Friday, March 19, 2010

5 poems

by horace p sternwall

pictures by rhoda


arabia is far away
and stretches out in every direction
but though you cut it up every which way
there's nothing but sand in every section


boom-ba-de-boom, ba-de-boom-boom-boom
boom-ba-de-boom, ba-de-boom-boom-boom
bury my heart in a golden tomb
at the end of the earth, if there's any room


i want to go to china before i die
to see if everything i was taught was a lie
i'll pay some wise old sages a call
we'll sit and talk, beside a waterfall


weary waitresses and bored detectives
fill the hallways with vile invective
hotel down by the railroad tracks
dead shoe salesmen never come back


i woke up this morning with a feeling of despair
and looked around for my teddy bear
but someone had slipped through the bars of my cell
and carried poor teddy off to hell


Dan Leo said...

Of all the ink-stained wretches
who worked in words and rhyme
only a man named Sternwall
delivered every time.

human being said...


sand is sad
so is a tomb

water falls
so do the sales

despair is hell
so is a cell



horace said...

thanks again. "every time" is a tall order - we'll see how it goes from here.

glad you liked it. "we" will keep in touch.