virtualubbock - Poetry of Paul Bullock

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These poems are selected from Paul Bullock's audio CD "Manfreds' Midnight Monologue." They are really meant to be spoken and performed aloud. While it is impossible to re-create Paul’s distinctive, gravelly, West Texas voice, it may make the poem more enjoyable to read it aloud:

Carpool Mom
She's a carpool mom. A Revlon blonde.
And she thinks that she's so real.
So then why does she conceal
the color of her hair?
And wear fake fingernails
and tell tale rumors
of a boob job, too.
So who's she tryin' to fool?
The other mom's that drive the pool?
Or maybe just herself?
Because her mental health
Is what keeps her looking young.
And she just turned forty-one.
Has two daughters and a son.
And a husband, his name's Tom.
And she's a carpool mom.
Sport's some NO DRUG bumper sticker
on the bumper of her van.
She's got Prozac in her purse
and a cigarette in her hand.
Drinks black coffee every morning.
Gin tonic after dark.
Keeps her Sleep-ezee in the nightstand.
Love's her husband. He's a NARC
And she's a carpool mom.
Chaperoned the ninth grade prom.
Wore a ribbon on her dress
that says that she protests
the use of drugs like smack and cannabis.
Because to her they're both the same.
And she pops a pill into her brain.
Who let her in this game anyway?
They've told her what to say.
And besides her Valium keep her calm.
And she's a carpool mom,
with diet pills clenched in her palm.
And with that tight clenched fist
insist drug users should be jailed.
Denied bail. Nailed to the cross.
That'll show 'em who's the boss.
Toss away the key.
Then maybe they'll see
that we mean business.
And she witnesses at her church.
Can recite every single verse
of chapter 23 book of Psalms.
And she's a carpool mom.
A real human time bomb
in this WAR ON DRUGS.
She serves icy mugs of beer
and cheery wine coolers,
with fruity flavors.
Takes some pills her neighbor
gave her. Cures whatever ails ya.
Hell she doesn't even know
where they come from.
And she's a carpool mom.
Any slight doldrum
requires a quick pick-me-up.
A cup of caffeine in between
drags of nicotine
give her hands something to do.
And-she still hasn't got a clue
that she's a drug user too!
So my question is the same.
Who let her in this game anyway?
And don't say shame on you
and tell me to stay calm,
when there are hypocrites out there
like the carpool mom.

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At the Passing of the Joint
At the passing of the joint
As the striker lights the point,
The aroma will anoint
All who wait their turn
At the passing of the joint.

Each one gazing at the holder
And I already told her,
"Hey! Don’t Bogart!!!
Start passing that thing my way!

"You can say what you would like
But that dubóise is not a mic
For you to talk in.
It’s a sin to disappoint
At the passing of the joint.

And so we closely watch the transfer
As it moves from her
To him.
Hurry up, Jim!
So with a great big grin
Sucks it down a quarter inch
Then with a pressured pinch
Passes it along.
But he pinched the damn thing wrong
And so the doobie drops
and Jim hops up and snags that pup before it burns the rug
Then hands it down the line.
But now, the fire has declined
And so it’s time to
Light it up again.
Bum a lighter from a friend,
Then watch the ghostly smoke ascend
As the aroma, once again, anoints
At the passing of the joint.

Hey! Stop lickin’ at that run!
Just let the damn thing burn
Or I won’t get a turn
‘Cause it’s getting’ kinda’ short
And I am sorry to report
I am the last one in the circle.
Then some jerk’ll
Step right in between me and the doob!
Whew! What a brilliant move
He made! 
He just moved me back a space
As the clip is put in place,
And the worry on my face
Creates a void.
At the passing of the joint.

And NOW! The jerk is taking two hits
As he puckers up his lips
And sucks a second blast
Then at last:
"Pass that doobie on and go back where you come from!"
Some nerve!
I dub thee, "Mister Oink"
At the passing of the joint.

And now! Some green-horn hippie wannabe
Gets to take a hit in front of me!
Takes enough smoke to fill three lungs
Then coughs and hacks and bites his tongue
And then his face turns scarlet red
And beads of sweat pop from his head:
"I…[gasps]…I need some fresh air."
That’s what he said!
As he put the clip down in the tray
Then turned to leave, then turned to say,
"I feel a little paranoid."Hey! Here’s a dime! Call Sigmund Freud!
Those are the things that get me annoyed
At the passing of the joint.

Oh, that’s just the way it goes
And now the next dude’s suckin’ smoke into his nose
And puffin’ like a train and so
Little now remains
For me
Why, I can hardly see a roach
As the tiiiny thing approaches
The next stop in the group.
I would jump right through a hoop
For one little puff!
It’s the toughest place to be,
doncha’ see?
At the end of the line
As the size and shape decline
Into ashes
With each hit.
Oh, you get my point
At the passing of the joint.

And at last! It’s my turn!
But I can’t get the damn thing to burn
And I cannot discern the trouble
With the tiny little stubble
But I cannot keep it lit
So I cannot get a hit
For the doobie, it has quit
Producing.It’s been steadily reducing
‘Til it got to me.So I’ll just stroll about the party
Hope another one gets started
At which time,
The aroma will anoint
All who wait their turn
At the passing of the joint.

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Don't Break My Heart Tonight
Don't break my heart tonight,
By saying you should go.
Please stay near till the break of light.
So both of us will know.
The thrill of holding on so tight.
Don't break my heart tonight.
Don't dance me 'round the ballroom floor.
Then leave me when the music ends.
Don't make me walk you to you door.
Then leave you like we're just good friends,
Because we know there's so much more.
Don't dance me 'round the ballroom floor.
Don't stroll me through the public park,
Playing games of hide and seek.
Please tonight don't break my heart,
With just a kiss upon my cheek,
Then stop before we even start.
Don't stroll me through the public park.
Please tonight don't break my heart.
Don't dance me 'round the ballroom floor.
Don't stroll me through the public park.
Please tonight don't break my heart.

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Do Nothing
Whatta ya say we go away,
And leave this place behind
Go to some exotic land
And see what we can find.
Forget the things that burden us
Run barefoot in the sand
Eat fresh fruit right off the trees
And do nothing we have planned
What would it take to make our break
And go away for good.
Leave the rat race to the rats
And do nothing that we should
Swim in ocean water blue
And eat the food it gives.
Do nothing we're supposed to do
'Cept eat and sleep and live.

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Me And Walter Mitty
Me and Walter Mitty, we been tight a long long time.
Ever since I was a young boy. Back when donuts were a dime.
That's when I started dreamin'. We been buds a long long time.
Yeah me and Walter Mitty we been everywhere it seems.
Been to China then back tao Lubbock.
Cause we're not afraid to dream.
We been pitchers in the big leagues.
Been involved in-big time schemes.
Yeah me and Walter Mitty we have walked upon the moon.
We've been cowboys on the llano.
Kilt a "bar" with Dan'l Boone.
Song several songs with Dylan.
And helped Cockburn with a tune.
Yeah me and Walter Mitty we are dreamers, don't cha see?
Cause we are not afraid of dreamin'.
We just let our minds roam free.
And there's nothing wrong with dreamin'.
And there's nothing you can't be.

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Puerta Wherever
Whenever I wish to go away to some dream place fantasy,
I go to Puerta Wherever, wherever it might be.
And who ever I wish to take along, I can take along with me
Let's go on down to Puerta Wherever, wherever it might be.
And whatever we wish to do there. we can do it all for free.
Let's go on down to Puerta Wherever, wherever it might be.
Somewhere south of here is my kingdom by the sea.
I'm talkin' 'bout Puerta Wherever, wherever it might be.

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She Didn’t Think Too Much of Me
I thought she was the finest thing
This poor boy ever found.
And that our golden wedding rings
Would keep us ever bound,
But she didn't think much of me.
I thought that she could do no wrong
That she earned a number ten.
I thought that she was straight and strong.
And brave like Daniel in the den.
But she didn't think much of me.
I thought her heart was made of gold.
That she smelled like morning dew.
I really thought she broke the mold.
And that she would be ever true.
But she didn't think much of me.
I loved the ground she walked upon.
And the glow that hung about her.
I thought her voice was like a song,
And that I couldn't live without her.
But she didn't think much of me.
I thought her eyes were clear and bold.
I loved her hair, like ravens’ wings.
I thought her love was pure and whole.
And that she was my everything.
But she didn't think much of me.I thought she gave the stars their glow.
That she hung the moon above.
I never thought she'd want to go.
I thought we'd always be in love.
But she didn't think much of me.

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The Deal
Here's the deal the whole deal
And nothing but the deal.
Best hang close to me
And be very attentive, don't cha see.
'Cause my students must be prudent
'Cause my classes move very quickly
And we adhere very strictly
To the rules of cool.
I except zest and zeal.
And that's the deal the whole deal
And nothing but the deal.
If you feel like dancing then dance.
And forget about the glances cast at you.
Just do whatever the music tells you to.
So what if you steal just a little spotlight
It's alright. The band stays in command
When the cool ones move to the groove
Or bounce to the beat or tap your feet
Or spin 'round and 'round like a wheel
And that's the deal the whole deal
And nothing but the deal.
If your heal and toe aren't keeping time
I always find it helpful if I close my eyes
And the prize is worth just a little
Concentration. 'Cause it turns to meditation
And the beating of my heart becomes a part
Of the band so I stand and move my body
To the beat and know that it's for real
And that's the deal the whole deal
And nothing but the deal.
Don't kneel down in fright, because you think
You might be somebody's monday morning
Office conversation, about the way you was gyrating
'Cause you were creating something they couldn't
'Cause they wouldn't even try. So why
Should they care if your fun meter is pegged.
If your legs keep on movin',
Even if no one else is groovin.
For the groovers will have pheasant
And the sitters will eat crow at the meal.
And that's the deal the whole deal
And nothing but the deal.
So peel off you coats and sweaters
And whether or not you think you look good
You should partake in the music. Use it.
Or you lose it. And you feel a whole lot better
And you'll be a real go getter. If you just do what you feel
And that's the deal the whole deal and nothing but the deal.

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Quint Finney
From the woods of old Virginiy, Quint Finney.
A flintrock musketeer. Sincere, defiant rebel.
In trouble with the Crown. Shot down a Red Coat
In old Virginiy. Quint Finney.
Threw tea into the harbor. Starboard side.
Into the ocean. A sure potion for rebellion.
A felon from old Virginiy. Quint Finney.
Massacre in Boston more often than is known.
No mercy shown. No king knows what we need.
Although we plead for liberty and truth there is none.
From Maine to old Virginiy. For Quint Finney.
So he fights for the rights that all men have if white.
Considered an invasion, on a nation
Being born, by ball and powder horn.
From Maine to old Virginiy. For Quint Finney.
Crown jewels can't rule us. They're meant for Britain.
They're sittin' on the head of old King George.
From Valley Forge to Bunker Hill we kill the Red Coats
From behind the rocks and trees to set us free.
From Maine to old Virginiy. For Quint Finney.
And he asks if the task that is now, might somehow
In years to come send Finney men to kill the will
Of people in some far off land.
From Maine to old Virginiy. For Quint Finney.
So he takes his aim, without shame.
And with a God given grace he shoots off the face
Of a young British lad. So sad.
A boy sent across the sea to insure
The sun will not set on the empire.
George desires to rule like Caesar did.
So stay hid, and bring another down in pain.
And make a nation from Maine to old Virginiy. For Quint Finney.
And when we set ourselves free. And we have liberty.
And truth. Will we send our young men to rule the world?
And curl a greedy hand around the hearts
And minds to bind a people across the sea?
Or will we live in peace so wars will cease?
From Maine to old Virginiy. For Quint Finney.
But now with total independence. Our government now sends us
To spread across this land. Band together.
Loss of life no matter. To batter and beat the natives.
Send men from Maine to old Virginiy. Send Quint Finney.
So he takes his aim. Without shame.
And with a God given grace. He shoots off the face
Of a young Indian brave. We gave them the chance
To surrender their home. To roam elsewhere.
Do not dare to stand in our way.
As we race across the face of America
And send men you can loose.
From Maine to old Virginiy.
Send Quint Finney.

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The Mellow Hippie
He's, like just a mellow hippie
sipping, like herbal tea.
Snacking, like cheese,
and like wheat thins.
Binges of pot
not like paraquat.
Like fresh pot.
From like soil
he had like toiled
over for like years.
Cheers serves like 60 proof
Vermouth with like olives
or like onions.
Very dry.

Or like why ask why.
It's like okay
to like sip the sauce
or like toss a few back
at like happy hour. Like whiskey sour
and another beer, here please.
Uptight alcohol small doses
change a brain so quickly.
But like strictly speaking
like bikinis sell beer
and like 12 year old scotch
by like girls in like pearls
and like black evening gowns.
So like why frown upon an humble weed
of like proper caring
or like sharing of a joint.
It's like okay to anoint
the birth of a child or a marriage
with a toast. Or to like boast
of one's consumption.

Because Cheers
serves like legal fun. Rum and Coke.
But how dare you smoke a joint.
Their point is like lame.
The same as before.
Even though pot saves a sick patient
still lies from this nation
prefer to hide the truth as if it were like Vietnam.
We say it calms.
They say like not.
But like which of the white hairs
will ever admit to like having inhaled pot.
They've like not forgotten
like whiskey and like eggnog
to like praise the baby Jesus.
Like no reason needed for
like a drink at night.
So like what right do they have
to say like one is good and the other is like bad.
Put like a little Bailey's
in-the coffee for like a creamy
liquid toffee. But like
the right wing disapproves
when like a doob adds
to ones groove.

Cause Cheers
serves like whiskey neat.
Till you fall right out your seat.
It's like the way a vendor must compete
to like keep his doors a swingin'.
And like singin' songs around the ivories.
With like a drink to like toast the memories
of like other times of like beer and wine.
And he's like just a mellow hippie
sipping like herbal tea
serving like one to three
for a felony garden of pot.
So like do not get the two confused.
Booze is legal. Pot is not.
Like go figure.

Wake up America
and realize the time is
now to re-legalize.

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He Wears Dark Glasses at Midnight
He wears dark glasses at midnight.
New outlook on insight.
Bright lights. Real tight.
What a night for dark glasses.
classes in cool taught by nobody's fool.
Just a tool to keep his eyes white.
So he wears dark glasses at midnight.
Hip dude. No nude eyeballs for him.
From chin to crown he's bound for glory.
True stories of his plight might explain why
He wears dark glasses at midnight.
Far out. No doubt about it this cat is together.
And whether or not he got his shades at K-Mart or the mall.
We all wish he knew our names cause his frames are outta sight.
He is alright. He is a visual delight.
When he wears dark glasses at midnight.
He is the hip of hop.
He is the top of bop.
He is a guru to groovy too.
He is the farthest flight.
He is the highest height.
He is a mighty might.
When he wears dark glasses at midnight.

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The Surgeon General Has Determined
I know these things are killing me.
The cilla in my lungs is dead.
My body shouts a mighty plea.
And tells me what the Surgeon General said.
So everyday I curse and swear,
And promise deep within.
To take the Surgeon General's dare
And quit. But here I go again.
I pull a light and puff.
And watch my exhale blow.
I used to think it maybe me tough,
But now it's weakness that I show.
You know you really ought to quit.
And stop inhaling all that smut.
And toss away the one you lit.
Best do it before you coffin shuts.

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What It Was Was Whiskey
Whiskey is mighty risky for a boy.
Why even grown men get shakey kneed
And weave around. Only to be lost.
Then found. Then tossed in a wagon
With mean men braggin' 'bout mean things.
But when the man brings him to the judge
Who asks "Guilty or Not." The sober sot
Would lick his lips, and remember those sips
That brought him here only to endear
To all for free. What is was, was whiskey.
So now this boy sits shackled and shamed.
He's guilty and blamed of too much fun.
He wandered too far, the car parked
Somewhere in the dark. With three
Like he, but safe with the bottle
And close to the throttle
If they might want some more.
But before he got caught
Was so stressfully taught
And told 'bout those who
Fell and drank from the well
Of hell fire and foul desire
Only to live and give
A word to all for free.
What it was was whiskey.

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Lucky Me, I Get In Free Tonight
Lucky me. I get in free tonight.
Why I don't even need a dollar,
'Cause I am a faithful follower of the band.
The man that play's the skins,
The cat that gets me in.
He's a close friend of mine.
He never does decline
An opportunity to shake my hand.
I know the band don't cha see.
That's why I get in free tonight.
I won't have to pay a cover
'Cause I am a lover of the blues.
That's old news around here.
It's clear to most folks
That I am in tune with the groove.
I don't have to prove I'm a cool breeze
I already do that with ease. Don't cha see.
That's why I get in free tonight.
I must insist I am on the list
And the dude at the door he knows me.
I see him all the time.
Why he won't even take a dime
From me tonight. The price is right.
He just put that stamp upon my hand for me.
Don't cha see I get in free tonight.
I might even get a date.
You know it's never too late
When you rate plus one. It's some fun.
I just run though my little black book
Take a look see who I want with me.
Whoever she might be, we get in free tonight.

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We All Look Particularly Good Tonight
We all look particularly good tonight.
At a table in the front.
Just a little to the right.
Waiting. Quietly anticipating
When the lights might go down
Then up with the sound.
We are ready right now
We don't want to start a riot
'Cause we all look particularly good tonight.
No hype. No gripe.
But the newspaper said the band starts at nine.
And they are running way behind.
And we got here mighty early
'Cause we surely didn't want to have to stand.
'Cause the band's been soundin' tight
They are first flight.
And we all look particularly-good tonight.
Quite clearly it is nearly ten fifteen
And the scene is hummin'
'Cause we're not sure if the band is comin'.
The cat that does the drummin' ain't here yet.
And the stage is set. And somebody better go check
Or there might be a fight.
And we all look particularly good tonight.
white Russians if you please
For Sandra and Denise. My favorite tease.
Why they are both a pure delight.
And might better get another pitcher for the table.
Better do it while we're able.
'Cause the bar is outta sight.
And the waitress she's alright.
And we all look particularly good tonight.
Then right out of nowhere.
The drummer man appears.
And the band goes to the stand.
And the fans give up a cheer
And we toast them with our beer.
And the music starts to play
And they don't even have to say they are sorry.
‘Cause we hardly even remember they were late.
They're great. And we are all high as a kite.
And we all look particularly good tonight.

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Mister Zag
We call him Mister Zag.
Can you believe that cat
Has NEVER bought a bag?
And he is ALWAYS high on pot.
Y’see, what Mr. Zag has always got:

Now, Mr. Zag, see,
He reads that "High Times" rag
And he orders papers by the ton
So consequently he’s the ONE guy
That everybody knows gets high
So at parties or at clubs
At restaurants or at pubs
At the beach or backyard tubs
You can bet and never lose
Hell, you can bet your children’s shoes
That Mister Zag has paid his dues
By holdin’

Now, Mister Zag,
He would never, ever brag
About aaall the hippies that he knows
He knows them all, both young and old
And there’s not a one he hasn’t rolled
a joint for.
Mister Zag,
He knows the score.
He preaches peace and protests war
Cause he’s a lover…
Not a fighter.
Prefers the standard size.
Leaves those wider rolling papers for the beginner.
You know:
They roll it real fat in the middle
then both ends get much, much thinner.
That’s ‘cause they roll the seeds & stems up in ‘ere.
But with practice they’ll get better.
And in time, I’m sure they’ll get ‘er
Down just perfect
Like Mister "Z"
Who will advise:
"Keep reefer free of seed and stem.
Hell, you can just get rid of them.
A pinch or two of nice, clean weed
Is all that you will ever need,"
Cause Mr. Z is holdin…

Now you should see Mister Zag
Handle someone else’s bag
And he is nimble
And he is quick
And he twists a perfect stick
Every time
Man, I ain’t lyin’!
And then he’ll proudly hand it to its owner.
And then the fellow stoner says,
"Spark it up and toke
And why not roll yourself a smoke
up for the road!"
Then Mister Z damn near explodes
With joy
Cause his simple little ploy
Has worked again.
So he twists another little friend,
And he puts that reefer rocket
Neatly down in his shirt pocket.
And he never would have got it
If he wasn’t holdin’

Now I am not here to complain
Bout how the Zag-man entertains
Cause, I myself, I threw a party
And the Zag-man, he was tardy
And we had such a hard time getting started
Til Mister Z bursts through my door.
And then he waltzed across my floor
Handing out brand new packs of Zags
To anyone who had a bag.
And so my tiny pipe, it was retired
And the party was inspired.
And Mister Zag
Well, he was hired
To roll the night away.
And I venture now to say
When he woke up the next day
A buuunch of reefer rockets
Were neatly nestled in his pocket
Enough to last a man a week
But Mister Zag, he’s no sneak
Or thief.
Oh No! Good Grief!
He’s just devised the perfect caper.
Y’see, he’s always holdin’

Yea, we call him Mister Zag.
Can you believe that cat
Has NEVER bought a bag?
And he is ALWAYS high on pot.
Y’see, what Mr. Zag has always got:

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Copyright 2002
Chris Oglesby
All rights reserved

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