Harold A. Pickett, a.k.a. Slim Acres, was a well-known poet and popular after-dinner speaker from Ohio. Over a period of about 50 years, he published a number of books of his down-home country poetry; his most recent, Eighty After Eighty, was a collection of 80 poems written after he turned 80 years old. Slim was my father, and he passed away on June 24, 2009, at the age of 96. This blog, a weekly update of the best of his poems, is meant as a tribute to his talents.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
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!"
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