i love them because:
they laugh and cry
they believe in fantasy
they say the most important things...
honestly...
i miss children
children have runny noses
dirty hands
curiosity
hearts as big as texas
and dreams i can't imagine
i miss children
they have boundless amounts of energy
they respond greatly to the smallest amounts of love
they like animals and ice cream
clouds and sunshine
i miss children
my child is all grown up
she is very busy
i call her less
i cannot bother her
i don't want to intrude
i miss children
maybe someday
she will give me
a baby boy or girl
i wont be too busy
like i used to be with her
because, I miss children
Sunday, January 31, 2010
I SAW THE DEATH OF AMERICA
it's gone baby
yeah, it is
no more free lunch
see it end at your local theatre
see dollars being spent for all the wrong reasons
"you owe me...i want...i need"!
this is the lament
it comes from the rich
it comes from the poor
no more American dream
it is broken
like a raw egg dropped on the sidewalk
you can't put the pieces back together
America...a humpty dumpty
done in by:
corruptness
perniciousness
and the lack of a work ethic
see the masses sucking at the teat
the dead cow was once known as the land of the free
home of the brave
it was only good when it was corn fed
my America
rest in peace
yeah, it is
no more free lunch
see it end at your local theatre
see dollars being spent for all the wrong reasons
"you owe me...i want...i need"!
this is the lament
it comes from the rich
it comes from the poor
no more American dream
it is broken
like a raw egg dropped on the sidewalk
you can't put the pieces back together
America...a humpty dumpty
done in by:
corruptness
perniciousness
and the lack of a work ethic
see the masses sucking at the teat
the dead cow was once known as the land of the free
home of the brave
it was only good when it was corn fed
my America
rest in peace
Saturday, January 30, 2010
THE WAREHOUSEMEN
it stinks in here
another midnight shift
endless.......heavy cartons
stacked, dropped, out of cadence...
as the red-haired, red-eyed boss yells at me
it happens all the time
my cigarette smoke doesn't have the nerve to move...
in this dank, humid, stale, trailer
i've had it with this
stinking sweat
calloused hands of a worker
mind of a poet
guts of a sparrow
a madman at twenty-one
too young to know the angles
too old to keep on going
my soul is warehoused
with all the others
the machine hums
it grinds us up
like hamburger meat
each tomorrow is the same
the weekends are desparate
booze, broads, searching
for what?
i don't know
the urinal smell
come celebrate!
this is the dance of a warehouseman
a song for the bent of back
the muscle of the city
while the rich sleep and bitch about taxes
we weep
we are the warehousemen
another midnight shift
endless.......heavy cartons
stacked, dropped, out of cadence...
as the red-haired, red-eyed boss yells at me
it happens all the time
my cigarette smoke doesn't have the nerve to move...
in this dank, humid, stale, trailer
i've had it with this
stinking sweat
calloused hands of a worker
mind of a poet
guts of a sparrow
a madman at twenty-one
too young to know the angles
too old to keep on going
my soul is warehoused
with all the others
the machine hums
it grinds us up
like hamburger meat
each tomorrow is the same
the weekends are desparate
booze, broads, searching
for what?
i don't know
the urinal smell
come celebrate!
this is the dance of a warehouseman
a song for the bent of back
the muscle of the city
while the rich sleep and bitch about taxes
we weep
we are the warehousemen
Friday, January 29, 2010
FORGIVE ME, JOANNE
She was a summer lover.
We shared a short romance.
I met her in a hallway as keys entered separate doors.
Shared cocktails, eventually led to more.
There was an easiness of manner about her.
She was almost ethereal.
Fine red hair, alabaster skin, a lithe, thin body...
and full lips which smiled broadly at me, when I amused her.
She was slightly older than I, and had a sister...
who no longer loved her husband.
We visited them, and blessed our good fortune.
One day, while driving to work, Joanne suffered a brain aneurysm.
She survived the crash, but died in the hospital the next day.
I never attended the wake or funeral.
At the very least, I owed her a few minutes of my time.
To celebrate her memory.
That fine red hair, that alabaster skin, and especially those full red lips...
which smiled at me, when I amused her.
I carry my sin of omission for all these years.
I pray to thee dear Joanne.
Forgive me.
from "The Journey, Memoirs from a South Side Chicago kind of Guy"
available on Amazon.com.........Richard Cronborg
We shared a short romance.
I met her in a hallway as keys entered separate doors.
Shared cocktails, eventually led to more.
There was an easiness of manner about her.
She was almost ethereal.
Fine red hair, alabaster skin, a lithe, thin body...
and full lips which smiled broadly at me, when I amused her.
She was slightly older than I, and had a sister...
who no longer loved her husband.
We visited them, and blessed our good fortune.
One day, while driving to work, Joanne suffered a brain aneurysm.
She survived the crash, but died in the hospital the next day.
I never attended the wake or funeral.
At the very least, I owed her a few minutes of my time.
To celebrate her memory.
That fine red hair, that alabaster skin, and especially those full red lips...
which smiled at me, when I amused her.
I carry my sin of omission for all these years.
I pray to thee dear Joanne.
Forgive me.
from "The Journey, Memoirs from a South Side Chicago kind of Guy"
available on Amazon.com.........Richard Cronborg
Thursday, January 28, 2010
WINTER TUNNEL
Icicles hang in the drop shaft, like dead man's fingers.
My rubber boots are slipping as I negotiate each rung of the iron ladder.
My fingers freeze to the rungs, making my hands useless.
Down...down...down...I go, into the pit of dampness.
I think to myself, "This winter work ain't worth it".
"I could be in the tavern".
Unemplyment compensation is looking better and better.
Maybe I can figure a way to get laid off.
I get on the frozen dinky, and lay down next to the battery box.
My rain suit freezes to the damp cold metal.
I advance to the heading where it's warm.
This is where we mine clay.
I smell 90 weight oil, bentonite and cigarette smoke.
Robin, the mining machine operator greats me with a smile.
He hands me a joint, and says, "Mornin' ya'll". "Yah ready to start mining"?
Yeah, I'm ready, as I draw in the hallucinagen which will make my morning,
and my hangover managable.
When they are full, I take the boxcars out to the shaft.
The cold fucking hooks from the crane freeze my hands.
I throw lumps of clay at the pipe-jack man.
We laugh, talk, and look at girlie magazines, until the cars come back down.
We will be seeing our busty bartendress in eight or ten hours.
We all eat on the fly, with dirty hands.
We work through lunch.
No-one wants to stay an extra half-hour in this cold, dank, misery.
I'm soaking wet and cold in my rainsuit by noon.
In tunnel life, you're freezing cold one minute, and sweating like a dog, the next.
Shoveling spoils makes you sweat.
Now, there's only two hours left.
My body aches.
I long for a shot-and-a-beer.
I want to sit in a warm, dark place with music.
I want to look at a healthy set of knockers with my half-closed eyes,
as she bends over the speed rack of bottles.
I always say I'm only going to stay an hour.
Then I stay 2 or 3, or more...and end up driving home drunk, with one eye open.
I need to focus now.
I kiss my family. They've already eaten their dinners. Mine is cold.
I microwave it. It's dried out, but it tastes good to me.
I shower the freezing cold out of my bones, and set the clock for 4 a.m.,
to work another winter's day.
This wretched life comes to own you, in the winter tunnel.
My rubber boots are slipping as I negotiate each rung of the iron ladder.
My fingers freeze to the rungs, making my hands useless.
Down...down...down...I go, into the pit of dampness.
I think to myself, "This winter work ain't worth it".
"I could be in the tavern".
Unemplyment compensation is looking better and better.
Maybe I can figure a way to get laid off.
I get on the frozen dinky, and lay down next to the battery box.
My rain suit freezes to the damp cold metal.
I advance to the heading where it's warm.
This is where we mine clay.
I smell 90 weight oil, bentonite and cigarette smoke.
Robin, the mining machine operator greats me with a smile.
He hands me a joint, and says, "Mornin' ya'll". "Yah ready to start mining"?
Yeah, I'm ready, as I draw in the hallucinagen which will make my morning,
and my hangover managable.
When they are full, I take the boxcars out to the shaft.
The cold fucking hooks from the crane freeze my hands.
I throw lumps of clay at the pipe-jack man.
We laugh, talk, and look at girlie magazines, until the cars come back down.
We will be seeing our busty bartendress in eight or ten hours.
We all eat on the fly, with dirty hands.
We work through lunch.
No-one wants to stay an extra half-hour in this cold, dank, misery.
I'm soaking wet and cold in my rainsuit by noon.
In tunnel life, you're freezing cold one minute, and sweating like a dog, the next.
Shoveling spoils makes you sweat.
Now, there's only two hours left.
My body aches.
I long for a shot-and-a-beer.
I want to sit in a warm, dark place with music.
I want to look at a healthy set of knockers with my half-closed eyes,
as she bends over the speed rack of bottles.
I always say I'm only going to stay an hour.
Then I stay 2 or 3, or more...and end up driving home drunk, with one eye open.
I need to focus now.
I kiss my family. They've already eaten their dinners. Mine is cold.
I microwave it. It's dried out, but it tastes good to me.
I shower the freezing cold out of my bones, and set the clock for 4 a.m.,
to work another winter's day.
This wretched life comes to own you, in the winter tunnel.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
LIVE ON STAGE
i practiced on a ukelele
till my fingers were bleeding
it was in the late 50's
i was 10 years old
i graduated to a cheap guitar
with a buzz box
by the time i was 17 i had my fender
with the marshall amps
i was gigging in chicago clubs
the vibration is the thing i remember most
going through my body
primitive ritual
i love being on stage
smokes and drinks
i listened and learned the chicago blues
i listened a lot to the paul butterfield blues band
mike bloomfield, muddy waters, johnny winter,
it was raw, mississippi, delta driving blues
i had it in my soul
i added the driving riffs
we played lincoln avenue and old town
i played portland oregon when disco was king
we played to disco crowds with the chicago sound
and brought the houses down... goddammit!
the smoke, the glory, the adulation, the drinks
we had it all
it never leaves your soul
the art, the love, the being,
the music, the poetry, the togetherness
in this whole damn lovely world
we, the creative ones, are all live on stage
till the day we die
till my fingers were bleeding
it was in the late 50's
i was 10 years old
i graduated to a cheap guitar
with a buzz box
by the time i was 17 i had my fender
with the marshall amps
i was gigging in chicago clubs
the vibration is the thing i remember most
going through my body
primitive ritual
i love being on stage
smokes and drinks
i listened and learned the chicago blues
i listened a lot to the paul butterfield blues band
mike bloomfield, muddy waters, johnny winter,
it was raw, mississippi, delta driving blues
i had it in my soul
i added the driving riffs
we played lincoln avenue and old town
i played portland oregon when disco was king
we played to disco crowds with the chicago sound
and brought the houses down... goddammit!
the smoke, the glory, the adulation, the drinks
we had it all
it never leaves your soul
the art, the love, the being,
the music, the poetry, the togetherness
in this whole damn lovely world
we, the creative ones, are all live on stage
till the day we die
YET, THEY DEPENDED ON ME
i was a drunk
i was a coward...sometimes.
i was irreligious
sacreligious
sanctimonious
disinterested
a rake
a fake
Yet, they depended on me.
i gambled
i womanized
i snored
i hated
i spewed
i laughed
i knew
Yet, they depended on me.
i struggled
i worked
i lied
i smirked
i haggled
i professed
my life was sometimes
a mess
But, they depended on me.
i made it so very far
over many roads
it was bizarre
i hung in
it is true
i did it
for you
Because, you depended on me.
i was a coward...sometimes.
i was irreligious
sacreligious
sanctimonious
disinterested
a rake
a fake
Yet, they depended on me.
i gambled
i womanized
i snored
i hated
i spewed
i laughed
i knew
Yet, they depended on me.
i struggled
i worked
i lied
i smirked
i haggled
i professed
my life was sometimes
a mess
But, they depended on me.
i made it so very far
over many roads
it was bizarre
i hung in
it is true
i did it
for you
Because, you depended on me.
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