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Trucker's Prayer

Well, I was born and raised
To be half-crazed,
To live life as a trucker
And travel the highways.
Now there ain't noth'n known
That can slow me down,
Not the lights of a city
Or the wealth of a town.
Gold couldn't hold me
And luck wouldn't stay,
I'm on a highway that seems to go just oneway.

There ain't no detours
There's no turning back.
There's just one destination
And who knows where thats at?
Some tried to warn me
When it all first began,
but I clutched then I shifted
And spun the wheel in my hands.
It's been my destiny
Since day number one,
To spend the rest of my life
Just making one more run.

But I was born to it
And raised to do it,
So I'll keep hang'n in there
And work my way through it.
There's no job too big or a hill too tall,
I take pride in my work
And I'm always on call.
I can work all day and drive all night,
Burning the midnight oil 'til the predawn light.

Some say I'm crazy, others have no doubt.
But I'm just a red blooded American,
Day in and day out.
So lord, when I make my last run
And collect that final pay,
And join those other drivers
That drive your golden highways.
I ask but one thing Lord,
And I know I ask in vain.
But Lord I hope the bears up there
Ain't allowed to fly airplanes!

Give'em rubber ticket pads
And pencils without led.
Take away those mustangs
And put'em on mopeds.
Let us truckers rule the road
On those highways in the skies.
Give us all big diesel power
And watch us truckers fly!

'Cause we were born and raised
To drive golden highways!
" Amen "

Palmer's Poetry

Fight Club

It doesn't matter where they come from
Or what may have lead them here.
There's no special size or color
Just hearts beating loud and clear.
It's not anger that drives them
To compete the way they do,
Just a common need to search and see
Thru force just who is who.

Could it be the pecking order
That they are trying to set here?
No, before all this got started
Mutual respect was put in gear.
It's no secret to the world
That competition is a driving force,
They just put the drive behind thier hands,
In boxing gloves of course.

It's a sport like any other,
People come to see the show.
But they may never understand it,
There's a side they'll never know.
Life classifies a man
As one heart, one mind, one soul.
That's the only wieght division
That this group has ever known.

To most it's just two fighters
Trading competitive blows.
They thrive upon the violence
And wait for the blood to flow.
All fighters come with one goal in mind,
To try and win top spot.
Unhappy with their current seat,
This adds fire, the ranks are hot.

They see it as a chance for them
To gain an imaginary crown,
If they should win, then they could claim
To be the best in town.
What no one seems to understand,
In spite of efforts the champ has made.
It's nothing more than entertainment,
Just a game he loves to play.

Palmer's Poetry

Redneck Urges

If there's a redneck urge about to emerge
And jump all over you.
They've been known to turn black when on the attack.
And leave people purple and blue.
The colors identify the victim
Without pointing a finger at me.
So don't slip and tell, before you say
I you fell, you see.
Or the next country you'll visit
Will be totally free.
There's a road trip involved, but you'll drag behind.
While attached by a chain or a rope.
The country will pass while you take a few lumps,
I'll find all the chuckholes and bumps.
Time will fly and you may to,
When you comeback to earth.
They may lock me up if you can prove I was there.
But my story will put me elsewhere.
It's a better idea to skip it
And avoid the healing process.
We'll both be better off if we compromise,
More or less.
As long as you don't disrespect me
Or the past that I'm from,
I'll never have cause to trim your hedge
Or too rat-a-tat-tat your ear drums.
If you can feel the urge rising?
Don't push it!

Palmer's Poetry


If it involves a rope, a bull and someone giving the rope a pull?,
Maybe just a handle and a horse, a-bit on the wild side of course.,
It just might be a racing car and you not knowing how fast they are.,
What if it's a dirt bike, how fast does it go, will you jump on and try?

Now the rope's pulled and someones opened the chute gate,,
Did you say hey wait or were you ready to go meet your fate?,
Was the handle to tight, did the horse jump out with all his might,,
Or did you just lay back and rake him like the lawn Friday night?

Maybe they dropped the flag that just started the next drag,
And your throttle went to the floor, giving you the fastest score.,
What if the starting gate dropped and the wheelie you popped,,
Put you ahead of the pack, you're the fastest bike on the track.

And then you woke up, what a bubble you popped,,
You were the best at everything in this dream.,
So just roll up on your side and go back to sleep,
Who knows, maybe you'll still win everything?

Palmer's Poetry

You Might Be

If your socks don't match and most your pants need patched
And you don't go out in public with out some kind of hat.
If your truck pacts around your favorite hunt'n hound
And your rifle or shutgun's in the rack when you're in town.

If you can leave your truck unlocked with the guns in back
And no one thinks they'll take'em because the dog attacks.
You could even leave it running and be sure it'll be there,
Because you don't need a sign reading, dog bites "BEWARE".

If the knife your packing can split wood or you can stick it any where,
Maybe you should be wearing a sign saying, I see you over there.
To let the local thieves know it could be hazardous to steal from you,
Your guns might be out of reach, but the knife flies and the dog chews.

If people have seen you get rowdy or violent a time or two,
Chances are they walk way around or are as pleasant as can be to you.
What they fail to realize is, it could all just be a big show,
But at the risk of getting shot, cut or dog bit who really wants to know?

If any of the above sounds like something you could be?
The it's just quite possible, "YOU MIGHT BE KIN TO ME"!

Palmer's Poetry

Bears Stink.

Past the summer of 78, up high in the mountains, I was feel'n great.
Just me, my bow and a fresh set of buck tracks,
It was the first day of a brand new hunt'n season,
And I felt lucky, just to have made it back.

In my element amongst the great pines, hot trail'n what I hopped to find.
The print I saw on the ground, had a crisp edge of dirt still fall'n down.
He was so close, I could smell his fresh meat,
My mouth watered as I thought of the next deer I'd eat.

The tracks had lead me to a new grove of young pines.
That the forest service had planted in very straight lines.
Those 30 foot saplings were so close and just big enough,
That their limbs at the bottom, would reach out and touch.

So the thought of looking ahead to spot a big rack,
Was a task out of reach, so I just followed his tracks.
From opening to opening, I was right close behind him,
As I stepped through the next branches, my face lost it's grin.

For there on the ground was a pair of bear cubs,
Just where was their ma, would our elbows soon rub?
And instantly I wondered, just where should I go?
I needed to move, but which way? I don't know.

So I spun on my heels to start making tracks
And there the sow was wait'n to give me a big whack.
I knew what she wanted, so I ducked and stuck my bow up.
As I headed west, I thanked God for that stroke of luck.

My feet were spinning like fast turning wheels
But my nose and ears screamed, she's right on your heels.
Ducking and diving, moving real fast,
The next urge assured me that my breakfast just passed.

It slid down my leg and onto the grass, making a slick spot appear.
Turning the bend reach'n out for my shin, she slipped and fell right there.
Giving me enough time to spot a tree I could climb,
With a leap and two bounds I grabbed limbs.

12 feet off the ground I spun around and sat down,
Throwing a look back at that mother bear on the ground.
Her teeth were showing, it's no grin that much I know.
But she couldn't get to me, so she just turned to go.

As I sat on that limb watching the three of them,
Crest over the top of I know she's gone hill.
I was rudely reminded of what she had caused,
My nose caught a whiff of that terrible smell.

For my trip up that tree wasn't all that saved me,
It was also the movement I'd had.
That caused her to fall down as she came around,
Reaching for me just as she fell, halfway back up that hill.

That may well explain why some people claim,

Palmer's Poetry


If your number one piston is top dead center
And your harmonic balancer won't hum.
Then you've probably twisted an axle
Or fried a rear break drum.
Don't fret yourself into a frensy,
I've seen this happen before.
And with a little luck and hard work,
We'll get you on a jack and off the floor.

Once your well suspended in a stationary spot.
We'll start to figure how to turn your cash,
Into money that we've got.
This is a delicate maneuver,
We can't let you see our hands.
So we have some rules you'll have to follow,
We'll blame our insurance man.

We're not as lucky as magicians,
We can't bounce light off of glass.
To help create false illusions,
So we'll resort to talking fast.
This is the only thing you'll see us hurry thru,
Because while your on our jack,
We know it's costing you.

Jack Rental
$90.00 PER HOUR

Palmer's Poetry


It's the new beginning of our annual fire season.
We're getting ready too subdue fires, for what ever reason.
We'd rather they be acts of God or accidental, rather than acts of arson,
But once it's a flame, it dosen't care, it's intent is total destruction.

We've got hoses rolled and stacked, to despence ouickly once we're there.
Rams, hammers and axes too use, to force entry should the need appear.
Our first concern is to discover if there could be a life in need of saving.
Defeating the flames or preventing a death is every firemans first craving.

They've been seen throwing caution to the wind, placing themselves in danger.
Just to begin and complete the task of rescuing a completly unknown stranger.
It could be a child or a senior, maybe a smoke inhalation recipiant.
They've been seen exiting a flame engulfed building, caring a dog or cat.

They're a breed alone without question, a need for them ignites everywhere.
It's not for the pay or attention, I believe they're men that truly care.
They seem to hold life on a high pedestal and place their own second at times.
Puting one of today's modern heros in a firemans suit in my mind.

If you don't share my opinion, it's of absolutely no consequence to me,
I'd be willing to bet if you found yourself gasping for a little more air too breath.
That your mind would quickly change, if a fireman was the next face you seen.
In the face of death even a pesimest, sees things a little more clearly I believe.

So is he a hero or just a paid public servant? I guess too some it depends,
Upon rather the fire is at a distance, or if the flames are nipping at their tail end.
Everyone should stop and consider, could I need their help someday?
The answer could be yes, then he'd be your hero in spite of what they get paid!



Is there something quite un-ordinary
In most everything you do?
Can your handywork be recognized,
Does it point a finger at you?
Would special be a better word
To explain your efforts spent?
Or are you why people say I know,
Without a clue to what was meant?

If your one to get it done
Before you think it through.
How is it that you figured it out?
Who told you what to do?
Is it just being familiar
With how to use your hands?
Or have you done it all before?
I'd like to understand!

In case you haven't noticed
I'm quite amazed at the skill you have!
Could you tell me where you found it?
Is there any left to grab?
Where can simple commoners
Locate it for them-selves
Or is it just reserved for you
And maybe Santa's elves

I guess your not gonna share
I really hoped you would.
I'll get the last laugh any how
You're really not that good.
I hope your ego was inflated
That I've aroused it's mystique
All jokes aside, as if you didn't know
Your really quite unique!

Palmer's Poetry

My Dad

I don't recall his being there much
As I think back on my life.
My father always drove a truck
And to support us he had to drive.
So while I was playing baseball
Or studying in school,
He was out there on the highways
Trying to abide by the golden rule.

My Father wasn't afraid of work, he always waded in.
He'd snatch each task up by the throat
And shake it until it suited him.
Then he would move on to the next
And do it time after time,
Six days a week when the sun rose
Until it set in the west again.

Through grade school first then high school,
He didn't have the time
To watch me as I grew up,
He was busy working for each dime.
But he stuck to the task at hand
And he always made enough
To keep food on our table
And over our heads he kept a roof.

It was just a simple exsistance,
Most people would proclaim.
There was nothing special about us,
No fame included in our family name.
But there was never any needed
To point out the love we shared.
It's easy to see through the life he's lead,
That my Dad really cared.

So don't be quick to judge him,
You couldn't possibly understand.
All that it took to keep us together,
By his sweat and blistered hands.
Yes it's true he picked this line of work
But not the hours that it took.
It's the simple facts in looking back
His life's a novel not just a book.

So it dawned on me, trying to write this poem,
I haven't got what it takes.
I can't build a castle from a box of stone
To show justice for his back aches.
I'll have to regroup and collect a few things
And I'll hire myself a crew.
With any luck and a ton of help,
I'll come up with a series of films
That he is due.

I Love ya Dad .

Palmer's Poetry


I don't recall him there much as I look back on my life.
My father always had to work and that took most of his time.
So while I was playing baseball or studying in school,
He was out there in the work-force, abiding by the golden rules..

My Father wasn't afraid of work , he always waded in.
He'd grab each task by the throat and shake until it suited him.
Then he'd move on to the next and do this time after time.
Six days a week when the sun rose until it set in the west again.

It was just a simple life, most people would proclaim.
There was nothing special about us, no fame in our family name.
But there was never any needed to point out the love we shared.
It's easy to see through the life he lead, my Father really cared.

Through grade school first then high school, he didn't have the time
To watch me as I grew up, he was busy working for each dime.
But he stuck to the task at hand as he worked to make enough.
To keep food on our table and over our heads he kept a roof.

So don't be quick to judge him, you can't begin to understand.
What kept us all together was his sweat and blistered hands.
Yes it's true he picked his work but not the hours that it took.
It's a simple fact in looking back, his life's a novel not a book.

So it dawned on me as I wrote these words I haven't got what it takes.
I can't build a shrine from a box of stone to show justice for his back aches.
I'll have to regroup and collect a few things, try and recall the past true.
With any luck and a ton of love I'll show him the praise that he is due.

It was just a simple life, most people would proclaim.
Thereís nothing special about us, no fame in our family name.
But there was never any needed, to point out the love we shared.
It's easy to see through the life he's lead, my Father really cared.

I Love You Dad .

Mother's Day

It's mother's day soon,
How much does or should your mother mean to you?
Chances are, the day you arrived,
She experienced a great deal of physical pain,
Which quickly turned to pure joy,
When she held you in her arms
For the very first time.

Then her life, immediatly began to evolve
Around your personal needs.

Her days consisted of feeding you,
Comforting you or changing you.
She was there when you spoke your first word,
Took your first step.
She was there for your first day of school,
With words of incouragement.

Chances are, she has been there
To share all most every first time experience you've had.

Making sacrifices, giving encouragement
And adding support in every way she could.
Because, that's what mothers do,
And to many times we begin to expect it
And to take these things for granted,
Because of what mothers do.

The calender offers us one day to show our graditude
And appreciation, for a lifetime
Of love and devotion.
Your mother started out being your world,
A debt you can never re-pay.
I pray, I never stop trying,
Only God's love could be greater.

Mother's Day 2

the one day a year that the calendar
Designates for us to honor the woman who is
Responsible for a lifetime of sacrifices and a never ending
Devotion towards family needs.

Mom is always the one who manages to quardinate
The impossible task or schedule into an acceptable situation.
She can juggle, sort, untangle and weave things
Back together to make them look as if though
They were planned that way.
The only one that's any wiser, or to suffer any lose
Is the one who worked so hard to make it nice
For the rest of us.

She's always there with a word of encouragement
Or to offer a helping hand, if there
Should ever come a time that you would ask.
There are even things unspoken and times that are unforseen
When Mother offers a kind and loving touch.
We may never understand her or why she cares so much,
But we're thankful that God made one for each of us.

The calendar offers a single day to recognize her every year,
But I suggest that not a day goes bye,
That you don't try to show her the love, honor and respect
She so richly deserves.
We Love You Mom! WE LOVE YOU MOM.

Palmer's Poetry

Saturday Afternoon !

It's saturday afternoon at the local beer saloon,
And the faces here they all look so familiar.
There's Lou and Al and Chuck and Dave,
Budwieser is the beer they crave
And Me and Moose drink colorado cool-aid.

There's a video game or two,
A pit for throw'n shoes,
And a music box that plays our favorite tunes
The little gal behind the bar,
She knows who the crazy's are,
And she knows what they say and do is all in fun.

It's saturday afternoon at the local beer saloon.
So we'll shake for drinks and shoot some pool
And pay a quarter when we break the rules.
There's better things that we can do
With our saturday afternoons.
But we'd rather gather here and drink our beer

Oh yes on saturday afternoon you'll find us here.

Palmer's Poetry


Check your tire pressure and engine oil,
Fill your tank with gas.
Then pull out on the track
And start in turning left fast.
Mash your throttle to the floor and
Let that engine scream.
Now to put the compitition
Behind you, is your dream.

Itís not to much to ask for,
Thereís just one hitch youíll find.
Being first is the foremost thought
In everybodyís mind.
Twenty cars and fifty laps,
But thereís just one checkered flag.
And only standing room for one
Where the winners go to brag.

Why does first hold top honors
In lifeís races each week?.
Itís just the competition
That puts a tongue up in your cheek.
It's the thrills and the spills,
The dangers of driving fast,
That has you mesmerized and
Keeps your foot hard on the gas!

It's not just the racing you love,
It's living on the edge.
Something about pushín your luck,
We love dancing on that ledge
To push the windows of mortality,
Makes us feel alive.
It's almost a frightening thought,
A quest for danger becomes our drive.

So enjoy the thrills, survive the spills
And remember how precious life is.
Donít place yourself in lifeís race
Without the answers to lifeís quiz's.
Youíve checked your specs and run test laps
So set your mind on winning
Then push your ride to the front
And go show them why your grinín.

Check your tire presure and engine oil,
Fill your tank with gas.
Then pull out on lifeís track
And start to moveín fast!

Palmer's Poetry


When life deals us a problem that won't bend,
We know there's someone to turn to,
We have a friend.
When you have troubles,
I'll be there on the double, just call me.
Whether it's finances or family,
No one will here of it from me,
You have a friend.
If your going somewhere, that I can't go,
I explain and tell you so.
You don't get upset and huff,
You understand and that's enough.
I have a friend.
There will be times we won't agree,
Yet when it's all said and done,
We never have to stand alone.
I still have you and you have me,
We have a friend.

by, A Friend

***Rein Moose's***

It was in the winter of 2002 and Santa was stressed,
He didn't know what he would do?
He was stressed by indecision,
Because back in 99 they had to add a crew cab
To help him make his delivery times.
They built a bench seat in a cab on the back
And added more hooks to hang toy sacks in racks.
His sleigh was much bigger to carry toys to deliver.
The weight of it all made his eight rein deer quiver.
In 2001 they barely got it done.
They were nearly seen by the light of the morning sun!
Those deer were sucking wind,
when they came dragging in
And this years trip was a million homes bigger.
Rudolph lead a strike, said he couldn't finish in one night.
Christmas would have to take two days a year.
Santa's big foot came down
and snapped every head around.
He said, I'm still the boss of this gig here!
But he knew Rudolph was right,
they couldn't make that flight.
He'd need to figure out how to crab a gear.
It was power that they lacked,
hauling such a big toy sack.
So he gave the gift of flight to something bigger!
It wasn't horses or mules, they just weren't the right tools
And elk and caribou just wouldn't do.
He called on their brother moose,
strapped them in and turned'em loose.
Soon that sleigh was flying as high
as a south bound goose.
With the power to get it done, Santa made his annual run.
So Merry Christmas to all and everyone
Have a Happy New Year!

Palmer's Poetry

Living in America

Living in America involves mankind being free.
With an abundance of tools and knowledge to expand our abilities
I've got the freedom to educate myself, to be the best that I can be.
If there's something in life that I don't like, the change is up to me.

We've got a constitution that gives American's the right.
To pursue our happiness in family's wealth or in fame's flight.
Complete with amendments that gives us all an equal chance,
Regardless of race, creed or color, you're encouraged to advance.

The majority rules in democracy, you can sign up and participate.
Voter registration intends that every vote carries equal weight.
One voice, one vote per person. it's America's plan and it's true.
Our symbol is Old Glory, our flag is Red, White and Blue.

The Red stands for blood that's been shed, defending us from the start.
The White symbolizes moral goals and purity in our soldier's hearts.
The Blue is our sincerity and courage, we emulate to planet earth.
Old Glory stands for our freedom and strength, as we fight for the truth.

This land that we call home, is America, it didn't come easy or cheap.
In memory of the ones who died, we honor the flag they fought to keep.
So if you think to spit on Old Glory, or try to burn it on the ground?
Don't be surprised or cry for help, if some patriot knocks you down.

If you value the freedom we have and the security that comes with it.
Then consider the price that's been paid and the payment's that won't quit.
Every single life that a soldier gives, adds to the meaning of our flag.
So don't disrespect Old Glory, or treat it like a common rag.

Please don't take this as a threat, because that's not the American way.
But Old Glory stands for freedom and our troops will win the day.
Living in America, still stands for mankind being free,
Old Glory's here to shout, maintaining freedom's not easy.

I love my life in America! I salute the red, white and blue.
Take a stand next to me and salute Old Glory too.

Palmer's Poetry

Today's Road Runner
( and the Hay Hauler )

The Road Runner once was a flightless bird.
Until a man named Jay gave new meaning to the words.
With an idea he had to build forks that squeezed,
He'd ease men's workloads and make history.

He took hydraulics, some steel and true diesel power,
And built a lift that chased trucks down the roads for hours.
They were designed to load hay or stack it in barns.
It took the strain off men's backs and out of their arms.

Turning work that only a few men could withstand,
Into a task that could be done by most any man.
Once again progress strikes another changing blow,
It re-writes what it takes to haul todays hay that's grown.

Today they can grab three or four tons at a whack
And unless something's wrong, none of it's hand stacked
Where in the past men would move each bale by hand,
To be stacked on a truck and then handled again.

With this new style of lift Jay designed to move hay,
A rare breed of hay hauler begins to fade away.
As progress continues to change the need for men's skills,
How far off is the day it creates it's own will?

When inventions make it all easy enough,
Will we simply start over? Or will that be too rough?
As time continues to cause the past to fade.
A Road Runner rev's up to move today's hay.

Palmer's Poetry

Under Construction...

There is a piece of ground that we will be building on.
They've laid it out on paper in the plans that have been drawn.
It's up to each construction crew to read the architects design.
To start and complete the work that's pictured in his mind.

They've dug footings and built wooden forms across this land.
Then added re-bar to re-enforce the work where soon walls will stand.
They'll use cement to form the floors and nail wood to build the walls.
To build these walls falls on the task of the carpenter's daily call.

He'll nail studs to the base boards where there isn't a window or door.
These walls will outline the rooms formed around each piece of floor.
With each header in it's place and all the cripples where they belong.
The windows and doors will let us watch as each job moves along.

When the walls are all built, they'll place the trusses for the roof.
After everything's plumbed and aligned to assure there are no goofs.
Then comes the sheeting and siding to add privacy to this house.
The interior's the last job to do, it completes the home inside-out.

From foundation to framing, past the siding and roofing too.
After the cabinets and painting and all the rest the works men do
. Along comes the inspector who will decide if the work's all through
. Is the work done here all up to code, is decided by Mr. Magoo.

From designs drawn by Peter Pan to the O.K. of a nearly blind man.
Who knew? It's under construction.....

Palmer's Poetry

Who's Blessed?

Some people have been blessed
with the gift of imagination.
While others can apply their hands
to form crafty creations.
I've seen what can be done in cloth
and clay fired in ovens.
I'm simply amazed by your talents,
numbered in the dozens.

Your gift in cards needs polish,
to help it's tarnished edges.
Then I'd loose the thrill of you
bidding us up onto those ledges.
But you can cook up a master piece,
in the kitchen I mean.
You mastering the game of pino,
is a gift yet to be seen.

The gift of gab you have acquired,
this you must have created.
No one can compare if you start
and your mind is fully stated.
This is a well disguised complement,
that I'm freely sharing.
Because the gift that out shines them all,
is your gift of caring.

There's quite a list of things above,
that you hold in your story.
I'm far greater blessed than that
by the friendship you gave me.
You're my purple colored kiss of a rainbow, shinning in the east
But it seems you've been short changed
by a western poetic beast.

It's been a long time coming,
but this poem is just for you.
If you think it's distasteful or short,
simply tell me the truth.
It won't leave a scar or even harm
the bond that's between us.
I'll just try again someday,
I won't even rant, rave or cus.


Palmer's Poetry

Kansas Seed!

Mathew Hobbs was a Kansas sheriff in a town near Wichita,
He grew-up just after the James boys and Younger's,
But he walked the right-side of the law.

He must have packed a pistol and handled it quite fair,
For no outlaws dared to push him, he was a lawman you couldn't scare.
Ruling the town with a righteous hand, only fearing and worshiping God.
When you came into his town , it was yes Sir and excuse me Mam.

But as time moved on he headed west, leaving the badge behind.
California was his goal and raising a family was on his mind.
He turned to the land to provide their needs, as a farmer's right hand man.
Controlling water to raise the crops, then harvesting the farmers land.
Soon he was raising cattle feed, seeing that it was cut and bailed,
With a helper and a truck he picked those bails up, at this he never failed.

Every job he ever took, he handled with confidence and ease.
With a wife and six kids to provide for, keeping all of them well pleased.
They didn't have gold or much money, but their wealth was not impaired,
Their treasure was the love and caring that this family shared.
If they were out picking fruit, or washing worms from a river bank,
They were happy just being together and Mr. Hobbs gave God his thanks.
He was a man by any measure, never compromised by what he believed.
Passing down his Christian values to the children he conceived.

From a sheriff and caring dad, to a place in Heaven for eternity.
He lived his life according to the word of God,
Now he's up there waiting for his family.
So by following the Christian path that Jesus left for me,
When I'm done here on earth, I'll know my Grandpa eternally.

Palmer's Poetry /

Country Living

Hello cousin, when I have time, since I'm so busy.
I think I'll write a few lines on paper pages.
Just to let you know the latest news about a year or two ago.
We are all still as well as can be expected
For the shape that we're all in,
We ain't sick, we just don't feel good,
Except for those of us who are dead.
I hope this letter finds you just the same.

I suppose you'll want to hear about our move
From Pennsylvania to Caliwood Hollyfornia.
We never started moving until we left and
We never turned until we found a road that went straight there.
So it only took us from the time we left until we got here.
The trip was the best part of it all,
So if you ever come out this way, don't miss it.
They didn't expect to see us until we arrived and
Most of the people we we're aquainted with knew us,
The rest of them all looked just like strangers.

We're still at the same place we moved to last,
Which is closest to our nearest nieghbor acrossed the street.
Just over there on the farthest side.
Pa thinks we'll stay here until we go someplace or move again.
We're busy farming, we have three cows but might sell one of them,
Because we have a little trouble milking him.

Eggs bring a good price here, that's why they're so high.
I sure hope we get a lot of them,
We just bought 25 roosters and one old hen.
Some of the ground here's so poor, umbrellas can't be raised.
But with four post and metal siding we made a shady spot of tin.
Our corn crop looks good, should make 5 gallons per acre.
Some worms got in last years, had to fish'em out and drink it later.
Ma was taking the cows to water when one fell trough the bridge,
Needless to say she strained her utter.
Now twice a week she gets the hick-ups and churns her own butter.

The old dog died last week, Pa said he swallowed a tape measure
And cashed in when he came up a few inches short.
My Mother-inlaw is sick and near deaths door, I hope she pulls through it.
Sis fell off the porch, it bruised her somewhat and skinned her elsewhere.
Then she got the mumps and has had a swell time of it.
Her baby swallowed a role of camera film,
But I doubt if anything developes.
Everytime Pa gets sick, he starts feeling bad,
The Dr. gave him some medicine and said if he gets better it might help him
And that if he don't get any worse, he might just stay the same.

Ma has gastronites in her stomach, the Dr. says
She's drinking to many nehi pops and
They must have moved up on her.
Every time Grandpa gets a tooth-ache his feet start hurting
And the pain stays with him until it finally quits aching.
I would have sent you the money that I owe you,
But this letter was sealed before I thought about it.
I sent an overcoat, but had to cut off the buttons to lower the shipping cost.
You can sew them back on, they're in the front left pocket.

We're fresh out of jelly so I sent Pa into the city,
Where in no time at all he found plenty of traffic jams.
I put your address inside this envelope so it won't get smeared.
I must close now, but if you don't get this letter in time to read it?
Let me know and I'll mail it back to you again.
If you can't read my writing, just copy it and read your own.
It took nearly three days to write this, because I know you read so slow.
Love from someone you knew, but now you wouldn't!

The Wheelchair Diet

It's morning and time for breakfast, your first meal everyday,
So roll on up into your spot and we'll start things right away.
The most important thing is to begin with a good nourishing fill,
Jump right in and treat yourself to two onces of hot oatmeal.

To reasure that you don't get choked, take 30 ounces of water.
Drink it down to clear your throat and to cool any chance of fire.
Then back away from the breakfast table, that's enough for awhile.
With your throat clear of hot oatmeal, it should be effortless to smile.

Then along about twelve it's time for lunch, a chance to really chow down.
Roll up to mixed nuts, prunes and a piece of fruit to wrap yourself around.
A jug of water will flush it all down, you wouldn't want to get a nut hung,
Just rare back and inhale deep, you're still hungry but the air fills your lungs.

At dinner time avoid pasta, starch and sweets, vegetables and meat are fine.
But not to much of each, you don't want to stretch your thinning waistline.
If you'll follow this plan to the letter, you're bound to loose a pound or two.
Even if you don't, you'll save money to buy whatever you want in good shoes.

This diet will quarantee that you'll loose weight or have the finest in foot wear.
Which ever it is, it'll be of some help when you no longer need the wheelchair.
As for me I've been eight years at it, I ain't lost much but I've gained plenty,
I've bought Italian sandals, French suede shoes and boots with my money.

Still setting right here in my power wheelchair.

Palmer's Poetry

Troubled Times

If you ignore the hustle and bustle,
Stay just ahead of the madness and shuffle
Then dodge the confusion of the daily crowds.
Try to miss the diving traffic, rushing everywhere,
While they begin their crazy schedules
Without a second left to spare.
They'll run red lights a little and gas every amber globe.
There's just five minutes left and still ten miles to go.
If the traffic isn't speeding,
You'll hear the sounds of angry faces.
The tension's high in these troubled times,
Each day starts more endless racing.
They call it progress and competition, grasping for every dime.
But it's just greed behind a mask, in these modern times.
Where does caring and compassion fit
In this equation up above?
Did we advance to fast and over look
The meaning of neighborly love?
Have we humans lost our values, are our morals still in-tact?
Or is tomorrow only measured by the money in our sacks?
The trouble isn't time, it's how you use it.
At the cost of eternal life, will you abuse it?
As time flies!

Palmer's Poetry

Christian Poetry
Cowboy Poetry