A Neighborly Guy

Baptist churches and brotherhood
In a tired, aging town
A moribund neighborhood
Where faith and fraternity are found

Cleveland Ohio’s a rust belt town
Ordinary citizens, still work out the days
Life comes and goes, has ups and has downs
But some neighbors are different in unusual ways

Take Anthony Sowell, a neighborly guy
A smile bright as the sunrise, none brighter or quicker
Liked to sit on his porch, by and by
Sippin’ from a bottle of King Cobra Malt Liquor

Had a few girlfriends over, seemed a regular guy
Neighbors came over for barbecue at times
Always said “good mornin’ and evening” and “hi’
Scrounged up ol’ metal for nickels and dimes

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poem by David Whalen
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What tis it about Angels?

They usually are barefoot
That they never wear shoes
They seem to like flip flops or sandals
as the footwear they choose

That they almost always wear white
Never chartreuse or puce
And their garb’s never tailored
It’s always flowing and loose

Is it strange that there’s
no female Angels in the bible
Is there a gender bias
For which that Holy book’s liable

And isn’t it odd
That Those beautiful wings
Must surely prevent them
From leaning back against things

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poem by David Whalen
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A Christmas Eve Conversation

“Why can’t we go in daddy”
“Maybe another time sweetie”
“Dad, what happened to rags? ”
“He’s found a good home I think”
“Are we gonna have a Christmas tree daddy? ”
“Maybe next year if we’re lucky”
“Where’s mom daddy? ”
“That’s where we’re goin now sweetie”
“Is she waiting for us on the corner? ”
“Yeah, that’s kind of our home right now”
“Why can’t we stay here Dad? ”
“Other people live here now”
“Why? ”
“because it’s somebody else’s home now”
“but why daddy? ”
“Well, sweetie, things just happen”
“Why’d they happen to us? ”
“Don’t know why Sweetknees”
“Does it happen to everybody? ”
“Yeah, we’re not alone”

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poem by David Whalen
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An Even Dozen (human needs)

I wondered what the basic needs
Of the average human could be
I know these don’t apply to everyone
But they do apply to me

First on my list: would be nutrition,
the usual food and drink
Second would be: Rest, sleep and relaxation
Third would be the need …
For recognition I should think

Fourth would be… most certainly
The human need for touch
For without the laying on of hands
Life would lack so much

Fifth would be the need for place
A place to call one’s own
A place within the human race

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poem by David Whalen
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True, But Little Known Facts

True, but little known facts

Our eyes are always the same size from birth
But our nose and our ears ne’er stop growing
Some facts to know, have very great worth
And others are not worth knowing

“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog”
is another one you might not know yet
This saying might leave you a bit agog
Since it uses every letter of the alphabet

Babies are born without kneecaps
They go through a most curious stage
Where those patellas don’t start to show up
Until the child reaches 2 to 6 years of age

If you’re an average American
Who endures Americas traffic-caused strife
The time that’s spent waiting at red lights

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poem by David Whalen
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We all lie...all day long

“Good morning! ! ”
(But it’s not,
It’s cold and windy)

“How ya doin’? ”
(as if I could really give
a rat’s rear end)

“Oh I’m doin’ just great and you? ”
(Please, puleeze,
don’t tell me!)

Have a seat, I’ll buy you a coffee!
(he always sits… and
I always buy)

Wanna read part of my paper?
(No! No! Don’t take the crossword…
…He does)

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poem by David Whalen
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Lonely grey lady at McDonalds

Lonely Grey Lady At McDonalds

She has hunched over shoulders, looks under the weather
Grey streaked and unbrushed hair
Wears old worn out shoes and threadbare sweater
Seems lonely and lost, filled with despair

Lips move without sound, hands gesture at no one,
No one’s close by, no one’s around
Lonely old lady, so restless and winsome
Sadness and sorrow seems to surround

Sitting for hours, alone, sipping one coffee
Watching other customers come and go
Peering into other’s lives, staring intently
As if she could know them by watching them so

Two tables over, another lady is watching
The old lady talking to no one, and then,

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poem by David Whalen
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Just a few of the things...

Just a few of the things… I miss most of all

Roman candles
Juicyfruit gum from mom’s purse
Cordite smell of a 12 gauge
First ride in a convertible
Hayrides in the Fall
Skippin’ rocks on still water
Leaves burnin’ in street gutters
The smell of freshly baked bread
New clothes from Sears and Roebucks
Seein’ Checker cabs
Beer barrels being rolled into bar’s basements
Sparks from Trolley bus wires
Ohio river ferryboats
Visitin’ relatives deep in Kentucky
Them sayin’ “come back y’all”
John Deeres chugging in the distance
Foggy morning’s
Runnin’ trotlines on the Lickin’ river

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poem by David Whalen
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The American Dream

Things I'd like to see

A congressman with cojones
A president with pride
A government less regulated
And no agendas to hide

American children having enough to eat
Less homeless families living on the street
Senators and congressmen taking the places
In war of all of our young boys of all races

Jobs that pay a little less in some cases
So those same jobs aren't exported to other places
Tighter borders, to keep out the ones
who only enter this country to bear daughters and sons

C, E, O's that refuse that huge bonus
And take huge pay cuts instead
Oil rigs drilling to remove the onus

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poem by David Whalen
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Tomorrow Will Be A Good Day To Die

Buckskin brown eyes stare deep into the fire
Leathery brown faces turn up toward the sky
Sinewy brown muscles tensed up like wire
Tomorrow will be a good day to die

Shell necklace enclosed in long brown fingers
Aquiline nose streaked with red ocher dye
On his brave brown brothers, his gaze achingly lingers
Tomorrow will be a good day to die

Crackling mesquite, sparks rush into the night
Great horned Owl glides over, wind thru wings giving sigh
Wizened warriors look up, brown eyes reflecting firelight
Tomorrow will be a good day to die

Piebald and pinto ponies, ripping sparse desert fare
For pitiful provenance from land so desolate and dry
Long manes brushed by gentle strokes of sage scented air
Tomorrow will be a good day to die

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poem by David Whalen
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