One Crumbly Day: A Poem by Solomon Seasaw

One Crumbly Day

Robert Lewis Stevenson said that he never felt well enough to write one day in his life, but if he did not get out of bed, nothing would have been accomplished. Links to RLS at Amazon.com

Robert Lewis Stevenson said that he never felt well enough to write one day in his life, but if he did not get out of bed, nothing would have been accomplished. Links to RLS at Amazon.com


by
John Taylor Jones

I woke up
From my crumbly bed,
Stepped down and fell
Upon my head.

I scrubbed the teeth
In my crumbly mouth,
A tooth fell out—
That thankless louse.

A flame broke out
While I was frying bacon.
When my crumbly house burned down,
I became a vagrant.

The street cleaners came
To wash down the street.
I was soaked to my crumbly skin—
Which was not neat.

I was knocked into the gutter
By the water’s great power.
The police dragged me out with no little prudence.
I was tossed in the crumbly jail as a public nuisance.

The crumbly judge had no
Faith in me.
He sent me off
To the Penitentiary.

I spent twenty years
In that crumbly hole.
When I got out,
I became a mole.

That is what I am now,
A crumbly mole,
Afraid of his shadow
And no place to go.

The world is not kind
To this crumbly waif.
It’s because things didn’t go my way
On that one crumbly day.

The End

Denali: Painting by author.

Denali: Painting by author.

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Bacon: A Poem

Baconbacon
by
John T Jones, PhD
May 18, 2015

Bacon is everywhere
You go,
If you’re a hog,
Don’t be slow!

Bacon createsGrunt
Heart problem fears.
We have bacon coming
out of our ears.

I talked to a hog,hog
Just the other day.
He said, if I had wings,
I would fly away.

Yes, he would rather fly
Than fry.
I can certainly see
The reason why.

The End

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Death Is Highly Overrated

36x camera july 2013 108Death Is Highly Overrated

tjb logoby
John Taylor Jones

Death is highly overrated.
I’ll tell you that right now.
Especially now in the wintertime
With ice and snow and all.

I know this is not poetic stuff.
I know it’s much too blunt.
No true poet would do it,
Perform such a silly stunt.

When I pass the cemetery
Down the road from here,
I put my ear against the frozen earth
And rattling bones I hear.

I heard a voice just yesterday,
“What happened to the sun?
Buried in this frozen earth
Is certainly is not much fun.”

Another voice said something else,
Something I didn’t want to hear.
“Freezing my arse is one bad thing,
But the skin worm died in my ears.”

I had enough of those voices,
Squealing from the grave.
Rattling, rattling those freezing bones,
Why can’t the dead behave?

When old Bill Jinks called up to me,
“John, send down a kerosene heater!
But if you have a whiskey flask
That would be even neater.”

So I poured whiskey on his grave,
That cold spot in the earth.
I listen carefully for a while.
I’m sure I heard him burp.

I climbed back into my old truck,truck
My heart was filled with fear.
I turned the key, stepped on the gas.
“I’m getting out of here!”

The End

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On a Freezing Winter Morning

Robert Lewis Stevenson

Robert Lewis Stevenson

On a Freezing Winter Morning
by
John Taylor Jones
December 31, 2014

This freezing winter morning
I wanted not to get out of bed.
There was no reason to do any work this day,
That was only in my head.

After all, I have not worked at all
For over 20 years.
Not true work, not needed work
To chase away my my fears
Of Demon Debt snatching me
And putting me in arrears.

No, there was no needed work
To be done.
I could surely wait
For a friendlier Mr. Sun.

Then I thought,
What kind of example would that be
If I simply stayed in my stead?
Wouldn’t that break
Ben Franklin rule
To wake up and get out of bed?

Robert Louis Stevenson said,
Not a day went by
That he felt well enough to work,
But he chose to work every day
And not be a shirking jerk.

I keep his picture on the wall
To remind me of his will.
He wrote away on stories great
That thrill our children still.

Where would Jim Hawkins be
Without a treasure to find?
No, “Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest-
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!”
No dangerous pirates
To worry about,
No Billy Bones,
No Ben Gunn.

Was I really going to lay in bed
And waste away my day?
Was I not going to write
One single word,
No poem, story or play?

I said, Why should I work
On such a terrible day?
Then I got a swift kick
In the rear.
My wife sent me swiftly
On my way.

The End

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Writing Tip of the Week November 20, 2014: Humor

tjb logoHumor finds a place in poetry, article writing and in novels. You can pour it on like gravy over potatoes at Thanksgiving or you can sprinkle it on like salt or pepper or cayenne pepper.

Humor always has a place. The it was not used by Abraham Lincoln in the Gettysburg address because that was a somber occasion. But he sprinkle them here and there in his speeches and then his writings.

Mark Twain was known as a humorous. But there is a seriousness in some of his writing too. It’s just knowing when and where to use it.

Comedians and their riders have an objective. That is to make people laugh. It’s up to the comedian to interpret the writing and to act the part.

Many of us will miss Letterman when he leaves the networks because, like Red Skelton, he is a clown.

Red Skelton always performed in exactly the same way night after night when he worked the Las Vegas clubs. He said that if you change things you may not get a laugh the second time. He was very strict on that point with his supporting actors.

detectiveWe don’t always know the funny from the unfunny. That is why comedians go to small clubs to test their writings. Jay Leno has done this for many years. One Peculiarity of Leno is that he laughs at his own jokes. Sometimes that causes his audience to laugh with him.

A priest, a rabbi and the judge walked into a bar. The bartender said,”What is this, a joke?”

Well, I had to get some humor in here somewhere.

John

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