None of Your Goddamn Business

You started out friendly enough

But then your questions got too personal.

If I'd only known at the time

what you really meant

when you asked if I'd had his baby.

None of your goddamn business.

You wanted me to hug him.

I choose who to hug when.

None of your goddamn business.

Rub up against him while hugging?

No!

Even if I'd want that

He has the right to choose sexual contact or not.

Not mine to impose on him.

Mutual choice.

And none of your goddamn business.

You grabbed my wrist

Tried to pull me to him.

No!

Let go!

I'm not here to fulfill

your vicarious sexual fantasy.

My choice,

His choice.

Not yours.

None of your goddamn business.

Poem for Bob Walkenhorst, 2016 updated version

In the year 2002 I went and took a wee short trip Up I-29, to the town of St. Joseph. I discovered there a band that I thought was really good. They called themselves the Elders and buy their CDs I would. The guitarist, named Steve Phillips, well I thought was really great, And I wanted to hear more but 5 more months I couldn't wait. Of his former band I realized I must become a fan. To buy a Rainmakers CD that soon became my plan. So I sent to Steve an email, "Which album should I buy?" "Flirting With the Universe" is what he did reply. But I'd have to mail order, wait 2 months to get it in, So I went to the used CD store and bought the CD Skin. I listened with an open mind to all the songs I heard, Not just to the music, but also to the words. The message was intriguing, the music it was fine, And I listened to it over again many many times. I visited the message board to see just what was there. I saw that Bob was playing live and noted when and where. I thought I check it out and give Bob Walkenhorst a chance. In the back I stood and then I soon began to dance. Bob had a solo album that was new the week before. I looked around to buy it and finally found it by the door. I bought it, and I listened, and with it I did connect. Bob Walkenhorst is someone I both relate to and respect. An Irish pub that's called Molloy's is where Bob weekly played. Jeff Porter and Norm Dahlor are his bandmates on Wednesdays. I soon began to go each week to hear Bob play and sing. To listen and to dance at Bob shows is a wonderful thing. They used to sit and play each show, but then one week they stood. Now standing is the norm, but when they sit, well that's still good.

When Bob would break a guitar string then Jeff would sing John Prine And now Jeff sings his own songs and they really are quite fine And Bob and Jeff with Gary and Pat played monthly weekend shows. I hope it lasts for years and years, but the future no one knows. Then Malloy's Pub closed and it became the recordBar. We met there weekly for 10 years with friends from near and far. The recordBar then lost it's lease and sadly had to close, It had to seek out a new place to host its music shows. The Tour That Goes Nowhere did roam; it moved twice in one year. Mike Kelly's Westsider was home till the recordBar reappeared. We come to the new recordBar to hear them sing their songs. They sing their hearts out for us all; we dance and sing along.

The Rainmakers reformed and now have Jeff on lead guitar,

With Rich and Pat they play and sing for friends both near and far.

Bob Walkenhorst is someone I look up to and admire. His music touches my heart; my soul he does inspire. Our Wednesday evening church it is; and where we meet is home. His fans and friends we'll always be, wherever we may roam.

The Blue Sky

I

I wish there were not a cloud in the sky.
I love the blue sky,
But I hate the clouds.
The clouds want to cover the sky
And destroy the beauty of the blue sky.
God, don't let the clouds take over the sky.
Help the blue sky to fight the clouds
And let his beauty shine through.

II

Storm clouds are filling the sky.
The blue is disappearing.
God, why won't the blue sky ask you to help
him fight the clouds in his soul?
I love him.
I don't want him to fall.

III

The sky is cloudy,
But I'm not gonna cry.
A Voice has told me
He will be blue again,
And I patiently wait.

I like to think that man

I like
To think that man
Is really good inside,
For if he weren't the why would we
Be here?

Poem for Bob Walkenhorst

(This poem was written in 2005 and is now out of date in many ways.)

In the year 2002 I went and took a wee short trip
Up I-29, to the town of St. Joseph.
I discovered there a band that I thought was really good.
They called themselves the Elders and buy their CDs I would.

The guitarist, named Steve Phillips, well I thought was really great,
And I wanted to hear more but 5 more months I couldn't wait.
Of his former band I realized I must become a fan.
To buy a Rainmakers CD that soon became my plan.

So I sent to Steve an email, "Which album should I buy?"
"Flirting With the Universe" is what he did reply.
But I'd have to mail order, wait 2 months to get it in,
So I went to the used CD store and bought the CD Skin.

I listened with an open mind to all the songs I heard,
Not just to the music, but also to the words.
The message was intriguing, the music it was fine,
And I listened to it over again many many times.

I visited the message board to see just what was there.
I saw that Bob was playing live and noted when and where.
I thought I check it out and give Bob Walkenhorst a chance.
In the back I stood and then I soon began to dance.

Bob had a solo album that was new the week before.
I looked around to buy it and finally found it by the door.
I bought it, and I listened, and with it I did connect.
Bob Walkenhorst is someone I both relate to and respect.

An Irish pub that's called Molloy's is where Bob weekly plays.
Jeff Porter and Norm Dahlor are his bandmates on Wednesdays.
I soon began to go each week to hear Bob play and sing.
To listen and to dance at Bob shows is a wonderful thing.

They used to sit and play each show, but then one week they stood.
Now standing is the norm, but when they sit, well that's still good.
And Bob and Jeff with Gary and Pat play monthly weekend shows.
I hope it lasts for years and years, but the future no one knows.

Bob Walkenhorst is someone I look up to and admire.
His music touches my heart; my soul he does inspire.
The Tour That Goes Nowhere it is; Molloy's Pub is our home.
His fans and friends we'll always be, wherever we may roam.

Going Away To College

I'm going away
In a couple of days.
I'm going away
For some time to stay.
I wanna go,
But I don't wanna leave.
I wanna know
What is going to be.
Will my friends write me
and stay friends with me?
Will I find new ones
As good as the old ones?
Will I be happy?
Will life be fair?
Will I still have
Somebody who cares?
I'm going away
In a couple of days,
And I hope that upon me
Friendship's eyes always gaze.

Lions in the grass (untitled)

Lions in the grass,
A tigress in the jungle,
A man to hunt them.

Birthdays

You're one year older,
One year wiser,
One year smarter,
And one year nicer.

You're one year more mature,
One year more experienced,
One year more interesting,
And one year closer to Heaven.


(written for a friend's 15th birthday, when I was around the same age.)

The English Language

The English language
Is so strange they say.
Or-ki-stra is spelt or-ches-tra,
Le-pard, le-o-pard,
And we have so many words
No one knows them all.

But it is my language,
Learned from my birth,
And, like God,
It makes sense if you know it.

The General

Came from Virginia,
A wealthy family,
Father was in the Revolution.

Went to West Point,
Graduated too.
Served in the army for many a year,
And freed his slaves.

But then war broke out
Between the North and the South,
And he had to fight for his state which he loved.

Fought hard and lost,
But it wasn't his fault.
Just wasn't on the winning side.

Retired, and died a few years after.
Not a full citizen again
'Til a century later.

Robert E. Lee.

School

Filling the halls, the students come
Ready to start the new day,
In buses and cars, or walking on foot,
Doing homework along the way.

History, algebra, physical science,
Spanish, typing, and band;
Student are busy, working their problems,
And lending a helping hand.

When the bell rings at the end of the day
Students rush out of their rooms,
Shouting and screaming, banging their lockers,
And whistling a happy tune.

Through the Ages

(This is the first poem I ever wrote)

When I was none,
I ate a bun.

When I was one,
I liked to run.

When I was two,
I started loving you.

When I was three,
I chased a bee.

When I was four,
I loved you even more.

When I was five,
I found I bee hive.

When I was six,
I picked up some sticks.

When I was seven,
I learned about Heaven.

When I was eight,
I learned to skate.

When I was nine,
I saw a vine.

And now that I'm ten,
I'm learning again.