tell!
A huge beautiful buck suddenly appears,
So I raise my bow,
Drawing my string as he gently walks forward
Seemingly without any fears.
I release the string,
My arrow flies while that winning sensation
Inside my heart cheers.
That magnificent form melts into a heap.
I sit motionlessly with nary a sighing breath
Nor a single peep.
I hear nothing,
So I ease down the tree,
Making my way forward.
I skin out the feet,
The legs,
The body,
And the head,
While backwards upon my hands
I allow that freshly shorn skin to drape
With nary a single nick upon the horns,
Nor the head
Or the cape.
I gut the carcass,
Spearing the tongue,
The heart,
The liver,
And the kidneys
With a freshly cut oak stick
Right from the start.
Then I chop the forehams,
The rear hams,
The ribs,
And the neck
In a single whack.
All of this luscious meat
And the cape
I wrap up in cloth
To form a pack,
Tying it
And slinging it
O’er my left shoulder
Upon my back.
The sheriff was hot after me
Following along with his hound dogs,
But I held him at bay
By tossing ready-made meat chunks behind fallen
logs,
Spiked with clear glass shards
Making his dogs remain.
I,
For certain,
With a wink
And a nod,
Now dutifully completed
My family-assigned job.
If that poor possum sheriff only knew,
I,
So skillfully was riding far away
From this night-time combat scene,
With a quiet trolling motor
In a jon-boat style of canoe.
READ
Read,
Read a poem,
Read it out loud,
Read an alluring one
To carry you the entire day long!
Read one about the birds
And the bees,
The elegant flowers
And the trees.
Don’t waste time thinking
Of what people might say,
Just read a poem,
Allowing the magic flow to have its own way.
Write,
Type those words,
Feel the enrapturing flow,
View the brilliant colors of those fantasia mill
pond birds.
Come to know guarded secrets,
Those timeless sources of great debate,
The pleasures in simple creekside dreams
As you walk through the poet’s park
By Pawley’s Island’s pearly gate.
Pause at the magnificent mansion ruins
And the marble effigies of creative talent’s eternal
goddesses,
As you amble through endless majestic gardens of
flowers
And the kaleidoscopic blossoming tunnel passages
Don’t waste time
Worrying about what the neighbors might think,
Just pull out an ipad and commence to type,
Read and sing,
While jettisoning any hype.
Read of all that is pleasant,
While you dream of doing your destined thing.
Take a bit of time,
Walk down town,
Any sunny day would be fine,
Smile,
Please don’t frown.
Don’t waste precious time
Worrying about what all the people might say,
Pause by All Saint’s church graveyard
In the new rising sunshine
As the live oak leaves gently sway;
Have a folding cup full of La Belle Amie’s good
red muscadine!
Just read,
Read an elegant poem.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
If you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects. If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered, anyway.
—Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
___________________
Read,
Read a poem,
Read it out loud,
Read an alluring one
To carry you the entire day long!
Read one about the birds
And the bees,
The elegant flowers
And the trees.
Don’t waste time thinking
Of what people might say,
Just read a poem,
Allowing the magic flow to have its own way.
Write,
Type those words,
Feel the enrapturing flow,
View the brilliant colors of those fantasia mill
pond birds.
Come to know guarded secrets,
Those timeless sources of great debate,
The pleasures in simple creekside dreams
As you walk through the poet’s park
By Pawley’s Island’s pearly gate.
Pause at the magnificent mansion ruins
And the marble effigies of creative talent’s eternal
goddesses,
As you amble through endless majestic gardens of
flowers
And the kaleidoscopic blossoming tunnel passages
Don’t waste time
Worrying about what the neighbors might think,
Just pull out an ipad and commence to type,
Read and sing,
While jettisoning any hype.
Read of all that is pleasant,
While you dream of doing your destined thing.
Take a bit of time,
Walk down town,
Any sunny day would be fine,
Smile,
Please don’t frown.
Don’t waste precious time
Worrying about what all the people might say,
Pause by All Saint’s church graveyard
In the new rising sunshine
As the live oak leaves gently sway;
Have a folding cup full of La Belle Amie’s good
red muscadine!
Just read,
Read an elegant poem.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
If you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects. If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered, anyway.
—Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
___________________
—Medusa, welcoming H.L. Dowless back to the Kitchen today with his fine poetry!
H.L. Dowless
A reminder that
Ripe Area: The Art of
Native Plants Festival takes place
in Placerville today, with a
poetry presentation by Lara Gularte;
and the Petaluma Poetry Walk
takes place in Petaluma today
from 11am-8pm.
For info about these and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Ripe Area: The Art of
Native Plants Festival takes place
in Placerville today, with a
poetry presentation by Lara Gularte;
and the Petaluma Poetry Walk
takes place in Petaluma today
from 11am-8pm.
For info about these and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
