Downright Victimy

May 12, 2011

Downright Victimy

We all know it’s tragic
When a lover gets the boot
Sometimes it’s no biggie
Sometimes it’s acute
I’ve seen guys who got whupped
For bein’ Passion’s slave
And quite a few that drunk themselves
To an early grave
But I ain’t seen’ nuthin’
Like my buddy Billy Ray
He rewrote the Book of Crazy
When his woman run away
With his little brother
On his thirty-third birthday…

He hunts grizzlies with a penknife
He cleans his pistols with his tongue
He rassles crocodiles
He eats salads made of dung
He wears a barb wire choker
He pours gunpowder on eggs
He takes shooters of Tabasco
He drinks malt liquor by the keg


He don’t just look sick to me
The dude is downright victimy
Won’t live to see the next full moon
If he don’t get some help real soon

by Richard W. Bray

Celebrating the Violent Death of a Wicked Man

May 5, 2011

any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind

John Donne

My grandfather lived to be a hundred years old. He had a remarkable career in which he enriched the lives of thousands of people. In fact, he loved his job teaching Geology so much that he continued to go to work every day for over thirty years after he retired. He was a respected family man and a pillar of the community. None of us could reasonably ask for anything more out of life.

If every person’s death makes me smaller, then it would be natural to assume that the passing of a kind, decent, and noble man like my grandfather would represent the greatest type of loss for humanity.

However, I believe that, paradoxically, the opposite is true: A life squandered in pursuit of violent and vindictive hatred is a failure for all of humanity because, as Donne noted in his famous sermon, no man is an island.

I’m not saying this to scold people who exalt in the death of someone who has committed heinous crimes. This is perfectly natural and I am in no way superior to anyone who would cheer when a bad man gets a bullet to the head. I feel petty and vindictive impulses every day, which are usually directed towards those whom I love the most. That’s simply a function of having an ego.

Being human, the best that I can ever hope to achieve is pity for the wicked in the rag and bone shop of my crooked heart.

by Richard W. Bray

Time to Quit

April 30, 2011

Reuben_Hollebon


Time to Quit

I woke up this morning, wishing I was dead
With forty-seven work crews poundin’ in my head
My belly was the site of a nasty civil war
That abruptly ended when I puked right on the floor
My body is revolting and my soul is on the brink
I’d sell everything I own just to buy another drink

I gotta’ plague of reasons
Why it’s time to quit
Livin’ in a snake pit
A feller will get bit
I lost a lovin’ family, three jobs
And half my mind
Been a long, long time
Since I could say that I was fine

Yesterday I got to work at seven forty-five
Three hot cups of coffee, feeling glad to be alive
My boss looked up and yelled, “Just where the hell you been?”
“I’m fifteen minutes early. Hell, that ain’t no sin”
“Actually,” he sneered “You been AWOL for a week
Foreman’s got your severance, you stupid, smelly freak”

I gotta’ plague of reasons
Why it’s time to quit
Livin’ in a snake pit
A feller will get bit
I lost a lovin’ family, three jobs
And half my mind
Been a long, long time
Since I could say that I was fine

My doctor says my liver’s fixin’ to explode
And all my other organs look ninety-three years old
I got so many toxins stuck inside my skin
Bloated up from battles that my body cannot win
If I ain’t hit bottom, I’m dangling by a thread.
I could get some help or I could get a drink instead

I gotta’ plague of reasons
Why it’s time to quit
Livin’ in a snake pit
A feller will get bit
I lost a lovin’ family, three jobs
And half my mind
Been a long, long time
Since I could say that I was fine

by Richard W. Bray

Sarah Fitzgerald

April 26, 2011

Carl

Sarah Fitzgerald

Sarah Fitzgerald and her brother Harold
Went to the park to play
But no girls nor boys and none of their toys
Could be found that day

For a monster named Larry and his cousin Jerry
Had scared them all away
So Sarah decided the two should be chided
And she had much to say

She marched to their dwelling, the one which was smelling
Of grime, garbage and gore
Though her brother pleaded, young Sarah proceeded
To walk right up to the door

Their uncle appeared, looking quite weird
Drenched in the blood of a boar:
“I’m not sorry to say that the two ran away.
They don’t live here any more.”

Harold told Sarah to leave it alone or a paira’
Dead youngsters they’d be
But Sarah declared that she wouldn’t be scared
By a monster or two, nor by three

Harold was prudent, an erstwhile student
Of monsters and their history:
“In Nineteen-oh-two they made a big stew
Of children like you and like me!”

Sarah was headstrong, “I will get along
With or without you around
And I’ll have you know that I’m willing to go
To the village where monsters abound”

Poor Harold followed, all fear he swallowed
As they journeyed to menacing grounds:
The City of Doom, a patch of great gloom
Where hideous creatures are found

As they entered the city where nothing is pretty
They suddenly started to hear
Wails and groans and hideous moans
Her brother quivered with fear

Several gargoyles and ghouls sporting boils
Grew increasingly near
Sarah’s pace quickened, the musty air thickened
But she knew her quest was sincere

An ogre named Carl said with a snarl,
“These two wayward youngins’ are mad
But here you are, you’ve traveled so far
Without your mum or you dad”

Sarah inquired, “Sir, help is desired.
Some monsters are making me mad
That hooligan Larry and his cousin Jerry
Have been cruel, naughty and bad”

The cantankerous ogre stared a cruel glare
And veins bulged out on his head
Harold shut eyes. The kid realized
The two were soon to be dead

Carl shuddered and shook. Poor Sarah couldn’t look
The air was frozen with dread
They thought he’d explode or perhaps he’d implode
He began to chortle instead

“My dear, I must say you do have a way.
That’s the best laugh I’ve had in a while
You deserve to be praised in various ways
For remarkable gumption and style”

What then ensued can only be viewed
As a case for the Odd Monster Files
(Folks who were there are likely to swear
That he even broke into a smile)

“You know, I reckon, someone should beckon
Those two young rascals to me”
This was no sooner said than the two lads were led
On a chain for all to see

They proceeded to plead that their dastardly deed
Was merely some young monster fun
The cousins then learned in quite certain terms
That their kid-scaring days were now done

Now Sarah’s revered and heartily cheered
Whenever she comes to the park
The children can play not simply all day
But even when it turns dark

Now Harold tells all that it was his call
To boldly and bravely embark
On that fateful day when two kids went away
To protect all who play in the park

by Richard W. Bray

As Long as Babies Cry

April 16, 2011

As Long as Babies Cry

Now I was workin’ out
At my local gym
With my buddies: Paco,
Chester, Dave and Slim
That was when I noticed
And I ain’t tellin’ lies
The world’s greatest beauty
Right before my eyes
So I sauntered over
And mustered up my charm
I approached her sideways
Showin’ off my massive arm
I said, “Now hey there darlin’
Hows about you and me
Get together Friday evening
For some dinner and tv?”


As long as babies cry
You’ll never be my guy
As long as skies are blue
I’ll live life without you
And now our story ends
Please go back to your friends

Now I was never one
To give up that easy
I’m such an awesome guy
My friends call me “Cool Breezy”
And as luck would have it
Another fine young beauty
Was doin’ her thigh crunchers
So I walked up to that cutie
I said “I know your legs are tired
From runnin’ through my brain
But if I don’t get your number
I might just go insane”

As long as babies cry
You’ll never be my guy
As long as skies are blue
I’ll live life without you
And now our story ends
Please go back to your friends

by Richard W. Bray

I Tried

April 11, 2011

I Tried

I tried to clean my chimney
But it covered me with soot
I tried to wire my speakers
But they smoked and went kaput
I tried to lift a dumbbell
But I dropped it on my foot

I tried to tip my waiter
But his pockets were all full
I tried to wear a sweater
But I’m so itchy from the wool
I tried to ride my horsey
But I saddled up a bull

I tried to wash my car
But it began to rain
I tried some jumping jacks
But that gave me a pain
I want to do what’s right
But it’s driving me insane

by Richard W. Bray

Time to Catch a Train

April 2, 2011

Time to Catch a Train

Always blowin
Back and forth
I’m just a crazy weathervane
It ain’t no mystery
That I’m the one to blame
I’d love to hang around
And help to
Cool your pain
But I can’t take
Another day
It’s time to catch a train

You gave more
Than I deserve
I poured it down a drain
Good thing I always
Had the sense
To know that I’m insane

by Richard W. Bray

Frannie’s Fortress

March 26, 2011

Frannie’s Fortress

Frannie’s best friend moved away
This made her very sad
When other kids went out to play
She stayed home with her dad

Naturally she felt her
Heart had hit a wall
So she sought herself a shelter
From torment, big and small

Frannie figured it was best
To keep her feelings gated
She’d build for them a fortress
To be locked and palisaded

She planned a sanctuary
Where a girl could find refuge
This stronghold would be very
Fortified and huge

She would make herself a maven
On battlements and forts
To build a bulwark and a haven
And protect her lonely heart

She’d defend her citadel
With fulltime guards on call
And no one could even tell
If she ever cried at all

As she began to write
In a notebook on the floor
Daddy was a welcome sight:
“You have people at the door.”

Sally, Ann and Mary
Came to see if she could play
They had themselves a very
Funterrific day

Daddy said, “I made some lunch
And all your friends can stay.”
The girls all drank some punch
And Frannie put her plans away

by Richard W. Bray

Blowing up Babies

March 15, 2011

Blowing up Babies

We’re lost and we’re angry
We ain’t got no plan
And we’re blowing up babies in Afghanistan

Things are falling apart
All across the land
We’re still blowing up babies in Afghanistan

Only fools wanna mess
With festering clans
Let’s stop blowing up babies in Afghanistan

When’d we all get so stupid?
I can’t understand
Why we’re blowing up babies in Afghanistan

Soldiers sign up
To protect the homeland
We make ’em blow up the babies in Afghanistan

We need our leader
To be a man
And stop blowing up babies in Afghanistan

by Richard W. Bray

Walter the Wombat

March 3, 2011

Walter the Wombat

Walter Wombat went to the store
To find his family some food
The sun was shining, and what’s more
He was in a wonderful mood

When Walter got to the market
The lot was nearly full
As he maneuvered his car to park it
He backed into an angry bull

The bull stepped out of its Audi
And stomped right up to his car
As Walter prepared to say, “Howdy”
He noticed it had a huge scar

This bull didn’t look real pleasant
So Walter prepared for a fight
That’s when a ring-necked pheasant
Marched right into their sight

“Of course, y’all don’t know me”
Said Fred with a glint in his eye
“But I was wondering who could show me
Where worms fall out of the sky”

The bull looked down at Freddy
As steam came out of its nose
And the little bird got ready
To defend against terrible blows

“You really don’t want to perturb me”
Said the bull with blood in his eye
“And it’s a real mistake to disturb me
When I’m about to gore this guy”

Fred said, “I do beg your pardon
I surely do hate to bud in
And I guess I should be startin’
Home to be with my kin”

The bull turned its head quite slowly
Offended by Freddy’s words
“Did you just call me Shirley, lowly
Ring-necked little bird?”

“I believe that you’re mistaken”
Said Walter ignoring his terrors
No bird should be forsaken
For simple linguistic errors”

“The two words surely and Shirley
Are a pair of homophones
So before you get hurly burly
And speak in angry tones…”

But the bull was through with talking
He began to snort and stomp
The world was suddenly rocking
This bull was ready to romp

The bull chased after the wombat
Who headed straight for the stream
He preferred swimming to combat
He had no wish to be creamed

They both ended up in the water
But this didn’t cool off the bull
Which pointed and reared for slaughter
Until he felt the pull

The current quickly took him
To an ocean miles away
The bystanders there mistook him
For a surfer who’d lost his way

This story that I have selected
Has a moral over for you to mull:
Always stay cool and collected
And never back into a bull

by Richard W. Bray