The Olympic Tide
Some One Told Me To Suffer
Some Challenge By My Hero Chris Mills
I am just a sad country boy and writing any poetry leaves me at best weak at the knees. But I do reading Psalms and the like. I have no business getting into a ruckus with real poets. Everybody has a talent they should “exploit”. I suggest that mine is not poetry. But you get thissy here deal and for some reason unbeknownst to me you expand you horizons.
Now when I was too young to know better, maybe 40 or so I would write poetry for my gal 3,000 miles away and sometimes I would just say it and she said it helped her relax and fall asleep. Maybe after near 18 years of marriage it floated away and I am grateful for a man, Chris Mills who dug it up again. I reckon we forget and bury things. I do not know. I do think quite clearly that lengthy poem with every line rhyming is not really a poem. I can’t quite get.
I was laying awake in a field that has no life to it.
I had to my name not a single silver bit.
I had a nasty broke nose that had purple all over it.
It was the ninth year since my wife had passed I had had it.
The pint of Whisky did not change the same month of it.
If a nasty wolf was in the mix I would not care a whit.
I heard tale that a song was opus I did not care a wit
My new wife said sleeping outside was dangerous and that I was lit
I simply said if she had not run a marathon like me, to git
Maybe I was discombolute But it helped to make it quit
If You Can Know All These Artist You Win
Thank all of you so much. My old pappy told me one time that a dollar can burn and you can burn bridges. But a real friend will build that bridge again. Thanks for all your great bridges I would be stuck on the other side without you.