Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies

High Desert Blues

I love the high desert with all of its sights,

But everything here sticks, stings or bites.

A Spanish Bayonet will run you on through,

Don’t grab a Cholla whatever you do.

A Mesquite thorn will flatten your tire,

An Ocotillo fence is tough as barb wire.

A Scorpion’s tail can cause you to wail,

And without fail, one’s ‘neath your pail.

A Mojave Rattler is as mean as can be,

And he’s not afraid of you or of me.

A Killer Bee’s sting can bring you to tears,

The rest of the swarm will heighten your fears.

The Black Widow Spider hides in the shed,

She’ll sting her mate until he is dead.

The Sand Burrs look like luscious green grass,

But even Old Dobbin must take a pass.

Tie up your dog when the Porky’s about,

Or you’ll be pickin’ quills from his snout.

A Gila Monster is sluggish and slow,

But don’t let one chew on your big toe.

The Vultures and Coyotes really don’t care,

If you were left dead by an ol’ mama Bear.

Yes, everything here sticks, stings or bites,

And all of us have taken some frights.

There’s just one exception to this general rule,

And if I didn’t tell you, I’d be a durn fool.

At the Santa Cruz River the fish never bite,

To tell you the truth, there ain’t none in sight!

LDT January 20, ‘24

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The Lass in the Glass

I loaded my troubles in a Sixty-Three Ford,

If truth could be told, I think I was bored.

At thirty below, there ain’t much to do,

‘cept git in a fight with a Great Northern crew.

The cowboys and hookers and Chippewa-Cree,

Won’t hang around with someone like me.

Drove toward Chinook, but I couldn’t pass through,

I decided to see if the legend was true.

Now the Lorelei that beckons to folks on the Rhine,

Ain’t got nuthin’ on Chinook’s famous sign.

She’s bold and she’s brassy and purdy damn sassy,

She’s fancy and classy, and one helluva lassie.

She sizzles in neon above the Elk Bar,

When I looked up, I near wrecked my car.

I stood there in awe and looked at that lass,

Kickin’ her boot heels out from the glass.

Loftin’ her cocktail and wavin’ her hat,

She’s a real beaut’ and I’m sure of that.

It’s hard to imagine a purdier sight,

Than a goddess of joy in the Montana night.

I forgot all my troubles and sauntered on in,

To one of the best places I’ve ever been.

LDT January 16, ‘24

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Peace

I went up to the mountain so lofty and so high,

Where the bombs have never fallen and the children do not cry.

I saw the devastation, wrought by foolish men,

And all I had to offer was some paper and a pen.

I scribbled off a note, don’t know what I wrote,

Oh, what did it emote, and what did it connote?

Just a silent scream at what was once serene,

Was it just a dream, all the horrors that I’ve seen?

I folded up the paper, two wings and a tail,

I threw it to the wind and then I watched it sail.

If only it would land in a place of peace and love,

And people would rejoice at what came from up above.

LDT January 13, ‘24

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Mister Big

There’s no one else like Mister Big,

Not even Jesus in a wig.

You won’t get shot on Fifth Avenue,

If you say His lies are true.

Mister Big, He has the answer,

To save us all from Windmill Cancer.

Only He can stem the tide,

Until the waters do subside.

He will gladly lend an ear,

To every hate and every fear.

He is wise beyond all doubt,

All His rivals He will rout.

You must be loyal to the Man,

Or He will smash you if he can.

So wave His banner way up high,

And never, ever question why.

There’s no one else like Mister Big,

Here’s His Kool-Aid, take a swig.

LDT January 11, ‘24

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FAKE Elector

**Bob dressed up real fine for his mugshot**

Robert was a carpenter, a FAKE Elector too,

He lived in Palominas where 92 runs through.

Had an acre down on Cana where he plied his trade,

And it was full of all the storage sheds he made.

Maybe had a fling with the trucker’s wife next door,

‘til the hubby came home and figured out the score.

Brandished his AR when immigrants came through,

Though what it was about, he didn’t have a clue.

Framed up a house, but never finished it,

Got involved in politics, thought he’d do his bit.

Got active in the Tea Party, took over PFD,[1]

Believed everything he heard on his Fox TV.

Then he got his chance to make a big impact,

Became the County Chair, though principles he lacked.

Went on up to Phoenix, to mingle with elites,

And hung on every word of Trumpy’s latest tweets.

Then came that bleak November when Donald lost it all,

The election must be RIGGED! was the clarion call.

Then Eastman and Chesebro formed an evil plan,

A slate of FAKE electors and victory for their Man.

On the Fourteenth of December Robert donned a tie,

And voted with the Party for Trump’s election lie.

Kelli Ward would call for the FAKE Elector votes,

And Robert he became one of Trumpy’s Judas goats.

Robert was a carpenter, a FAKE Elector too,

He’ll probably be in prison before it all is through.

Video of Arizona’s FAKE Electors committing election crimes: Video Of Kelli Ward Signing Fake Election Certification Re-emerges Following Subpoena (newsweek.com)

Link to CNN Report on Arizona’s FAKE Electors: Watch: CNN reporter tracks down Arizona fake electors | CNN Politics

[1] Palominas Fire Department

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Hope

The crackle of the fire slowly fades away,

its embers mark the end of another day.

The winter snow doth glisten in the soft moonlight,

like a Monet painting of a frosty night.

Outside all is quiet, the carolers have gone home,

the stranger he is welcome, this is not the night to roam.

May this holy night warm your heart and soul,

and if you’re feeling blue may this night console.

Let the star that guides you bring you peace and love,

for everything that matters comes from up above.

LDT Christmas Eve, 2023

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Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I know I havn’t written since Nineteen Fifty-Two,

But lately I’ve been feelin’ sorta sad and kinda blue.

There’s trouble in the world and strife across the land,

And things have sorta gotten a little out of hand.

So as you pack your sleigh and head out on you way,

I’d just like to say, bring me yesterday.

Kids with rosy cheeks in their overshoes,

Never even caring about the latest news.

Stockings on the mantle full of little treats,

And not a hint of trouble in the city streets.

May each family gather around a fire so warm,

And never have to worry that some would do them harm.

Snow hanging from the trees, sleds and skates and skis,

No hostages to seize, someone to hear their pleas.

Garland on the wall, good will for us all,

No darkness and no pall, no bombs to ever fall.

Turkey, duck or chicken, just make it finger lickin’,

No viruses to sicken, and leave so many stricken.

Give us joy at last, it’s just a simple task,

Time is fadin’ fast, is this too much to ask?

LDT Christmas ‘23

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Mule Pass

Up on Mule Pass there’s no place you can turn,

Just a tunnel to the past, no bridges left to burn.

Right beyond the pass there lies another world,

Where I can hide from the troubles I have unfurled.

Up ‘til now I reckin’ I haven’t had a care,

I’ve learned to hang my hat nearly anywhere.

A miner’s shack in Bisbee on the side of a hill.

Scroungin’ up the cash to pay my next rent bill.

A roof and a wall, it ain’t the Taj Mahal,

The meaning of it all, I ain’t got far to fall.

I hang out on my own, my future is unknown,

The good life I have blown, I ain’t even got a phone.

At night I drive on back to my little shack,

And when I hit the rack, I’ve nuthin’ to unpack.

It might be soundin’ strange, I think I need a change,

Gotta cure the mange, but what can I arrange?

The tunnel’s up ahead, one more night to dread,

It’s here that I have fled, shoulda’ faced the world instead.

No one counts on me, no one hears my plea,

I might be wild and free, but that’s no way to be.

Shake off my malaise, it’s time to reappraise,

There could be better days, Mule Pass runs both ways.

Tonight, I met a lass, and fell in love real fast,

And up on Mule Pass, I let go of my past.

LDT December 11, ‘23

Karen and I had our first date on December 11, 1971. I had a lot to think of on my way back to Bisbee.

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Gene Vincent Show

**In the 1950’s I attended my first rock concert.**

Be bop a lula, Gene Vincent Show,

Heard all about it on the radio.

He’s comin’ to town with electric guitars,

A rockin’ piano fit for the stars.

Glasgow, Montana will be rockin’ on out,

Cuz Rock and Roll is what it’s about.

He’ll grab the mike stand and sing with the
band,

He’s the best in the land until he get’s
banned.

He’ll shimmy and shake and wiggle his
pelvis,

He’ll sorta remind us of someone named
Elvis.

Lookin’ so cool in his ducktail haircut,

We know all about all the records he’s cut.

His collar turned up, his dancin’ shoes on,

He’ll have us rockin’ until the next dawn.

Our parents don’t like him, it’s sad but
it’s true,

His kind of music came out of the blue.

What happened to waltzin’ and cuttin’ a rug?

Aspirin and coke is a hell of a drug.

We’ll kick off our shoes and rock in our
socks,

No one will catch us lookin’ at clocks.

That Rock and Roll beat lies deep in our
soul,

It gets our feet rockin’ and we’re ready to
roll.

The Civic Center ain’t seen such a sight,

As that time we rocked through the night.

Be bop a lula, Gene Vincent Show,

Nearly as wild as a ranch rodeo.

LDT December 9, ‘23

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Lost Father

Book Review

My daughter, Michele, has written a compelling new book.

Some stories are not easy to tell. Being the father of a lost child is one of them. The main character, Bruce, is suddenly contacted by someone from the past. The story relates the anguish, the sorrow and the secrets he has kept hidden for 50 years. Confronted with the impact of his lies, he first makes excuses. He finally realizes that the time has come to face his past, but he doesn’t know how. His life flashes before him as he reviews his many missteps after his one huge mistake. His bad decisions have compounded leaving him deeply conflicted. A random stranger offers counsel. As the story unfolds, the answer gradually reveals itself.

Lost Father is a thoughtful, well-written book about healing nad redemption. It provides an accurate and compelling description of how difficult personal decisions were made in the milieu of changing values and conditions in a bygone era. (The 1960’s.) The conclusion leaves the reader speculating about Bruce’s next step in his path to healing the damage he has caused.

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