The Guitar Man

They call me the guitar man.
Cause I can really bend those strings.
I no longer play in a band,
But I can make my guitar sing.

There ain't nothing I can't play,
I carry music in my soul.
I play better than yesterday,
I can play some solid gold.

My acoustic Alvarez,
Can either sing or cry.
I thank the Lord, that he has blessed,
My guitar and me from on high.

If you're ever down in Texas,
Come and see this guitar man.
I don't look at all like Elvis,
But I do the best I can.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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Number Eight Hook

This little fish hook, is a number eight,
Tiny as it is I will attest.
It's put many fish on my dinner plate,
For catching perch it is the best.
I wouldn't exchange it for all the rest.

With a piece of night crawler, wiggling around,
This tiny hook is my weapon of choice.
The fish are ecstatic, at what they have found,
And all of a sudden, they just loose their poise.
The silent assassin strikes without noise.

Little red number eight, I depend upon,
To get me fish, with constant ease.
My secret weapon when all else goes wrong,
For a wonderful supper, or catch and release.
Little red number eight, knows just how to please.

9/5/10 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
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Night Crawlers

Night Crawlers wiggling in my hand,
They are the best bait in all the land.
Night Crawlers, six and a half inch long,
From the heart of Texas, you can't go wrong.

Night Crawlers a sure fire guarantee,
You'll catch your limit under that tree.
Night Crawlers they are just so fine,
Just hook them up on your fishing line.

Night Crawlers for catfish, are just the best,
Head and shoulders above the rest.
Night Crawlers, number one you must rate,
A whole lot better, than that ole stink bait.

Night Crawlers, a good and slimey treat,
Whatever you use, they got it beat.
Night Crawlers on the job, and you can't miss,
I think I'll give mine, a big wet kiss.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Butterfly Weed

Oh lady bug, you've done a good deed.
Setting your table on the butterfly weed,
You're the custodian of all you survey,
On butterfly weed, till the end of the day.

Oh beautiful monarch, where do you feed,
I see you too love the butterfly weed.
You and the ladybug would be poor indeed,
If it was'nt for the butterfly weed.

Oh hummingbird whose throat seems to bleed,
What do you here on the butterfly weed?
All hummingbirds, good advice heed,
We love the orange butterfly weed.

God's smallest creatures, go by one creed,
To congregate on the butterfly weed.
Let the south wind blow, and spread your seed,
So that there will be millions of the butterfly weed.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Hidden Pond

There's a little ribbon snake,
Swimming in the hidden pond.
To him it's one of the Great Lakes,
Of his watery home he is so fond.

He's swimming towards a lilly pad,
Where sits a sleeping leopard frog.
Dozing on her spongy bed,
In the early morning fog.

Dragonflys buzz all around,
In the early morning light.
They never get close to the ground,
Once their gossamer wings take flight.

Crickets chirp, and minnows swim,
The hidden pond is full of life.
Long legged spiders skip and skim,
Perch cut the water like a knife.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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What Is War

The little boy on his fathers lap
asked with expression sore
I know i am small but i want to be told
daddy what is war?

war my son is where people die,
where old men suffer and women sigh,
where children hunger, where babies cry,
where trees won't grow please don't ask why.

The little boy got down and said,
why does it happen it sounds so bad?
Iv'e never seen a war before,
please daddy tell me more.

My son you are small but must be told,
a war is destruction it hurts us all,
war is the reason fields can't be sown,
war is the reason your brother's gone.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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I Saw God Today.... For My Pal Smoky

I saw God today, on a mountain high,
As the wind blew through my hair.
I saw God today in the clear blue sky,
I felt small and humble there.

I saw God today, in the desert sands,
As the Joshua Trees reached for the sky.
I saw God today in the arid sands,
And heard the coyotes mournful cries.

I saw God today in the desert sun,
And in the desert willow bells.
I saw God today, just one on one,
In beautiful stones and ancient sea shells.

I saw God today and he saw me,
I could reach out and touch his face.
I saw God in that vast dry sea,
And now my soul is full of grace.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Fairy Castle

There's a fairy castle, in my backyard,
It's spires reaching upward, towards the sky.
It's blue green spines pointy and hard,
One little stab will make you want to cry.

It stretches fifteen feet, into the air,
Majestic in the setting sun.
A king of the desert noble and fair,
An impenetrable fortress, to all but one.

Up in the topmost spires a thrush,
Has made her simple home.
In between the stems that squeeze and crush,
On her nest she's sitting all alone.

Without a worry in the world she rests,
And in her bed she sings and nestles.
While her mate dozes near the nest,
Happy within, their fairy castle.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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Texas Indigo Snake

Walking through the chapparral,
A loud rattle assailed my ears.
I stopped in my tracks,
Trembling in my boots.
There she was,
Coiled up,
Under the big colima.
Six feet of,
Slow painful death.
A Western Diamondback.
She was ready,
To deliver her punch,
I had strayed too close.

But it was not to be.
There was a loud,
Rustling of twigs, and leaves,
A cloud of dust,
And a gigantic, black serpent,
Engulfed the rattler.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Little Old School Room

In a little old school room,
In that old country school.
Where we started to bloom,
With the Golden Rule.

That was the place for our very best times,
Learning to read, reciting nursery rhymes.
That little old school room way in the back,
In the morning we'd get there, by crossing the tracks.

Fixing it up for Halloween,
Black cats, pumpkins, witches, and hay.
The most wonderful room I'd ever seen.
We couldn't wait for that special day.

Making masks from paper bags,
Getting up a party for the fourth grade class.
All dressed up in paint and rags,
Drawing little ghosts on the window glass.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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