It’s a real gift to have poems, volumes of creative work my Dad produced throughout his lifetime. He was as most people know, a prolific writer. Two of the poems that are particularly meaningful are two he wrote to me and about me. One is titled My Boy. It is about how we would often embark on Father/Son visits to local bars and how I liked to flirt with pretty older ladies. We also went to LSU Football games and went fishing, but he dragged me to a bar or two. He was conducting Business. Back then, as a rough and tumble Louisiana Lobbyist, that is where business was done. The other, Tracys Dog is a tribute to the dog who raised me, “Papa Joe”….Here they are for you reading pleasure. I am in the process of compiling all of his work and republishing his many novels, songs, short stories, plays, poems, anecdotes quotes and philosophical observations of Louisiana Politics, Social Commentary, Love, Loss, Addiction, , and finally sweet redemption. Enjoy, Tracy * If you ever wonder why I post these. I promised my Dad, before he died that I would post, circulate and eventually publish his work. So this is me keeping my promise. My Boy He ain’t no toy - he’s my boy Never be no Rogers Roy He’ll never be no baseball star Probably feel more at home in a bar But they won’t be handing him no jive He’s been going to bars since he was five. Cause he’s the son – he’s the son He’s a fast talkin son of a gun Though some say it should rhyme with itch He’s the fast-talking, Hard-headed, stubborn Son of a …gun. But something’s weird about a kid of nine That goes around saying “hey lady you’re fine” Been drinking beer since he was five I don’t remember being that alive Was I ever that alive? Charles L. Smith Tracys Dog I was the one who found, fed, and named Papa Joe but he was always Tracys The dog belonged to the boy The boy belonged to the dog Papa Joe raised Tracy while I was busy with other things They would strut down suburban streets Papa Joe a little to the outside herding the boy away from the curb the good servant master and mastered and who was to say which was which Papa Joe was a good dog who thought he was a good big dog He wasnt. Forty pounds at the most but a whirling dervish to the Great Dane down the street The St. Bernard paid grudging respect The Boxer was indifferent two to one in pounds with the same heart But Papa had sticking power The Boxer stayed away from our yard I lost track of both son and dog in my mad race for fame and fortune But they never lost each other I loved them both Bailing one out of trouble and the other out of the pound I thought that was all I needed to do One last time Papa Joe climbed my fence and was captured I earned a big fine and a day in jail Six months later we found him, limp and lifeless at final rest in the back yard after one last attempt to jump ship and roam Fourteen and a half over a hundred in doggy years My son dug his grave said the prayers and cried We both did. Charlie Smith
Posted on: Wed, 29 Oct 2014 18:23:40 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015