Michaelstubblefield's Blog

September 8, 2010

Trufe

TRUFE

Folks of’en say dey wants de trufe,
“Profits be hanged,” dey add.
“If he cain’t stand de trufe at last,
Well, that’s jes too damn bad!”

“Ah, de trufe,” you say, “de trufe
Will near-always win out.”
But way I sees it, it’s a tighter race.
I jes cain’t hep but doubt.

Ain’ no one got a-holta trufe
Near like dey thank dey do.
Fo’ ef a man gits holdin’ on trufe,
“Now, he jes ain’ gon’ do!”

“Know whut I mean?” I’s askin’ now,
An’ I sho’ly thank ya do.
‘Cause I know it done happen to me one time,
An’ I bet it done happen to you!

“Trufe,” dey say, “it’s time fo’ de trufe
Or we jes gon’ be bust!”
But what start out as de trufe, it seem,
Somehow wind up lookin’ like lust.

“De trufe gon’ come out at last, now,
An’ you jes gotta trust.”
But what start out as de trufe, it seem,
Somehow look awful like lust!
I sweah!

© September, 2010 by Michael E. Stubblefield. All rights reserved.

Carpe diem. Vita brevis!

Honesty is the rarest wealth anyone can possess, and yet all the honesty in the world ain’t lawful tender for a loaf of bread. ~Josh Billings

Truth is the most valuable thing we have, so I try to conserve it. ~Mark Twain

Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing had happened. ~Winston Churchill

Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it. ~Emily Dickinson

Society can exist only on the basis that there is some amount of polished lying and that no one says exactly what he thinks. ~Lin Yutang

September 12, 2009

Eyes

Filed under: From where I sit,Listening,Poetry,Poetry and Verse ... and Verse!,Time — BikeWriter45 @ 9:14 am

I                                                     DSC_0052

Eye

Aye

I want it.

The eyes want it.

The ayes want it.

All in favor, say “Aye.”

All opposed, I see it in your eyes.


The “I”

Is told in your eye.

Even though you utter “aye,”

Your eyes will deny,

And it’s clear that the “I”

Shall supersede the aye.

Aye, it’s in your eyes.

“I” overpowers aye.


I pull through.

Eyes look through.

Ayes come through.

While you look at me, and listen,

Your eyes focus inward, forming

The argument that shall dispel the aye

As you calculate and cultivate your

Sentence planned around “I.”


Eyes dart

From side to side.

They avoid, avert, divert.

The pupils constrict,

Doubling in on themselves time

And again to mere pinpricks

Of secretive disagreement that are

No secret at all.


I am tired.

Your eyes look tired.

The ayes have retired.

No longer in support of

The plan that could carry the day,

The eyes lurk darkly in the half shadows,

Waiting, focusing, sensing the opportune

Moment to say, “I will not!”


Can I get past my eye with an “aye”?

© September 2009, Michael E. Stubblefield.  All rights reserved.

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