Pages

Saturday, October 26, 2024

I Wanna Be Rich!

 —Poetry by H.L. Dowless, Southeastern US
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
 
 
Glenda I love you
Baby,
More than the food I eat,
These words I say to you
Somehow you must believe.

I think about you
Lady,
Each and every day,
No matter if the sun is brightly shining,
Or the sky is gloomy and gray.

I'm out here on this lonesome road,
A-drifting far and wide,
But I can’t keep on going I know,
Without your bright smile
And those glinting eyes.

Glenda I love you
Baby,
More than the clothes I wear,
Every moment when we wake up
Is like an hour in heaven we both share.

I miss the dirt road we both walked on,
By the wild flowers and the meandering creek,
The joy we both felt in the bluebird’s song,
The philosophical enlightenment we both seek.

So much do I miss the clear blue skies in your eyes,
And the cheerful laughter in your face,
Standing with you before surging ocean tides,
Gazing up at the falling stars in outer space.

Oh
The many exotic moments we both shared,
And the rhythm that we twain make,
Still I can feel the sunlight in your hair
And the very breath that you take.

Somewhere along the way
We shall come back and meet again.
We both shall have another sunny day,
I can sense it in the whispering wind.
 
 
 


I got a lot of rowdy livin’ to do,
Wrangler City here I come!
This time I’m gonna make love neath the golden
sun,
People,
Before my day is done!
I don’t know what anybody is into lookin’ at,
But I tell ya  doing it is certainly so much fun.

Tonight I’m gonna hoist a big noggin of wine,
Come get yours and join right in!
I like deep red muscadine,
So indulgin’ ain’t no sin!
The juice I get came from a backwoods vine,
And since there is no room for losin’
You know we shall certainly win!

My beat-up Chevy truck rumbles on to Navajo!
It runs well on siphoned gas,
So money is no worry when I take it nice and slow.
I’m out here ridin’ ‘round on Three Whore pass,
I just thought you’d like to know.

If I get bored I might shoot the stoplights out,
These city workers look like they need something
to do!
If I get bored I might throw bottles at the stop signs,
Since I can’t be caught,
Nobody can sue!
I’ll stop doing these things sometime when the sun
Rises and shines.

The other week me and two friends climbed the
water tower,
Then dove in for a swim!
When that huge propeller commenced to turnin’
‘neath us in the water
I thought our lives might end.
We all may have been dirty and sweaty but we
never peed much,
If knowing this ‘ll make you smile again.

A few days later we brought three ladies with us,
So we all took our clothes off and dove right in!
We all played around and made a lot of fuss,
Yet few will ever believe us, should we tell where
we’d been!
All of us had a fine workout,
Then celebrated on top of that tower with several
rounds of
Bourbon and gin.

We took polaroids to memorialize the occasion.
Boys,
It was a real wild one!
We all stood nude in our best rock-’n-roll pose,
The moment was so much fun!
All we had on were sunglasses and straw hats,
But we sure had some lifetime memories
When our day was done.

Last weekend a whole crowd tried to imitate us,
But the police caught ‘em all in the act;
Since in their attempted negotiations the squad
simply
Never could agree.
Yeah
A whole crowd went swimming naked in that new
water tower,
But they got caught red=handed like possum in a
tree!
The county charged ‘em seven thousand dollars
apiece,
So I doubt they’d be so eager about doing it
If they could only have that moment back.

When we heard about it,
We all laughed until we could hardly see!
At least it was them who were caught,
But it was us who made local history.

They really deserved what they got after we gave
The matter some thought,
If you may understand me.
 
 
 


Way up on a high beam the job is ending.
Angel asked what now was I going to do.
“Make a new beginning,”

I said,
“living a freeborn lifestyle I once knew.”

I’m gonna be a beach bum,

drifting from couch to couch.

Living life playing volley ball out in the sun;
rum?
Hell man, I’ll ne’er be without!

Small driftwood fires behind big sand dunes,

sleeping soundly underneath a lonesome cottage
porch,
living from day to day in the month of June,

fire lighting as we spear fish by a driftwood torch.

Digging holes when the waves surge in for sea food
traps,

leaving five or more mullet or blue crab when the
waves go back out; man,
t
his style of living is where true life is at,

on a palm-shaded beach is where I wanna be

without a doubt!

Playing volleyball all day long in the wind, having
fun,
surfing on the next huge outgoing wave,

feeling cheerful beyond belief when one’s day is
finally done,
Lord, man, don’t hold me back, I can’t wait!

Being adopted by a tribe of older ladies,
running from bar to bar all night long,

one of them pining to be my steady baby,
in this lifestyle I could never go wrong!

Working day labor from time to time,
otherwise living on the unemployment dole,
spending it all on huge cases of beer and wine;
Hoss,

this way of life never gets old!

Making traps from castaway hardware cloth,

catching flounder and red drum in a nearby salt
marsh,

cooking them up inside a dumpster-found boiling
pot,

savoring salmagundi soup made from seaweed,
sand shark, and turtle parts.

Spending rainy days listening to a reggae band

inside open-air dive bars,

sleeping underneath some abandoned cottage
porch,
hanging out in libraries, if not in a mariner’s
museum yard,
or underneath a bamboo she-bang by a tiki torch!

A beach bum is what I wanna be,
living a life that’s wild and free!
A beach bum!

A beach bum!
What a perfect adventure for me,

finally fading away into a misty sunset,
holding a chalice of fresh coconut juice & rum
by the surging sea! 
 
 
 
 

I dream of finding treasure in a cave,

An iron box filled to overflowing with golden coin,
Gem-laden necklaces, and glittering chalice.

One day.

If one can reap when he does the sowing,

I never want to make a downward switch,

I wanna be rich!

I want a room filled with gold I can wallow in like
a hog,
Diving into,

Tossing handfuls up, allowing them to drop,

Like it's such a sin to do.
I am telling all of you, I have a great big itch,
Hell man, I wanna be rich!

I despise being average.

I hate being poor!

I deserve splendid leverage,
Since those are the ones

All the good people really adore!
 
I don’t want any duty to society,

Or to the pagan’s rudimentary environment,
Don’t need no belaboring community call.
All I want is a gold-laden notoriety,

Where I swing a rock-hard 24

And stand damn near twelve feet tall!

I wanna be rich!,
Filthy,

Raggedy,

Slobber-mouthed,

Walking around with a squeaking, Golden-
threaded stitch.
Damn,

All you dirty rotten dogs,
I wanna be rich!

I wanna be able to freely attend every hedonistic
call.
When I walk down Main Street,

All the women lay lusting weeping eyes on me,

And before my elegant strut
They fall!

Every man crawls up to me who I chance to meet,
Swearing I am the greatest thing he

Or anyone ever saw!

I tell them to get it, boys, even if you have to cheat!
All ambitious people really must concern them-
selves
With what is the law.

Those who don’t have it
Ain’t got no secular hitch.
Hell man, I wanna be rich!

When time arrives where I finally die,

For many miles around they’ll all come.
Every lady present will hang her head and cry,
Speaking of all the good I’ve done.

There’ll not be any type of soul taint,

Oh Lord,

The elaborate pictures they’ll surely paint!

Preachers shall stand before a vast murmuring
crowd,
Declaring me a true-born saint,

Saying look at all of the magnificent things he’s
done,
Regardless of the grandeur glittering in my de-
bauched fun,
or the grandiose degree of my soul’s dark taint.

I’ll write here as I stand and yell it all again

So damn loud,

Out of everything underneath the noonday sun,

If the spirits can hear me when my declaration is
spoken,
With my vow to myself never to be broken,
And I could make only a single wish;
Son,

I don’t mean to bitch,

But hell man,
I wanna be rich! 
 
 
 
 

Once I was heading down the old dirt road,
Walking in company with a small motley crowd.
Several told me they were gonna find the golden
load,
Going far out of their way to speak this out loud.

The road meandered and twisted,
While we plodded along in our way;
And I only laughed and listened,
Speaking about the green grass and the sunshine
Without much else to say.

These three who said they would find the gold
Scoffed at those of us who spoke about something
else,
Since we still retained our imaginations and our
souls,
possessing alternative visions of wealth.

We all ambled along far and wide,
Through thick woods,
And storms,
And clouds of bugs;
Yet onward in our forward direction
We did abide.

Up ahead the road divided into five directions,
And each one of us chose our own individual
course,
With every person moving along possessed by
our own vexations,
Silently hoping somehow our dreams would be
endorsed.

My path carried me far and wide,
Through the woods,
Down the stream,
Into the river,
Finally across the seven seas,
Where I had adventures in exotic lands.
In my own bizarre experiences I thrived.

Two of the others married gold,
They live in the same hometown,
Employed by the local burmeister
So I am told;
I assume they were content with what they found.

One of the other two became a musician,
Booking gigs with his own traveling band;
While the other somehow became a physician,
Living by a sharp eye and a purloining hand,
Convinced he has been shorted by his life situation.

I’m writing books
And poems,
And stories,
Living day-to-day by my wits and agility;
Exploring mysterious nooks
And pondering my own white water history.
I feel as though down this life road I’ve somehow
been hurled
As I board the next ship set to cruise around the
world.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

This whole world is wild at heart and weird on top.

—David Lynch

____________________

—Medusa, welcoming H.L. Dowless 
back to the Kitchen with his intriguing poetry. See more of H.L.’s work at https://www.booksie.com/users/h.l.-dowless-196043/.
 
 
 

 
















 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Don’t forget
to check each day’s happenings for
Sacramento Poetry Week on
 https://www.sacramentopoetryweek.com/.
Today is the grand gala—
if you can get tickets.
For info about this 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.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

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!