NaPo 09: "Miss Crenshaw" (words by Will Dockery)

[Will Dockery]

(Last posting before the recording session tonight, this is what I'll take
in in about an hour for a vocal track. Any last-minute c&c would be
appreciated, and thanks to George Dance for his input and corrections -WD)

Miss Crenshaw

Little Victoria
stepped on a bumblebee,
near the sawmill millhouse.

Cousin Maxwell
saw it while sitting in a tree,
on the hill
across from Uncle Grouse.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Always late, never home,
they's a fighting,
they'll get home the best they can.
With some luck and
a Southern wind.

Shorty's chasing Bullethead
with a frying pan
full of chicken bones.
Jerked wire
someone tried to call the cops
on the telephone.

Sort of in the backyard
of the old waterpump house.
Near the canepatch,
Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.

She said some odd words,
seen them spit right out her mouth.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller in technicolor
up and down a dirt avenue
for goodness sake.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

On a two stooler bike,
somebody easing down the path.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Working late at the mill again.
Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
wash it down with cold gin.

Never sure when the morning starts
or where it ends.

I recall a bit later,
when she shook her peaches for me.
Shady silver leaf maples,
and a lonesome persimmon tree.

Full moon and hay fever
schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
She's a sweetie,
her hair's like a chestnut minx.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller
up and down a dirt avenue.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

-Will Dockery

--
New Will Dockery song-poems "Crawford Road Crawl", "Rosell" & "Little
Homeless Clown":
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery

[Will Dockery]

Rik Roots wrote:
>
> No worries

Glad to see you're in a better mood today, Rik... you need to relax on
your control freak thing and just try to have some fun.

To get this thread back on-topic, here's some poetry for you:

Falling from Grace

Her eyes matched the shabby sepia hotel
the waitress told us the cream had a funny smell.
So we opted for black
before the ride back
to the city.

Mallard duck, mandolin, county fair
Ferris wheel wind
blows back her hair.
Falling from grace
it's a long way down there.

Ten years ago, man in a balloon
he went up high
and he fell to his doom.
All the while he was yelling
it wasn't pretty.

Everybody knows you've been cheating
wipe that smile from your face.

Everybody says I've been sober
Don't cry boy, you know what you done.

All I know is that I gotta turn it loose
three weeks now
and I'm headed for the noose.
Falling from grace it's a pity.

They think they're fixing
the world through fear
but they're out there
and I'm still in here.
So it goes by so fast
before the ride back
to the city.

Words - Will Dockery
Music -Riley Yielding & Henry Conley
© 2009

--
Little Homeless Clown and other song-poems by Will Dockery:
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Will Dockery]

"Rik Roots" wrote:
>
> Go start your own thread

Good idea, Rik, so I've done that. Here's my song-poem of the day, "Rosell":

Rosell

Sitting here at Cobb Hospital,
thinking about old Rosell.
Oh what a beautiful face.
She got faraway topaz eyes,
pretty pair of DUIs,
what a beautiful face.


It's all right any way she please,
she gets that cute little smile,
when I'm down on my knees.


Somebody trashed Joe's newstand,
and they blamed it on old Rosell,
I began to understand.
I was framed, wiretapped hotel,
and no sign of old Rosell
I began to understand.


It's all right, any way she please,
I'm just her little fall guy,
driving around in her taxi.


She's crying sway
like watercolor in the rain.
She's way out of reach
100 miles ahead of her pain.


Sitting at the railroad station,
trying to remember the combination.
Oh, what a beautiful girl.
My cross to bear at the old depot,
I had no idea she'd turn so cold,
oh what a beautiful girl.


And it's all right any way she please.
She knows the night is young,
and Rosie's swinging free.


-Will Dockery (words)/Henry Conley (music)

--
"Rosell" and other new recordings by Will Dockery:
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Will Dockery]

"Karla" wrote:
>
> You claim it's bad poetry.

I sure did. Here's an example of what I consider good poetry, since you're
bound to ask me. I'll be laying these as a vocal track in a couple of days,
so any comment &/or critique you have to offer would be appreciated:

Miss Alice Crenshaw

Little Victoria
stepped on a bumblebee,
near the sawmill millhouse.

Cousin Maxwell
saw it while sitting in a tree,
on the hill
across from Uncle Grouse.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Always late, never home,
they's a fighting,
they'll get home the best they can.
With some luck and
a Southern wind.

Shorty's chasing Bullethead
with a frying pan
full of chicken bones.
Jerked wire
someone tried to call the cops
on the telephone.

Sort of in the backyard
of the old waterpump house.
Near the canepatch,
Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.

She said some odd words,
seen them spit right out her mouth.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller in technicolor
up and down a dirt avenue
for goodness sake.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

On a two stooler bike,
somebody easing down the path.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Working late at the mill again.
Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
wash it down with cold gin.

Never sure when the morning starts
or where it ends.

I recall a bit later,
when she shook her peaches for me.
Shady silver leaf maples,
and a lonesome persimmon tree.

Full moon and hay fever
schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
She's a sweetie,
her hair's like a chestnut minx.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller
up and down a dirt avenue.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

-Will Dockery

--
Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery


>>>"In The Hustlin' Bustlin' Moonlight" by Will Dockery:
>
>>>http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=95087&id=620409362&l=d3a038abd7

[Will Dockery]

(Recreated post from the one lost by Google earlier this morning):

Rik Roots wrote:
>Will Dockery wrote:
> > Rik Roots wrote:
>
> >> I'm not a great fan of double dactyls
>
> > It shows, Rik, since the poem you wrote using them was not only bad,
> > but it was, even worse not interesting or entertaining.
>
> C'mon then,

<Rik's pissy little wannabe insult pet name snipped>

> Post up an example of what /you/

This is hilarious, you act more and more every day like you just wandered
into these groups, Rik. Here you are, sniffling and whining about the bad,
boring and silly "poem" you wrote, stamping your little feet and pulling the
old "If you can do better,,, whaaaa...".

Well, fact is, of course I can, and I could also manage to make it
entertaining and interesting. Whether I will or not depends on whether I
/want/ to, not because you, or some other puffed-up newsgroup wannabe
moderator demands I do it.

But you already know that, and in any other circumstance, you'd be sneering
that (as Karla often points out) that the poet posts a poem here, and should
be "glad-ass happy" to get any comment at all... or you could now go the
Dale Houstman route and insist how "charming" your little dribbling piece of
crap poem is.

Meanwhile, here's some poetry of mine, since you requested some, I can say i
find quite... charming, about a quaint girl I know named Alice Crenshaw,
critique and comments welcomed, even glad-ass-happily so:

Miss Alice Crenshaw

Little Victoria
stepped on a bumblebee,
near the sawmill millhouse.

Cousin Maxwell
saw it while sitting in a tree,
on the hill
across from Uncle Grouse.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Always late, never home,
they's a fighting,
they'll get home the best they can.
With some luck and
a Southern wind.

Shorty's chasing Bullethead
with a frying pan
full of chicken bones.
Jerked wire
someone tried to call the cops
on the telephone.

Sort of in the backyard
of the old waterpump house.
Near the canepatch,
Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.

She said some odd words,
seen them spit right out her mouth.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller in technicolor
up and down a dirt avenue
for goodness sake.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

On a two stooler bike,
somebody easing down the path.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Working late at the mill again.
Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
wash it down with cold gin.

Never sure when the morning starts
or where it ends.

I recall a bit later,
when she shook her peaches for me.
Shady silver leaf maples,
and a lonesome persimmon tree.

Full moon and hay fever
schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
She's a sweetie,
her hair's like a chestnut minx.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller
up and down a dirt avenue.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

-Will Dockery

--
Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Will Dockery]

"Rob Evans" <mushmouth-***@spittle-spew.com> wrote:
>
> a prune-faced vulture:
>
> http://tinyurl.com/mushmouth-Rob-Evans
>
> > "We know
>
> we do

How could you miss it every morning when you stare into the mirror? No
wonder you seem so bitter and angry, Mushmouth.

Miss Alice Crenshaw
>
> Little Victoria
> stepped on a bumblebee,
> near the sawmill millhouse.
>
> Cousin Maxwell
> saw it while sitting in a tree,
> on the hill
> across from Uncle Grouse.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Always late, never home,
> they's a fighting,
> they'll get home the best they can.
> With some luck and
> a Southern wind.
>
> Shorty's chasing Bullethead
> with a frying pan
> full of chicken bones.
> Jerked wire
> someone tried to call the cops
> on the telephone.
>
> Sort of in the backyard
> of the old waterpump house.
> Near the canepatch,
> Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.
>
> She said some odd words,
> seen them spit right out her mouth.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller in technicolor
> up and down a dirt avenue
> for goodness sake.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> On a two stooler bike,
> somebody easing down the path.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Working late at the mill again.
> Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
> wash it down with cold gin.
>
> Never sure when the morning starts
> or where it ends.
>
> I recall a bit later,
> when she shook her peaches for me.
> Shady silver leaf maples,
> and a lonesome persimmon tree.
>
> Full moon and hay fever
> schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
> She's a sweetie,
> her hair's like a chestnut minx.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller
> up and down a dirt avenue.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> -Will Dockery

--
Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Rob Evans]

Our resident King Dumbass squits that he remains a

a self obsessed toad:
>
>>
> "We know

we do

you don't.

Rob


--
Posted via NewsDemon.com - Premium Uncensored Newsgroup Service
------->>>>>>http://www.NewsDemon.com<<<<<<------
Unlimited Access, Anonymous Accounts, Uncensored Broadband Access

[Will Dockery]

"Rob Evans" <mushmouth-***@whistle-lisp.com> wrote:
>
> a prune-faced toad:

http://tinyurl.com/mushmouth-Rob-Evans

>> "We know
>
> we do

You should by now, Mushmouth.

--
"It's so easy to be a poet and so hard to be a man." -Charles Bukowski
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Rob Evans]

Our resident King Dumbass squits that he remains a

a self obsessed toad:
>
>>
> "We know

we do

you don't.

Rob
--
Rob Evans
-----------
When I see a swine,
I reach for 45-calibre pearls


--
Posted via NewsDemon.com - Premium Uncensored Newsgroup Service
------->>>>>>http://www.NewsDemon.com<<<<<<------
Unlimited Access, Anonymous Accounts, Uncensored Broadband Access

[Will Dockery]

Rik Roots wrote:
>
> Still no sign of that double dactyl you like better than mine

You're mistaken, Rik, since it must have been someone else that likes a
double dactyl "better" than yours... I simply didn't like /your/ double
dactyl. Here's what I wrote, since you apparently missed it yesterday:

This is hilarious, you act more and more every day like you just wandered
into these groups, Rik. Here you are, sniffling and whining about the bad,
boring and silly "poem" you wrote, stamping your little feet and pulling the
old "If you can do better,,, whaaaa...".

Well, fact is, of course I can, and I could also manage to make it
entertaining and interesting. Whether I will or not depends on whether I
/want/ to, not because you, or some other puffed-up newsgroup wannabe
moderator demands I do it.

But you already know that, and in any other circumstance, you'd be sneering
that (as Karla often points out) that the poet posts a poem here, and should
be "glad-ass happy" to get any comment at all... or you could now go the
Dale Houstman route and insist how "charming" your little dribbling piece of
crap poem is.

Meanwhile, here's some poetry of mine, since you requested some, I can say i
find quite... charming, about a quaint girl I know named Alice Crenshaw,
critique and comments welcomed, even glad-ass-happily so:

Miss Alice Crenshaw

Little Victoria
stepped on a bumblebee,
near the sawmill millhouse.

Cousin Maxwell
saw it while sitting in a tree,
on the hill
across from Uncle Grouse.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Always late, never home,
they's a fighting,
they'll get home the best they can.
With some luck and
a Southern wind.

Shorty's chasing Bullethead
with a frying pan
full of chicken bones.
Jerked wire
someone tried to call the cops
on the telephone.

Sort of in the backyard
of the old waterpump house.
Near the canepatch,
Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.

She said some odd words,
seen them spit right out her mouth.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller in technicolor
up and down a dirt avenue
for goodness sake.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

On a two stooler bike,
somebody easing down the path.

Near the house of
Bullethead & Shorty...
Working late at the mill again.
Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
wash it down with cold gin.

Never sure when the morning starts
or where it ends.

I recall a bit later,
when she shook her peaches for me.
Shady silver leaf maples,
and a lonesome persimmon tree.

Full moon and hay fever
schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
She's a sweetie,
her hair's like a chestnut minx.

Everybody's watching television,
or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
She's a stroller
up and down a dirt avenue.

If you need a girl
you can converse...
She's a good listener
and she ain't quite loud!
But a looker in a crowd.

-Will Dockery

--
Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[George Dance]

On Apr 29, 4:41 pm, "Will Dockery" <***@knology.net> wrote:
> Rik Roots wrote:
>
> > Still no sign of that double dactyl you like better than mine
>
> You're mistaken, Rik, since it must have been someone else that likes a
> double dactyl "better" than yours... I simply didn't like /your/ double
> dactyl. Here's what I wrote, since you apparently missed it yesterday:
>
> This is hilarious, you act more and more every day like you just wandered
> into these groups, Rik. Here you are, sniffling and whining about the bad,
> boring and silly "poem" you wrote, stamping your little feet and pulling the
> old "If you can do better,,, whaaaa...".
>
> Well, fact is, of course I can, and I could also manage to make it
> entertaining and interesting. Whether I will or not depends on whether I
> /want/ to, not because you, or some other puffed-up newsgroup wannabe
> moderator demands I do it.
>
> But you already know that, and in any other circumstance, you'd be sneering
> that (as Karla often points out) that the poet posts a poem here, and should
> be "glad-ass happy" to get any comment at all... or you could now go the
> Dale Houstman route and insist how "charming" your little dribbling piece of
> crap poem is.
>
> Meanwhile, here's some poetry of mine, since you requested some, I can say i
> find quite... charming, about a quaint girl I know named Alice Crenshaw,
> critique and comments welcomed, even glad-ass-happily so:
>
> Miss Alice Crenshaw
>
> Little Victoria
> stepped on a bumblebee,
> near the sawmill millhouse.
>
> Cousin Maxwell
> saw it while sitting in a tree,
> on the hill
> across from Uncle Grouse.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Always late, never home,
> they's a fighting,
> they'll get home the best they can.
> With some luck and
> a Southern wind.
>
> Shorty's chasing Bullethead
> with a frying pan
> full of chicken bones.
> Jerked wire
> someone tried to call the cops
> on the telephone.
>
> Sort of in the backyard
> of the old waterpump house.
> Near the canepatch,
> Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.
>
> She said some odd words,
> seen them spit right out her mouth.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller in technicolor
> up and down a dirt avenue
> for goodness sake.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> On a two stooler bike,
> somebody easing down the path.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Working late at the mill again.
> Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
> wash it down with cold gin.
>
> Never sure when the morning starts
> or where it ends.
>
> I recall a bit later,
> when she shook her peaches for me.
> Shady silver leaf maples,
> and a lonesome persimmon tree.
>
> Full moon and hay fever
> schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
> She's a sweetie,
> her hair's like a chestnut minx.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller
> up and down a dirt avenue.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> -Will Dockery
>


Miss Alice Crenshaw (Roots Version)

Little Victoria
stepped on a bumblebee
Down by the sawmill,
Beside the millhouse.

Maxwell did see it, while
climbing upon a tree
growing across the hill
from Uncle Grouse.

[...]





> --
> Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[George Dance]

On Apr 29, 7:39 pm, George Dance <***@yahoo.ca> wrote:
> On Apr 29, 4:41 pm, "Will Dockery" <***@knology.net> wrote:
>
>
>
> > Rik Roots wrote:
>
> > > Still no sign of that double dactyl you like better than mine
>
> > You're mistaken, Rik, since it must have been someone else that likes a
> > double dactyl "better" than yours... I simply didn't like /your/ double
> > dactyl. Here's what I wrote, since you apparently missed it yesterday:
>
> > This is hilarious, you act more and more every day like you just wandered
> > into these groups, Rik. Here you are, sniffling and whining about the bad,
> > boring and silly "poem" you wrote, stamping your little feet and pulling the
> > old "If you can do better,,, whaaaa...".
>
> > Well, fact is, of course I can, and I could also manage to make it
> > entertaining and interesting. Whether I will or not depends on whether I
> > /want/ to, not because you, or some other puffed-up newsgroup wannabe
> > moderator demands I do it.
>
> > But you already know that, and in any other circumstance, you'd be sneering
> > that (as Karla often points out) that the poet posts a poem here, and should
> > be "glad-ass happy" to get any comment at all... or you could now go the
> > Dale Houstman route and insist how "charming" your little dribbling piece of
> > crap poem is.
>
> > Meanwhile, here's some poetry of mine, since you requested some, I can say i
> > find quite... charming, about a quaint girl I know named Alice Crenshaw,
> > critique and comments welcomed, even glad-ass-happily so:
>
> > Miss Alice Crenshaw
>
> > Little Victoria
> > stepped on a bumblebee,
> > near the sawmill millhouse.
>
> > Cousin Maxwell
> > saw it while sitting in a tree,
> > on the hill
> > across from Uncle Grouse.
>
> > Near the house of
> > Bullethead & Shorty...
> > Always late, never home,
> > they's a fighting,
> > they'll get home the best they can.
> > With some luck and
> > a Southern wind.
>
> > Shorty's chasing Bullethead
> > with a frying pan
> > full of chicken bones.
> > Jerked wire
> > someone tried to call the cops
> > on the telephone.
>
> > Sort of in the backyard
> > of the old waterpump house.
> > Near the canepatch,
> > Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.
>
> > She said some odd words,
> > seen them spit right out her mouth.
>
> > Everybody's watching television,
> > or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> > She's a stroller in technicolor
> > up and down a dirt avenue
> > for goodness sake.
>
> > If you need a girl
> > you can converse...
> > She's a good listener
> > and she ain't quite loud!
> > But a looker in a crowd.
>
> > On a two stooler bike,
> > somebody easing down the path.
>
> > Near the house of
> > Bullethead & Shorty...
> > Working late at the mill again.
> > Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
> > wash it down with cold gin.
>
> > Never sure when the morning starts
> > or where it ends.
>
> > I recall a bit later,
> > when she shook her peaches for me.
> > Shady silver leaf maples,
> > and a lonesome persimmon tree.
>
> > Full moon and hay fever
> > schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
> > She's a sweetie,
> > her hair's like a chestnut minx.
>
> > Everybody's watching television,
> > or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> > She's a stroller
> > up and down a dirt avenue.
>
> > If you need a girl
> > you can converse...
> > She's a good listener
> > and she ain't quite loud!
> > But a looker in a crowd.
>
> > -Will Dockery
>
> Miss Alice Crenshaw (Roots Version)
>
> Little Victoria
> stepped on a bumblebee
> Down by the sawmill,
> Beside the millhouse.

"Nearby the millhouse."

> Maxwell did see it, while

"Maxwell observed it while"

> climbing upon a tree
> growing across the hill
> from Uncle Grouse.
>
> [...]
>


> > --
> > Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.

http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Will Dockery]

On Apr 29, 7:39 pm, George Dance wrote:
> On Apr 29, 4:41 pm, "Will Dockery" wrote:
> > Rik Roots wrote:
>
> > > Still no sign of that double dactyl you like better than mine
>
> > You're mistaken, Rik, since it must have been someone else that likes a
> > double dactyl "better" than yours... I simply didn't like /your/ double
> > dactyl. Here's what I wrote, since you apparently missed it yesterday:
>
> > This is hilarious, you act more and more every day like you just wandered
> > into these groups, Rik. Here you are, sniffling and whining about the bad,
> > boring and silly "poem" you wrote, stamping your little feet and pulling the
> > old "If you can do better,,, whaaaa...".
>
> > Well, fact is, of course I can, and I could also manage to make it
> > entertaining and interesting. Whether I will or not depends on whether I
> > /want/ to, not because you, or some other puffed-up newsgroup wannabe
> > moderator demands I do it.
>
> > But you already know that, and in any other circumstance, you'd be sneering
> > that (as Karla often points out) that the poet posts a poem here, and should
> > be "glad-ass happy" to get any comment at all... or you could now go the
> > Dale Houstman route and insist how "charming" your little dribbling piece of
> > crap poem is.
>
> > Meanwhile, here's some poetry of mine, since you requested some, I can say i
> > find quite... charming, about a quaint girl I know named Alice Crenshaw,
> > critique and comments welcomed, even glad-ass-happily so:
>
> > Miss Alice Crenshaw
>
> > Little Victoria
> > stepped on a bumblebee,
> > near the sawmill millhouse.
>
> > Cousin Maxwell
> > saw it while sitting in a tree,
> > on the hill
> > across from Uncle Grouse.
>
> > Near the house of
> > Bullethead & Shorty...
> > Always late, never home,
> > they's a fighting,
> > they'll get home the best they can.
> > With some luck and
> > a Southern wind.
>
> > Shorty's chasing Bullethead
> > with a frying pan
> > full of chicken bones.
> > Jerked wire
> > someone tried to call the cops
> > on the telephone.
>
> > Sort of in the backyard
> > of the old waterpump house.
> > Near the canepatch,
> > Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.
>
> > She said some odd words,
> > seen them spit right out her mouth.
>
> > Everybody's watching television,
> > or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> > She's a stroller in technicolor
> > up and down a dirt avenue
> > for goodness sake.
>
> > If you need a girl
> > you can converse...
> > She's a good listener
> > and she ain't quite loud!
> > But a looker in a crowd.
>
> > On a two stooler bike,
> > somebody easing down the path.
>
> > Near the house of
> > Bullethead & Shorty...
> > Working late at the mill again.
> > Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
> > wash it down with cold gin.
>
> > Never sure when the morning starts
> > or where it ends.
>
> > I recall a bit later,
> > when she shook her peaches for me.
> > Shady silver leaf maples,
> > and a lonesome persimmon tree.
>
> > Full moon and hay fever
> > schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
> > She's a sweetie,
> > her hair's like a chestnut minx.
>
> > Everybody's watching television,
> > or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> > She's a stroller
> > up and down a dirt avenue.
>
> > If you need a girl
> > you can converse...
> > She's a good listener
> > and she ain't quite loud!
> > But a looker in a crowd.
>
> > -Will Dockery
>
> Miss Alice Crenshaw (Roots Version)
>
> Little Victoria
> stepped on a bumblebee
> Down by the sawmill,
> Beside the millhouse.
>
> Maxwell did see it, while
> climbing upon a tree
> growing across the hill
> from Uncle Grouse.

Yes, you've nailed Rik Roots and his Colin Warditis: his poems sort of
strat off well, then just kind of fizzle out, there's no real
storytelling in them, they seem loped off before the end, either
through laziness or some misguided idea of "brevity", or they're just
some empty excercise in form, as in his hilariously bad "double
dactyl".

--
Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Will Dockery]

"Rob Evans" <mushmouth-***@spittle-spew.com> wrote:
>
> a prune-faced vulture:
>
> http://tinyurl.com/mushmouth-Rob-Evans
>
> > "We know
>
> we do

How could you miss it every morning when you stare into the mirror? No
wonder you seem so bitter and angry, Mushmouth.

Miss Alice Crenshaw
>
> Little Victoria
> stepped on a bumblebee,
> near the sawmill millhouse.
>
> Cousin Maxwell
> saw it while sitting in a tree,
> on the hill
> across from Uncle Grouse.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Always late, never home,
> they's a fighting,
> they'll get home the best they can.
> With some luck and
> a Southern wind.
>
> Shorty's chasing Bullethead
> with a frying pan
> full of chicken bones.
> Jerked wire
> someone tried to call the cops
> on the telephone.
>
> Sort of in the backyard
> of the old waterpump house.
> Near the canepatch,
> Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.
>
> She said some odd words,
> seen them spit right out her mouth.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller in technicolor
> up and down a dirt avenue
> for goodness sake.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> On a two stooler bike,
> somebody easing down the path.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Working late at the mill again.
> Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
> wash it down with cold gin.
>
> Never sure when the morning starts
> or where it ends.
>
> I recall a bit later,
> when she shook her peaches for me.
> Shady silver leaf maples,
> and a lonesome persimmon tree.
>
> Full moon and hay fever
> schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
> She's a sweetie,
> her hair's like a chestnut minx.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller
> up and down a dirt avenue.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> -Will Dockery

--
Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Rob Evans]

Our resident King Dumbass squits that he remains a

a self obsessed toad:
>
>>
> "We know

we do

you don't.

Rob
--
Rob Evans
-----------
When I see a swine,
I reach for 45-calibre pearls


--
Posted via NewsDemon.com - Premium Uncensored Newsgroup Service
------->>>>>>http://www.NewsDemon.com<<<<<<------
Unlimited Access, Anonymous Accounts, Uncensored Broadband Access

[Will Dockery]

"Rob Evans" <mushmouth-***@spittle.com> wrote:
>
> a self obsessed shrivelled bald whistle-lisping mushmouth:

http://tinyurl.com/whistle-lisper

> > "We know
>
> we do

A quick glance in your mirror and you /should know/, Mushmouth.

--
New Will Dockery recordings, "Corning Town", "Crawford Road Crawl",
"Rosell", "Little Homeless Clown" & "She Came From Overseas":
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery

[Rob Evans]

Our resident King Dumbass squits that he remains a

a self obsessed toad:
>
>>
> "We know

we do

you don't.

Rob
--
Rob Evans
-----------
When I see a swine,
I reach for 45-calibre pearls



--
Posted via NewsDemon.com - Premium Uncensored Newsgroup Service
------->>>>>>http://www.NewsDemon.com<<<<<<------
Unlimited Access, Anonymous Accounts, Uncensored Broadband Access

[Will Dockery]

"Rob Evans" <mushmouth-***@spittle-spew.com> wrote:
>
> a prune-faced vulture:
>
> http://tinyurl.com/mushmouth-Rob-Evans
>
> > "We know
>
> we do

How could you miss it every morning when you stare into the mirror? No
wonder you seem so bitter and angry, Mushmouth.

Miss Alice Crenshaw
>
> Little Victoria
> stepped on a bumblebee,
> near the sawmill millhouse.
>
> Cousin Maxwell
> saw it while sitting in a tree,
> on the hill
> across from Uncle Grouse.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Always late, never home,
> they's a fighting,
> they'll get home the best they can.
> With some luck and
> a Southern wind.
>
> Shorty's chasing Bullethead
> with a frying pan
> full of chicken bones.
> Jerked wire
> someone tried to call the cops
> on the telephone.
>
> Sort of in the backyard
> of the old waterpump house.
> Near the canepatch,
> Miss Crenshaw's creeping like a mouse.
>
> She said some odd words,
> seen them spit right out her mouth.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller in technicolor
> up and down a dirt avenue
> for goodness sake.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> On a two stooler bike,
> somebody easing down the path.
>
> Near the house of
> Bullethead & Shorty...
> Working late at the mill again.
> Scoop the sugar with cabbage,
> wash it down with cold gin.
>
> Never sure when the morning starts
> or where it ends.
>
> I recall a bit later,
> when she shook her peaches for me.
> Shady silver leaf maples,
> and a lonesome persimmon tree.
>
> Full moon and hay fever
> schoolhouse looking like a Sphinx.
> She's a sweetie,
> her hair's like a chestnut minx.
>
> Everybody's watching television,
> or Miss Crenshaw's hipshake.
> She's a stroller
> up and down a dirt avenue.
>
> If you need a girl
> you can converse...
> She's a good listener
> and she ain't quite loud!
> But a looker in a crowd.
>
> -Will Dockery

--
Mulling over the news from last week's fortune cookie.
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery