Wee Folk (read Only If You Believe)
Wee People
Tis a pity and a shame, that no one knows me name
Tis a fact that I’m a hard to know little fellow
In the glens and the highlands, people know me fame
And the fact I carry gold that glitters yellow
Tis a fact that rainbows touch the sod…and
Where they touch, there be treasure
And that silken thread from thistle pod
Ties rainbows ends to heather
Me self and me kinfolk, nimble and quick
Know exactly where the rainbows end
And no mortal yet has managed to trick
A wee person into telling the where or the when
Mortals no longer believe in wee people and such
Tis a pity the magic they’ve lost
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poem by David Whalen
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Sweet Lucy
I can hear those bedsprings a’squeakin’
From halfway down the block
And how come it gets so quiet, lil’ mama,
When my key rattles in the lock
“You say you ain’t misbehaving” sweet Lucie
But that ain’t the answer I want
Who’s that going out the back door lil’ mama
Whenever I come in the front?
How come your hair’s so pretty
How come you got gloss on your lips
How come’s your eyes are all mascarey
Why’s there sweaty fingerprints on your hips?
I beginning to suspect you might be cheatin’
Imma beginning’ to have my doubt
Imma beginning’ to wonder who’s comin’ in Sweet mamma
The minute I’m goin’ out
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poem by David Whalen
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Of Color Red
Of all the hues on Nature's palette
Tis the only one,
that at the same inspires,
Both passion and dread
Tis the singular color
that conspires in such fine fashion,
to aptly ascribe to both
the living and the dead
Tis a schizophrenic tint
of unpredictable nature
With both love and hate
described as such
And coined in no common nomenclature
As the outstanding adjective
for cold cruelty,
or torrid touch
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poem by David Whalen
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Babies, Moms, Memories and Aromas
Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas
Young baby, helpless and wee
Head reposes on mom’s shoulder
Nestled in soft arms comfortably
Smells the hair of the one who holds her
Mom’s fresh shampoo scent, becomes imprinted deep
A comforting, soothing essence… in
The child’s vast, and unfilled memory keep
Takes up permanent residence
Small, chubby fingers twirling ringlets of hair
While the singular scent of her mother…is
Being tucked away, with loving care
Memories and scents stacked atop one another
Sweet baby powder is the smell on the palm
Of the hand That gently pats the child’s back
The odor re-enforcing a reassuring calm… and
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poem by David Whalen
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Question Me Now, My Children
Question Me Now, My children
Ask questions of me, my children
For time has a way…
Of slipping through fingers
Like reapers through hay
Your heritage is a treasure
That one day you’ll have need
Questions in need of answers
And no answers to heed
Was your great grandfather
A brown-eyed lad
Was your great grandmother
Perhaps a little bit mad
Ask about your ancestry
So interesting and rich
Was great aunt Sarah just an ol’ maid…
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poem by David Whalen
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Aphorisms: Men and women, Happiness and misery
Some Aphorisms
Happiness is good health and a bad memory unknown
If I dropped dead right now I’d be the happiest man alive Samuel Goldwyn
Ask yourself if you are happy and you will cease to be John Stuart Mill
Be happy, it’s a way of being wise Odette
Anxiety is interest paid on trouble before it’s due Dean Inge
Harmony seldom makes a headline unknown
Don’t do whatever you like-like whatever you do unknown
Comedy is tragedy plus time Carol Burnett
When it rains look up rather than down
For without the rain there’d be no rainbow Jerry Chinn
Everything human is pathetic, the secret source
Of humor itself is not joy but sorrow unknown
I love my raggedy-ass ol’ life
I never want to die Dennis Trudell
We’d all be sorry if
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poem by David Whalen
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Happy Fourth of July America!
Wanna' know how many lil' kids
Go to bed hungry in the U.SA
Each night?
If I said "over a million"
Would you sleep any
less sound tonight?
And how many of you
Would agree with me
That being a kid can be rough?
Well…over six million American kids
Get either very little food…each day
Or simply not enough.
Feelin' uncomfortable yet? I hope so! ! !
Think about it, when you're chowin' down
This bountiful 4th of July
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poem by David Whalen
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A Neighborly Guy
Baptist churches and brotherhood
In a tired, aging town
A moribund neighborhood
Where faith and fraternity are found
Cleveland Ohio’s a rust belt town
Ordinary citizens, still work out the days
Life comes and goes, has ups and has downs
But some neighbors are different in unusual ways
Take Anthony Sowell, a neighborly guy
A smile bright as the sunrise, none brighter or quicker
Liked to sit on his porch, by and by
Sippin’ from a bottle of King Cobra Malt Liquor
Had a few girlfriends over, seemed a regular guy
Neighbors came over for barbecue at times
Always said “good mornin’ and evening” and “hi’
Scrounged up ol’ metal for nickels and dimes
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poem by David Whalen
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What tis it about Angels?
They usually are barefoot
That they never wear shoes
They seem to like flip flops or sandals
as the footwear they choose
That they almost always wear white
Never chartreuse or puce
And their garb’s never tailored
It’s always flowing and loose
Is it strange that there’s
no female Angels in the bible
Is there a gender bias
For which that Holy book’s liable
And isn’t it odd
That Those beautiful wings
Must surely prevent them
From leaning back against things
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poem by David Whalen
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A Christmas Eve Conversation
“Why can’t we go in daddy”
“Maybe another time sweetie”
“Dad, what happened to rags? ”
“He’s found a good home I think”
“Are we gonna have a Christmas tree daddy? ”
“Maybe next year if we’re lucky”
“Where’s mom daddy? ”
“That’s where we’re goin now sweetie”
“Is she waiting for us on the corner? ”
“Yeah, that’s kind of our home right now”
“Why can’t we stay here Dad? ”
“Other people live here now”
“Why? ”
“because it’s somebody else’s home now”
“but why daddy? ”
“Well, sweetie, things just happen”
“Why’d they happen to us? ”
“Don’t know why Sweetknees”
“Does it happen to everybody? ”
“Yeah, we’re not alone”
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poem by David Whalen
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