FOR YOUR MONDAY MORNING
Have a Good Week Y'all!
Dig This
Warm winter night, black streets slick with rain
Neon and streaking headlamps mixing in the shine
Red and blue lights flashing, slashing as cops race by
A slippery kaleidescopic view of the city in all its glory
Brought to you in living color and black and white
Can you dig it?
Shiny liquor bottles line the back of the dimly lit bar, side by side
Colorful rhythms arise for the eyes from their regular placement
Catching some bright green here, reflecting some pale blue there
Orange, red and yellow, too, hypnotic and dazzling liquid hues
Magically encased in glass, a transparent liquid made solid
Can you dig it?
Laughter fills this place, surrounds and coats it
The din its own kind of color and light, aural and human
The sound of glass on glass toasts, silverware and plates
Some breaking, some tinkling with joyful use
Happy New Year all around, one week late, still happy
Can you dig it?
She approaches, curvy and tight, skin a warm brown
Her aura visible to all, an inner light that also shines
Reminds me of a paint-by-number Jesus painting
Around his head a cardboard halo that almost jumps
Bright white to gray to blue in carefully measured steps
Can you dig it?
She moves and sits, all grace and long black hair
Smiles as she talks and laughs and eats and drinks
The room slowly beginning to revolve around her
Baby Doll a magnet, me a pile of steel shavings
Curly bits of scrap, turned on the lathe of my life
Can you dig it?
Half my age and twice the woman I deserve
Baby Doll raises her pint as I raise mine to her, smiling
Our eyes locked, the gesture a silent toast to her beauty
“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask, daring to hope
“You sure can,” she says, and I gladly do
Can you dig it?
The jukebox plays and soothes the crowd now
Smooth crooning Marvin Gaye uplifting the room
As the people nod and sway to the rhythm of his voice
I get the urge to holler, throw up both my hands in wonder
Thinking to myself: What is going on, man?
Can you dig it? Can you?
I can
-Prof. Dirk Beat
Ode To That Girl
Sharon, Oh Sharon
Your gentle laugh
Calls to me
Your smiling brown eyes
Your thoughtful ways
Draw me to you
It also doesn’t hurt
That your long brown hair
Would look good
Gathered in my fist
As I mount you from behind
It also doesn’t hurt
That your long, slender legs
Would feel good
Wrapped around my head
As I tease and taste you
It also doesn’t hurt
That your perfect breasts
Would perfectly fit my hands
As I cup them, squeeze them
Take them in my mouth
Your phone voice, dear
When you first answer
Sounds as though you’re
Being tickled
Sharon, please allow me
To be the tickler
You, the ticklee
-Ye Olde Blowharde
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