Philomena’s Parade

Each day Philomena leads the parade
Through a buttercup field never been hayed
Heifers and steers they trudge across the land
No knowledge of what their owner has planned

“There’s no money in it,” claims panjandrum
Why does he raise them?  It’s a  conundrum
Dumb old man, who will excessively boast
He raises the meat but won’t eat the roast.

Sun peeks up from the horizon, east
Dew covered grass swaps grazing bovine feast
Baby calves frolic with their tails up curled
Beyond that fence is a divergent world

Sometimes I want to break down that old fence
Let cows run free, I’ll suffer consequence
But a cow is not a pet, won’t house train
Dwells in a meadow; grazes off terrain

I’ll watch from my window as livestock feeds
Down comes the fence with imagined stampedes
Philomena named for big cow mama
Greatly loved by all; she’s an enigma

When the moon grows full and the breeze turns hot
Young calves flaunt themselves as they were taught
Across the pasture the path is well laid
One by one, Philomena’s parade.


Helmar’s Handbag

Helmar’s Handbag

He carried it with him wherever he went,
From inside came nickels and dimes which he spent.
But that wasn’t all he carried in his bag,
It was his whole life, since he’d turned scalawag.
Pictures, trinkets and a tube of red lipstick,
His life now nothing but a nasty limerick.

There’s a he-she on the street corner
Who once made movies as a porn’er
Now he’s just a ‘has been’
Doesn’t care for women,
But Helmar’s handbag will always adorn ‘her’.

Without even knowing he creates a trap,
For the same patrons who toss coins in his lap
Frequently customers will buy him a treat,
Till someone comes out and yells at him “Beat-feet!”
He gathers up his things and looks all around,
Helmar with ‘her’ handbag sashays out-of-town.

There’s a young stud from El Camino’s
Panhandles change for frappuccinos
If it weren’t for Starbucks
He’d yield to hailing trucks
And he wouldn’t be drinking cappuccinos.

Eloquently Eccentric


An odd set of earrings hang from one ear,
Under her left eye, a tattooed red tear.
Her clothes are not rags, but somewhat frumpy,
Hailing from town known more than less dumpy.
Attitude is choice and hers is portrayed
By the smile on her face, daily displayed.

No ring on her finger yet to be found
Her prince has not come, ever to be crowned.
Gracing an audience of birds in the park
When the sun comes up until it turns dark
Singing a song from the top of her lungs
Singing the same song in so many tongues.

Those who don’t know her may feel she’s a threat,
She just misses being part of the quartet.
Her mind went astray along with her friends,
The family she had, left with dividends.
She fends for herself and lives all alone
Don’t confuse her with those on methadone.

She was well-known at one point in her life
It wasn’t what you think, just a housewife
She cooked and cleaned and she took care of tots
Until she got lost with trivial thoughts.
So now she just sings a song she once knew,
Of life gone by before she became you.