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PORCH SITTERS
Two old-timers sittin' on the porch
A wealth of knowledge shared back and forth
The things these guys knew and maybe forgot
Could fill a stock tank up over the top.
Like how to get a cow out of a soggy bog
Without the help of a mechanical come-along
Or how to pull the well without a crane
So many things you just can't explain.
I'll bet they never thought there'd be a man on the moon
They were thinkin' 'bout getting more done in the forenoon
Their lives were complicated enough
Without worrying about extraterrestrial stuff.
The problems they faced were serious though
They fought communism at the first Battle of Seoul
Then again when Hell froze over at the Chosin
And little things like a population explosion.
They've seen a lot in their time and that's for certain
Too soon death will come and close the curtain
To know what they have known in their lives
While still young might be a huge surprise.
Two young men sittin' in a bar
Two beers down and now whiskey from a jar
The things they don't know and might never learn
Would overflow the largest cistern.
Their chance of learning from the past
Has been replaced by a technological blast
No desire to do it the same way grandpa did
Too slow if it remains when they blink an eyelid.
Youth is wasted on the young they say
But age is wasted on the old always
We don't harvest a tenth of their knowledge
While we pay tuition for four years of college.
Two old-timers sittin' in the yard
Waitin' for the reaper to punch their card
Two old-timers just sittin' and talkin'
They shake hands and head off walkin'.
There goes two old-timers walkin' away
Wish I'd had sense to ask 'em to stay
What might I have learned that I should know
If you see two old-timers, just stop and say hello.
© 2024 Brian McNeal
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GETTING OLD
I never thought I'd get this old
Most of my pards have gone asunder
Some went up and some down under
And I can't remember what I can't remember
I never had problems programming my VCR
I was always pretty savvy with electronic gizmos
Now, I don't know one tenth of what every kid knows
And I don't understand the logic of obsolete windows
Never get old, my grandad used to say
But how in Heaven's name could I understand?
I was just barely becoming a man
Now I can't stray too far from the bed pan
I shuffle when I walk and I dance sitting in a chair
I'm in bed before eight o'clock and awake before daylight
My nightlife disappeared like Franklin's kite
And I have to get up two or three times every night
My can-do attitude is now a relic of the past
I'd like to bend over to lace up my boots but my back won't comply
My mind says it's ok, but my body just ain't that spry
And why do I always forget to zip up my fly?
Where does my mind go when I leave the room?
From one room to the next is just a simple transition
I know I had a reason for the mission
But my memory has a lack of ambition
My bushy red beard is now all silver-white
I no longer look good in a tank-top T-shirt
Every time I look in the mirror I get my own silver alert
This old-age thing is turning me into an introvert
Like Andy Rooney would have said on Sixty Minutes
"Ever wonder why there are no senior discounts at funeral homes?"
You have to take 'em broken if you want a cheaper tombstone
Getting old? My advice to you, if you can, is try to get it postponed
© 2024 / Brian McNeal
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J. W.
According to those who knew him best
Faster than Google, he could answer your quest
A mind that held facts like mass media
He was a walking country music encyclopedia
'Have Gun Will Travel' reads the card of the man
Have song, will sing it all across this land
A left-facing chess knight right in the center
A big baretone who could sing higher than a tenor
A friend to everyone, from Johnny Cash to Ralph Emery
A lifetime of country music trivia held in memory
Hall of fame member in two giant genres
He was the one and only Johnny Western
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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SIX-UP
He drove his team all over town.
Sometimes it was two or four or even six.
Rides were free, up, down or all around.
Hey, there goes Darrell, up to his tricks.
Singleton was his name and Appys were his game.
Leopard Appaloosas to be most correct.
In the West's most western town with dude ranch fame.
Ready to go, hitched, yoked and necked.
I remember watching Darrell at the reins,
With tourists in the load and more along the way.
What a joy he had with a smile on his face,
Showing off his famous spotted horses everyday.
Western magazines liked his story well.
Dick Spencer had a full spread one time.
Darrell and his Appys and photos to tell,
Wickenburg was proud to have a son so fine.
"Keep it Western" is what he used to say,
Whenever the town wanted to make some change.
He did his best and lived his life the Cowboy way,
Reminding us all about life on the range.
Now Darrell's gone and it's such a shame,
To know there'll never be another like him.
He was one of a kind with a quiet kind of fame.
His hat cocked back, a twinkle in his eye and smile above his chin.
When I get up to Heaven, it would't surprise me a bit,
To see Darrell and his spotted Appys givin' rides to weary angels needin' a rest,
Who've flapped their wings until they have to quit.
Still no charge, just hop on and ride - you'll have Heaven's best.
IN MEMORIUM
Darrell Singleton
June 23rd, 1926 - September 3rd, 2014
Wickenburg, AZ
© 2023 / Brian McNeal Published: Wickenburg Sun Sept, 2024
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SPACE COWBOY
In memory of Astronaut Bill Anders (1933-2024)
He was a cowboy like few others
Yet he was just the same as all the rest
Like the cowboys of old
He was of a breed known as the best
He was a modern day cowboy
But he still saw wonders few have seen before
Like the cowboys of old
He helped pave the way and open the door
He saddled up on a ride called Apollo Eight
Along with his pards he hit the trail
Like the cowboys of old
He had the bull by the tail
Into the unknown, looking for freedom
Charting the uncharted and making mental maps
Like the cowboys of old
He wore his hat, boots and chaps
We say goodbye, a fond adieu, to a top-flight hand
His soul is now looking back at what he's already seen
Like the cowboys of old
Bill Anders left this world better than it had been
© 2024 Brian McNeal
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CARL PIKE
Carl had that "Santa" twinkle in his eye.
He collected spurs and saddles and played guitar.
He came from Boulder, up in Rocky Mountain high.
On Saturday nights he played in a western bar.
A Chet Atkins Gretch with a cowboy case.
Nineteen and fifty six was the date on the loan papers.
His song sheet revealed his musical taste.
Carl and I were Arizona neighbors.
Wickenburg was home after his arthritis hit.
Hid didn't play guitar anymore.
But he always had a joke, a spur and a bit.
His twinkling eye kept us coming back for more.
He was a Pike, somehow related to the famous peak.
He liked horses, old-time western music and Shirley.
A two-car garage housed his collection of antiques.
Saddles, spurs, tack and even a Hurdy-Gurdy.
He wore spurs with the Crocket brand
Raising Quarterhorses was his jubilation
I'll bet in his younger days he was a top hand
Towards the end, arthritis even stole that motivation.
Carl passed on at the bit & spur show in Loveland.
He wasn't feeling well and asked to have a seat.
When Shirley returned with an aspirin he was already gone
To know Carl was one of life's rare treats.
He was old-school in more ways than one.
With an abundance of manners, courtesy and class.
He left this world better by a ton.
After his service, Shirley said, "you know, I've never filled my tank with gas."
Carl knocked on Heaven's door and the Almighty answered with a "Welcome Pard"
His arthritis is no more but his twinkling eye still radiates
Carl's playing guitar again and now it's not nearly so hard
Don't be surprised to hear some old familiar tunes welcoming you at the gates
In memoriam:
Carl W. Pike July 27, 1915 - June 13, 1987
http://obits.arizonagravestones.org/view.php?id=40435
© 2022 Brian McNeal
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JULY THIRTIETH, NINETEEN FIFTY ONE
Half the century had gone by in nineteen and fifty-one.
At the end of July that year, he was fifty years young
Although fifty was a lot older then, than now,
I'm sure he never let that slow him down
Struggles and disappointments and sometimes not a thing done
Until he moved his family and found a home in Torrington
He knew everyone in town and everyone knew him
Life had been hard, but it was a lot better then
A red and white stripped pole, topped with a chrome dome
A Chirotonsor's license, framed and hung up next to the phone
Two chairs for the men, kids got to sit in the booster seat
Open for business five days a week right on Main street
Infinity mirrors tilted just ever so slightly on opposite walls
Reflections repeated over and over until the image was too small
A delight for a child to try to count the total number
Bettern' countin' sheep to induce slumber
On the shop radio he heard Ty Cobb give evidence
And the first of Amos and Andy's negligence
"The Tennessee Waltz and "How High The Moon"
Played through the speaker and set the mood
A poster on the wall said: "Look Your Best"
"A Haircut Every 10 Days" to be well-dressed
Filling the shaving cream dispensers from a bottle
An important job for a kid, but for him, probably a boondoggle
I think Torrington was special for him in many ways
Everyone had his birthday month on their license plates
July, with strawberry shortcake and homemade ice cream
And a lotta talk about catchin' trout in the stream
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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THE CHAIR
There's an empty chair at our holiday table this year
Sadness fills our hearts and minds as we fake some cheer
With all the other chairs full of joy, gladness and delight
We leave this chair alone to pile up all our plight
We'll pile on some memories too, to last forevermore
The one who sat here last is gone, to return nevermore
We'll remember the excitement brought to our days
And the chair's ever steady, unyielding ways
Everything he touched is sitting on this chair
Every person he ever met who breathed the same air
All the things he ever said or did
They're all here, nothing has been hid
It may look like a lonely, empty chair to you
'Cause you can't see the past the way we do
But, that's OK. See whatever you see or don't
We'll always see the man and not the ghost
There's an empty chair at our holiday table this year
Sadness fills our hearts and minds as we fake some cheer
With all the other chairs full of joy, gladness and delight
We leave this chair alone to pile up all our plight
We'll pile on some memories too, to last forevermore
The one who sat here last is gone, to return nevermore
We'll remember the excitement brought to our days
And the chair's ever steady, unyielding ways
Everything he touched is sitting on this chair
Every person he ever met who breathed the same air
All the things he ever said or did
They're all here, nothing has been hid
It may look like a lonely, empty chair to you
'Cause you can't see the past the way we do
But, that's OK. See whatever you see or don't
We'll always see the man and not the ghost
So, you see, this chair isn't so empty as first believed
The soul who used this space is surely grieved
But the treasures left behind,
The memories, are ours for all time.
The soul who used this space is surely grieved
But the treasures left behind,
The memories, are ours for all time.
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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THE LAST SURVIVOR
Four score and three years he missed his mates.
Planes from the Emperor of Japan sank his ship.
A part of him died while the rest of him waits.
There's joy on his face now as he takes his Heavenly trip.
He'll see them, one and all, once again.
It's been a long long wait but the end is here.
The eleven hundred, seventy seven who were slain.
And all the others who passed on before this year.
I'd give a hundred dollars or fifteen thousand yen,
To see his face when he meets the Japanese,
Who flew those Mitzubishi planes.
How hard will it be or will he be at ease?
Will he be able to forgive a loss so great?
To have joy on his face but then have it replaced.
What will be in his heart, forgiveness or hate?
Will they even be there or will their souls have been disgraced.
Here's to you and your friends, Lou, and may you all rest in peace.
May they all meet you with brand new wings.
May your earthly worries now all cease.
May you rest eternally with the King of Kings.
Lou Conter, last survivor of USS Arizona from Pearl Harbor attack, dies at age 102
April 2, 2024, 6:53 AM CDT / Source: The Associated Press
© 2024 Brian McNeal
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