Dang Gerry, this is hard. I'm perusing through your archive and finding stuff I've not read before. Here are a few I've picked out. I'll post my favorite of favorites first.
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A Poet Learns To Be Unread
Some poems disappear when critics advise;
"They should vanish before they are noted",
and impassioned poets quickly surmise,
that their verses will seldom be quoted
Though most labor on, and never give in,
to the fashionable trends of the day
They'll wear thicker skins, since critic's akin,
label everything "trite, and cliche"
A poet must learn, that all his concerns
are not shared by the prosaic masses
Like Byron, or Burns, they'll often take turns
finding solace in whiskey filled glasses
Just so it is said, by masters now dead;
"Poetry written will soon be unread"
View it here:
A Poet Learns To Be Unread
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Lost Connection
I was talking
on my mobile phone
in March
two thousand three
When my call
was interrupted
by some
abnormality
"Connection Lost"
These backlit words
appeared
on my display
I suspect
both signals
weakened
from apparent truth decay
Can these fancy,
high-tech gadgets
learn to
read a human mind?
Or does this new
convenience
make us lose
the ties which bind?
We're a lonely
high-speed culture
built on
new technology
It dictates
progressive movement
from a
life in jeopardy.
No time to
just drink lemonade
and watch
my kids play ball
No time to
sing a serenade
or hear
bird's springtime calls
No time for
family dinners
Regardless of
the cost
Now it's time
for a reflection
My connection's
just been lost.
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Tall Tales on the Mountain
Ol Willy John's a mountain boy,
who was raised down in the holler
He eats mostly coons and possums
cuz he could'nt earn a dollar
"As bright as bricks" his mother'd say
"But not quite so well refined"
"He doesn't favor people much,
they're most usually to unkind".
Now folks roun here get chills oft time
When they see Willy shuffle by
They'll never look him in the face
a'feared and scared of "Evil Eye"
Still,... Ol Willy's got some answers,
that he ain't learned from you or me.
He communicates with spirits
deep in the forest, where he's free
And all them damn "Filozofers",
"Hell Fire Preachers", "Doctors"an "Greeks"
Just can't hold one tiny candle
To the truth when Ol Willy speaks
He don't use no big fancy wurds
Fact is,.......he rarely talks at all,
and when he deems to utter one,
its with an appalachian drawl
Yep,...He's one hard to figer out
In a world thats filled with conceit
He don't care for shiney baubles
and he don't lie, and scheme, and cheat.
His only friend's an age-ed buck
All the men-folk were prone to say
They've hunted him for years and years,
somehow,...he always gets away.
One feller tells a good story......
When he was hunt'en in the wood
He saw that buck and Willy talk
as he was hide'n where he stood
Now mind you,...these are mountain folk,
these campfire tales grow tall as grass
If you believe all that you heard
You'd think my balls were made of brass.
But,... I do believe in magic,........
and this mountain's got it's fair share
As long as Willy roams these hills
I'm convinced it'll be out there.
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You can view Gerry's archive here:
bags123
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Thanks Gerry.
It is a pleasure to know you. Your life is much appreciated.
it looks like it is going to take me a while to read all. 
sloppy 
