Jolly Joe

This is a song/poem my friend Scott wrote. 
I transcribed it off my cell phone after several times of careful listening.
Has the feel of a blues tune.


Jolly Joe

Three wheels good
With the freezer behind
Same tune playing
All the time...

Pop goes the sicle
Putting up the hill
Kids on the back
Dripping green drool.

Lime is good
And cherry ain't bad
But the Sidewalk Sundaes
Best you ever had.

Missiles are good
Drumsticks are better
Fudgesicles rock
But creamsicles never
Creamsicles never.

Riding on the back
Of a three wheeled Joe
Same tune playing
I still don't know.

Popeye?
The weasel?
E-I-E-I-O?

Dripping orange drool
No more school
Creamsicles never
Til September

Scott LaRose   8/26/12

Waited for the peaches to come

The labors were waiting
Intense as a log
Under the vanilla sun
Brrr and freezing
The kitchen mirrors were leaning
Golden flash in the morning
Clear as the tunnels of night
Long as the day clears butter
And the locksmith locks down
Two beds and a coat
Under the underarm drawer
Waiting for more
Just as the prophet warned
The nephew showed up
All full of litter down the drain
And the leftover leftover
Waiting for the lists too long
Under the underwear drawers
Where the fear travels long
But not too far
Just the length of a spindle
Large enough for a bang
When the printer is working
It's on and off sound
It's just a timpani
Warming up for the musical
With the wire off and the skin on
Nothing for the holding
Just leather and beaches
And the ok coral
But you were looking for peaches
When I ate the pits
Lessons of the hereafter
Were leaving me behind
Just behind the jet skiis
Where the onions fried
And the toasters gerbilled
Their tongue twisted ways
Before the aftermath
Left them speaking in tongues
I could not add it up
How they all got here
It made me tense
Present tense
Before the removals arrived
Their assistants left behind
One walrus, a petrie dish, and a muffin
I didn't know what to do
So I fired up the bunsen
let the new york specials fry
Cooked capitals but the flavors changed
And the water whined
Just before the kool aid turned
To vinegar and the water to wine
Jesus on the trampoline
Wining and dining
Waiting for his tea
And all the muffins
When the hours would meet
In  past tense harvest
Of yesteryears sucess
And your failure to know
It's not your fault
But it is
And it's mine
But I'm in denial
Just like friends
Wearing superficial remover
When the time comes
For debate to follow
And the rest turned up backwards
But the forwards wasn't too bad
Dressed in its covers doing the math
It would not add up
I removed myself
Dusk between the sheets
And waitied for the peachs to come.

Denis Streeter  8/26/12

Notes from a dream

Next time that you have a dream

Pull out your phone

and call me up

And tell me where you are

So I can meet you

We can fly around

Until we find the perfect tree

For you and me to rent a branch

With an apartment

It’s a little run down

With lots of stairs

That go somewhere

But the porch is huge

with clawfoot tub

And an old piano

Then next time you have that dream

Where you make up a brand new song

The piano will help to write it down

So you can remember

There is a lake inside the tree

That we can walk our dog beside

On bark strewn shore we watch

The ships at sea

Driving home we take

The secret freeway

The one below the

Freeway blocked with traffic

But ours isn’t

While we were at the lake

Inside the tree they cut it down

And built a concrete one but

Left our branch alone

Next time that you have a dream

Pull out your phone

and call me up

And tell me where you are

So I can meet you

A friend told me this in a dream
8/21/12

Childhood friends

There is the history we see
And the history we dont see
It is what we don't know about each other
What we think we know about each other
And what has changed
That gets us in trouble
The assumption that
Knowing each other from childhood
Well...that's really all there is to know
When you have that much history
That much misunderstanding
That much bad blood between friends
It's hard to be forgiving
And emailing thoughts across the net
And it is a net we get caught in
Even when both sides are trying to understand each other
I understand the saying "Agree to disagree."
But with so much history, it feels like a pathetic platitude
It isn't
We should talk
We should pray
Because sometimes
The amount of felt anger and mixed up history
Seems insurmountable
So
Could we talk
Can we talk
I pray we can.

Denis Streeter  8/19/12

Nothing

I just finished watching a Hal Hartley film called "Simple Men".  It was a pretentious piece of

Nothing

The signs began when they were first stopping
Opening doors in fields of nowhere
And the discussion came
Ruling out possibilities of hope and destruction
Centering on the good and the sick
I got out my razor blade and started cutting
First one finger then the hand
But the bone always got in the way
So I stopped cutting
Leaving the rest for some zombie apocalypse
But it was realism that you want
I could not give it to you
So you walked away
And I'm sad for another day
But then you said something I couldn't hear
And I thought it was okay
Until I realized I didn't know
And hope fell
Until I asked you what you said
"Nothing"
I could still feel the zombies eating my brain
But that was nothing
Finger food
What the hand hides
You cannot show
All the lies
You don't know
"Nothing"

Denis Streeter  8/18/12

Only one

Tying up the posts by the midnight pan
I banned the swimming, the fishing boats
And swam with the sinners by the midnight sand
The bells were swinging, the bees were singing
There was nothing left to do but join the chorus
So I put on my rose flaked shirt
Dressed my trousers as Sam
Put on my overcoat
Painted up a song
Of gun whales and sheeping gas
But it was retarded so they made me leave
Saying I was unfit for the political present
Needing a practical understanding
The gun whales shook their heads
The sheeping gas let out a wail
The fleas jumped just to be thrifty
And the song ended before the mime could begin
There was nothing in the singing
Just some political unrest
That no one could explain to me
At least to my satisfaction
Perhaps because I called them stupid
The monkeys jumped up all excited
And they hadn't even entered the narrative
Tongue tied and twisted as pistols
There was nothing in the marination
Except some coronation
Bent sideways with the sheeping gas
The sun had warmed them it was coming
But they turned off the water with their two fisted fleas
Bundled in overcoats the size of stockings
Just behind the screens and the lathes
Wondering if it was time for them
But it wasn't
So they turned off the sun
Put the tools away
Laid them in a manger
Called them Jesus
And loaded them in some star overhead
Hoping theology would be enough
But also down to earth enough to keep trying
So they let the cat box out
Don't know who or why
The tins were making an awful racket
Some tennis ball posing as a fly swatter
I couldn't get enough
So I put on my sweater and slipped through the loops
The bothers were backwards so I let out the seems
But no one could be bothered
And the ants kept whining that there was no one to play
I could only think of one
Only one.

Denis Streeter   8/17/12

Blundering what to do

I blurbled through the day
Blundering what to do
Blister bent backwards
Bent to twist two ties
But the work ladder bent on hallowed ground
Searching for metaphor
Ending in obscurity
The poet's name and signature
No real worth
Besides it was bent up to show a left hand L
If it had another foot it would be an upside down capital T
But the land fell down surfing the plains
First down upsome street
Then up ladder avenue
There was no settling for less
The bridges were up and pissing the passes
And the price of fried eggs were down
Just to a bug or two
Blundering what to do
When the hammer bent the bicycles in two
Why not three or four
I don't know
It didn't fit the hot randomness of the attire
And the lids weren't happy either
They went outdoors and scolded the bleach
Sending in tongues of cat skins
And other things that make you go gross but don't know why
Or maybe you don't care and this rambling piece has just gone on too long
Why oh why didn't he write a haiku
Five seven five
Seventeen syllables
Instead he wrote this
Blurbling through the day
Just a bug or two
Blundering what to do.

Denis Streeter  8/17/12

Opening possibilities

The day is waking up
Warming up
Yesterday filled with the full spectrum of human experience
Sometimes keeping me awake at night
Sorting through conversations, past experiences
Sleep deprived yet excited
What another day will unfold
Looking outside my window
I hear cars passing on 15th
To their destinations
At some point
Our lives may be interwoven
Life is mysterious and beautiful
Unexpected and sometimes not kind
My energy is high
I can feel the changings
The flow
The give and receive
Opening possibilities.

Denis Streeter  8/16/12

Customer service

I feel like a new year is opening up
Maybe because I'm on school schedule
Some are already beginning
The rush for school supplies has begun
And with it all the changing emotions...
Excitement, wonder, apprehension...
I've seen people I haven't seen for years
All sorts, all ages
My age, kids grown up
What is seen and yet to be seen
The flood of humanity
True kindness, temper tantrums, lists
What will I learn
And each day I have to center myself
To business picking up
After the slow summer months
Feed into the energy
Without wearing myself out
It's actually a wonderful time of the year
Filled with so many possible connections
I wonder what will open up
Today...

Denis Streeter  8/15/12

Happy Birthday!

Birthdays are special
The birth day is not
Chances are your yearly birth day was not special
Except in your mind
The outside world moves as it always has
Oblivious to any specialness
Anything could happen
Some days are better than others
I know...I'm stating the obvious.
The best day you have this year
That is your birthday
I want it to be uniquely yours
Your joy, your connections, your you
Is everything I want your birthday to be.

Denis Streeter  8/12/12

51

Birthday is June 30.

Odd but not prime
3 and 17 are in my prime
Which seems closer to my age
Sometimes
Though experience
Or lack thereof
Tells me otherwise
Odd
Things for a man to do
Dance and read children's books
Write nonsense verse
Work retail
I want to be different, but
I want to relate
Odd but not prime
To see is not to know
To know takes time
It is emotions and intellect
How they weave and separate
Is ongoing
A part of the fabric
Darn
Release
Stitch.

Denis Streeter  8/10/12

The Low Life

I've read two stories in the five story collection called "The Low Life" by Canadian writer Brian Doyle.  Seriously it's very funny, poignant, well-written, and reads aloud well.  All these stories have a regional feel as they are set near the Gatineaux River near Low in Quebec.   I've read all these stories years ago and was delighted to see them compiled in one large book.  They stand the test of time.  I read the following excerpt from "Angel Square"(1984) during Monday night poetry, which was well received.  Some background...It is set in 1945, the teacher is "Blue Cheeks",the narrator is Tommy, his best friend is Sammy...whose father got beaten up:

     Blue Cheeks could turn his head right around without moving his
body.  His head would start turning slowly and it would keep turning
and turning until it was facing the other way.  Then it would start back
until it was back almost to the same spot.  He could turn his head left
and right so far that he could cover the whole 360 degrees without
moving his shoulders.  His head must have been on a swivel or some-
thing.
     He would write grammar sentences on the board so that we could
copy them out and then tell him what was wrong with them.
     All the sentences he ever wrote on the board were wrong.
     Some were quite funny but if he heard anybody laughing or
snorting, old Blue Cheeks's head would start coming around, slowly,
slowly.  And we'd all sit there, hypnotized by how far his head could come
round.
     I used to think it would unscrew and tumble right off onto the floor.
     But then, of course, if that happened he could just catch it just before it
hit because his hands hung down there near the floor anyway.
     I was thinking about Sammy's father, so I must have been staring
into the blackboard like I was hynotized.  Dad said later I must
have looked like a cow watching a train go by.
     "You!  What is wrong with this sentence?"
     He was pointing at the sentence he had just written on the board.
     "Read the sentence, please," he said.
     I read it.  "Ralph edged closer as the moose sniffed suspiciously and
snapped the picture," the sentence said.
     "Well?" said Blue Cheeks.
     I looked at the sentence again.
     "Tell us Mr. Daydreams, what is wrong with this sentence."
     "It's something to do with the camera," I said.
     "It's something to do with the camera, is it?"  His head was right
around facing me full-on now and his shoulders were still facing the
blackboard.  It seemed impossible.
     "And the moose," I said, "and something to do with the moose."
     "The moose and the camera," said Blue Cheeks, sarcasm dripping off
his lips like syrup.
     "And Ralph," I said, just to make sure, "there's something wrong
with Ralph too."
     "And what do you suppose it is that is wrong with Ralph?" said Blue
Cheeks.
     "He hasn't got the camera," I said.
     "And who has the camera?"
     "The moose seems to have the camera."
     "And why has the moose got the camera instead of Ralph?"
     "I don't know, sir.  It seems strange, a moose with a camera."
     "Why has the moose got the camera?"
     "Maybe he took it from Ralph?"
     "Why hasn't Ralph got his own camera?"  Blue Cheeks's face was dark
blue now.
     "Maybe it isn't Ralph's camera!" I said, thinking I was on to some-
thing.  "Maybe Ralph hasn't got a camera and the moose has a camera
and Ralph's sneaking up on the moose to steal his camera!"
     "Read the sentence again!"
     "Ralph edged closer as the moose sniffed suspiciously and snapped
the picture."  I almost knew it off by heart now.
     "What is wrong with that sentence?"
     Behind me sat Geranium Mayburger, the dumbest girl in the school.
Geranium loved to whisper answers to people.  Specially people in trouble.
     "Hooves," she whispered behind me.  "A moose can't take a picture
because his hooves are too big for the button."
     "Five seconds," said Blue Cheeks, "or you stay and write lines!"  He
sounded like he was choking.  I was desperate.
     "A moose could never hold a camera properly or snap a picture
because of its large and clumsy hooves." I said, trying to make the best
sentence I could.
     I knew I was doomed, so I sat down.
     Blue Cheeks gurgled, "One hundred lines--'I must learn my gram-
mar!"

page 105-107, "The Low Life:  5 Great Tales from up and down the River", 1999.

Brian Doyle has a wonderful style of writing and has created such characters as Fleurette Featherstone Fitchell, Toe-Jam Laframboise, and Nerves the dog.