Friday, May 28, 2010

at times i wonder - Reprise

I've over a thousand poems on line now, a thousand was my goal since I was a kid,
so I'll be slowing the out put now, and will concentrate on some other creative endeavors.

Thanks to everyone who has stopped to read a few and offered support.

Here's something I put on the web Wednesday, October 15, 2008, It's lyrics to a song I wrote in the late 70s, but never did anything with, but have played it for my friends. The words still hold water.

To all, continued best wishes, Jack Sender

at times i wonder how the old boys are doing
and the ladies i met along the way
we had our moments and our pleasures
seems like it was just the other day

there were some good times that i thought were never ending
sometimes i think just like a child
they say the nights are colder when you’re older
i guess we’ll find out in just a while

take good care of your self you’re a lot like me
take good care of yourself you’ve been good company
and when i thought it wouldn’t end
there’s nothing now like there was then

once in a while when a cold wind is blowing
i’ll ride off on some memory
i may visit you when you're sleeping
don’t mind it’s just a fantasy

the gears of time are always shifting
there’s nights i wake in dreams so real
like the tide i keep on drifting
just telling you now so you know how i feel

take good care of yourself you’re a lot like me
take good care of yourself you’ve been like family
if my life was a book too torn to mend
i’d flip back to see how it would end
and if i never see your face again
here’s wishing you only good luck 'til the end

Monday, May 24, 2010


What d’ya got?

Read ‘em an weep,
four frogs up, partner.

Tell M. to get inside.
‘N somebody git the sheriff,
tell’m they’ve holed up in da pond yonder.

I seen that big’en before,

Big frog looks like an outlaw.
A renegade.
Holding steady, hands set to draw.
Easy – easy – keep your hands where I can see ‘em mister.

Tell M. to get inside.

Ah, I did already.

Tell her again.

Hell, look at that, all four sit hunched like gunmen.

And women!


Hell yes. They don’t hold no count to who’s what’s men and who’s what’s women
cept’n during courtin’, then all bets off!

look - They all dress the same.

It’s a gang.

murmer, murmur, murmur.

The medium aren’t as threatening, and the widdle widdle
tiny one is . . . well, cute.

Back in the house, M.

Last night I heard ‘ that big one
was callin’ Wyatt out, all night.

quick, Wilbur. what month do you have?

eh. Month is May.


S’ what I said.

Was just repeating . . . May ? . . .
We gots us a month and a half a’fore a courtin’s over.

appears they’re a fixin’ fer a hullabaloo!

anyone ever call you Sherlock!

To be convoluted. . .