Jackfu, your words go perfectly with that song. How fun. I sympathize with wondering where the cell phone or keys are. Plus I misplace that darn remote control for the TV now and then Ugh. Delightful poem.
Jackfu, your words go perfectly with that song. How fun. I sympathize with wondering where the cell phone or keys are. Plus I misplace that darn remote control for the TV now and then Ugh. Delightful poem.
Jackfu, your words go perfectly with that song. How fun. I sympathize with wondering where the cell phone or keys are. Plus I misplace that darn remote control for the TV now and then Ugh. Delightful poem.
Don't think I know the tune, at least under that name. Fun words, though!
Jackfu, your words go perfectly with that song. How fun. I sympathize with wondering where the cell phone or keys are. Plus I misplace that darn remote control for the TV now and then Ugh. Delightful poem.
Don't think I know the tune, at least under that name. Fun words, though!
Impersonal telephone wires relayed my friend’s suicide. Shock shrouded me, mouth sucking sludge air like struggling salmon flipped on to level rocks. Last week we’d all been together at work and taverns, blind to his signs. Some signal, even dimmed amber, had to have flashed the intent of so young a man to execute notes to his wife, three children and a hose to his muffler.
We just had guy talk- business, Olympics, more brewskies. I thought him a little quieter, as we drank more and more from the shallowest end of the bar. Why did we all keep shoving into his longer silences? I remember how we just rambled, fearful of pauses and quiet that are invitations for the cleansing of air.
After the funeral, our gathering at the bar drank beer that tasted flat, the popcorn and peanuts piling high around our barstools, weighting us in a silent downstream riffle.
I wanted to join a group of women drinking near me, perhaps escaping into their gossip and giggles. But I and my buddies have always been afraid of those who leave airy space for the articulate, distinctly raised braille of the heart.
It seems that Piero Piccioni Preferred local beaches being stoney Because not leaving prints In the sand stopped the hints That his alibi might just be phoney
Here's a song based on a really, really old one. I took Ernest Tubb's song and modified it to a crime scene song.
"Chalking the Floor Around You" - to the tune of "Walking the Floor Over You" (Tubb)
Chalking the Floor Around You
I'm chalkin’ the floor around you Someone shot you dead, that is true The Cops, they are a-searchin’ for the slugs That passed on thru Chalkin’ the floor around you.
Did you say something you shouldn’t say That made someone blow you away Or did you step over the line Push someone too far, act too unkind I hope that your killer, soon we’ll will find.
I'm chalkin’ the floor around you Someone shot you dead, sad, but true Yeah, the place is sure a dad-blamed mess A big fight must have ensued. Chalkin’ the floor around you.
Was it a drug deal that went bad It sure looks like someone just went mad. Well, we’re pickin’ up the pieces for Some evidence we can use, Chalkin’ the floor around you.
I'm chalkin’ the floor around you Why would someone do this to you? The Cops, they are a-searchin’ just in Case we missed some clue Chalkin’ the floor around you.
