Sunday, November 25, 2007

Some oldies.


I hate my hands.

Stubby fingers:
sausages that can't
palm a basketball or
snap a smart smooth spiral
from a NFL's football's laces.

Fuckin' stinkin' little hands,
goddamn: I was born with brains,
and with reasonable coordination,
and drive to play the games men play,
but I'm cursed with these stinkin' little hands.

I've spent most of my life on mind things:
analyzing this and that and concluding sharply,
making pronouncements: profound, or at least payed for,
but I've been thinking that I would have lived a different life,
but for the curse of these dammed chubby, short fingered hands.

It Ain't Twilight Time
By GC Smith

Perhaps autumn's breath will chill me,
but not just yet, it ain't quite that time,
'cause, damn I'm havin' much too much fun

Sixty and nine years upon this green earth
will be my time in just a few more months;
hell, that ain't long, I'm plannin' on a hunnert

There is so much left to do, I still gotta play,
and take my boat on out to gulf stream waters
and test my strength against a trophy marlin

Then there's books to read and poems to write,
all the good old stuff that makes my life so fine;
all of the stuff for which there ain't enough time

My gal and I still wake up each and every day
and hug and kiss and look out at the blue sky
as sun comes up over marshland and the river

Then there's all the shrimp, the crabs, the fish
taken with line and net from my tidal creek
that go so well with a balloon glass of good wine

There's lots to see and do that I ain't yet seen or done
so this autumn time is just gonna have to wait its turn
til somewhere way down the line I find my season's gone

That autumn time, by gol, it ain't near upon me yet;
tough it's true I'm no longer in the springtime of life
nothing in my earthly time tells me it ain't still summer

This old guy intends to stick around God's green earth a while;
enjoying every minute of these glorious late summer days
and doing each of the many, many things that fill my life


Pride is a sin from which I can't hide
'cause most everything I do is vanity,
but is being prideful so very wrong
when one has liked himself all along

Then there is envy, especially nasty
when finding neighbor's goodies tasty,
though envy's not a tempting sin you see
'cause all of what I have pleases me

Now gluttony, is a super sin,
while gravy dribbles from my chin;
this gourmand can eat for two;
chowing down is much of what I do

Lust is a sin of which I'm guilty;
it comes from watching lovely ladies
barley covered by those string bikinis
so damn revealing 'cause they're teeny

The road to anger is not my path;
I just don't have a sense of wrath:
I'd sooner forget, I'd rather forgive:
It's simply a much better way to live

Greed, like envy, ain't for me
I've better things to do, you see;
greed can entangle one, like in a weed;
from entanglement I'd rather be freed

But there's still sloth, dammit
and I sometimes am guilty of it,
but, heck, you know, I am retired,
so it ain't sloth, it's how I'm wired

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