18th April 1775 on the strong big-boned mare
'Brown Beauty' may have been her name
borrowed from John Larkin a very good horse
of Narragansett Pacer fame
a copper-bottomed silversmith
Son of Liberty Patriot and Boston-born
riding with Prescott and Dawes toward Lexington
then Concord minutemen in advance to warn
of the British Army's actions
was intercepted in Lincoln but doing his bit
the man had lanterns as the plan
and arranged to have a signal lit
in the Charlestown Old North Church
with one if by land two if by sea
but in those long-gone days
as it was unknown technology
right then and there
it was quite unlikely to see
three if by air
some say vestryman Pulling and sexton Newman
(not a deacon)
as the midnight rider never made it all the way
were the real heroes of the day in fact quite a beacon
prissy
picky
persnickety
particular
pernickety
Paul
pursued
uptight
Eunice
for he was fascinated with her creativity, her wildness and her lack of rules
limits had never applied to her, she was a free-spirit,
someone unlike anyone he had ever met
He feared if he did not capture her heart
he would continue on in his unsatisfying, misunderstood, angry life path.
Cut the budget
Cut the fraud
Cut the bullcrap
Cut the lies
Cut, cut, cut it out!
Finding ways to reduce spending while spending is diabolical. Spending millions on a military parade is waste management at its finest.
What in the Big Beautiful Baffling Bill is going on?
When I was young we use to say, “Robbing Peter to pay Paul.” The “rich” are probably clueless to this saying, but the struggling people lived, know and understand the meaning of this statement.
“Robbing Peter to pay Paul” meant, taking from one to give to another. More like, taking from one end to make ends meet on another end. For example, taking some of the money from the light bill to put that money on the water bill.
Ssh, the way I see it, when it comes to this administration, it’s robbing Peter and Paul.
Mary Alin Travers
grew up to do what mattered
she sang with Peter and Paul
and with her voice did us enthrall
Before you came
I spoke through rivers
and trees, the flat plains
spilling distance out to where
the world was a mirage
and time shimmered dreamlike
plunging downwards
into a vast inner sea.
Fish swam where now rocky
outcrops rise above the red earth
and exotic lifeforms floated
silently through a celestial dark.
All was an ocean of dream,
creations womb where earth,
sky and water were one
before being born
and pulled apart.
Paul talked tough, said he wanted to pulverize his enemy
But didn’t have one as far as any of us roommates could see
I’d mangle and maim them like a warrior wrecking ball
His only enemies are on video games, our friend Paul
Paul Frederick Simon
who is nicknamed rhymin’
for a while on Art Garfunkel was reliant
and gave us The Sounds of Silence
He is a lallapaloosa, a Jim-dandy
But crafty and wise, so he came in handy
He could do electrical work and carpentry
Worked all day, never slacked off at three
He’s a good boy, his mother said to all
Lanky, lean and loved, was my cousin Paul
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing.
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
You were ready.
Age is just a number, you said
grinning broadly like a
little girl repeating a loving fib.
You wanted a protector,
a guardian of devotion.
But I am not your Paul Bunyan,
the mighty timberman in your dreams.
In my twilight, I remember so many
mighty forests burning to cinder.
Frailty disintegrates the will.
Big-strong-protecting-men wilt with age.
They offer their pleading eyes,
longing to be cradled.
Maturity is mortality ticking.
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing,
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
Bill Marable 10/25/2020
when given to fits of anger
when heated words are spirsed about
James said “Praising and cursing
come out of the same mouth”
During a terrible New England squall
A young blade named Paul escaped a brawl
Ran to a public box to make a phone call
Asked his mum to pick him up outside the mall
She was out with friends, having a ball
Made up an excuse, determined to stall
He tried to guilt her, her selfish son, Paul
for his bribes and lies she did not promptly fall
his absentee father had also told tales tall
that man had unbelievable chutzpah and gall
his mom had been born psychic, inside a caul
Paul took an Uber home, the driver drove at a crawl
the car stopped dead at a wailing wall
run over it, urged Paul who was wearing a shawl
the driver would have done this for his mum, she was a doll
not for Paul, who was known for being a bully, once and for all.
I’m bringing out the songs
lingering inside
as patrons in the bar
gaze at me—
I’ve been waiting for this night
for the last two days.
I am looking for the stars
while singing from my heart.
I sing I’ve Just Seen a Face
something I first heard
in sixth grade when walking
into the classroom.
Through the years it stirs
sweet memories of women I met.
I sing I Will, a ballad
for women I’ll always love.
People at the bar
wave cellphones lit like lighters
at a concert.
When I sing Band on the Run
by Paul McCartney and Wings
a sense of wanderlust fills my soul
to go back to my college town
as if I could live my life again.
I’ve been an aide to child welfare workers,
a laborer, a temp, and poet, too.
But now to the glow of neon lights
I become someone other than
my everyday self
as music spells the night.
Outside the dining room window
separated by a canopy
of grape vines and a small patch
of grass, was a corrugated iron
fence weathered to a dull glaze
of rust and covered by a trellis
on which a thick profusion of roses
grew and sent their delicate perfume
into summer afternoons.
My Nan's Paul Scarlet roses
were her pride, a groaning weight
of riotous red spilling over the fence,
an eye feast of color seen
through the window as we ate
our meals. ‘It's a good show this year’,
she would proudly say as we sat
taking in the rich mix of foliage
and flower, deep green and red.
Six years old, I took it in
and shared my Nan's delight.
I would thrust my nose deep
into the centre of a bloom to get
its full scent. Even when I had
a friend around, I always
pointed out my Nan's Paul Scarlet
roses as if such an acknowledgement
was a necessary preface to play.
I was so proud.
What a magnificent servant you were,
serving God and man in plight,
Nothing but your quiet demeanor to disarm
the most cantankerous and disagreeable alike.
You served the church, a beacon in the storm,
Your gentle voice is a balm to every soul.
You served the public, a master of your art,
Your legacy is a garden where compassion grows.
You lived to serve and thought nothing of it
Now your bright spark has vanquished, and only a memory remains of you,
Recalling what you have done has destined you to fame.
We who remain are lessened by our absence. Salute you and your deeds,
We take heed of your lessons.
So farewell, dear friend, and think of us fondly,
As you reside in your heavenly abode,
While we below something to fill the hole in our hearts.
You have left behind your spirit, which will forever guide us.
Paul
Come to me now
It is time for us
To climb the stairway to heaven
It will take us all the way to heaven
When we get there
Our father will open the door
And he will let us
In heaven
I will cure you for ounce for wall
Because I will put an end
To your sickness
Paul
All you have to do now
Is change into your cotton gown
Then you can go and rest in your
Brass bed
All night
Don't worry about tomorrow
Paul
Because I will wake you up
Early in the morning
Paul
AIso tomorrow we will work together
In my vegetable garden
We will clean up the vegetable garden
We will remove the weeds
That takes a long time todo
We have all day to do that
Then we will plant the vegetable seeds
That will grow into vegetables
Then when it is ready for pick up
We will give it
To our servants
To cook for us
And we will eat the vegetables for dinner
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