TURNIP GREENS

Editor's note: "I once had an aunt who thought little boys couldn't grow up straight and tall unless they consumed great quantities of vegetables, especially the leafy green type -- and this she endeavored to impress upon me," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "She never succeeded."


I was brought up in the country,
And I learned, when just a boy,
To be thankful for the blessings
I was given to enjoy;
I'm sure not high-falootin',
And I'm not a man of means,
But if you please, don't ever try
To feed me turnip greens!


My mother always taught me
That it was very rude
For little boys to grumble,
Or complain about their food;
We were 'bout as poor as church mice,
And I know what hunger means,
But I never did get quite so low
As to eat no turnip greens!


I enjoy good country cookin'
More than I could ever tell,
And I'll always come a-runnin'
When they ring the dinner bell;
I'm not a fussy eater,
And my fancy always leans
Towards old-fashioned vittles,
But not t'wards turnip greens!


Now, dandelions ain't so bad,
When they're fixed with bacon grease,
But turnip greens, like spinach,
Were made for ducks and geese!
I could live on corn and taters,
And I don't mind navy beans,
But please, dear Lord, deliver me
From eatin' turnip greens!


--Acres of Verse (1994)

WIGGLIN' MY TOES

Editor's note: "The ability to relax is worth a lot in this modern rate race," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "Lucy says I'm the best relaxer she ever saw."


A man of simple pleasures,
I'm not very hard to please,
So, without a bit of trouble,
I can put myself at ease
When a day of aggravation
Is a-drawin' to a close,
By lyin' on the davenport
Jist a-wigglin' my toes!


It's a most effective method
To improve your muscle tones,
It relaxes all your tensions,
And it loosens up your bones;
You can minimize your worries,
And forget about your woes,
By lyin' on the davenport,
Jist a-wigglin' your toes!


Some men prefer to go and spend
An evening on the town,
And slop a little alcohol
To help 'em settle down;
It gives a high-strung feller
More enjoyment, I suppose,
Than lyin' on the davenport,
Jist a-wigglin' his toes!


--Autumn Acres (1982)

GRANDPA'S TODDLER

Editor's note: "In relationships between the very young and the very old, generation gaps are often temporarily bridged," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.


There's nothing in the world, I guess,
Can bring a Grandpa joy
As much as holding on his knee
A little toddler boy.


Or teaching him his letters,
Also how to count to ten,
And reading favorite stories
To him, time and time again.


Pretending you can't find him,
When he hides behind the door,
And letting him defeat you,
Shooting marbles on the floor.


The little fellow never
Wants to get undressed for bed;
He'd rather play with Grandpa,
Till he falls asleep instead.


But time has made a difference,
And I regret to say
Things are just not quite the same
As they were yesterday.


Scotty doesn't seem to care
For marbles any more;
Our toddler weighs one-eighty-five,
And stands at six-foot-four!


--Acres of Verse (1994)

THIS 'N' THAT

Editor's note: Dad's Slim Acres character got his start as a "Slim Acres Says" series in the local newspaper. Entries usually consisted of one-or two-line quips, his version of limericks (which he called "Slimericks") and short poems. This week, I decided to republish a few of these gems.




Some folks crave attention,
But, me it doesn't bother;
Whenever I feel neglected,
I think of Whistler's father.


*


Of all the trials and burdens
That confront us in this life,
The hardest to bear are the ones
You can't blame onto your wife!


*


The saddest of words
Are these below:
I'll think it over
And let you know!


*


Some people watch
Their diets with care,
Calories here,
Cholesterol there;
But shux, as long
As there's vittles in sight,
I keep right on eatin'
Till my britches get tight!


*


I'll try to be honest with thee,
But if thee are not honest with me,
There's just this much to it:
To thee I would do it,
To keep thee from doin' it to me!


*


Whether a man's successful,
I always did allow,
Depends pretty much
On what he does
When the ground's too wet to plow!


*


Bobby Shafto's gone to sea,
Silver buckles on his knee;
When he comes back he'll marry me,
Or Daddy'll shoot the ittle S.O.B.


*


Cousin Danny used to claim
To be a judge of women;
But what he took
To be a peach
Turned out to be a lemon!


*


It's very few letters
That I ever git,
Except for the kind
That say, "Please remit!"

GIVE TO THE LIVING

Editor's note: "Lots of awards are given to the living, but many others are tardy and come after it's too late for the recipient to read the inscription or smell the flowers," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.


It's easy to honor a fellow
When the organ is playing his song,
It's easy to ad up his merits
As the mourners go marching along.


Recalling the road he has traveled,
Overlooking where he has strayed,
Remembering what he's accomplished,
Forgiving mistakes he has made.


But why are we always so tardy
With credit, when credit is due?
When the fellow has earned our favor,
Why don't we follow it through?


Why not give him our plaudits
While he's still living, instead
Of sending flowers, and writing
A eulogy after he's dead?


He'll never enjoy his epitaph,
Or the stone it's written upon;
He'd rather have praise while he's living
Than a monument after he's gone.


--Autumn Acres (1982)

THE SKEPTIC

Editor's note: "My father trusted everybody," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "That's why we didn't have a pot to boil potatoes in, as the saying goes."


I don't suppose there's anyone
More skeptical than me.
I don't believe a word I hear,
And half of what I see.


I'd like to have the feeling
I could trust my fellow man,
But history's proven different
Ever since the world began.


I realize that maybe
I'm a skeptic to a fault,
But most of what I read or hear,
I take with a grain of salt.


It's not that I think everyone
Can look you in the eye,
With his right hand on the Bible,
And tell a bare-faced lie;


But, from my past experience,
I'd say that quite a few
Would likely do that very thing,
And cheat a little, too.


So, though I try the best I can
To treat all men as brothers,
My motto is, "In God I trust,
But be wary with all others!"
Hominy Grits (1986)

THE HANDY MAN

Editor's note: Anyone who knew Dad (Slim) back in the day knew how much he loved to build things -- and Mom (Lucy) always had some kind of fix-up project for him to work on. Apparently, Dad got the construction gene from his father. But although I was allowed to help with some tasks like digging fencepost holes and hammering a few nails, that's where the whole thing stopped.

My Dad was very able
And mechanically inclined,
About as good a handy-man
As you could ever find;

And thanks to all the little tricks
He taught me, as a lad,
I really think I'm just about
As handy as my Dad.

If it's busted, I can fix it!
That is, if anybody can,
So I've earned a reputation
As a first-class handy-man!

When I gave up the single state,
My newly-wedded spouse
Was very thrilled that I could fix
Little things around the house.

I started in on what-nots,
In our early married life,
But soon went on to bigger things
Suggested by my wife!

Before I knew what happened,
She had me on the run,
She could think up projects faster
Than I could get 'em done!

I bought the house we live in,
A ranch type bungalow,
Then added on a carport,
And a screened-in patio;

And when I got it painted,
I thought I had it done;
I found I was mistaken --
I'd only just begun!

I made our kitchen cupboards,
The bookshelves on the wall,
The fireplace in the fam'ly room,
The closets in the hall;

Then I built another bathroom,
Not because we needed two--
We had to have the second one
Because the neighbors do!

Little jobs, and big jobs,
So many I recall,
It makes a fellow wonder
How he ever did 'em all!

But at last we reached the summit,
When anyone could see
We had it all completed
To the very Nth degree.

Then I longed for rest and comfort
But that wasn't what I found;
Lucy got it in her head
To change some things around!

Things, not so very long ago,
We just couldn't do without,
Have now become so obsolete
We have to tear 'em out.

I won't attempt to tell you
All the work I have in store;
And anyhow, before I'm done,
She'll dream up plenty more!

But Lucy has assured me
That she will let me be
Whenever I finish up this list
That she's made out for me.

And then, if the Lord is willing,
And lets me stay alive,
I can start to take it easy,
At the age of ninety-five!

Oh, she appreciates it all,
And that is fine and dandy,
But y'know, sometimes I sorta wish
I wasn't quite so handy!