SOUL CAFE ANTHOLOGY c/1994/1999

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The very first time, the powers that be, back then, wrote "Non-Trad" on my college transcript sheet, I thought: Wow, you got that right!"

Due in part to unusual circumstances such as birthing & raising kids, oddlot jobs, joining the back to the earth movement combined with raising handsome kids on homegrown vittles, homemaking, patiently knitting a thousand sweaters and blankets in the pre-Wally world era, ladies and gentlemen throughout the land grew up.

Then, late in life came the steadfast pleasure of college years of journalism, freelance writing for local papers, waiting for the paper to arrive outside on the porch, autographing same for the neighbors ... oh long before the invention of the Internet ... this gal, yours truly went to college part time when the baby of the family entered first grade. Then came college years, librarian courses, library jobs on campus. Until finally amidst all this fuss when the children moved from the happy hearth came the relaxing venue of poetry.

Enter SOUL CAFE, two blocks from college, a place to gather with randy students and townfolk in a gorgeous church lined with stained glass windows. We read, we talked, we took apart our thoughts. Our words on paper screamed as presentations of our poetry readings loudly and clearly rang out across the land. With all of the above, I owe an unquestionable thanks to Soul Cafe. There's often one in every small town. No one escapes, we pull you in, we went door to door, library to pub, rhyming along in tandem those precious words we felt so important to share.

For the very first time online, infront of the world now this humble collection, tarnished and coffee stained on paper, threadbare in shambles, scribbled napkins worth of soul searching creations which I hope you will enjoy.

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Thus this collection is dedicated to SOUL CAFE, c- rite 1992 --- and onward into the future of all wannabe poets. Your message is your muse, so listen to it sore. Remember to love something or someone: best to set it free.

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ODE TO A COON HOUND

Has anyone seen my coon hound 'round?
I seen him in the mornin' early,
Voice beneath a howl, slobbering jaw.

I heard from the neighbor 'bout mean, fightin' coon hound.
Never considered he'd lay my coon hound down.
A shot rang out and my own coon hound was down.
Whoever thought he'd come to such harm,
Marching off at night to nature's beat,
Chasing bitches come in heat.

God, I miss my dawg!
At night as I go to bed,
Content if the whelps are fed.
Folks bring em over from miles about.

I was looking at them, thinking of him,
Then up on my lap leapt a hefty pair,
Each one had the old coon hound stare.

Daddy coon hound been so proud,
How his babes escaped the pound.
Gather 'round little coon hounds.
Give us a lick, a nip, a kiss, a paw.

Folks tell tales miles around,
How that black dog stood his ground.
I cry less at night,
Blessed with six coon hound pups around.

c-1992. Published in a longer version/ 1993/// RECOGNITION AMIDST MYSTERY, A collection of poets and poetry from the Kutztown Area /// Published by Mrs. Nancy Wisser
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Poetry Collection from 1993

Early Poetry and Poetry from Soul Cafe by Mary Moffett aka TEFF.

Reducing paper files, since travelling may be on the docket, here is some of my early things in the realm of poetry. This is very no-trad stuff.

TITLE: THE JACKHAMMERING DELETER BLUES

THROW IT OUT, TOSS, ERASE, DELETE
DRINK YOUR WHISKEY NEAT.
SHOW SOME CHRISTMAS BALLS, MAN.
OOPS, LOOK OUT! HERE COMES GP.

JACK GP, A HACKER BY TRADE
BECAME THE DESTRUCTOR OF A SYSTEM ONCE MADE.
SO HE FORBADE LETTERS ...
THAT HE THOUGHT WE DIN NEED.

GP ENTERED: SPELL CHECK
THEN TORE C FROM CHECK
OH, WHAT THE HEK.

GP'S ENEMIES, B & D
WERE ALWAYS AHEAD OF LITTLE GP,
A FONT ON A MICROCHIP
MERELY A DIGIT ON A DAISY WHEEL.
GP INVENTED JACKHAMMERING.

GP CLIP-CLOPPED ALONG
ICON ALARM OF GESTALT ELETE
ALL THE WHILE JACKHAMMERING.
ALTHOUGH GP LIKED T, V & Z
WHEN GP'S COMPUTER CHIPS WERE DOWN
HE HAPPILY PLUCKED OUT B, V, D.
INSTANTLY, AND DIN EVEN FLINCH.

SHOUTING WITH GLEE,
GP DRANK GINSENG TEA,
RECKLESSLY DELETING A & E.
POOR GP, JACKHAMMER-ER ELETE
UNABLE TO ACCESS DOS, EPA,
GP EKED OUT A REBEL YELL,
COMPUTING DATA
OF WHAT HE DIN KNOW.
UH OH. WHAT THE HELL?

SUDDENLY GP CUT K IN KNOW.
PLUS W WAS ALWAYS USELESS IN BOW.
U NO?

HYPOS BECAME HIPOS
BUT THE QUIVERING GIGO BASE
COLLAPSED AND GP WAS AFLOAT
UNABLE TO SPELL _O_T.
WHERE TO? GP QUERIED.
NO VP'S TO SWEAR TO,
NO CB TO TURN TO,
IT WASN'T EZ.
GP HAD TO MOLD WITH T & Z.

IN THE OFFICE BY TEN,
GP TIPPLING AT FOLSOM'S DESK IN THE AM.
FOLSOM ADVISED GP
NOT LOSE HIS SHIRT.
"WATCH YOUR BACK, JACK.
THOSE BOYS, T & Z CAN REALLY HACK."

FOLSOM'S MEMO: LOOK OUT OLD JACK IS BACK."

NO ONE NEW JAC.

Z LAUGHS: HO HO HO, H_ _, H _ _
HUH? HI HO, HI HO
Z MEANT TO FORMAT A WAY TO DELETE
JACK GP, JACKHAMMER-ER ELETE
WHO MADE A REAL M_SS

ALAS, Z'S SECRET DESIRE WAS TO REPLACE S.
ZO Z ZAID: "U NO
I'M TIRED OF GP'Z ZHIT."

GO GP, GO! GO!
ZOO LULU ZOO LULU.
GP & Z SWORE A MUTUAL PACT
TO HACK PH IN PHONE.
NO, GP, NO!
COP Z A BUZZ, JACK!

HACK JACKHAMMER, HACK!
TO LATE TO ESCAPE THE MIGHTY ZOO,
G FELL OVER FONEY FOREVERMORE.
WHILE Z EVENED THE ZCORE.

ZO IF KIDZ ENLIZT A KEYBOARD
WHY STAND LETTERS UP ONE BY ONE,
FOR THE ALPHABET MAY ONE DAY
ZTART WITH G, END WITH Z.

Z, FORLORN, MISSED TV AND ZAPPA TUNES,
Z, AZLEEP AT THE WHEEL, PILING UP Z'Z.
HACKING AWAY ALL DAY
WITH BAD KIDNEYS AND NO WAY TO P.

G MISSED TEA, COFFEE, AND JD,
SPENT HIS DAYZ ENCODING:
THIS TALE, U NO?
THE JACKHAMMERING DELETER BLUES FOR YOUSE.

MORAL OF THE STORY:
"LIKE: G YOU NEVER KNOW?"
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CHICKENS

NINE chickens alive in the pen on Thursday.
Let them out again on Friday.
At 7 A.M. feed the hens again,
Find 6 alive that Friday.

Friday put 6 to bed again
In the coop.
Put 3 in the pan that Friday.
Saturday eat chicken again and again,
Lose one more hen, count 5 alive.
Throw the latch that night.
A dog or Foxy has come and killed
Four times since Friday.

Sunday, cook one more hen.
Mama asks, "Will this never end?"
"What eggs will we eat?"
"Hang em up by the feet."

So we waited again,
Watching the pen,
Securing the coop,
Eating Chicken pot-pie.
No Lie! Until Monday went by.

Mama, don't cry.
We bought ducks and geese on Tuesday
When the sun was high,
From the market guy,
Who'd lost a dog in a whirlwind storm
Last Wed. night.

Mama, it's allright.
It won't happen again.
By week's end,
We watched goslings,
Geese, roosters, ducklings,
As childhood days flew by
Tending our four laying hens,
We ate eggs and poultry again
Until year's end.

When stars came out at night,
It was allright,
If we heard the geese,
Maybe Foxy arrived.
Which makes for decent suppers.

Now, we have four hens
Laying eggs again
At least a dozen by Tuesday.

Now Mama roasts duck,
And I .....
Have a new pillow.

June/22/ 1998 ... CHICKENS By Mary Moffett for young readers and the young at heart.
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THE GREEN STOWAWAY

THERE'S A CHAMELEON IN THE HOUSE NOW,
I CAN'T FIND HIM.
HOW OR WHEN DID HE COME INSIDE TO HIDE?

HE'S ON THE IVY, HIDEY, HIDEY.
CAN'T YOU SEE HIM?
SUNNING HIMSELF ON THE CEDAR CHEST,
LAYING GREEN CARPETING,
SHINING MAHOGANY PANELING?

DARN IT, WE'LL NEVER GET HIM OUT NOW.
IT'S A GAME WITH HIM, HE'S PRETTY SLY.
PLAY: FIND THE CHAMELEON.
YIKES, THERE HE GOES ON A JET OF AIR.
HEY, BLIND MAN, RIGHT OVER THERE.

BUT FOR WEEKS, YOU KNOW,
THERE'S BEEN NO MOSQUITOES,
SPIDERS, GNATS, OR FLIES.
WAY TO GO, LITTLE GUY!

DARE TO WEAR A BRIGHT GREEN SHIRT,
HE'LL KISS YOU WITH A LONG, STICKY SLURP.

CHAMELEON WINS AT HIDE AND SEEK.
SO BET THE SKY.
HE'S INVISIBLE IS WHY.

FOR FUN LOVING, CAREFREE PETS,
COLLECT THE ELUSIVE CHAMELEONS.
WHY NOT TRY, AT LEAST
YOU'LL NEVER SEE THEM DIE.
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TITLE: THE BIG GREEN CHAIR AT COUNTY FAIR

MEME dances on the big green chair
At the Dutch Fair where
The Amish get married
Atop a great, green chair,
Towering above the fair.

Later, as Meme dances on the big green chair
I climbed the stairs to get up there.
Meme said, "The wind is right.
Will you dance on this chair tonight?"

I swing my legs to the side,
Sitting there, eye to eye,
With the clock on the KU tower.
Deciding not to dance,
Instead, I began to holler:
Help me get off of here!

Meme had danced wildly
On that big green chair,
Unafraid of the night.
Hearing my fright,
We left the empty fair.
Flew home on our broomsticks and waited there.
While something boded unwell
For that nasty wooden chair.
A sense of forboden colored the air.

Dark clouds raced toward our upstairs windows.
Thunder and lightening everywhere.
Where does it go, the huge chair?
I mean after the fair?

You mean who tends the marrying chair?
Oh, a wagon comes and takes it to a barn.
I'm sure it comes to no harm.

Our panes of glass grew purple,
Black and navy blue
From a summer storm
Cracking late at night.
We saw town lights flicker to and fro.

The next morning, Pip came to Meme's where,
I visited, waiting for him on Father's Day.
He said, "Hey, little one, let's walk to the fair.
Show me, Grandson, what can be won."

Hey, do you remember the big green chair?
I took his hand, then rode his shoulders there.
But alas, and woe is me,
The wind had toppled the giant's chair
Where couples married
And divorcees danced
Silently, wildly late at night.

Meme said, "It wasn't worthy
That tents were shattered."
Phone lines down.
We walked through the hell's fire fury
Which dissected the premises, one day early.
They closed down the fair.

For some reason, I cried
And tried to hide in Meme's skirts.
They took me aside, told me not to worry.
The grand demise of the big green chair,
Probably wouldn't stand the test of time.

Sure enough the very next year.
We went to the fair.
And guess what? It was still there.
But listen to this ... my dear
Every year it got smaller.
As I just got taller and taller.

So now I dance every year on the big green chair.
Jumping down into fresh hay on the ground,
Cheering all the while for summer storms,
Dusty forlorn barns,
Grandparents, moms & pops
Who bring kids to the fair
Ready to point at the big green chair.

The very same one, Meme danced on
In the moonlight of a starry night
Of our youthful timeline in Kutztown.
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THE BOYS FROM BOWERS

THE BOYS FROM BOWERS
THEY KEEP LATE HOURS
RIDING THE TRAIN AT TEN
TO READING, COMING BACK HOME AGAIN.

A GIRL FROM BOWERS
WHO WORKED LATE HOURS
RODE HOME ON THE ELEVEN P.M.

THE BOYS FROM BOWERS
WERE IN HEAVEN
HER BEAUTY IMPRESSED EVEN THEM.

YOU'D SEE MANY A FIGHT
AT THE GATE OF THE MIDNIGHT
UNTIL THE DRUNKEN LOT
FOUND THE ONE A.M.

THE ROWDY CROWD RACED FOR THE TWO
THE LADY FROM BOWERS, 'TIS TRUE,
GOT KISSED UPON THE THREE A.M.

THE BOYS FROM BOWERS
TUMBLED AND RUMBLED ALLRIGHT
ON SATURDAY NIGHT
BARELY MISSING THE FOUR-FIFTEEN.

THE SEAMSTRESS FROM BOWERS
KEEPING EARLY WORK HOURS
PASSED THEM BARELY ALIVE
RUNNING TO CATCH THE FIVE.

SHE HAD HER PICK
IF THEY RODE THE SIX
TO WORK ON THE SEVEN, SELDOM LATE,
SHE SAW THEM GET OFF THE EIGHT.

IT WAS A DIFFERENT TIME
WHEN YOU COULD DINE
ON PHEASANT PIE
RIDING THE NINE.

I WAS STANDING THERE WHEN
THE TRAIN RUSHED BY
HEARING THE CRY
OF THE ELEVEN-FIFTEEN.

I SAW THEM, I MEAN
IN THE PALE MOONBEAM
AS THE MIDNIGHT'S SCREAM
BORE THE GHOULS FROM THE PAST.
PASSENGERS EERILY CAST
IN THE GAS-LIT CAR.
THEY CAME SO FAR,
WHERE ONLY FREIGHTS ROAR FAST.

IT'S CLEARLY THE MIST
THAT SUPPORTS THE MYTH
OF THE GHOST TRAIN.
WHEN THE MOON DOST WANE,
CLOUDS LADEN WITH RAIN
THEY RIDE THE TRAIN ON THROUGH,
ESPECIALLY FAVORING THE TWO.

KNEELING BESIDE THE TRACKS
I SINK IN DESPAIR,
WHEN THEY KISS HER THEN
CARESSING HER WHITENED HAIR
ON THE THREE, THE FOUR OR THE TEN.

SINGING GLEEFULLY EACH HOUR,
THE BOYS FROM BOWERS,
IN THEIR DARKEST HOURS
ARRIVE AND DEPART ... DEVILS ALIVE
UPON THE IRON WORK HORSE FIVE
AGAIN AND AGAIN, CAPS PULLED LOW
MUSTACHES FULL IN THE MODE OF 1910.
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OUR MOTHER

OUR MOTHER, WHO ART THE OCEAN
HALLOWED BE THE ATLANTIC.
THEY KINGDOM COME,
THY WILL SHALL BE DONE,
ON EARTH AS IT IS AT SEA.

WE THANK THEE FOR THE BOUNTY,
WE GATHER FROM THY SHORES.

LET US NOT AS HUMANS
ALLOW VILE TRESSPASS
WITHIN THE KINGDOM OF YOUR SHORES.

FOR THINE IS THE POWER AND GLORY
OF THE SEA AND EARTH ITSELF.
WE PRAISE YOU FOR YOUR GLORY,
OUR MOTHER, WHO ART THE OCEAN.
PRAISE BE THE MIGHTY ATLANTIC.
***********************************
Written one block from the Atlantic, Emerald Isle, NC 1995

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DEAD CLOWN ON THE HIGHWAY

DRIVING DOWN HIGHWAY 61, LAST NIGHT
I SPIED A DEAD CLOWN ON THE HIGHWAY
ON THE RIGHT.

WHAT CIRCUMSTANCES HAD SOCIETY PUT HIM IN?
WAS THIS FATE'S ANSWER TO A LIFE OF FUN?

MAYBE A MAGICIAN DISAPPEARED HIM
AND THE SILLY CLOWN
JUST LEFT BEHIND HIS CLOTHES?
A RED VELVET SUIT WITH
POLKA DOTS AND RUFFLES.

I SAW A GREEN WIG.
WHERE WAS HIS BIG RED NOSE?

ANOTHER CAR PASSED HIM BY,
TOSSING THE DEAD CLOWN SKY HIGH.
A VERY, VERY LONG STILTED
LEG ROSE UP AND UP ....

UH-OH! THE GREAT, COLOSSAL SHOE
OF THE CLOWN WENT BY
AIMED STRAIGHT AT ALLENTOWN.

JUST LIKE THE FAMOUS CLOWN SHOE OF 1932
WHICH DEVOURED CLEVELAND.
THIS IS MERELY THE STORY
OF A DEAD CLOWN'S PLIGHT,
REDUCED TO A BUNDLE OF RAGS.

YET, HERE LIES AN ENVIRONMENTALIST,
A HUMANITARIAN, A HUMORIST.
BESIDES ... IT WAS A DARK, RAINY NIGHT.

I KEPT DRIVING. LATER I DIDN'T CARE.
PERHAPS A COMEDIAN PLACED HIM THERE.

HOW MANY DEAD CLOWN COSTUMES ON THE HIGHWAY
DOES IT TAKE TO MAKE CHANGES, MY DEARS.
AH, WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY.

ANOTHER CLOWN DOWN,
ANOTHER CLOWN BITES THE DUST.
HEY HEY!

FEB 28, 1999

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MALE TIGER CAT, UNWANTED

Tiggy was bad.
Tiggy was a creep.
Tiggy was a really bad cat,
Unless he was asleep.

When Tiggy bit a kitty,
He bit that kitty hard.
So, I put him in the yard.

When I dug the garden in,
Tiggy smiled so sweet.
Then he pulled up all the plants
And hid out in the weeds.

Into another cuddly kitty
Tiggy sunk his teeth.
He ignored the box of litty,
And ran beneath our feet.

He liked to jump up on the stove.
I've always been told,
A cat needn't be so bold.

Tiggy grew very bad, a nasty creep!
Oh! How it makes me weep!
Yesterday, he dined on kitten meat.
So ... I had him put to sleep.

Today, I am quite maudlin.
It just isn't very fair.
Of course, Tiggy hated mice-fare.
I just wish all my cats were here still
Cavorting on the table or windowsill.

I've made a terrible mistake, I fear.
That I cannot repair.

Unless, I find a Tabby Cat,
Somehow, someday, somewhere.

c-rite, Kutztown, PA 1993


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IN THE WAKE OF WACO, TEXAS
C-RITE/1993

In the wake of Waco, Texas
They died unto a man.
They killed the children.
Where no fair fight was given
Down in Texas land.

At the Alamo in Texas
They died unto a man.
They also died for freedom
Fighting for Texas land.

If you can't shoot fair in Texas
Stay the hell out of my country
Or return to Wounded Knee.

In the wake of Waco, Texas,
They say she was only three.
She died out west in Texas,
A colt upon her knee.

When guilt was won, my son,
On national TV.
Freedom was lost for you and me.

I'm a Lone Star Rebel,
They keep on tellin me.
But can't you see?
They died unto a man.
They killed children!

Freedom was gunned down in the streets
Of Waco, that day,
Where no fair fight was had.
Our Freedom died with them, I say.
Way down South
On honorable Texas land.

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Title: LITTLE GIRL, BROOKE
C-RITE 1997

Little Girl Brooke,
Come and look.

Over here you can cook
In a dolly's fry pan,
Use leaves for stew.

Broccoli and spinach
Will soon be finished.

Put noodles in
With sausage into the tin.
Use pine cones, sticks or straw.

On an August day
Away from the sun
Fake cooking is fun,
Little one.
Inside the shady arbor,
Add grapes.

Brew nuts, shells from snails
On the little stove in the corner.

Oh, little girl Brooke, go look.

All the people at the picnic table,
We all know you are a good pretend cook.

That's the best 3 minute pizza-strudel
I ever tasted from a
Three year old cook!

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WAITING AT THE END OF THE LANE
c-rite 1999 for Soul Cafe

I walked down the lane
To wait at the end of the road.

My Uncle John came by
(God rest his poetic soul.)
In a 1953 Dodge Coup.

"If you'd like to visit us, Mary, get in."
So we rode to the end of the road.
Where my Aunt Edith fed me
Corn on the cob, potato salad and ham.
In front of a black & white antique TV.

I watched the Mouseketeers,
While my cousins, Sally and Sue
Did up my curly brown hair
For the rest of the afternoon.

I ended up riding ponies at fairs.

On line meant then,
Waiting for a movie or a Ferris Wheel.
As covered dish specials,
Roasted hot dogs became our summer fare.

When I was the only true brown girl
We had from days on the run,
In the hot sun.
Who threw horseshoes with the best
Of them and ran grassy bases.

I swam and fished, read in the shade
All through childhood. Have you?

Sometimes when you have zilch to do
Walk down the lane
Wait at the end of the road
On a summer afternoon.

Hey, Don't get kidnapped, shot,
Run over, mugged, rolled,
Spit on, or insulted.

Or pissed off by lawnmowers crunching
Violets, wild geraniums
On those sunny afternoons.

Oh, and avoid the poison ivy, too.

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Title: US BOMBING, AN HISTORICAL DEPOSITION,
by a peace-nic/ Mary Moffett --- May 5, 1999

US BOMBING? LET'S CUT RIGHT TO THE CHASE.

WE HAVE BOMBED: IRAN, IRAQ, JAPAN,
NICARAGUA, HONDURAS, HAITI AND PANAMA.

MY COUNTRY HAD BOMBED:
NORTH & SOUTH VIETNAM
NORTH & SOUTH KOREA
CAMBODIA, LAOS, THAILAND
SOMALIA, KUWAIT, AFRICA,
FRANCE, BELGIUM, AUSTRIA.
THE CZECH REPUBLIC,
HUNGRY, POLAND, LATVIA,
LITHUANIA, ALBANIA, ROMANIA.

GRENADA, THE COASTS OF EUROPE AND AUSTRALIA,
THE PHILIPPINES, HIROSHIMA, UTAH.

NEVADA, NAGASAKI, ITALY, GREECE.
AFGHANISTAN.

CUT TO THE CHASE.
US BOMBING HAS LOST SCORES OF MEN,
WOMEN, CHILDREN
GEOGRAPHIC ENVIRONMENT LAYS RUINED.

BACK TO SQUARE ONE/ CUT TO THE CHASE.
GRANTED MUCH OF THE PAST IS GLUED TO WORLD WAR II.

WHAT THE HELL HAVE WE WON?

KILLING CIVILIANS AGAIN!!!!
SO LET'S UNMASK ANY LIES RE: US BOMBING.

THERE WAS NO DOMINO EFFECT.

YES, VIRGINIA WE USED NAPALM.

AT ONE TIME GENOCIDE WAS HITLER'S CLAIM,
WITHOUT ERRORS IN TEXTBOOKS
RE: AMERICAN INUITS?

THERE WERE NO WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION.*

DID WE LEARN PROPAGANDA FROM MOSCOW?

PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU NOW, BE HUMANE
AS CONCERNED US CITIZENS,
EXAMINE THE RIGHT TO USE
WITHOUT JUST CAUSE
ALL THIS US-BOMBING.

(* This line added in June, 2006.)


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THE FOLLOWING is a read aloud using a glass of water & a Southern accent. When you see (SIP) gurgle the water for effect. Very popular on off-campus bars.

BLACK DAWG, BLACK BEAR

You know it was late:
Three A.M. Friday night.
When my parents went out.
Left me alone. Thaaas right.
Late on a Friday night. (Sip.)

So I did what any youngin would do
Adrift, alone in a big old,
Empty, dark, cold house.
I commenced to holler and howl
At the moon, my friends,
On Friday night.
Yeah, thaaas right.

Then a fairy flew in the window.
Sat down on the toy box and said:
"My gawd, Dawg.
You're alone howlin'
At the moon tonight."

Thaas right.

"Well, the moon aint very bright,
So you better stay inside tonight."

Below, in our coalminer's town
Mom and Dad ran together in back alleys.
Until they were let into a dern saloon.
Where Da starts peltin' gin.
On the back of his tongue, you know. (SIP!)

Mama looked pretty, looking on.
That bar was lit by candles.
Gaslight scones shone on the walls.

Although vile creatures.
Big and small ... lurked
About in the dark
Everywhere.

Besides their own baby, me,
Now, I'm home with a fairy.
Who should be sitting, I guess
On the group F bench.

But, NOOOO! Don't howl or curse,
Don't even say the F-word.
Keeey --- ERRR --- RIIISSTTT! (sip.)

While Mama laps up beer,
Papa drank from the tap a few pints
Of Ripple. His pals treat him right.
More beers! Cheers!

The fairy, to give her credit here,
Covered my shivering form and said:
"You're canine, you're never alone.
Your ancestors are all around,
And in your loins.
So sleep at night."

SUNRISE SATURDAY: Fairy cooking breakfast
Of bacon and eggs.
I lick all the grease from the pan,
Cleaning up like a diner lackey
Removes spent veggie oil
From a French fryer.
When in strolls the fancy parents.

Where had they been?
Who had they seen?
Can we go swimming today
Or to County fair?
Fairies really dig fairs, ya know.

I folded right away,
Tail between my legs,
Cowering at Mommy's chair.

Uh ... when ... into ...
The kitchen walks a bear.

You are aware
Thaas scary.
Away flew the fairy,
Callin: "I'm outa here."

Who cares about fairs,
Woods or rivers or impromptu zoos?
In the name of the great outdoors
Tell me WHO?

So the black bear pulls up a chair.
Eats up all the bacon,
Every egg in the house, sugar,
Bread, jelly, syrup,
Drinks my milk, Orange juice spills on his chest.
Eating Cheerios, pancake mix stuck to his hair.

Starting on 5 lbs of apples,
Bear sez to me:
"What time did they put you to bed?"

"Why, about 2 a.m...." I sez,
Quickly hiding 10 lbs of
Kennel Ration under the sink.

Well, it appears, Datty,
A curly haired cur,
Won too much at poker.
Mom put the money
Into the Buddy-wiser can
She wears on a silver choker
Serendipitously around her neck.

Papa got chased to the gates,
Of the local tourist pull,
The Coalminer's Zoo.

Mommy finds Daddy holding his own at dawn
Making plans with a sow-faced female --- Bar
With a weekend pass who needs a babysitter.

So it came to pass we're going tree climbing.
An Effen all time favorite
Of all bears everywhere.
Usually I use a skateboard to get up a tree.

Moral of a cuddly puppy's dilemma?

Be careful where you sleep
In a coalminer's town.

NEWS FLASH: Sunday morning:
Bear steals Corvette,
Robs A & P, bags own groceries,
Crashes paw through store front of
State College on Calhoun,
Nets plenty of Beefeaters Gin ... Oh Yeah.

Now, after a few weeks goes by,
Pop's got a game going in the parlor.
Mom no longer runs circles in back alleys.

And did you know bears a
Are very good at football?

Fortunately for poor Datty,
(Sip!) This heyah, Bar,
Really hates Datty's gin.

The sunofabitch moves in.
Brings the cub family.
What's a dawg to do?

Autumn/ 2000