hey joe

by horace p sternwall

hey joe, where you going with that cactus plant in your hand? i am going to cincinnati to bury my head in the sand i don’t think you are really going to cincinnati at all i think you are going to indianapoiis to shop in its famous mall why do you always torture me, and doubt my every word? you know that i am not one of the common herd i wake up every morning before the break of dawn and before the wide word is astir i get my mojo on i sit all day in jake’s cafe and no one ever looks my way but if they did they might be surprised at the epics unscrolling behind my eyes poor joe, locked in the arms of fleeting time if hopeless dreaming was a crime he would spend a thousand years in alcatraz but carlsbad new mexico is all he has

82325

by hotrace p sternwall

my brain is not what it used to be it used to work more efficiently when i was young and wild and free and wrote poetry beneath a tree i tried to write a happy song but the universe did me wrong and all its blind inhabitants never gave me a fighting chance i had a message for humankind locked within my burning mind but when i let it loose upon the air i realized there was nothing there i am sorry to take up your time with this meandering rhyme i have nothing better to do though i know my heart is true

emmeline

by hotrace p sternwall

emmeline was born, and raised in a home for surplus children. the home had a handy man named gustav, whom emmeline often assisted in his duties. in addition to sweeping up, and feeding the pigs and chickens, gustav was also a certified wise man, and holy man. his main teaching was always to be truthful, and he repeatedly impressed this on emmeline. the truth, always the truth. let its light shine in every corner, no matter how dark or humble. when emmeline left the home, her first job was busing tables at a restaurant. as she removed dishes from the tables and wiped the tables down, she would sing a little song: we are all going to die some day, we are all going to die some day. some patrons complained that they found this depressing, and emmeline was let go. but it’s true! she exclaimed, as she was shown the door. next she got a job as a maid in one of the decaying old houses on the outskirts of town. as she polished the silverware, she sang another song: no hope, no hope in the darkness we all grope hope is for dopes no hope, no hope i am sorry, emmeline, the housekeeper informed her, you do a fine job polishing the silverware and a better one polishing the glassware, but i can’t listen to you any longer, and you have to go. next emmeline got a job sweeping up at a beauty parlor. she would often remark to some of the older or less attractive customers - you are really wasting your time and money coning here , you know. you would be better off spending time at church or the library. she was quickly back at the employment agency, and so it went. after many years, emmeline found herself back in the neighborhood of the children’s home. she decided to look up gustav, and found he was still alive. as gray as a storm cloud over the antarctic, and as bent as a palm tree in a hurricane , but alive. how goes it, old fellow? she asked. still spreading the good word, and the light of truth? oh no! gustav exclaimed. i realized the error of my ways years ago. i do not know how i ever believed such nonsense, and feel bad about imposing it on impressionable youth. now you tell me, emmeline replied.

it's getting late

by hotrace p sternwall

adam had an apple he bit it with his teeth he looked upon the green grass and wondered, what’s beneath? eve gad a bunch of grapes she ate them one by one she was tired of adam because he was no fun cain looked at the sky a branch fell off a tree he picked it up and so invented weaponry abel was a gentle soul and was often seen to weep in a world of wolves he was a sheep noah liked animals and enjoyed their company on and under ground and in the trees omar was a tentmaker he was not very good his tents blew away in the rain but he did what he could peter was great but maybe not so much he headed down the road but said he would keep in touch the queen of sheba told me when i was just a child keep your silver in your pocket and your gold bricks in piles zorro had a sword yeti had a club king arthur had a towel and gave himself a rub

evening train

by horace p sternwall

as i was waiting for the evening train a beautiful flower grew in my brain and told me not to be afraid because every song had already been played the train pulled in, it began to rain i knew i would never see the moon again the iady from spain was in compartment c as lovely as she was reported to be the conductor arrived with his waxed mustache i paid for both our tickets in cash as i had been instructed by colonel k was it only yesterday? a strange way for the world to end! the train picked up speed as it approached the bend i picked up my chips and placed my bets for who among us has no regrets?

the hittites

by horace p sternwall

the hittite empire was founded by hattusili who engaged in rapine and plunder quite freely but hattusli was only the first and some of his successors were even worse hattusini was followed by mursilish who trampled his neighbors like a whirling dervish and after him came telepinu but i don't know much about him, do you? watch out for tukulti-ninurta do him wrong and he'll hurt ya but good king suppiluliuma though mighty, had a great sense of humor

3 more poems

by horace p sternwall

ode to sinners o come all you sinners with guilt fit to burst lets go down to the river and see who is the worst let us stand up and testify and write a message across the sky about all our evil schemes and tricks and how we wanted to get our kicks kicks, man, that's all there is not fame or money or show biz or christmas dinner or apple pie or scratching your head and wondering why we're riding through the endless night not even putting up a fight tossing here a nickel and there a dime in the tin cup of borrowed time

slow i was not wild and free i was never meant to be and walked silent on the earth to death from birth my fellow humans stopped to look as my weary steps i took for the very mark of cain on my face was written plain but when i turned around no trace of me was found on the earth's unyielding crust i left no footprints in the dust i took it slow for where was there to go? i looked up at the gray sky and it said goodbye

musings why does a dictionary weigh ten pounds? because humans are filled with a million sounds they twist them and stretch them and play the game but in the end they all sound the same

a letter

by horace p sternwall

a kitty kat has whiskers a puppy dog has a tail i wrote a letter to the president and put it in the mail i told him he was an idiot i told him he was a fool i asked him what he ever learned when he was a child in school he never sent an answer he never sent a reply i wonder if he goes for walks and looks up at the sky and if he sees the hand of fate pointing at his face and showing him the sands of time in which he will leave no trace he goes back to the white house and climbs the white house stair to find inside his office a visitor in his chair who is this importunate stranger who sits there with a smile with no sense of decorum and no sense of style everybody has a stranger who follows them through their days and shows their face when the time has come so do not be amazed

3 poems

by horace p sternwall

desert island sometimes i feel floppy sometimes i do sag sometimes i put my head in a box sometimes i put it in a bag i don't like the human race or the world that it has made i want to find a desert island and lie in the palm tree shade let the coconuts fall on my head and pound it into mush and lie there drooling in the sand in the glowing sunset hush

everybody can't be a hero to be in a book but not be the hero that does not sound like fun but when the hero dies his heroic death you can still sit in the sun reading a book about the hero in lively vivid prose sipping iced tea or lemonade and wiggling your toes the hero lives forever at least the book says so “in glorious memory” but how do they know? when the hero goes to the gallows protesting his innocence you can laugh or cry or close the book and wonder where the time went

float this is a poem i wrote in the water it would not float in the air it would not fly in the rain it would not stay dry in it i confess my pathetic helplessness swallowed without a trace by a void without a face words may be blessings or curses in expanding universes they may be slow or fast but never last o bubbles in the stream! o disappearing dream! one last moment i beg of you one last word - or maybe two -

a strange dream

by horace p sternwall

i dreamed of a place last night the strangest dream I ever had where all the bad people were good and all the good people were bad I dreamed I was in a courtroom of shiny paneled wood i was tied to an old oak tree accused of doing good the judge sat high above me with horns upon his head adolf hitler was my lawyer and all the jurors were dead the judge asked me how i pleaded to trying to do right and as i opened my mouth to speak i beheld a terrible sight the gallery was filled with angels with burnt and blackened wings their golden harps were melted and they could not pluck the strings a witness then was summoned to give evidence to my fate ’twas none other than st peter who had abandoned heaven’s gate what say you, saintly wise man asked satan from the bench as he waved a ten pound hammer which in his fist he clenched his eyebrows fairly sizzled and his lip was sneering curled what say you of this specimen who wished to save the world? what say you to this sorry cuss who challenged my dominion who thought eternal damnation was just someone’s opinion? have pity, lord of darkness the sad eyed sage appealed and his white beard it did flutter as before the fiend he kneeled he is only a poor human incapable of thought and the lessons life has taught him i guess he just forgot the demon roared wth laughter as he brought his hammer down a noose was placed around my neck and on my head a crown and on the crown was set a stage on which a play was playing my old dog ran across a field to join my poor old mother praying a serpent slithered through the grass king arthur raised his sword jesse james threw me a lousy dime it was all he could afford william mckinley and wyatt earp raised their voices in a hymn and i thought i saw abe lincoln but it was only railroad slim i awoke upon a green park bench with rain upon my face and all the players in the dream were gone without a trace

country ways

by horace p sternwall

the lamp burned in my little room above the silent stable i looked out in the winter gloom as well as i was able no bird disturbed the brooding night or horses hoofed the road no angel at the window offered to share my load * in an icy wintry blast as the snow was falling fast i went out to milk the cow and tripped over the plow that the lazy hired man who since the world began had been sleeping on his feet without missing a beat had left there in the gloom to hasten me to doom and he laughed in his dream floating down a shady stream where an apple cheeked lass winked at him as he went past and i lay in the mud in the mud, in the cold mud * silas martin picked an apple but didn't feel like eating it sarah jenkins shook a rug but didn't feel like beating it everything that moves moves at its own pace sometimes nothing moves at all upon the earth's dark face

wild

i used to be wild, i used to be free i loved everybody, and they loved me i was the king of the road and the queen of the may and woke up with a song in my heart every day i had a message of love in my heart and took to the highway the message to impart friendly strangers in volkswagen bugs gave me rides and i gave them hugs it was time to turn the page and greet the dawn of a new age war and hatred belonged to the past the new kingdom of love was built to last life was one long celebration of the gathering of the tribes and nations one night in the throes of ecstasy i passed out on the shore of a shimmering sea how long i slept i do not know but i woke up covered with snow the night was dark and covered with clouds i sat up and cried aloud where have all my comrades gone where is the rainbow, where the dawn what is this ice that covers my bones where is anybody - am i alone? i forced myself to get to my feet rain fell on me and then sleet i had no hat upon my head and wondered if i was not dead then i saw a light in the distance and summoning some persistence and a desperate flicker of hope through the darkness i did grope to make a long story short i ended up in court charged with murder in the first degree oh what, i thought, will become of me i saw and heard the judge from afar as he cried, o prisoner at the bar what have you to say in exculpation of your exercise in widespread desolation will you show a sliver of repentance before i pronounce sentence? but i had no reply except to hang my head and cry poor boy you’ve got to die poor boy you’ve got to die dawn lights up the jailhouse and rain falls from the sky

true story

by horace p sternwall

everybody has a story to tell everybody has something to sell a story has a beginning and an end that does not mean you are my best friend i was mistreated as a child and so i started to run wild and took up with a bad crowd but then i heard a voice from a cloud saying, ————, you are unique a fate-appointed freak you are not like others you have no sisters or brothers of the universe you are the center it is your kingdom they must enter if you decide that they can live that is in your power to give this message gave me hope that i was not just some mope that people were right to despise and to fame would never rise i proceeded down the street with a new bounce in my feet but suddenly i was not alone a gentleman with a microphone said, i don’t want a nickel or a dime but just a moment of your time if you could spare a few words for the members of the human herd now that you are the ruler of the world with your teeth so white and your hair so curled will you allow humanity to flourish or do you in your heart still nourish an implacable hatred of the miserable race that has punched you in the face and knocked you down and on your face put a permanent frown or will you find it in your heart to give the planet a new start - as the man with the microphone continued to blather a crowd around me began to gather and then the people in the crowd started to chant my name aloud and all their faces began to blend into a road that had no end and i was walking down the road toward a sun beginning to explode and then awoke to my true story - a rat in a laboratory professor smith smiled down at me little fellow, i’m glad to see you looking bright this happy morn are you not glad that you were born?

ars poetica

by horace p sternwall

take a piece of paper write some words upon it look at what you have written - it’s a poem, doggone it! mary had a little lamb johnny had a panther alice did the crossword puzzle but didn’t know all the answers it rained on billy’s birthday mary didn’t go to his party henry wanted to drink champagne bur settled for ale most hearty the world is filled with humans and also cats and dogs some folks climb up mountains others fall into bogs that is all the wisdom i have for you today meet me on the sabbath morn and we will kneel and pray

the shadow

by horace p sternwall

a beggar, sitting in the shade of a bridge, watched a traveler approach. the traveler’s shadow fell on the bridge. o traveler, cried the beggar, give me what i want. the traveler, not breaking stride as he crossed the bridge, laughed. but i do not know what you want, the traveler replied, not glancing down at the beggar. i want whatever you have, cried the beggar - a bird, a bag of gold, a book with pretty colored pictures, your soul, your memories, a letter to the emperor testifying to my unique worth, a mythical beast, immortal life - anything. i have a shadow, said the traveler, laughing, you can have that. and the traveler’s shadow stayed behind on the bridge for a few seconds after the traveler had crossed it. the beggar reached for the shadow but the sun went down and the shadow vanished. the beggar continued to sit beside the bridge for many years, calling to the travelers who crossed it to give him what he wanted, to give him anything they had.

2 more poems

by horace p sternwall

around the fireplace up in the city, down on the farm a rollicking yarn will do you no harm around the fireplace, listen to the rain and a tale with the wallop of a freight train and what really makes a story go best is the introduction of a mystery guest whose sudden appearance always must alter the entire narrative thrust come on grandpa, do we really have to wait a whole week to hear the hero's fate? and grandpa sez, don't holler, don't shout just stayed tuned - and find out b

water in the stream who will save the last wanderer when he falls in the last stream who will wake the dreamer dreaming the last dream i fell in the gutter and the gutter kept flowing i, like the water do not know where i’m going