For my nephew on his 7th birthday

The lights are always bright enough

When Stevie's on the scene.

The truth is always right enough

When Stevie's on the scene.

The play is never too darned rough,

The cards are always dealt to bluff

His brother's hide stays good and tough

When Stevie's loud and mean.

The girls, they always tease their hair

When Stevie's on the scene.

The women, they all stop and stare

When Stevie's on the scene.

The giggles ring from here to there,

The priests, they stop to kneel in prayer,

'Cause heaven knows what will shine bare

When Stevie's getting clean.

Philosophers no longer doubt

When Stevie's on the scene.

Even hermits come on out

When Stevie's on the scene.

The quiet all begin to shout

The vegans get a little stout

And the kayak fills on up with trout

While Stevie's hook stays clean.

The saber's always nice and light

When Stevie plays the scene.

The battle's always nice and tight

When Stevie's on the scene.

The dying bulb seems newly bright,

The blind-drunk fool gets second sight

And tiny mice bring flea and fright

When Stevie's light turns green.

The soccer goals fall open wide

With Stevie on the scene.

The Ducks score without breaking stride

When Stevie's on the scene.

The crooks are never even tried,

The catfish cook before they're fried

And tone-deaf uncles sing with pride

When Stevie takes the scene.

Advice to my nephew on his 4th birthday

One day, not long, you'll be a big older boy,
When hammers or wrenches make a good enough toy
Help your mom fix her car, help dad with his tv,
They'll be happy and grateful you're useful, you'll see.

Work hard when you're older, study well for your class.
Dress in clean clothes, comb your hair, wipe your glass.
Rise before sunup, give prayer every eve,
Stay sober and faithful and respectful to Steve.

I tell you this, Eamon, is how big boys should act
If they want all life's blessings- and this is a fact-
Be slow with your temper and quick with your jokes
To live well 'til your forties at home with your folks.

I still think it is a fish (Birth Announcement)

A note to my daughter on the day of her birth

Today into this world you’ve come,

And 'ere I’m lost to age and rum,
I’m writing you from where you’re from
To describe your patrimony.

Humanity, you’ll find, can vary.
A man can be both bald and hairy,
Handsome, homely, kind and scary.
Clumsy, sneaky, fair and phony.

When first you meet that creepy guy
Who watches but can’t meet your eye
Remember dad was pretty shy
And try to cool your shiver.

And when a madman first you see
Consider your own family tree
Where twigs the lunistocracy
Like a willow by the river.

It won’t be long that you’re around,
I bet, before you hear the sound
As tongue and knuckle drag the ground
‘Neath morons such as call your father kin.

And tricksters, too, you’ll find soon,
May stalk beneath a hunter’s moon
And howl a false compelling tune.
Wolves no more than we are born to sin.

From where you start to where you’ll get,
Want to wonder, doubt to fret
To dream to doom to guess to bet,
We walk behind you and look ahead.

Be the girl I’m teaching you to be,
And who that is, we’ll wait to see.
To be yourself is to be free
In the jailhouse, jungle or your bed.

If you wander far, and I hope you will
Let each disaster be a thrill
And let no wisdom wear your will
Like your old man in his prime.

You’ll meet some fools, the weak and damned-
Offer each your sweet right hand
And see they know to call you "Ma'am."
To be aught but sister wastes your time.

"We have named it Cain. She caught it while I was up country trapping on the North Shore of the Erie; caught it in the timber a couple of miles from our dug-out -- or it might have been four, she isn't certain which. It resembles us in some ways, and may be a relation. That is what she thinks, but this is an error, in my judgment. The difference in size warrants the conclusion that it is a different and new kind of animal -- a fish, perhaps, though when I put it in the water to see, it sank, and she plunged in and snatched it out before there was opportunity for the experiment to determine the matter. I still think it is a fish"

from Extracts from Adam's Diary, by Mark Twain

Our daughter was born today, September 11 at 9:34 local time.  If I did the conversions right she is 7 pounds 8 ounces, 20 inches long, pretty as a peach and about that fuzzy.  

Memo to the TSA

Sandal my feet with leopard's paws,

A claw before each toe.

Lace up my sheepskin, fleece face out

Unblooded like new snow.

At my hip, place a pirate's sword,

Polished, sharp and cold.

And let no razor graze my chin

Until my beard's grown bold.

Tie on my bandit's bandolier

A cartridge in each loop.

Among the stones, let me rehearse

My bellow, snarl and whoop.

Bind my legs with plates of steel,

Converging at the crotch.

And to my glorious last day,

Please set my golden watch.

Why does a man equip for war,

Who chose to live in peace?

He's gone to sylvan Oregon,

Three nephews and a niece.

The Universal Cataract

There's a universal puddle

In which we every bob

And each one touches every one

A muddy, wetted mob.

Each motion moves our neighbor

And each neighbor wets the next

And the web of sloshing metaphor

Winds up in every text.

And we all are brought together

Each creature, girl or man

We move the world with every touch

From every friendly hand

And so, you see, we live as one,

And can't stick to a plan.

For Actonbell, a rededication.

The poets pen the names of God,

And journalists will tally fraud,

Maps gather information

From strange soils explorers trod.

But what becomes of humorists,

Sardonic ropes of hemp in twists?

What brings their syncopations

Back for indexing in lists?

Who hears where the laughter goes-

When chuckles fade and snorts echo?

Does the devil reap it for decoration

In Hell? Only Heaven knows.

For my part, I'm here, I'll do my best

To make Sharyl laugh, (and all the rest.)

If I'm facing deportation

From this blog, I here attest:

Though funny I may no more be

And rhyming gets the best of me,

By diligence and application

To blog may yet be here in me.

Yes, think of Koko, gorilla caged,

Lacking speech, but from young age

Through persistent education,

Learned ASL without turning a page.

And I have friends, some fruit and Blogspot

Plus free expression ('til I'm caught)

If all it takes is concentration

Then boil me some tea to cross, perhaps an aye to dot.

So I reintroduce now Doug Drones On,

Though sometimes here and sometimes gone

Until blogging or I one day depart the nation.

(Posting may by neglect grow short unlike my front lawn.)

For is Koko really not like me?

Or trekkers, scribes, riffraffery?

Great ape, now, my invocation-

I'll try to write a joke or three

If not daily, then monthly,

Help me write for friends to see

Be my primate inspiration,

And quit shaking the family tree!

The Man Who Corrupted Hadleyville

His eyes were dark as midnight,

His hat was cocked towards two,

His tongue stood still like high noon

While he stood in velvet shoe.

A turquoise scarf hid his jaw,

And silver edged his pistol.

He held his hands down by his hips

Without a word or whistle.

The honest folk turned towards the shops

Where on better days they dealt,

And every child, late at play,

Got drawn in like a belt.

The dusty stranger held his ground

As all the town receded.

Drunkards guessed his dark intent

And bartenders indeeded.

The Sheriff cloaked his gun and badge

And checked his empty cells.

The hangman tied a diamond hitch

While cowboys hid in wells.

Young Ladies slid toward shelter,

While sneaking brazen stares

And stallions tied to hitching posts

Nickered for their mares.

The banker, only, braved the man,

Rubbed his visor and he

Said "You must be a dreadful rogue

To dress so like a dandy."

Viernes Sancto

Good Friday's when I wonder how

This world would meet its savior now.

Would we even notice thirteen men

Performing wonders now and then?

Could we put the LORD up on TV

For all this napping world to see?

Would the Sanhedrin and Caiaphus

And Rick Santorum make a fuss,

And call Jesus a pious swindle

Or write new gospels straight to Kindle?

Would Jesus feed the multitudes,

Loaves and Fish for gals and dudes?

Or take back all the fish filet

And make water from the McCafe?

And quiet down the constant chatter

Over things that hardly matter,

Stop the presses, hold the phone

And let the lonely be alone?

Perhaps the world, now always streaming

Needs salvation from redeeming.

Would He be King, who came to save,

On "Survivor- Isle Beyond The Grave?"

Le Roi Des Fous

Here, now, on April Fool's Day,

Which returns each year in May,

Let's take time to rededicate

Ourselves to whate'er made us great.

With folly as first principle,

Let other cares be minceable

And seek in every way and thing

A nat'l hero, judge and king.

Who is the wisest fool, let's ask,

And how best to achieve our task?

I'd begin, I'll share with thee,

By searching the majority.

Corinthian Pleasure- A Carnival Prayer

Paul teaches the best things are three:

Faith and Hope and charity.

I surely take his words as true

And hold them up in all I do.

But, God knows, and I'll confess

There are other ways we're blessed

And when I pray for strength, like Paul

The gifts I wish for most of all

Are similar to Paul's in number-

First, I pray, Lord, make me dumber

For which of Paul's gifts pass the dense

For fellowship with those with sense?

Then I ask a little madness

To comfort me in times of sadness

And so my will is never tested

Even once I've been arrested.

Third, I pray my spirit's small

Of lesser gifts, the best of all,

To never trust in our conclusions

Yet to doubt our own illusions.

I won't debate the good apostly,

And pray my pride won't be too costly

When, heart aroar and gut arumble,

I pray "keep thy crazy fool humble."

-Timothy Timfor

A conspiracy so vast

To all but the conspirator

(Mark there's as many as before)

The thing about conspiracy

Is it's there for none to see.

Each man whether stout or frail

Conjures up his own betrayal-

A vampire banker in the night

(Or schoolmarm if you're on the right.)

Whichever shadow you pursue,

And I bet you money it's a Jew,

With all our demons aggregated

And in with our neighbors titrated

The conspiracy has grown so vast

To become democracy at last.

And once our enemies are pooled,

We're rightly glad to have been fooled.

-Burnett Holmes

Ogre Day 2011

When freedom comes to Tripoli,

The despot hanged on live TV,

Love will keep the dastard's head

Entangled in its braided thread.

Yea, it's true, a tyrant risen,

Is buoyant on a sea of prison;

In this world of friends and neighbors

And charity and hugs and labors.

Shackles bind the very best

While embraces tie the rest

And affection makes the world go round,

Which as it spins, grinds us down.

Yes, love's a rose, I hear. I do,

And kindness is the truest true,

But whichever gracious heart may spawn it,

An ogre's bile be upon it.

-Amelia Roston Browning

A dismal ogre Day to all my friends!

CPA Day

Today I'll meet with an accountant

Who'll prescribe the amount that

in taxes I'm due to pay

April 15th or ground hog day

Is this tyranny or patriotism?

Nah, but worth some rhyme and rhythm.

Prestidigitation

I met a young man sitting between the trees

Juggling percents and trilion-threes,

Buzzing like a swarm of bees,

I asked of his anxieties.

"Exports have fallen four percent,

Unemployment's higher than the rent,

Immigrations up and still they're sent

And bankers borrow what they haven't lent.

"The reminbi," he said to me,

"Is lower than it ought to be

Gas is high and, can't you see?

Freedom's never bought for free!"

His worries seemed to be amounting

To hysteria in his accounting.

I asked, "Why sit with crises mounting?"

He said, "I'm not idle, man- I'm counting!"

Lazarus and Dives, before they went mainstream

Lazarus and Dives
Met in the road one day
Lazarus, he bowed low,
And heard the rich man say:

“Judea loves me most of all
Though you and I are strangers still
I’m the toast of Rome and Susa
While Hebrews do my will.

But still I live a righteous life
And all my tithes are paid
My children worship Adonai
In every place we’ve stayed.”

Lazarus answered soft and humbly,
“My cow is dry and my land unarable

My money's soft, my grain is crumbly
My donkey’s back has grown unbearable
But a gloried life awaits me numbly
If I can get into a parable.”

To 2011

2011 has at last appeared,
Reconciled, wished on, prayed for and feared
And shall we predict what this near year will hold?
Only if we’re foolish, shameless and bold-
I propose that the pessimists will again be proved wrong
Yet remain unpersuaded by reason or song
While the optimists see that the future is bright
‘Til we need them for food by New Year’s Eve night.

Note to readers: Right now, I'm thinking the title of this blog gets a new meaning and will contain intermittent posts like the Wednesdays and Saturdays from Waking Ambrose, though not necessarily on Wednesday, Saturday or any other regular schedule. To keep up, you may want to use Google Reader or with the RSS feed. I think there is one.