Love Is Hairy

Love is hairy, stubbly stuff
shave all week, it's never enough

whether I shave it or slather on Nair
whack it or hack it, will always be there

Keeps coming back, as much as you crop it
waxing and chemicals can’t even stop it

try to ignore it, the nubs comes in thick
even my eyebrows, a uni-brow chick

Come Saturday, I don’t really care
let it grow outta my underwear

Let it alone, that unruly mop
looks like I got me a nice bumper crop

This is my way, ain’t gonna change
my love and my hair are looking deranged

Sitting there pondering love and love's looks
flippin’ through Cosmo and metrosex books

Beauty is bare in my favorite rag
Nary a hairy or haggard old nag

Eyebrows are separate and carefully arched
Lips are injected and never seem parched

Legs are butt smooth, and so are are the pits
Love is not given to hairy chick fits

Speaking of nares, mine is exempt
The nose and the ears are extremely well kempt

Sunday mornin’ rolls around but his razor can’t be found...

I call out his name and wait for an answer
his ditty bag’s gone, could it be that dancer?

The one that he watches, the one he admires
could she be the one whose igniting his fires?

I’ve seen her there waiting, the picture of grace
slender and agile, not a hair out of place

I sit on the edge of the tub, shocked and numb
look in the mirror then look at my thumb

I eye up the woman whose not spent a dime
on personal pleasures as though it’s a crime

My overgrown garden could not see the light
missed out on the sweetness of bare skin’s delight

Bought into myth, and every girls hope
she’d still be worth something without any soap

Rummaged around in a drawer, feeling sick
through tears I lay hold of my old Lady Bic

Slipped into the shower convinced he despised me
lathered and cried, none of this has surprised me

He'd seemed a bit distant and preoccupied,
the more I persisted, the less satisfied

I should have considered my Love is not blind
his eyes are like sponges, his vision will find

The best of the beauties, the cream of the crop
as sweet sugar blossoms parade past his shop

I have an epiphany there in the suds
Time's never wasted on pruning the buds

Better to nip 'em if you're feelin manly
can't be mistaken for Charles or Stanley

Lord knows the time I've put in at Curves
not that it matters, the good that it serves

Let him go sister, try rising above
if that's all he's after, it ain't really love

and who really cares if he's after that minx
just between us, we know how she stinks

Making my plans to rip up his picture
wipe out his memory, no longer a fixture

can't say I've needed nor much that I cared
out with the man and the laundry I've aired

When into my steamy retreat disconcerted
the voice of the man I was sure had deserted

I silence my heart, and put down the Bic
ease back the curtain, behold~ my St. Nick!

the hairy faced heathen is battered and worn
face rather prickly, it needs to be shorn.

"What is this?" he demands, as he thrust out his hand~
"Why, a worn out old mach 3, the triple edge brand"

"I just CHANGED this blade and the thing's dull and rusted!!"
"Heck if I know", but I know I’ve been busted.

Step out of the shower bare skin drippin wet
"At this rate I think I’ll buy stock in Gillette."

I hold out my bic and smile at old Bones
"Would you like me to light your cigar, Mr. Jones?"

Leave him to his business which won’t include the shave
Love is stubbly, love is soft and hairy to the grave.

Big Blue Hearts- Lovin' You

The Snowman- Walking in the Air

A Fairytale of New York- The Pogues

The Waltons- The Homecoming Part 1

James Taylor- Frozen Man

I could sing of your love forever

Happy Birthday to Me! ( Marah- Sooner or Later)

Happy Birthday Jesus

when I was a child, heard many a thing
about God in His Heaven and angels who sing
of streets paved of gold, and the one at the gate
whose keeping a record of me on a slate

the things that I do and the things that I say
It scared me to think that I'd sin anyway
and I wanted to know how the God of great love
could measure our worth by the things we think of

not knowing Him then, well I listened to men
who knew less about God than they did their own end
so I prayed to the One, asking right from my heart
tell me true, are you there, have you been from the start?

can you please help me sort through the myth and the magic
the lies of religion, the hopeless and tragic?
can you meet me right here, just where I am
in my darkness and failures, are you really I AM?

and what of the others who labor for nothing
who have not and hunger for turkey and stuffing?
on the streets, in the cold, stumbling drunk in the alleys
red-handed, white lies, and deep blues in dark valleys?

at our weakest, and numb from the heartache of losing
the ones that we love, left behind with a bruising
will I find you in throne rooms in the back of my mind
like some Wizard of Oz that I'm seeking to find?

A whisper, an answer, a thought I just had
was it me, was it You, could it be, that I'm mad?
But wait, there again, as I stifle my pride,
"Open the door and invite me inside".

"Ask Me, I'll tell you, I'll lead you along
NOT ONE WORD WAS WRITTEN, disproven or wrong"

"And as for the poor and the weak and your past
Your sins are forgiven, the first shall be last."

"I've chosen the weak things to confound the wise
I turn it around for the greatest surprise"

The ONE that I love, the dearest of all
the babe in the manger with the horse in the stall
He grew to a man and we know him as Jesus
fulfilled the great plan and wow, how he sees us

He bore all our burdens and gave us the ring,
we are his bride and HE is our King
and the more that I trust him, the more I debate
I need to ask questions regarding our fate

Is God all around us, is heaven for real
does He care for our flesh and the way that we feel?
is one day like a thousand, as thousands are lost
in the floods and the fires and the wars and the frost?

I'll wait for the answers and try to be still
like the child in the manger and the cow on the hill
I will study to find myself well in Your sight
while we sit by the fire and chat through the night

and when Christmas has finally dawned on our days
and we celebrate giving in so many ways
I must keep in mind how you wiped clean the slate
for once and for all you reopened that gate

and I must not forget though I'm often at fault
that you want me to shine, to be light, to be salt
and always remember that You are the reason
I celebrate Christmas, no matter the season.

Happy Birthday Jesus!

Before the Office Christmas Meal

For every miserable office worker at Christmastime. Cheer up!


When you feel taken for granted
thinkin' they just don't care
wanting to move away again,
but again, you don't know where~
burned-out, tired of trying
to be all the bossman wants
to be everything to everyone,
reading in between the fonts~

We who sit beside you
in the office and the stall
who sing along, the same old song,
while you stand and take the fall~
in a cubicle, with mistletoe,
this lonesome caroler hums
it's all benign,
please don't resign
before the yule tide comes

(Chorus)
Want to see you here on Christmas
don't leave us all alone
want to hear you 'woe ho ho' again
so don't slam down the phone~
don't make that snap decision
when the pressure starts to build
just let the steam out somewhere else
and let your heart be filled
with joy

At the meeting, you suggested
wrap the garland and a bow
and all the trimmings, here and there
around whose neck, we know
the one about the lighting
the star atop her head
and now the head of operations,
wants to move you to the shed.

They just don't understand you,
your work is so complex
you didn't sign his Christmas card
but the boss still signs your checks
so don't be rash, just try to hash it out
and make a deal,
and let bygones be gone
before the office Christmas meal.

(Chorus)
Want to see you here on Christmas
please don't leave us all alone
want to hear you 'woe ho ho' again
so don't slam down the phone
and don't make that snap decision
when the pressure starts to build
just let the steam out somewhere else
and let your heart be filled
with joy

the run around and me

He went around
and came around, and went around again~
Then he came around, went back around
and came around again.

"What's with all the run-around?"
I asked my breathless friend
"Guess what goes around, will come around
and right up to the end."

"But what's all this you're chasin, then?"
I asked the weary clown~
"Been chasin' all these wimin,
and they've yet to slow me down."

"Who runs this ride, you run beside,
and can't they cut the speed?"
"I have no clue, but maybe you
can jump this thing, and plead."

"One last run around, dear girl
take a ride and wait for me,
it won't be long, enjoy the song,
I'm a sick sorry son of a b."

I hopped aboard his dream machine
where ladies rode the poles
and pushed passed blown out bimbos
to the room which housed controls.

I peeked inside the window there
and much to my surprise
no one was manning anything
on this carousel of lies.

A sea of lovely lonelies
ride 'The Future' from the past
around again a few more times
our lives are fading fast.

Suddenly he's on the ground
and draggin' on his knees
with sweat upon his forehead,
I said, "Jackass, LET GO, please."

"One last run around, dear girl,
don't you worry none 'bout me
appreciate your deep concern
I'm a sick sorry son of a b".

Well, it took some major doing
to release his grip of fear
and then I jumped, and bruised and bumped
was finally in the clear.

"we've cashed in all our chips today,
but we'll be back, you see-
you push to run the Future
and I'm a freakin' fool for thee.

We hobbled from the Carn-evil,
my weary friend and me
what goes around will come around
dear God please set us free.

No Returns

He bought them from his cousin
they were shiny black and new
the man was doing business
and at a fair price too.

Well they looked like patent leather
reflecting back, he smiles
he wore them out to church
and had put on several miles.

One day the skies grew darker
and the rain began to splatter
the drops absorbed into the shoes
well not a sight was sadder

For the shoes were made of paper
and his cousin bought the stock
from a man who made his livin'
shoeing feet that used to walk.

The business had been slowing
at God's Shoe store for the Saints
though reports were never glowing
he rarely got complaints.

I am told my father's cousin
owned a bar on Irving Street
and fitted many customers
while they still had living feet.

Many of the regulars
brought back their soggy shoes
I am sorry but there's no returns
can I pour you up some booze?

Take The Shame!

My sister sent some money 'cause things had gone to hell
She said, "You don't belong there Honey, a trip home will do you well."

On a three day smelly bus ride away from what had been obscene
turned my nose to New York City where the air was fresh and clean.

Pulled into Central Station, a different kind of highland
was met by my dear sister, a castaway on Gov'nors Isand.

Being broke was half the trouble,and we played it like a game
but the nasty shoe debacle, well it made me take the shame.

I didn't know quite what to do, but I knew I had a job,
a suit of hounds-tooth off 'The Give', and my hair cut in a bob.

The suit was fitting perfectly, for shoes we found some flats
pink with silver circled cut-outs, kind of clownish without spats.

Well I stood there in a laugh-cry, 'cause my job was in the city
I gotta make these babies black or be lookin' 'Hello Kitty'.

So she gets that strange expression, perhaps as from the Lord
In an empty apartment down the hall was some paint for the old baseboard.

We laughed the night we dipped the shoes,laughed until we cried
And early the next morning, it seemed the paint had dried.

You could see that they were shiny and ready for the weather
and from an eyeball's distance they could pass for patent leather.

I was ever careful as I slipped my stockinged toes
into brand new 'hello baseboard' shoes and no-frills tailored clothes.

Mincing along, but gingerly I hopped aboard the ferry
missed the bus to Beekman, in the dark, the walk was scary.

Made it the building not a minute did I lose
I tidied up my hair and then I glanced down at my shoes...

Blasted bloody got 'em muddy, bits of paper grass and sand
I heard my toes scream out, "Hey, buddy, for shoes, tar paint is banned!"

Quickly then I kicked 'em off and tried to wipe 'em clean
but every little thing unstuck took off the tacky sheen.

I did my best to conceal a sob but had to pay my dues
as more than one allergic snob caught sight of battered shoes.

I tried to blacken out the pink, with a big old magic marker
but folks complained about the 'stink', and not a day was darker.

At 5 PM, back on the street, with nowhere else to roam
my misery was made replete, as I tracked some more dirt home.



Anonymous said...
I remember the night well, first a trip to the 'GIVE' - a community table in the common laundry room , where rejected stuff gets a second chance... it was a cold and dark fall night in NYC. Now back upstairs with our find- a pair of pink flats and a hounds tooth suit- bright idea #1- Paint the shoes black. I remember the empty apt. just down the hall. The pungent paint odors still wafting. The workmen were there earlier that day scraping up the old lamimate tiles in the small apt. That apt faced east, overlooking the Verezano Bridge. I remember seeing it sparkling like a diamond necklace as I cracked a window to abate the fumes. "It's around somewhere", I thought to my self, "Keep looking". The men were using this tarry black substance to paint old rubber base board or glue tile down. It would work nicely to cover over the pink & silver 1980's shoes. I was never the brightest crayon in the box, but that paint could save my sister the embarrasment of not having proper shoes to wear on her first day on the job. Mom always said, " Necessity is the mother of invention". I had only one choice. Get that black tarpaint and a brush. It wouldnt take much. The door was left open. I snuck in and grabbed what was left. Yes, we dipped the shoes, laid them on the heater on an opened brown bag, praying they would dry over night. So they didnt. Hence the shame. We did laugh till we cried, and I'm sure I peed my pants! I cried when I saw you walk through the door that next evening- everything that the streets of lower Manhattan could afford stuck tightly to those things... you name it it was on there. What you do for love! Sorry sis, we tried. Thanks! Your poem is so funny! I laugh my head off remembering. Love you.

Sweet Mysteries

At the end of the day
it could go either way
much like at the end
of this song~
Well I write for a while
then I sink to a smile
when I think how you
draw me along.

Well we came with a story
a beautiful song, unheard verses
locked deep in our soul~
and the way to discover
what's locked in this lover
find the key that will fit
the keyhole.

Sometimes we're inspired
other times we're just tired
and it's sad when we don't
realize~
it's because of ourselves
talent sits on the shelves
in the darkness for the rest
of our lives.

It was trouble and strife
anger cuts like a knife
and it tore at the door
of my mind, and my pride
it was then your sweet voice
through the keyhole rejoiced
and released the deadbolt
from inside.

So how I can tell you
just what's on my mind
I am corny and weird and unkind,
sometimes...
but I say what I feel
'cause I know what is real
and sure beats what I
left behind.

Thought the answer was
finding
the right key
the thing that would then
make you whole
but the Master
unlocking
life's sweet mysteries~
is the love sown
in each other's
soul.

Porch Swing Rhythm

Minding our own
makin' it rhyme
it's all coming out
theres dust in the drought
but the rain comes in time~

nothing held back
I've got nothing to say
let it roll off my shoulders
puts less your mind
and it's better that way~

And isn't it nice
you like hot tea 'on ice'
thank you, yes
I can follow
directions,
so please,
don't think twice~

And isn't it great
we can stay out real late
watching millions of
sparkling stars,
while your're lickin' that plate~

I said nothing at all
it's that horse in the stall
my foot fell asleep
but I'm not gonna weep
I can drag it or crawl~

Now the wind's in the trees
and your hand's on my knees
and the warmth of your breath on my neck
puts my tired mind at ease~

Distracted, it's true
idle chatter won't do
Better nothing to say
put the music on play
and be quiet with you.