What Phil Told MePhil probably wasn't sober as I could smell liquor in the air. He was a Caucasian man with a wart on the apex of his right ear and short brown hair somewhat thinned on top, though that's only apparent when he takes off his baseball cap. His shirt collar was a little frayed but his clothes were clean, and his reading glasses hung from a cord.He talked about baseball, but it seemed to me he was really talking about life. It was important, he said, to play to win. You had to play your very best to win. And if you didn't win, at least you knew in your heart that you had tried. His voice nearly broke when he said this.He hates the righteous and the ministers. He hates the people with attitudes and would bury them all if he could. He hates them all because they don't know anything. But Phil knows he is going to hell. He's 57 now and isn't afraid of anyone, and he really doesn't believe there's a place like the brimstone and fire hell, but if there was a place like that he knows he'd go the
limerick as epitaphHere lies an old man from OhioWhose bones have lost all of their brio.It is said on the dayThat his life passed awayHe mistook a bull for his dear Io.
TillieTillie's first act when he was born was to grinStaring with glazed, blue eyes he looked so giddyWith his lacquered-up hair and his pale, pink skinBoth loved and feared by the visiting kiddyOutside the Palace Tillie welcomed him inAlong with the parents or the watchful biddyBut now his face is pocked and he's looking grimThe Palace has fallen to the wrecking ballAnd Tillie awaits Fate in a courtyard dimWhile the coastal salt air continues to maulHis face and his collar as he sits on the wall.
ode to a penAn Ode to the PenCome, let us praise the humble penWhich gives form to the thoughts unspokenThat they may be by others readLong after author is mute or deadAnd oral lore forgotten.A pen can do more than a swordAnd is it not a greater goodTo spill much ink instead of bloodTo make the world more ordered?If not for this, the humble penSo much reduced would be our ken.And we would have to find againWhat others found before us.