Papa's Poem Corner Episode 18: Holster Your Ambition

Many moons ago I wrote a poem and sent it to a select few via e-mail. The poem was about the sorrow felt at parting with a loved one. Thanks to modern technology and Matthew Hanks' ability to save that e-mail, I now get to share it with all of you in this my public forum. The loved one I parted with (and of whom speaketh this poem) was the pair of Havana Joe black leather shoes my Grandmother purchased for me before I left on my mission. I loved those shoes, for they served me extremely well almost the entire duration of my mission. They were made in Spain.


Spanish Shoe

I saw you Spanish shoe,
you were black not blue.
I put you on my foot and said,
"I´ll wear you as I sleep in bed!
I´ll never take you off again!
You are my very new best friend."
You smelled so leathery and fresh,
then you smelled like my foot flesh.
You served me well 2 years less month
and now the pain inside I grunth,
"OOOOOHHH wicked asphalt! Why break my heart?
Why must you tear my shoe apart?"
What once was new, my Spanish shoe,
is now big black mushy Spanish poo.
Never again will I let myself love.
For my tender heart has had enough.
All I can do is sit and cry,
as I bid my Spanish shoe goodbye...


That's the truth. Well, see you all next week when we do this thing again.
Love,
Papa

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 17: Harriet Tubman Gets Crunk

Ah yes... The time doth pass so fast my friends. Twas what seems like yesteryear when last we met on the glorious fields of poetic embattlement, to drive back the evil forces of racism and bigotry through these sweetly enchanted utterings. I have good reason for my absence (I was defending the honor, safety, and virtue of both young women and the elderly), but let us not dwell on that. The Great Reunion--which has been prophesied of since the beginning--has begun to occur. Most key figures have returned; lack us only one. Today's poem will center on the unfolding of these events:


The Great Reunion Vol. 1: Flowellenation

The mist of times, that once clouded eyes
Yet swift it is now unfolding...
Relentless haze, like fires ablaze
Disbursement hath done her dancing...
BOOM cracks the thunder, the world split asunder
New light begins to break forth...
Vague shapes then appear, with magic for the ears
Musical Viking Gods descending from the North.

Tis 'The Return of the Oh So Flowells'
Who on Earth can withstand their yell?
The Germans perhaps, with their pointy tipped hats
The truth only time will tell.
It's 'The Return of the Oh So Flowells'
Their fame doth the annals of history swell
Their funk made the Underground Railroad get crunk
Got 'em shakin' on the Oregon Trail.


That is all for this week. Vol. 1 is a short yet poignant reminder of the inescapable destiny that must be fulfilled. The question each of us should be asking ourselves is: What role am I playing in the fulfillment of that destiny? You're either for us... or you're against us...
Flowells for life...