Sunday, August 17, 2014

ONCE A POET You Better Bury Me or Have Me Smoked to Cinders

Verne Strickland
Verne Strickland

ONCE A POET  August 18, 2014

You better bury me or have

me  smoked to cinders

in some gutbucket crematorium

because when you leave

this earth I don’t want to be

around to see it

I would be socked and stoned and busted up

To hear the echoes of  your singin

And be grievin deep

Oh world without end


So hang in there and

outlast me I beg of you

and live a good life long enuf

to see me gone

I have checked your holy tracks

From  boyhood in the South


Where you said you

Could be yourself and were

And made me proud

So thence and hence

To Monet’s gardens

Where God spoke to you

Now in sweet slumberin hills you

Grow in grace and

Keep your little flock with love

And play your steel for God

And Mr. Graham

Attaboy my son

For that is how I’d have you be and best

Of all I know God feels the same

Talk the talk and walk  the walk

And run the run

And feed on grits and caviar

Make a joyful noise and

Come unto His gates with thanksgiving and

Into His courts with praise

While stickin always with the KJV