By
J. Carl Brooksby
I’ve lost my equilibrium:
I stagger when I walk.
You’d think I’d took up drinking,
To hear the neighbors talk.
I know it isn’t in my head
Though I have lost my hair.
The doctor took a brain scan
And discovered nothing there.
My Mustache
You’ve heard about the bad man
With a big iron on his hip.
Well, I’ve become the mean guy
With a mustache on my lip.
This patch of hair beneath my nose
Has made me mean and tough.
Tread lightly when you see me
“Cause I don’t take no guff.
As I go walkin’ down the street
The sheriff steps aside.
When the women see me comin’
They pull their kids inside.
I sleep on beds of cactus thorns,
Chew rawhide for my lunch.
If Butch Cassidy was still around,
I’d whip his wild bunch.
So if you feel inclined to fight,
I will on one condition.
First, I’ll have to hurry home
And get my wife’s permission.
Lookin’ Young
By
J. Carl Brooksby
“Old man, you’re really lookin’ young”, my friends say when we meet,
But I’ll tell you a secret that you must not repeat.
I know I’m lookin’ healthy, and I never have no ills,
If I remember daily, to take my seven pills.
Each mornin’, there’s a green pill that always must be taken.
It goes straight to my fingers to stop them from a shakin’.
To regulate my pressure and keep the strokes away,
I send a little blue pill to my aorta twice a day.
Lonesome
By
J. Carl Brooksby
Now featured on cowboypoetry.com.
Do ya remember jest how blue ya felt
The first time ya left yer mom,
An’ went away ta Boy Scout camp
A hundred miles from home?
Or went away ta college
Residin in a dorm,
An’ ya missed yer mom an’ daddy
An’ yer little sweetheart’s charm?
By J. Carl Brooksby
I have a horror story that really should be told,
So I’ll go ahead and tell it, if I may be so bold.
It is a delicate subject and also one of gloom,
So if there’s ladies present, I suggest they leave the room.
I went to my urologist, ‘cause I couldn’t get a stream,
And all that gittin’ up at night was spoilin’ all my dreams.
He checked me over up an’ down, then said, “Before I’m through,
There’s one more small procedure, that I must always do”.
He said, “Now drop yer trousers and bend over this here bench.
I’ve got to feel inside ya, regardless of the stench”.
Early Memories of Home
By
J. Carl Brooksby
Was Fredonia a big town? No, no not at all.
In fact, by all measurements, it still would be small
It wasn’t the birthplace of prophets or presidents,
It was only the home of some three hundred residents.
It didn’t boast much in the way of amenities,
But to a young boy, it had its serenities. .
It was peaceful and calm and tranquil at night,
Except at the dances, where the Parkers would fight.
By J. Carl Brooksby
Memorizing poetry is an easy thing for me.
I still remember poems that I learned when I was three.
I’m always memorizing things, to exercise my mind;
I have here in my memory, poems of every kind.
