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Yawcob Strauss

I Haf von funny leedle poy,
Vot gomes schust to mine knee;
Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue,
As efer you dit see.
He runs, und schumps, and schmashes dings
In all barts off der house:
But vot off dot? he vas mine son,
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He get der measles und der mumbs,
Und eferyding dot's oudt;
He sbills mine glass off lager bier,
Foots schnuff indo mine kraut.

He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,-
Dot vas der roughest chouse:
I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
But leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,
Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
To make der schticks to beat it mit,

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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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Crotchety old insane homeboy
with the scraggly ass beard
got holes in his socks, shoes, and his heart
and that ain't no metaphor -
guy is deteriorating.one piece at a time

Got his life in a shopping cart
but you know they don't even let
him into shops/
even if
he's got some cash from
telling people god bless as they had him
change
If they got any because man - this debit card plastic economy
hurt our street economy pretty bad

Funny thing about this guy is 'he's got no faith left'
so each time he tells you
god bless
he's left wondering

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poem by Smack Thompson
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Now Is The Time For Revelation!

Now is the time for revelation! The Lord Himself is near!
With the shaking of each nation before He must appear!
See His prophecies unfolding before your very eyes,
From the Bibles you are holding and reading with surprize!

The angels sense the final times the Church has left to teach,
The fall of dollars, cents and dimes and rising costs for each.
The prophets shout and scream aloud! Wake up, you sleepyheads!
Arise as if the Turin Shroud to leave your easy beds!

For shame, they say, for shame, they say. To think you slumber still.
Did Jesus Christ refuse to pray when He climbed up that hill?
That green hill far away from home, the home He left behind,
That comfort zone would not save Rome, nor lost souls of Mankind!

That's why He left and preached the word and why God blessed His Son
And why, through Christ, that God was stirred to spare us one-by-one.
Now is the time, when times must end, when years come to a close,
When every man will seek a friend and flee from demon foes...

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poem by Denis Martindale
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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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Red, Sparkling Wine

I Have Seen A Sight
Of a Man Falling Down …
… it wasn’t for a Fight
… but it was due to what He’d Found …

… Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… She Should Be A Crime …
Red Sparkling Wine…

She Starts out – Flowing – Smooth
Gets in Your Blood – Then You got Somethin’ to Prove!
You Chase Her Intoxicating Perfume
… must be Brand X … or Lady-Doom …

… Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… Feeling So Sublime …
Red Sparkling Wine…

… Sweet from the Vine, but She ain’t Vintage
Make You Loose Your Mind and Your Hard-Earned Wages

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poem by MoonBee Canady
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A Failed Leadership

A path was drawn for his leadership,
No man had ever been more blessed,
Destined by God to loosen the grip
Of Philistine hold and grant Israel rest.

Born through the hand of the Almighty,
To a sterile woman and set apart for God,
A Nazirite from birth, strong physically,
He sadly grew up to be a stubborn lad.

He was weak with women and in character,
Devoid of respect and had a quick temper,
Prone to resolve all issues with anger
Through violent rage ending up with murder.

With all his physique, he failed to free
His land Israel from her captivity.
Revenge was his focus, his main agenda
Till he fell in love with sly Delilah.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Vas Marriage a Failure?

Vas marriage a failure? "Veil, now, dot depends Altogeddher on how you look at it, mine friends. Like dhose double-horse teams dot you see at
der races,
It depends pooty much on der pair in der traces; Eef dhey don'd pool togeddher righdt off at der
shtart, Ten dimes oudt off nine dhey van beddher apart.
Vas marriage a failure? Der vote vas in doubt; Dhose dot's oudt vould be in, dhose dot's in
vould be oudt:
Der man mit oxberience, good looks und dash, Gets a vife mit some fife hundord dousand in
cash,
Budt, after der honeymoon, vhere vas der honey? She haf der oxberience — he haf der money.
Vas marriage a failure? Eef dot vas der case, Vot vas to pecome off der whole human race? Vot you dink dot der oldt "Pilgrim fader?
vould say, "Who came in dot Sunflower to oldt Plymouth
Bay,
To see der fine coundtry dis peoples haf got, Und dhen hear dhem ask sooch conondhrums
as dot?
Vas marriage a failure ? Shust go, ere you tell,
To dot Bunker Mon Ilillument, vhere Varren fell;
Dink off Yashington, Franklin, nnd "Honest Old Abe" —
Dhey vas all been aroundt since dot first Plymouth babe.
I vas only a Deutscher, budt I tells you vot!
I pelief, every dime, in sooch "failures" as dot.

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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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A Tub of Potatoes

My grandmother used to say
don't marry for money
but stay open-minded.

She could squeeze a nickel
and make the buffalo feel light-headed;
she could make a dollar out of 15 cent.

Now she was a big woman;
ruled the family roost
with a simple look
and an iron skillet.

Many times I heard that skillet
go thunk!
Another suitor educated.
Another boyfriend righted.

She always took us kids aside
and whispered things like

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Southern Gospel...

he carefully pried at the screen
with his pocketknife... laying low
against the building, almost dissolving
in the shadows.
the probing lights of cars passing saw
nothing, no sign of life.
slowly, without sound, he removed the
screen.... pushing the window up just
enough, he pulled himself up and through
the window like a snake.
it was some kind of office at the back of
the church. he waited a minute for his
eyes to adjust. his body hurt, even his
soul hurt! every breath cut like a knife.
making his way to the door, he slipped
out into the hall. the silence was deafening.
on down the hall to the sanctuary... opening
the double doors, he made his way into the tomb!

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Labouring Under Child Labour

A child is born out of labour.
A child is sent to school
And made to recognise
Read, recite, and write
Draw, count, and play.
The child undergoes labour
In all these movements
Of mind and limb
Whether he likes it or not.

If a child learns too fast
And sets a precocious record
In his studies or GK
Or in singing or dancing
Or in acting or in a sport
You laud him as a prodigy.

A school child is made
To work or wait for hours
Under the scorching sun

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poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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