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Hardy Parkerson

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Lake Charles, LA, US

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Hooray For Me!

by

Hardy Parkerson

Well, I had a hard week!
Had a hard, hard week!
Had a hard, hard, hard, hard week!
Once again it's over
And I'm rollin' in clover,
And I'm ready this place to quit.
Gotta cash me a check
And find me a chick
And find me a place
To flick my Bic
With some chantilly lace,
And that's no disgrace.
Well, I hit the jackpot
In the lawyers'lottery
And I settled me a case
For a million-three;
And a third of that
Is the lawyer's fee;
And the lawyer's me.
And now it's Friday,
And, honey, I'm free.
Hooray for me!


Hooray For Me!

by

Hardy Parkerson

Well, I had a hard week!
Had a hard, hard week!
Had a hard, hard, hard, hard week!
Once again it's over
And I'm rollin' in clover,
And I'm ready this place to quit.
Gotta cash me a check
And find me a chick
And find me a place
To flick my Bic
With some chantilly lace,
And that's no disgrace.
Well, I hit the jackpot
In the lawyers'lottery
And I settled me a case
For a million-three;
And a third of that
Is the lawyer's fee;
And the lawyer's me.
And now it's Friday,
And, honey, I'm free.
Hooray for me!

Imiprimine

by

Hardy Parkerson


I was down and depressed.
My life was a mess.
I was a basket-case
walkin' on ice.
I went to the doctor;
He asked, "What is the matter?"
I said, "I'm thinkin' 'bout
takin' my life."
I had no smile on my face;
The I.R.S. was ln my case;
And just to be honest and frank,
I was down on my luck
and hadn't a buck;
Was in debt to my ears
at the bank.
Doc asked, "How do you sleep?"
I said, "Lightly, not deep."
Doc said, "Son,
let me make a confession.
We're all the same
in this money game:
Those of us who have a profession.
The stress and the pressures
of practice are great,
And we suffer situational depression.
Here, get this filled!
It's a little red pill.
It'll lift up your spirits,
if you know what I mean.
Just take it at night
'fore you go to bed;
It's a little pill
called 'Imipramine.'"
So I do what he said
each night 'fore I go to bed,
And now I feel like a king.
Now I couldn't live
without that little read pill
That the doctor calls
"Imipramine."
Now I am a winner in life,
And it's great with my wife;
And the kids who thought
I was mean
Say, "You're a great dad;
Not like that old one we had
'Fore you started takin'
that Imipramine."

The Off'ring

by

Hardy Parkerson


The pews were filled To hear the choir
Which sang "Amazing Grace."
They'd come for morning worship hour;
Each one was in his place.

A wino sat on the back pew,
As tears streamed down his face;
The words he heard to him were new,
As they sang "Amazing Grace."

He felt the sin that he'd brought in,
It's burden pulled him down;
He longed to hear that song again;
O how he loved its sound!

His clothes were dirty, and he smelled
Of cigarettes and booze;
The preacher asked the ushers
If they'd have that man removed.

He offered no resistance,
As he quickly left that day;
You could have hear a pin drop,
As he scurried on his way.

The saints sat stunned and stolid:
Such a shock with little warning;
When the preacher rose to take the off'ring
That fateful Sunday morning.

"All things are thine..." the preacher said,
"You can't outgive the Lord;
So let us give, as we feel led;
And then I'll preach the Word.

They took the off'ring, filled the pan,
And the Head of Deacons rose;
And told the Ushers to find the man
Who'd worn the dirty clothes.

And so they went and found him:
This wretched, homeless knave;
And put on him the preacher's robe,
And to him the off'ring gave.

Eva Farber's Poems

by

Hardy Parkerson


Eva Farber wrote little poems.
Now Eva Farber's gone.
And 'though Eva's no longer with us,
Her little poems live on.

Eva loved her little poems;
Wanted to share them with you and me;
So she left a simple will
Leaving them to the University.

But the University did not want them:
These simple and heart-felt lays.
They wanted modern poetry,
About lesbians and gays.

So into the dumpster went
the POEMS BY MRS. EVA FARBER,
As Eva looked down from on high;
And 'though Eva was in Heaven,
Eva began to cry.

As God was passing by, he said,
"Why, Eva, what can be wrong?"
Eva wrung her hands and said,
"They've thrown away my poems!"

God took Eva by the hand;
Said, "Eva, don't you cry!
I've got a good man on Campus down there,
And tonight I'll send him by.

"For he's a dumpster-diver;
And when all on Campus is quiet,
He goes dumpster diving,
Almost every night."

So God sent the dumpster-diver by
To find Eva's little poems;
And the diver went and found them,
And then he took them home.

So Eva's little poems are still with us,
And each evening at close of day
We can still read Eva's little poems:
These humble and heart-felt lays.

Such Greed!

by

Hardy Parkerson


Guilty of a crime.
Thousand dollar fine.
But I don't have a dime.
I'll just serve my time.
But, Your Honor, please!
Really, all those fees?
Shut up, boy!
We'll give you some time;
Admit you to bail.
How much time do you need?
We'll work with you.
Such greed!

Cajun Country

by

Hardy Parkerson


When you're down in Louisiana
On Interstate Highway Ten,
We want you to feel welcome,
So you'll want to come again.

Stop and have a shot of coffee,
When you get to Iowa;
And get the best of food and drink
At any town cafe.

There are crawfish bisque and boudin,
You can smell them in the air;
There are crawfish, shrimp and oysters,
Just waiting for you there.

We'll boil a pot of Cajun shrimp
Out on the open file;
you can eat them with your favorite drink,
Strong or soft, as you desire.

And the Cajuns there will greet you
And lighten up your load;
And help you pass a real good time,
As you pass through on the road.

You might meet Justin Wilson,
Hear his silly Cajun jokes;
Or you might meet Cajun Boudreaux,
Or some other Cajun folks.

You can hear the French accordian
Playin' JOLI BLONDE at nine,
When the Cajuns all kick off their shoes
And have a dancin' time.

For the Cajuns like a FAIS DO DO,
They like a BONNE SOIREE;
The Cajuns like to eat and drink
And pass some revelry.

And if Lady Di were here with us,
She'd eat some crawfish too;
We'd teach her how to crack the tails
Jus like the Cajuns do.

An alligator SAUCE PIQUANTE
We'll cook for you, my friend;
We want to make you happy,
As you pass on Interstate Ten.

Their Crime

by

Hardy Parkerson


I visit prisons all the time;
They're filled with men
Whose greatest crime
Is that they haven't got a dime.

They languish in their prison cells,
Unable there to make their bails;
For the higher that their bonds are set,
The more money that the judges get.

Presumed innocent, they serve their time;
Are not convicted of a crime;
But despairing in a prison cell,
They plead guilty to GET OUT OF jail.

And so, my friends, as you can see,
That's not the way it's s'posed to be!

Hardy On Becomin' A Poet

by

Hardy Parkerson

Others write them.
I just read them
And recite them;
Recite the poems that others write.

But my own I cannot fashion,
'Though I keep tryin'
With a passion
To write a poem that' mine.

will I ever quit this trying'?
Trying, trying,
Failing, sighing,
Trying a poet to become?

No, I'm sure I shall not quit it.
I'll keep trying,
'Till I get it:
'Till a poet I become.

If I keep my mind upon it,
Perhaps some day I'll write a sonnet;
Then all the world at last will know it:
That I have beomce a poet.

Internet Romance

by

Hardy Parkerson


I fell in love
Over the internet
With a very beautiful red-head
Whom I shall ne'er forget.

She told me I was handsome,
Talented and bright;
And naturally I hurried home
To my computer every night.

We bantered and we jested,
Talked literature and art;
She was such a nifty lady,
She really stole my heart.

And what a whirlwind romance
We had until that fateful day,
When her husband learned about me
And took her computer away.

Book Crazy!

by

Hardy Parkerson


I'm goin' crazy,
Can't you see!
With all these books
Surroundin' me.

I've shelves of books
On every wall;
I'm doin' my best,
But I can't read them all.

I've books on my floor,
And books on my bed;
I'm doin' my best,
But I can't get the read.

Books! Books! Books! Books!
Books wherever I look!

It Ain't So Funny!

by

Hardy Parkerson


I'm havin' the time of my life,
Bringin' home the money to my wife.
She says, "I love you, honey,
When you bring home the money."
But when I don't bring home the money,
She don't think it's funny.

Don't Look at Me!

by

Hardy Parkerson


I ain't gonna make it!
There are too many papers;
There's too little money;
There are too many problems
for me to solve.
Everybody's dumpin'
his problems on me;
Sayin', "Lawyer,
solve my problems;
But do it all for free."
When I talk about a fee,
they say, "Don't look at me!"

A Judicial Smuckin'

by

Hardy Parkerson


Fifteen prisoners sittin' in the dock.
Not a one would be there, if he had a buck;
But without any money they're flat outta luck.
All they're gonna get is a judicial smuck.

Ordinary Fellow

by

Hardy Parkerson


I'd like to be a learned scholar,
Reading Shakespeare without pain;
But I'm just an ordinary fellow,
And reading him drives me insane.

I Served My Time

by

Hardy Parkerson


I served my time, I wore the green:
The olive-drab of Uncle Sam;
I heard the frenzied sergeant scream,
"You're goin', boy, to Viet Nam!"

I served my time, I paid my dues;
I crawled through muck and mire and snow;
And to the sergeant broke the news:
To Viet Nam I would not go.

I fooled him, yes I did, all right;
While others drew geen underwear,
I packed my bag and in the night
Did to my home repair.

For I had joined the National Guard,
And at home I sat out the war;
Serving my country in my own ward,
I asked, "What are they fighting for?"

Good men returned to my hometown,
No heroes they, nor I;
But O that I had gone with them,
'Though even there I'd died!

My buddy died in Viet Nam,
I passed the war at home;
And such a sense of guilt has come,
I might as well have gone.

I'm On A Mission!

by

Hardy Parkerson


I'm Sixty years old
And in great condition.
All I've been through before
Has just been my tuition
For the lessons I've learned.
Now I'm ready to go.
I'm on a mission!

When You Are A Lawyer

by

Hardy Parkerson


When you are a lawyer
And you're down to your last dollar,
And clients come in with cases
Makin' you want to holler;
You can stop and have a fit,
Or you can cut your fee a bit.
Just take what they have got
And add it to your pot.
You can say it's a "retainer" too:
They won't owe any more
'till they've heard from you.
And now you have some money,
And you can give it to your honey;
And 'though it's kinda phony,
You can pay your alimony.

A Trial Which Never Comes

by

Hardy Parkerson


Deprived of friends and family
And the comforts of their homes;
Sitting in a cold, dark prison cell,
They await a trial which never comes.

The courtrooms sit dark and empty,
While the prisons burst their seams;
A speedy and a public trial
Is only in their dreams.

Their trial dates finally arrive,
And are they ever glad;
'Till they learn the jury's been sent home,
And are they ever sad!

The jury's sent home, told, "Call each day!"
And usually when they do,
They're told, "You're no longer needed,
Your check will be mailed to you."

Their trials passed over once again,
As they languish in their cell;
'Till one day they despair and plead guilty
Just to GET OUT OF JAIL.

And so, my friends, as you can see,
That's not the way it's s'posed to be!

Art's Worth

by

Hardy Parkerson


Some view Gussie's paintings and say,
"They're not worth throwing away."
Others say, "Owning a Townsley would be nice,
If we could just afford the price."

The worth of every work of art
Comes from within the viewer's heart;
And we all learn, as we grow older,
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

When You're Down in the Dumps

by

Hardy Parkerson


When you're down in the dumps with nothing to do,
Stop and write a poem only for you.
Don't write it for others who need it not;
Write it for yourself, right on the spot.

Just write a poem for something to do;
Write it quickly, write it new.
Or write some poetry for others to read,
And you'll soon find that's all that you need.

It's Saturday morning and you're bored as can be.
Sit at your table and write poetry.
Don't sit and mope and feel all depressed;
Write a poem and get out of your mess.

So you're feeling low, but things could be worse;
Just pull out your pen and write a new verse;
And soon you'll be whistling a happy new song;
You'll begin to feel better as you write along.

Hey! Life is not happy all of the time;
But you can lift up your spirits by writing a rhyme.
If you write a poem to lift up your mood,
Later you'll see that you've done something good.

So you sit and you write and you make a poem;
It's nice if you do it in proper form;
But do not despair if your poem does not rhyme;
You'll write a better one some other time.

Of all the poems the great poets write
Only the best ones do we read at night;
The rest are discarged, thrown on the heap;
We read only the best ones 'fore we go to sleep.

But if writing a poem your spirits does lift,
Then, friend, you've been given a wonderful gift;
Don't throw it away, but make use of it;
And in time you'll be known as a gifted poet.

When Words Fail You

by

Hardy Parkerson


When words fail you
And thoughts o'erwhelm you,
When you would say what's
on your mind, but can't;
It's then you want
to resume your studies;
It's then you want
to go back to college;
It's then you want
that extra knowledge
That you missed
the first time through.

A Ham, Not a Poet

by

Hardy Parkerson


O that I could express myself in rhyme!
O that I could write in proper time!
O that my syllables would fall in place!
O that my lines would flow with grace!
But when I write, I fall flat on my face.

A poet must write good poems to show it;
And critics and scholars must know it,
Before he can call himself a poet;
Or else the poet will blow it.

Silly rhymes, silly rhymes, silly rhymes!
All the time, all the time, all the time!
Why do I write this silly stuff?
Haven't I already written enough?

I sit at this typing machine,
Trying to write poems that are clean.
Sometimes a word that's risque
Fits into my poem, but I throw it away.

For I don't like words that are tacky,
And using them makes me unhappy.
My poems must be in good taste;
I must write them with style and with grace.

O I need to quit trying so hard
To become what I'm not: a bard.
Need to start being just what I am;
And that's not a poet, but a ham.

Now, a ham's unskillful, inept,
When something artistic he attempts;
Like writing poetry and becoming a poet,
When he lacks the skill but doesn't know it.

Yes, I'm a ham, not a poet;
And ruefully, friend, I know it.
So I'll quit spending my time
Writing these silly rhymes.

I Don't Know

by

Hardy Parkerson


I don't know, man;
It's hard to say
Just what people
are lookin' for today.

Pen's outta ink
And I can't write,
So I guess that's all
I'll write tonight.

But I found another pen
with some ink in it;
So I guess I'll sit
and I guess I'll write,
And pass another hour
of the night.

And tomorrow I'll get
me another pen
And I'll start writin'
all over again.

You Outta Publish Them Poems

by

Hardy Parkerson


Somebody said, "You outta publish them poems!"
That's easily said, but not so easily done;
But I do love poetry,
For nobody knows what it is.

In the land of the blind, one eye'll make you king;
And everybody's got an idea what makes a good poem;
so if you wanta be a poet,
YOu just gotta sit down and write.

You gotta look for those poems,
You gotta listen for rhyme;
You gotta sit and write poetry all the time.
You gotta study and study and study
and write and write and write.

Now I don't mind studyin',
And I don't mind learnin';
But when to write poetry my heart is a-yearnin',
I'm gonna write it, whether you like it or not.

I'm so tired of you phonies who sit and criticize
Everything good that passes 'fore your eyes,
Looking for the perfect, looking for the consummate poem.

So get off my back and let me go,
And I'll write mo' and mo' and mo';
And if you don't like it, hey!
Tell me somethin' new!

Carter is Smarter

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Carter,
Who was smart as a fox,if not smarter.
He made a decision
'Bout an auto collision,
Gave the plaintiff a million and a quarter.

No Play Canaday

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Canaday,
Who when on the bench didn't play.
He set such high bail
The defendants rotted in jail.
"He's just like Minaldi was," they'd say.

Make My Day Gray

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Gray,
Who made all the lawyers angry one day,
When he said, "You'll all represent
At least one indigent;
And, if you don't, Hey! Make my day!"

Savoy's Toy

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Savoy,
Whose gavel he liked to employ.
He'd sit and he'd rap
And his gavel he'd tap,
Just like a kid with a new toy.

Minority Hardy

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Hardy,
Who was always the life of the party.
On the bench he was quite a sport,
'Though he often appeared drunk in court;
And he always voted with the minority.

Hindle's Swindle

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Hindle,
Who for governor voted for Jindle.
In a divorce case he didn't bother
To reveal he was the real father;
Thus the defendant did Hindle swindle.

The Wench B efore the Bench

by

Hardy Parkerson

The judge ascends his lofty bench,
Calls first case: a lowly wench.
The whore just grins, begins to smile;
She thinks she knows him, it's been a while.

"Why, you're a judge!" the whore exclaims.
"It's been a while, forgot your name."
The D.A. struggles to choose his terms;
The courtroom giggles, the judge just squirms.

"Order! Order! In this court!"
Exclaims the judge, who sits and snorts.
His face is red, his ears like embers;
That night in the motel he still remembers.

"I'm afraid, young lady, you are confused."
"Oh, no! Judge, it was you!
How well I remember the night we met;
Why, Judge! How could I ever forget!"

"Quiet! Quiet! Young lady, if you will!
Mr. Prosecutor, now please read the bill!
"Judge, I shall, if you insist;
But first please take a look at this!"

The judge's head begins to shake.
"A short recess this court will take.
You're free to go, Jury Members!
Defendant will please meet His Honor in Chambers!"

Court resumes, case dismissed;
The defendant blows the judge a kiss;
And says, "Mr. D.A., I think we've met."
The D.A. just wipes his brow of sweat.

Throughout the morning the docket moves;
The thief goes to jail, the truant to school;
High on the bench above us all
Such fine men dispense the law.

I Won't Quit!

by

Hardy Parkerson

Give it up!
Give it up!
My mind keeps sayin',
"Just give it up!"
But I'm a fighter
And I won't quit.
I'll fight right down
To the end of it;
And when I go out,
You'll hear me shout,
"I'll make it yet,
For I won't quit!"

If You Wanta Be a Poet...

by

Hardy Parkerson

If you wanta be a poet,
You gotta look for poetry
in everything you see;
Like a squirrel eatin' corn
sittin' up in a tree;
Or an old colored man
with a baseball cap,
Sippin' a Coke, takin' a nap,
With dirty red rags
hangin' outta his pants;
Or a woman playin' poker,
takin' a chance.
You gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

Like a bird-tower there
for a Viet-Nam vet,
Or a boy catchin' crabs
with a little cast-net;
Or a big river boat
by the cemetery.
You gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

Like a flashin' red light
by the railroad track,
And a train goin' by
goin' clackity-clack.
You gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

Like a Taco Bell
with flag waivin' high,
Silhouetted against the
pretty blue sky.
You gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

Or the Inn on the Bayou
near Interstate Ten,
And a welcome sign
saying, "Come right in!"
Gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

Like a Cajun catching crabs
on the Calcasieu,
Or a tanker loaded down
goin' up the Bayou.
You gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

If you wanta be a poet,
you gotta look for those poems;
You gotta see that poetry;
and you gotta write it down.
YOu gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

It helps if you have
somethin' to say;
But even if you don't,
Write some poems anyway;
You gotta look for poetry
in everything you see.

You'll write good poems
most of the time;
And most people like 'em
better if they rhyme;
But even if they don't,
don't let that stop you.
Just look for poetry
in everything you see.

No Money, No Friends!

by

Hardy Parkerson

I just don't understand it:
Why friends abandon me,
When I'm as nice a guy
As one could ever be.

But people hate a nice guy,
For a nice guy never wins;
So I'll make a million dollars,
And then they'll be my friends.

For they all love a rich guy;
But when you're down and broke,
No one wants to be your friend;
And that, my friend, 's no joke!

Friends you haven't any,
When you haven't got a penny.

Tips

by

Hardy Parkerson

When I give tips,
My wife always quips,
"A fool and his money
soon part!"
But I believe
"Give and ye shall receive!"
From the bottom of my heart.

What Are We Fightin' For?

by

Hardy Parkerson

O, they took me out of school
And sent me up to Fort Leonard Wood.
They taught me about Charlie
And how he was no good.
O, they taught me how to shoot a gun
And how to win the war,
But they never, ever told me
What we were fightin' for.

Keep A Pen and Pad Beside Your Bed

by

Hardy Parkerson

Keep a pen and pad beside your bed;
And when a thought comes to your head,
Get up and write it down and then
Climb back in bed again.

The things you might have left undone:
To shop for groceries, cast your vote;
Tomorrow you can do each one,
If you stop tonight and write a note.

For it's in those early hours,
When the mind's eye is crystal clear,
That we hear the voice of God
Speak in a voice not heard by ear.

Yet in a still, small voice God speaks
Of things yet left undone;
And though we hear not with our ears,
We know from whence that voice has come.

So when a thought you think at night,
Rise from your bed and quickly write
A note of what you have remembered
To do as you have slumbered.

Tour De France 1995

by

Hardy Parkerson

They came around the bend all hornet-like:
Each one was helmeted and on his bike;
And as they travelled roads from town to town,
With backs bend over, feet churned up and down.

A woman darted out like a black cat,
And in the crowd a baby wore a hat;
The rider made the curve and he was spilled:
the first TOUR DE FRANCE rider ever killed.

Sad not to cross the finish line alive
In TOUR DE FRANCE of 1995!

Sha Na Na

by

Hardy Parkerson

Well, my wife and I like to go places,
But we got tired goin' to the races;
So we went to the riverboat
Chasin' Aces.

Well, we dumped our money in the slot machine;
It took our money and it left us clean;
But we had a good time,
If you know what I mean.

Well, we lost a hundred,
But we're not in a rage;
For we saw Sha Na Na on stage:
A pretty good show for any age.

Well, we rocked and we rolled,
We hugged and we kissed;
We did the hokey-pokey and the peppermint-twist;
And if you weren't there, you don't know what you missed.

Patti's Cadeie

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Patti,
Who drove all the lawyers batty.
'Though when she played golf,
They all to her would doff;
And a lawyer named Thaddy was her caddie.

Stranded By the Road

by

Hardy Parkerson

I'm stranded by the road,
Carryin' a heavy load;
Just waitin' for a man
To lend a helpin' hand.

It's hard bein' poor:
No cables for my car.
You must have money first,
But I've and empty purse.

New cars whiz right on by;
They honk and then I cry;
I'm stranded by the road
And carryin' a heavy load.

I used the telephone
And placed a call to home
To see if someone was able
To bring some jumper cables.

Just stranded by the road,
And carryin' a heavy load;
Just waitin' for a man
To lend a helpin' hand.

Three Loves Have I

by

Hardy Parkerson

At night I lie and read in my abode
And suffer information overload.
So many books, so little time to read!
I'm learning now to read with greater speed.
My bookshelves are all filled,
My room's a mess.
I stumble over books, as I undress.
I doze and drop my book beside my bed
And fall asleep and dream of what I've read.
Of all the books I own I can't keep track.
Some say I'm just a bibl'omaniac.
But as you love your rod and reel and hooks;
Then just like you, I love my cache of books.
Three loves have I that always make my day:
Buying books, reading books and giving books away.

Rhyme Crime

by

Hardy Parkerson

I sit and write poetry all the time.
I just write what comes to mind;
But my mind plays games on me
And I write silly poetry.

Silly, silly, silly verse!
It could hardly be and worse!
But I keep trying poems to write,
Every day and every night.

I know I use the word "rhyme" too much.
I probably use it as a crutch;
But I find it helps me rhyme,
And so I use it all the time.

I just write what comes to mind;
But I keep trying to make it rhyme.
Why can't I get away from "rhyme"?
It seems I use it all the time.

Rhyme! Rhyme! Rhyme! Rhyme!
My poems aren't worth a dime!
You must think it is a crime:
The way I fill my poems with "rhyme".

Meet You at the Piccadilly for Lunch

by

Hardy Parkerson

Can't get over that old Christian flag
Standin' there in the corner.
Suppose some people see it;
Know I do.

It's red, white and blue,
Like the American flag standin' by it.
They stand togehter in the chruch:
Both red, white and blue.

There are few who care.
Most have lost their sense of altruism;
But there are some who do:
They try to make the world better.

The White nurse came to church;
Asked for prayer for her Black patient,
And for her son, who'll have no one
When his mother dies of A.I.D.S.

She'd called the patient's preacher,
Who said, "It's her own fault she has A.I.D.S.!
No need for God when times were good!
Now she needs God! Huh!"

Bet if she had money to give him, honey,
He'd be ther in a hurry;
But she has none, only a son;
Let the nurse worry!

She sees more of God
In the nurse's face
And in her laid-on hands
Than in the chruch.

Wear your best white dress!
Meet me at the church!
Halley Loo Yuh! Praise the Lord!
Meet you at the Piccadilly for lunch!

O, Baby, Baby Can't You See!

by

Hardy Parkerson

O, Baby, Baby, can't you see!
You're makin' a fool out of me!
I'm not made of steel,
I'm only a man;
And, Baby, you've got me eatin'
Outta your hand.
Your face would launch
A thousand ships;
And, O, that I could
Kiss those lips!
Baby, Baby, can't you see
You're makin' a fool out of me!

Dumpster Divin'

by

Hardy Parkerson

I'm divin' in the dumpster
And diggin' for the gold
That the University throws away:
Books both new and old.

A handsome freshman passes by
And talks with me as he passes.
He tells me that I'm "dumpster diving,"
He's read about it in one of his classes.

Just divin' in the dumpster,
But O what one can learn
About the University
And the money that they burn!

Gambler Goes to Church

by

Hardy Parkerson

I gave the Lord fifty dollars
And I got five hundred:
Pretty good trade,
Wouldn't you say?
But I can't bring myself
To give another fifty,
Or a hundred or two;
I'm tight as Jew.
Well, the Lord said,
"Give, and you shall get!"
And, Brother, I can't argue with that;
But it's hard to give money,
When you need it so bad for yourself.
Well, I guess I'll take a hundred
And invest it in the Lord
And make myself a thousand,
According to his word.
Wish I had more to gamble,
For it bests the tables any old day.

My Nose Is In A Book

by

Hardy Parkerson

I'm at Tulane and I'm hungry;
My clothes are such a sight;
But I'm so glad to be here;
I'm trying to do it right.

"Are you running with me, Jesus?"
Am I running from the war?
Many of my friends are dying, asking,
"What are we fighting for?'

That old sail-boat on Campus:
What's it doing there?
It's waited for me fifty years
And now I'm here.

I dined with Eddie Price tonight
Near Newcomb on Broadway;
Saw Max McGee at the Sugar Bowl;
Tom Mason's gone they say.

And Al Burguieres is here,
Leading the pack,
Getting knocked on its back
By the Crimson Tide and Horns.

I'm getting my degree
And no one looks at me;
But I won't see, if they should look,
My nose is in a book.

It's Not a Crime!

by

Hardy Parkerson

I'm lookin' for some paper I can write on.
I'll get a napkin from the Pizza Hut.
I'll write a poem and make it rhyme,
if I can find the time;
I know the people think I'm quite a nut.

My wife is shopping in the mall at Dillards.
I hope she buys me somethin' that I like.
It might be some cologne that I can call my own;
I'll put it on when I go out at night.

And then I know the women will all love me,
Although I'm married to my lovely wife;
But it won't hurt a thing to hide my wedding ring
And watch the ladies smile as they go by.

The moral of this story, let me tell you,
In case you have not heard it by this time:
It's like my buddy said,
"You're married, your're not dead."
And watching pretty girls is not a crime.

It's not a crime!

Six Great Teachers

by

Hardy Parkerson

I've had six great teachers.
They taught me all
I ever knew.
Their names are How? What? Where? When? Why? and Who?

Her Ensign

by

Hardy Parkerson

The poinsettia he'd brought her looked like it was dead.
"It just needs to be watered," his mother had said.
Her son had departed, gone back to his ship.
O, how she'd enjoyed his brief Christmas trip!

To lift up her spirits she'd bought her some tulips;
They sat and they bloomed on her floor;
She said that she wanted to plant some petunias
And gladiolus when the winter was o'er.

Her son was in Norfolk aboard a destroyer,
Preparing for a long voyage at sea;
And when he would call her, his call would o'er joy her,
Making her as happy as could be.

She rocked and watched t.v. and let the time pass
And prepared her lesson for her next day's class;
She worked hard in the day, but her evenings were hers;
And that's how she spent those long winter hours.

The "Luck Bag" she kept on a shelf in her den,
Full of photos of all the Midshipmen.
She's look at the pictures of her son inside,
And she beamed with Annapolis pride.

She sat and she rocked and she thought of her son
Who soon would be leaving to fire missiles and guns
Aboard a destroyer numbered 993
That soon would be sailing out to the sea.

"You can sail the world over, Groton to Dover,
Norfolk to Pearl Harbor," she'd say.
You can look for a better ensign than my son,
But there's none finer in the Navy today!"

Of the Pope and Eliot

by

Hardy Parkerson

The Pope is a poet,
But I didn't know it;
Bought his book at Walden's today.
I would have bought more,
But my money was lower
Than their price;
What more can I say?
I read some books off the shelf,
Including Eliot's about cats.
Hey! He CAN write poetry;
I didn't know that!

Child Abuse

by

Hardy Parkerson

The coach put me into the game.
He signaled me to hit and run.
Fast at me the hard ball came;
I hit a triple. Oh, what fun!

My next at-bat the pitcher threw
a curve and I
Swung with all the might I had.
The ball went whizzing right on by.
"Strike three!" the umpire said.

How cruel that coach was way back then
To give me a uniform and then
Come to my house one summer day
And take my uniform away.

Better to Give

by

Hardy Parkerson

O I can't paint a picture,
And I can't sing a song;
Can't play a piano,
But I can write a poem.

Everybody's got
Something to give
To make this world
A better place to live.

So you paint your picture,
Or you sing your song;
But don't fault me
For writing a poem!

For when your picture has crumbled,
Say in a thousand years,
My little poem
may still be here.

When they have long since
Quit singing your song,
They may still be quoting
My little poem.

So on this earth, as long as you live,
You will always have something to give:
It may be a picture, or it may be a song,
Or a lift a stranger as you ride along.

For to whom much is given
From the same much is required.
So don't stop giving
Until you've expired.

The Price of Justice

by

Hardy Parkerson

Hre's a story
That ain't so funny:
Lots of men in jail
For lack of money.

Money will buy
Your way outta jail;
But without any money,
You'll rot in your cell.

But if you've got money, honey,
Freedom's on its way;
You can buy the best lawyer in town,
Or even the best D.A.

But you'll never get outta jail
Without payin' the Tax on your bail.

Poet's Practice

by

Hardy Parkerson

Write a poem every night!
Write a poem and make it right!
Write a poem for your wife!
Write one each day of your life!

Write and write and write and write!
Write in the day and in the night!
Write when at work and when at play!
Write at least one poem a day!

Study about poetry and what it is!
Study T.S. Eliot and what he says!
He will teach you how to write,
If you'll read his book each night.

Practice, practice all the time!
Practice poems and make them rhyme!
Practice hard and you'll get better,
And you'll become a man of letters!

Best of the "Best" of '93

by

Hardy Parkerson

I read "Best American Poetry 1993".
Little therein appealing to me.
I read the book with a smile;
Little therein that's worthwhile.

What is all of this stuff?
To me it looks pretty rough.
If these poems are the "best",
I'd hate to read the rest.

What happend to rhyme, is it out?
What's this "best" poetry all about?
Has lyric poetry become passe,
A relic of another day?

The best of the "Best" was Carruth,
Whose "At His Last Gig" tells the truth
Of a farewell speech at a gig by a ham
Who then embarked for Amsterdam.

Reared on the poems of Byron and Keats,
Of Tennyson, Coleridge, Shelly and Yeats,
You know a good poem when you see one.
And, sadly, among the "Best" there is none.

Lawyer Can't Quit Reading

by

Hardy Parkerson

You read and you read
and you read and you read,
And you fill your mind
with tons of stuff;
But trying to translate it
into dollars is tough.

YOu read the law reviews
and the latest legal journals.
You read the advance sheets
as they come out.
But you still have to have
a case you can settle
Or win a verdict: that's what
it's all about!

On Reading Rupert Brooke

by

Hardy Parkerson

On reading Rupert Brooke,
One thing I learned:
The world doesn't end,
Though one be spurned.

And though a great poet
A man may be,
He still has flaws
In his great poetry.

I Dont't Buy It!

by

Hardy Parkerson

I was in Houston in a lurch
And went lookin' for a church;
So I went Downtown,
But none was found.

They all have fled,
Lookin' for the bread;
So Downtown no poor
Nor Mexicanos will be fed.

Also, First Methodist has fled;
But St. Luke's and St. Paul's
Are still around, serving the poor
And Mexicanos of the town.

Following White Flight,
The classy churches try it.
They go where the money is,
But I don't buy it!

Poet Feeling Low

by

Hardy Parkerson

I'm down this evening and I'm feelin' blue.
I'm bored and I have nothing else to do.
So just to help me occupy my time,
I'll write a poem and try to make it rhymne,

No one likes the poems I write;
Sometimes I wonder why I even try it.
I write my poems to have somethin' to do.
I guess I need to find me somethin' new.

I'm getting tired of writing poetry.
It's not the kind of writing suited for me.
I think I'll get away from verse
Before my poems get any worse.

With that I'll end this poem and let it be.
How silly of me to try poetry!

Whiplash

by

Hardy Parkerson

The lawyer went to court and then
Pled his case that he might win.
Throughout the trial the judge did doze,
Until he heard the plaintiff close.

"Your Honor, I know this case is boring;
But as I said when you were snoring,
Defendant failed to use due care;
Now plaintiff's damages he must repair.

"We've made our case and filed our brief;
Now we ask for just relief.
We've waited patiently for this day,
Now it's time defendant pay.

"The plaintiff's neck did whip and lash;
Now she needs a stash of cash
To compensate her for her pains,
Cervical and lumbar strains."

They Cash In

by

Hardy Parkerson

The women work; the men just play,
Both at the poker machines.
Some win, some lose;
But there's another day.

The machines smile and say,
"Feed me your money and win today!"
And the people sit and pump it in
and win
And lose again, and go away.
(But there's another day.)

The doctor sits and then he hits,
And then he loses all.
"Get your money ready, young man!
I'll see you now in the back of the hall."

"But, Doc, twenty's all I've got!"
"That's all right,
I understand!
I'll see you now, young man."

"Here, get this filled!
Take it before you sleep!
You don't need a receipt.
Thanks! Come to see me at my office!
(Now it's back to that machine.)"

Baseball caps turned front-side back;
Bearded old man in sneakers,
Playin' the machines and winnin',
Beside the sweatered girl who loses all.

She says, "I know a better game
that we can play,
If you can pay."
The old man says, "It's a shame,
but I'm game.
Here, take this and go cash in!"

My Little Innisfree

by

Hardy Parkerson

I've got a little camp
at Longville Lake;
It's a neat little place
out under the trees.
And the grass is green
and the birds sing;
And the ducks
fly in pairs
Over the water
EN PLEIN AIRE.
And in the springtime
there are berries on the vines
And squirrels in the pines,
most of the time;
And birds in the trees.
It's heaven to me!
I like to go there
and spend a little time
And sit outside
and write my little poems.
It's good enough for me:
My little Innisfree.

No Young Lawyers Need Apply

by

Hardy Parkerson

It stirs my ire,
When I think of old judges
Who never retire!
It makes me moan,
When the Supreme Court
Keeps them on
Long after they've "retired";
So that no young lawyers
Will ever be hired.

Where Two Flags Stand Together

by

Hardy Parkerson

That old American flag stands over in the corner
Of the pretty little church near downtown.
It stands with the Christian flag for duty and honor,
And may neither of them ever come down!

On top of one is perched an eagle,
And a cross crowns the other;
They stand together where it's legal,
In the sanctuary, Brother.

And we've come to discover
That one without the other
Is a weak and helpless symbol
Of the thing that it resembles.

But if they stand together,
Any storm the two can weather.
The one holds up the other
And they protect both child and mother.

But the government has not discovered
That the one must have the other;
And the government rests on the eagle
And on things it thinks are legal.

But only in the church
Where the Supreme Court cannot reach,
The old Christian Flag is yet unfurled;
And would the government discover
That the one needs the other,
We'd all be living in a better country
and world.

Walk

by

Hardy Parkerson

I left the office
In a hurry;
No time to waste,
Was in a rush.
I walked a while,
The rain began.
I stepped up the pace,
And then I ran.
My legs were tired;
I stopped to rest.
I'm getting old;
I did my best.
I sat right down
Beneath a tree
And rested there
Where I could see.
I started out
To walk again.
At first I walked
And then I ran,
Across the street,
Across the town,
To the coffee shop
Where I sat down.
The poker machine said,
"Jacks or Better"
"Duces Wild."
I had some coffee,
Stayed a while;
Played some poker;
Won Five Hundred;
Cashed in and left.

Walk

by

Hardy Parkerson

I left the office
In a hurry;
No time to waste,
Was in a rush.
I walked a while,
The rain began.
I stepped up the pace,
And then I ran.
My legs were tired;
I stopped to rest.
I'm getting old;
I did my best.
I sat right down
Beneath a tree
And rested there
Where I could see.
I started out
To walk again.
At first I walked
And then I ran,
Across the street,
Across the town,
To the coffee shop
Where I sat down.
The poker machine said,
"Jacks or Better"
"Duces Wild."
I had some coffee,
Stayed a while;
Played some poker;
Won Five Hundred;
Cashed in and left.

They Whisper

by

Hardy Parkerson

Robert Butler of McNeese writing fame:
A prof of the creative writing "game";
GOOD SCENT won him the great Pulitzer Prize,
But reading THEY WHISPER opened our eyes.

A more sordid novel there never was;
It has our small hometown in quite a buzz.
Some say the Devil could not outdo him
In writing such a great salacious gem.

O, rejoice, as you read it page by page!
McNeese has now escaped the Stoned Age.
The naked truth lies there for all to see.
We're proud of McNeese University.

The writer uses any word with ease,
'Though it may shock our sensibilities.
He helps us cast away our prudish ways;
This writer's great and he is due great praise!

No sicker mind is there in books today
Than that of poor old Ira Holloway;
Poor Ira's sick and needs a dozen shrinks
To help him straighten out the way he thinks.

O, Doctor Butler, will you give us more?
Do other gems like this you hold in store?
O teach our sons and daughters how to write
Creatively as THEY WHISPER tonight.

Hang Yourself, Poet!

by

Hardy Parkerson

"Hang yourself, Poet!"
That's what Langston Hughes said.
So I guess I'll hang myself
Until I'm dead.

Happy Tryin' Cases!

by

Hardy Parkerson

I've practiced law for thirty years or more;
Defended killers, rapists and once a whore.
I've even represented pimps;
And I've been held for four contempts.
At tryin' cases some say I'm the best,
And with the gift of blarney I've been blest;
I'd represent the Devil for a fee,
And sometimes I even represent 'em free.
Many are the closing arguments I have made,
And sometimes I even take my fee in trade;
And 'though my practice takes me many places,
I'm happiest in the courtroom tryin' cases.

Better to Give

by

Hardy Parkerson

O I can't paint a picture
And I can't sing a song;
Can't play a piano,
But I can write a poem.

Everybody's got
Something to give
To make the world
A better place to live.

So you paint your picture
Or you sing your song,
But don't fault me
For writing a poem.

For when your picture has crumbled,
Say in a thousand years,
My little poem
May still be here.

When they have long since
Quit singing your song,
They may still be quoting
My little poem.

So on this earth
As long as you live
You will always have
Something to give.

It may be a picture
Or it may be a song
Or a lift to a stranger
As you ride along.

For to whom much is given
From the same much is required,
So don't stop giving
Until you've expired.

A Simple Flower

by

Hardy Parkerson

I'd bring a flower to my friend;
She's tuck it to her heart and then
She'd kiss me gently on the cheek;
And with that my day would make.

As time went by, I'd bring her more
Of flowers that I'd find outdoor;
I found that she would rather have
A flower than all else I'd give.

I'd pick them from the flower bed,
Along the road, along the way;
And to her chamber I'd be led,
And what she'd give I cannot say.

Nay, Nay, Judge Gray!

by

Hardy Parkerson

There once was a judge named Gray,
Who walked out on the jury one day,
Leaving the lawyers to pick the jury
And the D.A. in quite a fury,
When the Third Circuit said, "Nay! Nay! Nay!"

Ode to Bradberry

by

Hardy Parkerson

The golf links lie so near to Harbor House
That almost any day
The children can look out the windows of their cells
And see the men at play.

Two Teachers

by

Hardy Parkerson

I wrote some verses just for fun;
My teacher read them, I was glad;
She told me where I had gone wrong,
And I was sad.

I wrote more verses just for her;
I hoped she'd take another look
At what I'd done when I was home
And I had put away my book.

"I haven't time to read your poems!"
She snapped; "I'm busy can't you see!
I've other things I'd rather do
Than read your poetry!"

How cruel my teacher was back then
To say such hateful thing to me;
When I was just a lad of ten,
And she treated me so cruelly!

But as I grew, advanced in school,
My high school teacher said to me,
"Your poems are cool, you're no one's fool!
Son, keep writing that poetry!"

One Sunday Morning in May

by

Hardy Parkerson

The ushers now will please come up!
Brother Frank, please ask the Lord
To bless the offíring that we give
And the messenger of the Word."

"All Things Are Thine," the choir sang,
As they passed the offíring plate;
And the preacher said, as he broke the bread,
"Thus the Disciples ate."

The piano played, it sounded fine;
The guitar twanged, the drums kept time;
The people prayed, the choir sang,
One Sunday morning in early May.

They took communion on their knees,
The altars were all filled;
A lady wept as the preacher prayed
And told of Golgothaís hill.

And thatís the way it was at church
One Sunday morning in May.

Those Chicks at Starbucks

by

Hardy Parkerson

I havenít written a poem
In quite a long time,
So I guess Iíll try writiní one
And try to make it rhyme.

If I work real hard
And have a little luck,
I might become a bard
Writiní Ďbout those chicks at Starbucks.

Seems all those beautiful gals
Have gone to Starbucks, Slick;.
So I gotta get over there, pal
And find me a chick real quick.

Those gals at Starbucks
Look like a bunch of movie stars;
But itís I in my old truck
And they in their flashy cars.

But Iíve found out somethin'
'Bout a truck I didnít know:
Itís if you have a truck,
Itís with you they wanta go.

There's somethin' Ďbout a truck
That makes a Starbucks honey
Wanta climb up in that cab
And help you spend your money.

Too Many Laws

by

Hardy Parkerson

Phone's been a-ringin'
Off the wall.
People with problems
Continue to call.
Too many lawyers,
I've heard 'em say;
But I say we don't
Have enough today.
People got problems
And serious ones too;
Call for the lawyer
To learn what do do.
Some of 'em even got
A few bucks to pay;
And, when they do,
It makes my day.
Lawbooks becomin'
A thing of the past;
Wonder how long
This thing's gonna last!
Just got a call
From the F.B.I.;
Wants to talk to my client
Who ain't gonna lie.
In need a break,
Just a brief pause;
It's not too many lawyers,
But too many laws.

True Penance

by

Hardy Parkerson

Latin is a language
As hard as it can be.
You can speak it to your neighbor,
You can speak it to a tree.

Neither will understand you;
No, not in the least;
That is, unless your neighbor
Is a Roman Catholic priest.

Then you can tell him, "MEA CULPA, MEA CULPA, MEA CULPA!:
That Latin confessional sen'ence;
And he'll tell you, "...go and sin no more,
And read Latin as your penance!"

(Humor intended!)

What Happened to the Pelicans?

by

Hardy Parkerson

Two Cajuns talked one day as they ran their net
'Bout how bad the environment was beginning to get.
The old Cajun said, "When I was a kid, tings were very nice;
Dey called dis de 'Pelican State', 'Sportmen's Paradise'."

The young Cajun exclaimed, "Pelican State!
Why I ain't seen any dem pelican late!"
"Me neither, not in a long time," the old Cajun said.
"Not since I was a kid.

"Back then dare were very many,
But lately I ain't seen any.
What you tink Ďappen to dem pelican?
Got any idea, young man?"

The young Cajun said, "Run-off got dem,
And some got caught in dem net and couldn't swim.
Others got caught in dem plastic traps:
Dem six-pack 'andles left by dem beer-drink chaps.

"And others got posioned, it seem,
When dey dump dat oil in dem stream;
And down to the Golfe it ran
And kill dem pelican."

"Ah!" the old Cajun said, "Didn't dem pelican look great!
But you rat, I ain't seen none late."
The young Cajun said, "Maybe we can did somethin' 'bout dat .
Maybe we can clean up dem pelicans' 'abitat."

Pay Your Fees, Get Your Online Degrees!

by

Hardy Parkerson

Whatever happened to classrooms?
Now it all done online.
Whatever happened to classroom teachers?
They used to be so fine.

Now itís, "Pay Your Fees, Get Your Degrees,
Online, from Law to Medi-cine."
But tell me, Doc, Ďfore you cut on me, please,
That you didnít get yours online!

ODE TO J.D.

by

Hardy Parkerson



Pushups aren't easy,
Pushups aren't fun;
But if you're gonna get strong,
They've just gotta be done.

It's not a matter of
Whether it's fun;
It's just a matter of
Somethin' gotta be done.

So just fall right down
And put your mind to it,
And push yourself up
And do it, do it, do it!

Like they say,
"That's the J.D. way!"

Atop the Riverboat at Isle of Capri

by

Hardy Parkerson


When atop the riverboat I stood,
I viewed the skyline of the city;
Saw the cars by the thousands
Come over from Texas for some fun.

It's fun to lose a little.
It's fun to win a little.
It's fun to win a lot;
But to lose a lot, it's not.

I love my church,
I forsake it not;
But sometimes I get a spiritual uplift,
Ev'n atop the riverboat.

I see the mass of men,
As they go by.
I've seen them smile;
I've yet to see one cry.

Jesus loves them all:
The Baptists that come over from Texas;
The Assemblies of God too, a few.
Do they remember Him, as I do?

Atop the riverboat
At Isle of Capri.

Tulane Latin

by

Hardy Parkerson

In Louisiana the Roman Law with us doth still abound;
And as your Tulane knowledge you expound,
NON SIBI SED SUIS to Judges you can tell;
And though some Judge may tell you go to Yale,
Whate'er you say in Latin sounds profound.