Bill Roberts, Poet

Let Me Know If You’re Dead

Tuesday, January 5th, 2010

The last of five messages on the phone

is a real beaut, a classic.

I play it a second, then a third time.

Roberts, I heard you died.

I hope not but you never know at our age.

Call me if you’re really dead, okay?

I play it a fourth time,

then decide to call my old friend

whom I haven’t spoken to for months.

No answer, then his message

thingamajig kicks in:

Make it brief – I’m getting too impatient.

Norris, hi, I say.  You heard right.

I died when I heard your voice.

Please send flowers but don’t call back.

(Published online in 2008 by Chantarelle’s Notebook)

Note:  I have some whacky friends who do things like this, as I often do myself.  “Hey, good seeing you again.  The mortician did a nice job!”  Gallows humor, I guess it’s called.  But if you can’t make fun of death, at least on occasion, then you’re liable to live in constant fear of it.

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Desire Under the Arms

Monday, January 4th, 2010

– with sincere apologies to Eugene O’Neill

Quite impossible not to notice

when I go to water aerobics class

three times a week the untidy

condition of the underarms

of my fellow – I should say,

lady – aqua thrasherettes.

I’m usually the lone male

in the pool, ostracized to the deep

end I presume so I won’t notice

that the ladies haven’t shaved

their armpits this century,

but I’m not exactly blind yet.

Because most of them are larger

than me, I’m a bit reluctant

to inquire about this hirsuteness

they’ve adapted, perhaps on purpose -

a cult possibly or, like bralessness,

a current cause they’ve taken up.

Maybe it’s ecological, growing hair

instead of grass, or they figure

it’s sexy, as cave women undoubtedly

thought long ago.  Come to think of it,

it is kind of, well, sexy in a way,

if hairy septuagenarians turn you on.

(Published online in the June 2009 issue of The Orange Room Review)

Note:  Shortly after this poem was published and my social analysis was exposed, I was voted out of the pool by the offended Thrasherettes.  I now work out regularly in the weight room at the gym with all the hairy, sweaty men, some of whom apparently prefer to bathe only once a month.  I’m of a mind to suggest they try water aerobics, check out the Thrasherettes.

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How It All Got Started

Friday, January 1st, 2010

I imagine my father said to my mother

something like, “Would you care to do it?

Go upstairs and start a family?”

No, it couldn’t have been that way.

There was no upstairs to their two-

room apartment in pre-war D.C.

Probably more on the order of

“Hey, good looking.  Let’s make a baby!”

Naw, my father didn’t talk like that.

He was kind of shy, probably

came at Mom from an angle:  “After

dinner, I thought we might, you know…”

Nope, it didn’t happen like that either.

Probably after cooking dinner and

washing dishes, my mother confronted

him and stated, quite to the point:  “Say,

handsome, I’m in the mood.  How’s

about putting down that stupid book.”

(Published in the Fall 2001 issue of Concrete Wolf, Vol. 1, No. 3)

Note:  Starting off the New Year/2010 with a piece of humor, but maybe a factual report on my humble beginning.  1935, when I was conceived, wasn’t any better than 1936 when I arrived on a cold day in February.  As I’ve been told, I really didn’t want to come out, preferred remaining in warm, cramped quarters.  Now here it is, 2010, all of seventy-three years later and, voila, it’s sort of like 1936 again, though survivors of The Depression have said “This ain’t nothin’.”  Well, it’s surely something, but slowly, surely, and with a generous topping of hope, we’ll come out of this stronger than ever.  No, maybe not stronger, but hopefully wiser. If you’re into praying, pray that our leaders learn from past mistakes, one being, it’s easier to start a war than finish it. Been some damned dumb mistakes made in this last decade, mainly by people who should have known better.  End of sermon:  Happy Year 2010, to one and all.

Posted in Children, Human Nature, Humor, Love, That's Life | No Comments »

City Boy Visits a Farm

Thursday, December 31st, 2009

I visited a farm once.

Tobacco was the crop.

As I recall, hazily,

They also had

Farm animals,

All much larger

Than I’d imagined.

A horse kicked

My brother in the head.

He was never

Right again.

Or did the horse

Kick me instead?

I can’t be sure.

It’s the reason

I never liked vegetables.

They grow on farms.

It’s also the reason

I don’t ride horses.

They grow on farms, too.

Note:  Goes to show what I know about farms and its inhabitants.  Fortunately, over the years, some of my work colleagues and close friends grew up on farms and were kind enough to suffer my questions.  Their answers provided a liberal education such that I’m glad I didn’t grow up on a farm as they did – too damned much work involved.  When asked if they’d ever consider going back, say, after retirement, not a single taker.  That was then, this is now.  The poem, though broadly drawn, is essentially a true retelling.

Posted in Animals, Children, Human Nature, Humor, Nostalgia, That's Life | No Comments »

The Fool and Three Wishes

Monday, December 28th, 2009

The Fool was having trouble sleeping,

which wasn’t normal for a fool.

But the Fool had done a good deed that day,

whisking a dog from the path of a car.

The dog, more foolish even than the Fool,

ran off to play, the way stray dogs do.

This night, the Fool tossed and turned

recalling the close call with the dog.

In the midst of his sleeplessness,

a Voice whispered in the Fool’s ear:

Oh, Fool, for your good deed

you may have three wishes.

The Fool sat bolt upright,

not believing his ears.

Again, the Voice whispered to him:

Fool, you may have three wishes.

Being a fool, the Fool covered his ears

and screamed, “For one, shut up!”

The Voice, offended, spoke not again.

The Fool lay back down, contented.

But the Fool tossed and turned all night,

lamenting that he was such a fool.

Note:  I wrote this poem some time ago, trying to gain momentum to write something – anything! – for children, which is not my knack.  This is what happened.  I’d be interested to know what you think….even if you think I’m a fool!

Posted in Children, Human Nature, Humor, That's Life | 1 Comment »

Saving Whales

Saturday, December 26th, 2009

Now I’ve topped upright head

with my beaver-skin cap,

I admire myself in the mirror,

resplendent in real-chamois shirt,

tanned leather pants, snakeskin belt,

and slick lizard boots.

Ah, of course, my necklace of

gleaming yellow bear teeth.

Yes, I’m ready to slip into my

precious coat of non-faux fox fur

and stride off proudly to meet

with friends of similar mind:

we’ve set ourselves a course,

perhaps impossible:  Save the Whales.

(Published in the Winter 2005 issue of P.D.Q., Poetry Depth Quarterly)

Note:  Written entirely with tongue in cheek.  However, how many times have I seen doers of good setting off to save the world or whatever, outfitted with all the tell-tale trophies of animals or whatever, similar to the objects they’re bent on saving.  ‘Tis a sobering sight to watch their plight.  Poetry Depth Quarterly, alas, has become extinct, so indeed….save the whales!  Save the magazines and newspapers!  Save the printed word!

Posted in Animals, Fashion, Human Nature, Humor, Politics, That's Life | 1 Comment »

The Secret to a Successful Marriage

Thursday, December 17th, 2009

Now that I’ve captured your attention,

you’ll probably expect me to reveal

how it happens that I’ve been married

happily for the most part to the same

woman these past forty-eight years.

Sorry that I’ve misled you and probably

will disappoint you – I simply don’t know

how it happened….but it did, and my

wife and I are living testimony that it

can happen – stay happily married, I mean.

Maybe it was because we got to know

one aonther in those two years before

we got married and settled down, so to

speak, though we never really have done

that, settled down, taken anything for granted.

We contest nearly everything, even after

reaching the point where we trust one

another’s judgment (though mine isn’t

always to be trusted – to wit:  clothing I buy

without aforethought from mail order ‘zines).

It’s simply that we like pretty much the same

things – music, travel, food, drink, people,

books, movies, plays – and avoid pretty much

the same things – religion, politics, TV shows,

cell phones, joining groups, and most effluvia.

We’re not the same, and vive la difference.

So, don’t try to sell either one of us on crap

that’s unimportant and won’t figure into our

lives. We just don’t buy it.  We’ve heard it

all, seen most of it, and are set in our ways.

That said, let’s get down to the real secret.

We still enjoy sex.  And with one another!

Is that truly the secret?  Of course not.

We really just enjoy being with each other,

hugs and kisses – just not all the damned time.

(Published in the Fall 2006 online issue of Long Story Short)

Note:  The poem says it all, no further explanation needed.  Oh, and by the way – we’ve been married now going on 52 years in February 2010 – to repeat, happily for the most part.

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When Dinahshore Roamed

Saturday, December 12th, 2009

Her delicate bones

Are barely settled,

But once she roamed

This diminished planet,

Eating its veggies

And fruits and nuts

And the occasional cheeseburger,

Singing its praises

To the sky,

From peak to peak,

Shore to shore,

This talented

And now extinct Dinahshore,

So perfect God made only one.

It’s been tough going

Since you left, Dinalshore,

But, if it pleases you,

I’m still seeing the U.S.A.

In my Chevrolet….

Though it leaks oil badly.

(Published in the Summer 2001 issue, Issue No. 15, Vol. 7, No. 1, of Rattle:  Poetry for the 21st Century)

Note:  Dinah.  Was there anyone finah?  I’ve just come back from Palm Desert where I studied an old photo on the wall of a 5-star hotel, a picture of Dinah Shore in her golf finery, swinging a driver much like she could swing onstage.  What a beauty.  And what a great representative of this great country of ours – scolding us to see the U.S.A. in a Chevrolet.  Had one once.  It didn’t get me very far before it started leaking oil, chugged a death rattle, and stopped in the middle of M Street in D.C., zillions of motorists all about me screaming to get the hell out of their way – they still had plenty to see in the U.S. of A.

Posted in Humor, Music, Nostalgia, That's Life, Travel | No Comments »

Wild West

Friday, December 11th, 2009

It takes practice

to ride a cactus.

City slickers

feel the stickers.

Real cowgirls and cowboys

don’t make the OW! noise.

They ride ‘em hard,

never get scarred.

You too can ride….

if you have a tough hide!

(Published originally in the wonderful children’s magazine, Cricket, quite a few years ago when I used Bartlett Boswell as my pseudonym)
Note:  I often use this poem to warm up an audience when I recite.  To get them in the mood, I suggest they imagine themselves as six-year-olds again, wearing a cowboy/cowgirl outfit, sixshooter tucked in a sagging holster, staring up at one of those gigantic saguaro types of cactus with its many prickly arms, and the cactus stares down at them, repeating this poem of warning.  Would I enjoy being a kid again, say, just for a few minutes?  Wouldn’t we all?

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