Whistler’s Son

Dave and Dad SLO

Dad would always whistle when working
with his hands.
Lost in the 40’s somewhere,
Less than a dozen notes,
His favorite little symphonette.

I never asked about the name of the song.
I was a kid then,
And a kid didn’t ask his dad anything.

——
July 7, 2019

 

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Dragon Breath

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The pain is expected.
It has its routine,
like an ancient, circuit-flying dragon
that skims the forest’s brow
looking for familiar victims
to incinerate
with blazing breath.

Listen to the wings –
pushing dark skies,
cutting primal paths,
savoring the quest.

Brace for the flames –
flashing bright daggers,
burning their prey,
ministering death.

Embrace the shield –
covering wholly,
protecting perfectly,
deflecting the test.

June 2, 2019

Limousine

Old Schoolkids

Our little church bought a limousine
And ferried southside kids to Burger King
For breakfast before heading up the hill.
We’d sing a song or two or three and spill
Some orange juice on ourselves and cry, then laugh
When seeing sparrows on the flannel graph.

I thought it strange that our chauffeur could give
Us all a lesson on how to die and live
While speeding through the morning countryside –
We used to call it God’s Miracle Ride.

The Baying Burble Tree

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In the silence of September
Where the gleaming grundles grow,
Beneath the Baying Burble tree
Across the hedging row,

There lives a codgered gentleman
Among the Crazy Cricks,
A man of mirth and melody
Who peddles Burble sticks.

His voice is heard above the heath
And down below the holler,
Singing, “Buy my Baying Burble sticks
For a dillar and a dollar!”

Well now, all the Cricks and Creaks and Croaks
That lived around the land
Felt that buying silly Burble sticks
Was more than they could stand.

And so they got them axes, gropes and graws,
Then vowed a villain’s vow:
“Tomorrow noon where Burble stands,
The plog will pull the plow.”

That night the old and codgered gentleman
Could hear their cruel cries
As Cricks and Croaks flew round their fires
That flamed the forest skies.

What will he do whose only joy
And job will turn to dust?
What could he do that could be done
Before the Burble busts?

Then as the morning billows blushed
Above the Tootle trees,
And yellow Yikes and Yolo Balls
Were swaying in the breeze,

The strangest sight that you could see
Was seen up in the sky —
A giant Baying Burble tree
And passenger sailed by.

There sitting on a lumpy limb
And holding on for life,
The dear old codgered gentleman
Notched a message with his knife.

And this is what the writing read
Although the tree grew smaller:
“Come ride the Flying Burble tree
For a dillar and a dollar!”

The moral of the story is
A short and simple saying:
“Enterprise works miracles,
But not without much praying!”

9/15/1983