Mama Roosa's

Way down yonder in the south of Mississippi,
At the bottom of the Natchez Trace,
There’s a bar and grill where they push boot swill,
And they call it Mama Roosa’s Place.

The starlet of the bar is Sugar Baby Baker,
She’s the sweetest little singer you could choose,
Her specialties are scat-cat and rap-slap and rhythm,
With a side bar rendition of the blues.

She has the Hunker Down Band backing up the singing,
There’s Eighty-Eight Simmons on the keys,
And Rollie Kilpatrick who’s a musical magician,
With his big bass fiddle ‘tween his knees.

Little Sticks Maloney beats the skins like a demon,
Jimmy Jolly plays the plumbing with the slide,
And Slappy Pouquette licks the sweetest cornet,
‘Cause he’s getting some of Sugar on the side.

The crowds always grow when the lights go low,
Leaving Sugar Baby standing in the spot,
The Band starts lowly with soft sweet numbers,
Then they slowly move along to something hot.

As the rhythm gets quicker Mama Roosa pushes liquor,
To the characters who come to hear the sounds,
As their thirst expands to the greatest of the bands,
While the beat of Rollie’s giant fiddle pounds.

When the last call is over and the crowd hits the road,
When the night starts to sounding soft and still,
Then Sugar and the boys split, taking their noise,
Leaving Mama Roosa counting up the till.

But the ghost of jazz and the spirit of the blues,
And the specter of the soul is hanging low,
The rhythm of the bass seems to echo through the Place,
‘Til Mama is the final one to go.

Then the Place gets quiet through the rest of the night,
And it’s silent through the best of the day,
But when the sun goes down all the people gather round,
To hear the Hunker Downs and Sugar Baby play.

Bomba Djin

You may talk o’ gin and bitters,
While the natives bear the litters,
Through the dry and dusty streets of old Bombay,
You may coldly plan the slaughter,
Of the bloke who serves you water,
Or a sissy drink, like crème de menthe frappe,
Now in Inja’s sunny weather,
It was fun to get together,
To hoist a few and contemplate our sin,
And the tales of elbow benders,
Often dwell on great bartenders,
But the greatest of them all was Bomba Djin.

You had never long to linger,
As he mixed the perfect stinger,
He was quick to pour, and quicker yet to stir,
And it seemed to us ironic,
As we guzzled down his tonic,
That he’s the one that always called us “Sir”,
That grizzled native blighter,
With an ever-ready lighter,
To give a flame to anyone’s cigar,
He was slovenly and lowly,
But by everything that’s holy,
He was lord and regal master of the bar.
It was “Djin! Djin! Djin!
You limpin’ lump of sawdust, Bomba Djin,
Mix martinis dryer,
So to get us fellows higher,
You soggy bottle tosser, Bomba Djin.

I shan’t forget the morn,
As we heard the bugler’s horn,
And I thought perhaps that I was doomed to die,
I crawled from ‘neath the table,
And as best as I was able,
I viewed the barroom through a jaundiced eye,
But all that I could see,
Were the signs of revelry,
Of us poor ol’ sods with ne’er a chance to win,
And a’smilin’ through it all,
As he swabbed the Johnny hall,
Was the cause of all our mis’ry, Bomba Djin.
It was Djin! Djin! Djin!
You sweepin’ son o’ Satan, Bomba Djin,
You treated us uncouth,
When you used too much vermouth,
You served us wet martinis, Bomba Djin.

Right then! We strung him up,
‘Fore we had our mornin’ sup,
And we left his carcass rottin’ in the sun,
It seemed the thing to do,
But since then, I tell you true,
Our happy hours haven’t been much fun,
Us misbegotten boozers,
Are a pack of bloody losers,
A new man, name of Khayaam tends the bar,
The drinks are watered down,
By that simple-minded clown,
And it costs too much, forgettin’ who we are.
For it’s Djin! Djin! Djin!
You colossal docile fossil Bomba Djin,
Though you never did deserve us,
You never underserved us,
You’re a better man than Khayaam, Bomba Djin.



With apologies to Mr. Kipling

Doghouse

The doghouse is my residence,
It’s where I spend my time,
It is the place a fellow goes,
When he commits a crime.

I try to do the proper thing,
But sometimes I forget,
It seems I crossed the line the night,
She got her bottom wet.

They say Hell hath no fury,
Like a woman whose been crossed,
And I agree, ‘cause since that night,
My loving life is lost.

I hope I’ve learned my lesson,
I hope I’ll change that frown,
From this day forth that toilet seat,
Will always be left down.

But there remains a puzzle,
I know I’ll never know,
Just why can’t ladies take a peek,
Before they stop and go?

Getting Organized

I made a list of books to read,
I made a list of things I need,
I made a list of chores to do,
I think lists are great, don’t you?

Lists are very useful things,
For who knows what the future brings,
And if intentions are declared,
Then I will always be prepared.

I can plan the days ahead,
I’ll be well clad, I’ll be well fed,
I’ll work and play in harmony,
A master of efficiency.

But there’s a problem, there’s a cost,
What if all my lists are lost?
Confused and hapless I will be,
So I’ll just sit and watch TV.

A New Angel

It rained the day my mother died,
With all her children gathered ‘round,
It seemed that all of heaven cried,
With teardrops puddled on the ground,
But later on the sun came through,
And beamed upon our reveries,
Thus, all our lives began anew,
So grateful for our memories,
It was no time for grief or shrouds,
The angels love a gentle soul,
I know she’s up above the clouds,
Throughout her life she paid the toll,

I see her standing by the Gates,
And smiling down, as one who waits.

Pebbles

In the spring of life I had a plan,
I wished the world to cheer,
I wanted future folks to know,
That I had once been here.

I dreamed of great accomplishments,
Of glories in the field,
I’d outdo all my rivals and,
I simply would not yield.

Today I’m in my autumn years,
And I’ve achieved no fame,
No statue has my visage, nor
A plaque that bears my name.

But through the years my views have changed,
I’ve found a better way,
That simple kindness to someone,
Can build a better day.

The average person has his woes,
And own internal strife,
A kindness will improve his day,
And a day can change a life.

Like a pebble dropped into a pond,
And you watch the ripples flow,
So kindnesses repeat themselves,
And cause good will to grow.

I find great satisfaction now,
In recognizing worth,
And helping other folks to see,
Their value here on earth.

When winter comes, and I am gone,
I hope I’ve sown the seed,
I wish them to remember,
Not the doer, but the deed

Him or Her

God, according to the Bible,
Is considered “Him” or “He,”
He is masculine in nature,
Never called a “Her” or “She.”

This is true throughout the scriptures,
Both the Testaments agree,
Lord’s Prayer doesn’t say “Our Mother,”
Therefore God must be a “He.”

But modern Women’s Liberation,
Want’s to change collective minds,
They say God must be a woman,
They have reasons of all kinds.

They say God is full of nurture,
Treats us all with loving care,
That is feminine in nature,
I can see some logic there.

But I believe that God’s no woman,
I’ll explain why this is true,
He’ll forgive us for our failings,
Something women never do.

What Happened???

We’re gathered here after fifty years, there’s been a lot of laughs, been a few tears,
As we near the time out where the sidewalk ends,
All of us are moving slower, parts of us are hanging lower,
But we love the time with our oldest dearest friends.

In fifty years a lot has changed, our bodies now are rearranged,
And everything seems slightly out of place,
We suffer from our aches and pains, we have our stresses and our strains,
And we have to buy our Ben Gay by the case.

Our body changes don’t seem fair, our hair is gray or isn’t there,
We spend our leisure cursing at our fate,
When we arise each early morn we sound like we are popping corn,
And when did we collect this extra weight?

In youth we had a single fashion, our lives revolved around our passion,
The opposite sex was a lovely thing to see,
We still can have romantic thrills, but now we need those little blue pills,
Our love lives now depend on the pharmacy.

Aging brings out one sad fact, we’re obsessed with our digestive tract,
And we take care of it as the best we can,
We’re finding now as we grow old, working bowels are worth pure gold,
So we breakfast on our prunes and Raisin Bran.

So now we spend our evening here with old school spirit and good cheer,
We have so many memories to share,
There’s changes on the outer side but not much on the inner side,
Those teenage kids are still down deep in there.


This was written for my fiftieth high school class reunion held in my home town Moab, Utah. It was a magical weekend full of laughs and puzzzling recognitions.

Abeline

We just rode in to old Abeline town,
Drove a herd up the Chisholm Trail,
Got ‘em calmed down in the cattle pens,
And ready for the east-bound rail.

Me and the boys were struttin’ real tall,
Each one of us a man of means,
We’d got our pay for the long, long drive,
There was jingling in our jeans.

We were all feelin’ pretty randy and rowdy,
Every one of us about to go bust,
We headed on over to the Trail End Saloon,
For some liquid that would cut the dust.

We’d just got settled with our bellies to the bar,
When in walked a giant to be feared,
You just had the feelin’ when you gazed in his eyes,
That his heart was just as black as his beard.

He glared at the room with fire in his eyes,
As he spoke, the room cowered with fright,
“I’m Bushrod Brimstone, King of the World,
And boys, I’m here spoilin’ for a fight.

Better look out fellas, better step aside,
I’m feelin’ pretty ornery today,
And if any man wants to see the sun go down,
Then you oughta get outa my way.

I’m a hard freebooter and a dead straight shooter,
I don’t cotton to the weak and the meek,
Why the further up the river, the meaner they come,
And I am from the head of the creek.

I’m part alligator, part snappin’ turtle,
Part buffalo and grizzly bear,
I’m quicker than a chicken on a big June bug,
And I’ll knock a fellow way beyond repair.
Any man who’s thinkin’ he’s as hard as a nail,
I’m the hammer that’ll give the nail a pound,
If I’m feelin’ sorta soft and sweet when I’m done,
I’ll leave him broken up, not in the ground.”

Well, not a man there had the courage to object,
And not a man would look him in the eyes,
We all backed off and let him have his space,
We knew no one could whip a man that size.

Then he sto mped to the bar and grabbed up a jug,
And he polished off the bottle with a glug,
Then he picked up a barrel and drank the beer down,
He didn’t want to bother with a mug.

He said, “Wall now boys, would you look at the time,
I guess I better get along my way,
There’s a rule that I follow, if I’m ever later for supper,
Then it’s hell is what I’m gonna have to pay.

I got me a woman, she’s a purty little thing,
But she treats me awful rotten, like a slave,
And if ever I’m a couple minutes late for a meal,
Then tomorrow there will be another grave.”

He barged through the door and mounted his horse,
And he stormed his way through the streets of town,
The saloon was silent, we were shocked to the core,
It didn’t seem a proper time for sound.

By dawn next morning we were headed back south,
To the safety of our home in San Antone,
We huddled as a group for security’s sake,
‘Cause none of us would dare to be alone.

We made fast tracks as we headed on our way,
For we knew survival chances would be slim,
If we ever crossed paths with the Brimstone woman,
Who was tough as hell, and meaner than him.

A Sonnet on My Baldness

In youth I had a mass of hair,
Every strand was in its place,
Then gradually it wasn’t there,
And every day I had more face,
Such a loss is filled with grief,
Now my head reflects a shine,
As I stare in disbelief,
This gleaming skull cannot be mine,
Stranger, as you pass me by,
Please don’t give a taunting jeer,
My hair has never said goodbye,
It’s in my nose and in my ear,

When pondering my pristine dome,
I long for use of brush and comb.


John Milton wrote a Sonnet on His Blindness. I thought I’d write one on my affliction.

Body Beautiful

Those health nuts are a bunch of dweebs,
And doctors too, I’ll bet,
They seem to think a fellow’s worth,
Depends upon his sweat.

They claim that I need exercise,
That I’m no work, all play,
But they discount those efforts which,
I work at every day.

Exercising caution,
Throwing in the towel,
Jumping to conclusions,
Running off at the mouth,
Wrestling with my conscience,
Jogging my memory,
Flipping through the channels,
Going for seconds,
Pulling your leg,
Skipping the salad bar,
Pushing seventy,
Racing to the john,
Pumping irony.

I now have reached the perfect shape,
I have achieved my goal,
My body is my temple now,
My sense of worth is whole.

I will not change my regimen,
Not even if they beg,
Some folks want those six-pack abs,
I’m better, I’m a keg.

Bessie

From the foot of Lookout Mountain,
On the banks of the Tennessee,
Came a girl from deep depression,
With a spirit wild and free,
She crawled up from the gutter,
She performed in streets and bars,
From the time she was a little babe,
She was lookin’ up at the stars.

Bessie, Bessie, reachin’ for the golden ring,
Bessie, Oh Bessie, Lordy that girl could sing.

She learned from Old Ma Rainey,
How to polish up a song,
How to put her soul into the words,
How to bring the crowd along,
She sang of love forever gone,
Of poverty, loss, and booze,
She sang of lonely darkened roads,
She was the Empress of the Blues.

Bessie, Bessie, reachin’ for the golden ring,
Bessie, Oh Bessie, Lordy that girl could sing.

And then Fate brought out a hammer,
And put out Bessie’s flame,
And since that day on that highway,
The world ain’t been the same,
It seems no one has filled her shoes,
No one has had the fire,
Now she has found the Promised Land,
And she’s singin’ up in that choir.

Bessie, Bessie, reachin’ for the golden ring,
Bessie, Oh Bessie, Lordy that girl could sing.

America

What does America mean to me?
The land of the brave, the home of the free,
The gallant banner, red, white, blue,
What does America mean to you?

The Admiral of the Ocean Sea,
Finding a land where China should be,
Kitty Hawk, where man took flight,
Paul Revere, riding in the night,
The famous shot heard ‘round the world,
Ft. McHenry with the flag unfurled,
The Louisiana Purchase and Fulton’s Folly,
Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly,
The Mayflower Compact and Plymouth Rock,
Daniel Boone and his old flintlock,
The Constitution and the Bill of Rights,
The Golden Gate and Broadway’s lights,
The soaring eagle, our national bird,
Jackie Robinson sliding into third,
Thomas Edison and Henry Ford,
Billy Graham, praising the Lord,
Guadalcanal and Bunker Hill,
Johnny Appleseed and Pecos Bill,
The Pony Express boys bringing the mail,
Herding cattle up the Chisholm Trail,
Dashiel Hammett and Ellery Queen,
Uncle Miltie and Bishop Sheen,
Andrew Jackson and John Calhoun,
Neil and Buzz out walking on the moon,
Thomas Jefferson and the Declaration,
Guiding the way to a brand new nation,
The Oregon Trail and a wagon train,
Remember the Alamo, remember the Maine,
The honored crack in the Liberty Bell,
Tecumseh Sherman saying, “War is Hell,”
“These are the times that try men’s souls,”
The Great Depression and the Great Dust Bowls,
P.T. Barnum and Earth’s Greatest Show,
Bob Hope’s tours for the U.S.O.,
The American Odyssey – “Huckleberry Fin”,
Ellis Island where they let us in,
Valley Forge and that bitter winter,
The Sultan of Swat and the Splendid Splinter,
Gold discovered at Sutter’s Mill,
Belleau Wood and Pork Chop Hill,
Lewis and Clark on a three-year trip,
The Manassa Mauler and the Louisville Lip,
Lincoln at Gettysburg and his Address,
Little Round Top and the Wilderness,
Patrick Henry and Thomas Paine,
Humphrey Bogart and the Duke, John Wayne,
A shootout at the OK Corral,
“Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal,”
A picnic on the Fourth of July,
With fireworks flashing in the sky,
Doctor King, who had a dream,
The banner seen by twilight’s gleam,
Captain’s America and Kangaroo,
The Uncle Sam poster – “I Want You!”
General MacArthur who did return,
Liberty’s torch that will always burn,
The railroads meet with a golden spike,
“Win with Wilkie”, and “I like Ike,”
Manifest Destiny and elbow room,
The Unknown Soldier’s hallowed tomb,
We hold our freedoms despite the cost,
Emily Dickenson and Robert Frost,
D-Day on the sixth of June,
Dancing along to a Gershwin tune,
Prairie homesteads made of sod,
A single nation under God,
The greatest country under the sun,
Remember Pearl Harbor and 9-1-1.

That’s what America means to me,
The home of the brave, the land of the free,
The gallant banner, red, white, blue,
What does America mean to you?

My Dream

Last night I heard God chuckle,
It was in a dream I had,
Our Father up in Heaven,
Was laughing with my Dad.

The two of them were joshing,
With dear and long lost friends,
And then and there I realized,
True friendship never ends.

They were having such a jolly time,
Swapping tall old tales,
But as I stood apart, I felt,
The wind go from my sails.

There they were together,
And there I was alone,
I longed to gather up the gang,
And bring them all back home.

Then the Lord looked down upon me,
And He spoke into my heart,
He said, “Your Dad has never left,
No need to feel apart.

He’s with you every day of life,
He’s there each breath you take,
He’s a major force behind,
Decisions that you make.

He’s watching everything you do,
From his place up above,
He’s watching all his loved ones,
And he’s sharing in their love.

I know you miss your Dear Old Dad,
But you must know My son,
The world’s a sadder place these days,
But Heaven’s much more fun.”

Last night I heard God chuckle,
Best dream I ever had,
I loved to see how close they were,
Our Father and my dad.


I awoke on what would have been my father’s 85th birthday, March 9, 2002, with this poem running through my head.

My Yellow Rose

My Yellow Rose is gone from me,
A victim of the frost,
When winter’s wind has scourged the land,
And everything seems lost,
The world is bleak and featureless,
And life is bare in scope,
My garden is in dormancy,
Without a ray of hope.

I don’t believe in what they say,
That deep down in the earth,
Is a seed of love that holds within,
The promise of rebirth.

Late winter winds keep up the chill,
But the sun peeps through the clouds,
And occasionally, a burst of warmth,
Will thaw away the shrouds,
The garden’s still in silence now,
But in the new sun’s beams
Are rays of hope awakening,
From unremembered dreams.

Perhaps there’s truth in what they say,
That deep down in the earth,
Is a seed of love that holds within,
The promise of rebirth.

The early spring brings verdant hues,
With buds and sprigs of grass,
The snow is all but melted now,
As the pain of loss will pass,
And though I never shall forget,
What my Rose meant to me,
I’ve come in time to realize,
That what will be will be.

I think there’s truth in what they say,
That deep down in the earth,
Is a seed of love that holds within,
The promise of rebirth.

My garden’s filled with beauty now,
The flowers bloom in May,
And though my Yellow Rose is gone,
She left me a bouquet,
I see her vision everywhere,
She’s watching, I suppose,
The glory here reminds me of,
My Blue-Eyed Yellow Rose.

I know now what they say is true,
That deep down in the earth,
Is a seed of love that holds within,
The promise of rebirth.

Virtus junxit, mors non separabat

(Virtue joins, death does not separate)

Tupelo Jail House Blues

I got me a woman mean as can be,
She spends her time raisin’ hell with me,
She gives me lip and I can’t talk back,
All she’s good for is givin’ me flack.

I came home from work feelin’ worn and beat,
Hopin’ for a slab of good red meat,
I shouldn’t a whopped her up side the head,
But she gave me a tofu burger instead.

I always make the wrong choice when I chose,
I got the Sittin’ in the Tupelo Jail House Blues.

My woman was madder than I ever saw,
She picked up the phone and she called in the law,
The sheriff put the cuffs on and said, “Hey Sport,
You and I are headed straight down to court.”

The judge on his bench looked down at me,
Sayin’ “Son, you’re a menace to so-ciety,
I’m givin’ you five long years in jail,
Startin’ right now, no chance of bail.”

I’ve just been nailed and I got the screws,
I got the Sittin’ in the Tupelo Jail House Blues.

They got no red meat in this jail,
Just bread and water and the bread is stale,
They got no wine and they got no beer,
But they don’t serve tofu burgers in here.

Spend my nights behind bars and locks,
Days on the chain-gang breakin’ up rocks,
Missin’ the time when I was free,
And my cell-mate’s taken a liking to me.

It seems like I always get bad news,
I got the Sittin’ in the Tupelo Jail House Blues.

I shouldn’t have given in to all that rage,
All it got me was this cold iron cage,
If ever I get out of jail alive,
My woman’s waitin’ there with a Colt 45.

At night I lay here behind these bars,
Talkin’ to the Lord up there in the stars,
Askin’ why he gave me the life I got,
And the Lord, he answered and said, “Why Not?”

I tried to win but I always lose,
I got the Sittin’ in the Tupelo Jail House Blues.

Moab

I’m living in my memories and dreams of long ago,
Of the land that filled my childhood, and how I loved it so,
The cottonwoods in springtime, the aspens in the fall,
They held me ever thunderstruck, the beauty of it all,
Perfection unexpected in the crimson cactus rose,
That town in Spanish Valley, where the Colorado flows.

The red cliffs in their majesty, the arches made of stone,
They made me see the Purpose, and I felt it to the bone,
At night beneath the cosmos and the vast eternal plan,
Brought me closer to my Maker than cathedrals made by man,
To me that place was heavenly, as heaven only knows,
That town in Spanish Valley, where the Colorado flows.

I’ve seen so many wonders since the day that I left home,
The Grand Canals of Venice and the glory that was Rome,
I’ve seen the Alps at sunset and the castles on the Rhine,
But none of them can quite compare to that sweet home of mine,
The tempo of the canyons where the pace of living slows,
That town in Spanish Valley, where the Colorado flows.

Oh, I’ve been gone for many years, but do not feel apart,
That place is still inside me for there’s blow sand in my heart,
And in my mind I see it still, and all the folks I knew,
It was the land and people there that taught me what is true,
They gave me needed stamina to face life’s highs and lows,
That town in Spanish Valley, where the Colorado flows.

Castle Valley Rocks!

Lullaby for Dreamland

Come now, little children,
Let’s turn out the light,
Lay down on your pillows,
Let’s go nighty-night.

You all must be happy,
And never be cross,
Think of white bunnies,
And pink candy floss.

Ignore all those vampires,
And dragons and gnomes,
They can be found in,
The finest of homes.

Those trolls in the closet,
I think they’re asleep,
And werewolves have other,
Appointments to keep.

Don’t fret on those monsters,
Down under your bed,
Perhaps they’ll eat Mommy,
And Daddy instead.

Those giants and zombies,
And ogres and ghouls,
They all are attending,
Appropriate schools.

So think of bright rainbows,
You must concentrate,
Forget all those bad things,
Before it’s too late.

I’m closing the door now,
To stifle the screams,
So goodnight little darlings,
And have pleasant dreams.

The Distaff Side

Women are a conundrum,
Oh, they’re a mystery,
They really make no sense at all,
To fellows such as me.

One moment they are happy,
The next, they’ve got the blues,
They have the strangest mood swings,
And what’s with all those shoes?

They fret on their appearance,
And raise a lot of fuss,
They worry that their butt looks big,
When they look fine to us.

They have no sense of humor,
At least, like you and me,
They don’t laugh at the Brothers Marx,
Nor at the Stooges Three.

They don’t like Stan and Ollie,
They don’t like Bud and Lou,
They’d rather watch a chick flick,
Does that make sense to you?

They buy the strangest objects,
For reasons no one knows,
Guest towels no one uses,
Throw pillows no one throws.

They hate a messy kitchen,
There’s nothing could be worse,
They know where everything belongs,
Except down in their purse.

Yes, ladies are a strange breed,
A colossal mystery,
But they look and smell and feel good,
And that’s good enough for me.