the few, The Proud, THE CREW!

Coming from a background in theatre, I was inclined, while directing a local high school production some years ago, to remind those ONSTAGE that, while they might have their names and faces in the press clippings, they - the actors - are NOT doing it by themselves . . . and so, this is my tribute to those stalwart backstage workers, the crew -


the few, The Proud, THE CREW!
(c) 1992


The actor grandly took the stage
Naked as a lark
Sans a shred of costume
He stood there in the dark
For not a single light did shine
As he posed there all alone
He waited, poor thing, to hear a ring
But, you see, there was no phone
No light, no sound, no props at all
He fled from room to room
Except, of course, the house was gone
As he discovered to his gloom
There was no Set, no Lights, no Sound
No Costume - and Props? Not any
And, you know, sans Makeup
He looked fully like a ninny
No shouts of "Bravo!" were heard that night
And there WAS no curtain call
For without those Few we call The Crew
There IS no show at all . . . .

(c) 1992 - Tom A.B. Taylor

BRANT THE ANT

Written 22 years ago. Prompted, I suspect, by memories of childhood and the variety of beasts and monsters - of all sizes, shapes, attributes and attitudes - that were a very real part of it.
Brant was exceptional, of course - one seldom writes of those who are not - well, that's not really true, but, I'm thinking....you know...with ants, come on! Face it, you're gonna write on the few ants that are REALLY exceptional - and, as you're about to discover, Brant was just such an ant....
(You may find him also in ABANER, AL, BEAGLE AND BRANT, my first volume of poetry for children, 1986)

BRANT THE ANT
(c) 1986 - Tom A.B. Taylor


Brant the ant has just one pant
Cuz he's got just one leg
Brant the ant had an acci'dant'
When he was hit by a runaway egg

The egg never even slowed down
The egg never even looked back
If he had, he would've seen
Brant lyin' in the sidewalk crack

Well, the cops were called'n the ambulance came
Or should I say ambu-lant?
The medics said, "It don't look good"
"Can you walk?" Brant said, "I can't."

So they picked him up & they laid him down
And rapidly drove away
The doctors had to ant-utate
That's why Brant walks that way

So, if you are a person
Or if you're a dozen eggs
Please be careful on the sidewalk
Or you might cost an ant his legs....

What's Your Story?

What's Your Story?

I asked, “What’s your problem?” –
and was met with a cold, hard stare
I said, “Come on, what’s your deal?”
The reply: “Yeah…like you care….”

Then I tried, “What’s your story?” –
and he opened up like a rose

And long before he was through,
I knew we all have one of those:

Everyone has a Story –
we all have a tale to tell
But you’ll never know what you’re missin’ –
if y’never learn to listen well
The Truth? Everyone IS a Story –
with countless Ups and Downs
Whose Paths may range
from Miles of Smiles,
to Silent Sobs & Frequent Frowns

When we share our stories,
we’re really sharing ourselves –
It makes no sense to hide your Treasure
on some darkened closet shelves
We Need to share – and, to show we care,
we need to Listen to Each Other…
It’s then we learn they’re Not Strangers:
She’s your Sister… He, your Brother –

So, don’t ever feel out of place,
all alone, and shy
I know, I know – “Easier said than done,”
but y’could, at least, give it a try
And I’m willing to bet, ‘fore it’s all over,
that you, too, will come to see
That They, Them and Those . . .
are not strangers, as you suppose
But part of a … part of Our . . .
Great Big – and growing – Happy Family

© 2006 - Tom A.B. Taylor (F421)

SAD TRUTH

Once had a really lame speech class. ( I was teaching) They didn't want to DO anything, most especially, give a speech. My frustration led to the following, which was "inspired" by their deadly, apathetic attitude and total lack of effort. Think of a herd of cows . . . .

SAD TRUTH
(c) - Tom A.B. Taylor - 2002


I do not wish to make a speech
It's not that it's beyond my reach
To stand, declaim, orate or preach
It's just . . . I do not wish to make a speech

Perhaps some other - distant - day
I'll boldly stand and be okay
(That day could come - indeed, it may)
But, truth to tell -
I've
Nothing
To
Say . . . .

At the Picture Show

When I was a kid we went to the picture show. Not a film, not a movie, but The Picture Show.
Not sure, tonight, exactly what prompted me to write the following...I had some strange friends from time to time, as a child, but, really - nothin' like the crew you're about to meet.

At the Picture Show

Copyright 1995 - Tom A.B. Taylor



Caw the crow and a flea named Flo
Said, "Hey, let's go to the picture show."
They got Matt the rat, and Babs the bat,
Caught a ride to the mall with a taxi-cat.

They got their tickets, popcorn and coke,
Flo ate too fast and began to choke.
They calmed her down, the show began -
It was Godzilla Meets Peter Pan!

First it was Godzilla, then Peter on top.
The excitement seemed to never stop!
Matt spilled his drink, Caw chewed his ice,
Flo hid her eyes, Babs watched for mice.

To their delight, Peter won the fight.
Was Tinker Bell happy? You got that right!
Flo, Matt and Babs, and Caw the crow
Had a good time at the picture show!

It's Raining in My Room...

From ABANER, AL, BEAGLE AND BRANT

Copyright 1995 - Tom A.B. Taylor


It's Raining in My Room...


It's raining in my room
My bed is getting wet
My papers are all soggy
As is my chemistry set

It's hailing in my room
OUCH - that really hurt!
My friends hide with me beneath my bed
Charlie, Carl and Curt

It's snowing in my room
My knees are 'bout to freeze
I'm looking in my closet
But I can't find my skis!

It's sleeting in my room
Sleet is not good to eat
I slurped some off my shoes
It tasted like my feet....!

It's blowing in my room
Will this wind ever stop?
What should be here is over there
And the bottom is on the top

Rain, hail, snow, sleet
And wind that stings my hide
Enough's enough, already...
I think I'll play outside!

Cats Don't Bathe!

Poems for Children, Volume 1: Abaner, Al, Beagle and Brant
Tom A.B. Taylor - (c) 1995


Cats Don't Bathe


Cats don't bathe.
Why should they?
They don't play in the dirt.
They'd never have a dirty neck,
if they had to wear a shirt.
They'd simply not sit still,
for sitting for a soak -
That's why cats take showers -
they think bathtubs are a joke!

Tubs are fine for people,
and tubs are fine for dogs.
Bathtubs are swell,
as you know well,
for turtles, snakes and frogs.
But a cat would rather lick itself
'til its tongue was but a nub -
You may see one in a shower . . . but
NEVER in the tub!

"Bye-bye, I love you . . . ."

I'd just pulled into the closest parking spot I could manage on a Wal-Mart Saturday. Making sure windows were up, doors were locked, double-checking to make certain that I wasn't about to lock - or hadn't already locked myself out by leaving car keys on the front seat when I heard it.

A small voice. Sweet. Innocent. Directed at me? I turned to look over my shoulder, and there was the source of that voice. A little boy, maybe two, two and a half years old - leaning out the window of an old station wagon, waving as he yelled. Several children in the vehicle. Mom, no doubt, inside the store, fighting the Wal-Mart crowds, trying to shop.

Again - "Bye-bye, I love you!" And it was sincere, I decided. Sincere, not a joke. The others were focused on other things. This one, small child - looking at me, smiling, waving . . .

I was amused . . . and touched.

I smiled, waved back, nodding as I said, "Love you, too."

We both smiled as I turned away, heading into the store.

I'm thinking I smiled longer than he did....

Copyright 2008 - Tom A.B. Taylor

Note to myself: That was "a moment." Precious. Never to be repeated. This one goes in the KEEPERS file.

THE PATHETIC LITTLE TOWN

THE PATHETIC LITTLE TOWN

Once there was a tiny town
doomed never to succeed
The fundamental problem was
that no one there could read
And since they couldn't read,
of course, they couldn't write
They fed on "Foolish" ev'ry morning -
dined on "Dumb" at night

The newsboy there never cried,
"Extra! Read all about it!"
For in that town not one was found
who could read, don't you doubt it
In fact there was no newsboy,
or paper for him to sell
Since none in town could read or write,
they didn't fare so well:

"Hey, Larry, what's the news?"
"Gee, Mary, I don't know."
"Y'don't? Hmmm, me neither.
Well, um, gee...hmm - ok, gotta go."

They didn't know what was goin' on,
they didn't know how little they knew
They still talked about Columbus
and 1492!
But they had missed the next 500 years
'cause they couldn't read a lick
Doesn't it just about break your heart,
or might near make ya' sick?

No Christmas cards, no birthday cards -
there was no mail at all
No post office, no stationery store,
no print shop in the mall
No pens, no paper, no computers;
no notes were passed around
For no one there could read or write
...in that pathetic little town

Library shelves were empty,
they held not a single book
No bookstore, no newstand -
there was no need to look
No comics, no magazines,
nor even a recipe book
Th' pathetic little town jus' starved t'death -
for no one there knew how to cook!

Now this sad tale is almost totally true
Or may my shoes begin to bleed
The fact of the matter is - to Survive and be Successful
You need to read, and read and read!

(c) 1997 - Tom A.B. Taylor

K-MART TREE

K-MART TREE . . .


Judgmental-dismissive labels and tags
are NOT the way to go
And here's a True Tale - it happened to me -
I guess I should know
"You can't judge a book by its cover,"
an ol' guy once told me
I recall what he said, when I get outa bed,
and see, thru the window, that tree

K-Mart...Cheap Tree...A dollar and a half
A thing of beauty? Dignity? Grace?
Please, don't make me laugh
Was I, the moment I saw it,
simply filled with delight?
At its stature? Its promise? No, oh, no
- but, you see, the price was right!

So, I obtained my cheap tree,
and straight home we both went
My tree was . . . pretty pretty -
and I, quite giddy at how little I'd spent
I removed the cheap tag,
just as soon as we arrived home
Then the two of us went just east
of my room, and stood there all alone

Out came the Earth crumbs,
in went the tree
And, at that moment, no one could know -
at that moment, no one could see
What, One Day, that Cheap Tree
would, in fact, become
And, had I not seen her from that day to this,
I'd surely've been struck dumb

For there she stands now,
where she blocks out the sun
Where she hosts herds of birds,
who sing and have fun
Whose branches I trim -
and they're high . . . and it's hard
To care for the largest,
most luscious tree in my yard...

Which says something to me about people
. . . and that tree
See, my tree didn't know
she was tagged almost free
Her value was not reflected
by the tag that she bore
And neither is yours...
Need I say more?

Copyright 2006 - Tom A.B. Taylor (429)

I’ve Never, Yet, Met a Really Smart Cow

© 1995 – Tom A.B. Taylor


I met my mom and dad a long, long time ago
They were quite intelligent…they had Me, y’know
I also met my sister, sharp then, and sharper now
But, I’ve never, yet, met a really smart cow

I’ve met birds that talk, I’ve heard dogs that sing
I’ve met disarming, charming snakes –
I’ve met a bathtub ring
I’ve met mules’n horses who can dance behind a plow
But, I’ve never, yet, met a really smart cow

I’ve Bluejays and Mocking Birds
Who dearly love to sing a song
I’ve met legal eagles most eager to right a wrong
I’ve met a preaching pig,
Who always loved to take a bow
But, I’ve never, yet, met a really smart cow

Cows don’t have the sense the good Lord gave a duck
They stand out in the rain’n walk around in th’ muck
Cows seldom read! They NEVER ask why or how –
THAT, y’see, has Got to be…why
I’ve never, yet, met a really smart cow

So, let this be a lesson you can learn from this Cow Tale –
If you’re gonna stand out in your field –
If you choose Not to fail
YOU NEED TO READ –
And find out “why?” and “how?”
Be All You Can Be – Please, don’t be a cow!!


© 1995 – Tom A.B. Taylor

A LAND OF DUCKS

My adaptation of a Soren Kierkegaard story via Tony Campolo's book "You Can Make a Difference."


A LAND OF DUCKS
(c) 1985 - Tom A.B. Taylor


I read about a land of ducks who waddled their lives away
They'd duck-walk to their daily jobs'n'duck-walk while at play
They'd waddle to th' duckstore & to th' Duck movie way down town
When th' traffic was bad, there'd be "Quack-Ups"...
As the ducks waddled all around

Come Sunday mornin' ev'ry week, they'd fill th' church's pews
An' th' fiery new duck preacher'd try'n pound home th Good News!
"Listen, Flock, you've got wings! Y'don't have to walk around....
Y'can soar like an eagle soars - thru clouds and Heaven-bound

"Hear me, Ducks - Listen up: YOU were MADE to FLY!!
While the choir sings, jus lift yer wings - who'll be first to try!?
Ducks are made to SOAR!" - and the ducks all cried, "Amen!"
Then the preacher duck just dropped his head . . .
As his flock . . . waddled out . . .again . . . .

(c) 1985 - Tom A.B. Taylor

I Had a Teacher . . .
© 1998 – Tom A.B. Taylor

I had a teacher when I was young, she was old and I…but a kid
I can’t recall her curriculum at all, but I’ll never forget what she did
She sat us all down on a rug on the floor, while she relaxed in’er old rockin’ chair
“Once upon a time,” she always began, then she’d lead us away from there

To forests, and castles and distant lands, and characters we’d clearly see
And we sat enraptured – unnervingly still – to discover what was to be
Transported we were, to somewhere else, sans books and desks and chalk
We forgot about bells and rules and lunch, and listened, enthralled, to her talk

She taught us of courage, taught us of fear, and taught what it meant to do right
She taught us of hope, love and sharing – and Things that go Bump in the Night
She taught us Life Lessons for Living, as natural as sweet songbirds sing
She taught us Most Important Lessons, and we never suspected a thing

A thousand years have come and gone, it feels, since I sat upon that floor
And now at night, in dreams it seems…she’s come to tell me one more…
Th’ new kids on the block now tell me I’m old…the Bible says gray hair is a glory
Be that as it may, I just want to say: I love – and miss – my Teacher . . .
Who Loved to Tell us a Story . . . .



© 1998 – Tom A.B. Taylor

It's Amazin' to me . . .

It's Amazin' to me . . .
Thursday, January 31, 2008

Years ago when I was touring my one-man show on Woody Guthrie, in the course of events - studying, researching, practicing, rehearsing, writing, editing, reading, traveling - it dawned on me that I ought to learn to play the spoons, AND bones, for the show - you know, to make it more authentic. Just seemed natural to me. An appropriate thing to do. No direct evidence that Guthrie did, but, still and all, none that he didn't, either - so, we (being "me") forged ahead.
Worked'em into the show, and I was proud of my additions - audiences seemed to like'em. Short, simple, folky, and funny - just right!
When I moved on to other things having nothing to do with Guthrie, folk music, etc., I tucked both bones and spoons away. Why? I don't know. And Where? Again, I don't know.
But, somewhere, some time thereafter (last 2 or 3 years), I came across'em and started playin' with'em again for ol' time's sake. And, then, last year I brought'em out as part of a storytelling performance, and they went crazy - "they" were elementary school students, and we had a grand ol' time.
Well, next performance, I spent more time with both spoons and bones. The kids were so entranced with'em I began to allow some time to teach'em spoon-basics, then got 10 or so kids up front with me, joined together in rhythmical madness to our bluegrass background music, and just went crazy!
I couldn't believe it. These kids were absolutely taken with spoons'n bones. 'Course, they'd never seen'em, never heard'em, never held'em (as musical instruments). I reminded'em that they already had spoons at home, so they didn't have to buy any store-bought items to make music. I talked to'em about "the old days" when there was no electricity - how did folks entertain themselves? We discussed it a bit, then they entertained themselves - and a bunch of other folks. They couldn't get enough of it, and neither could I.
Many sat close by, slack-jawed, watching and listening to the rhythms, and uttered (honest!)
"Wow - that's awesome!"
And it was, and it is . . . "Amazin' to me...."

Bless ya -
Tom T

"It Ain't?"

Saturday, February 2, 2008 - 12:05 a.m.

"IT AIN'T ABOUT HOW PRETTY YOU SING, IT'S ALL ABOUT HOW GOOD YOU TELL THE STORY."
Dellie Norton, Traditional Ballad Singer, Madison Co., NC


I loved Ms. Norton's comment the moment I first saw it. "She nailed it," I thought to myself. I could be wrong, of course, but here's the way I took it.

"Pretty" is superficial. Unimportant, really. Nice to have, surely, but clearly not critical.

What matters in the long run is the content, the message, the punch line.

"Pretty" is the external, the quality of which we know all too well soon dims, and is quickly gone. The Story - the message, the content, and How It Is Presented, is what matters, what lasts, what touches and changes things, and people.

I believe the above applies to ballads, to the stories we live and tell, and to our very lives.

So, "Thank you," to Ms. Dellie Norton for the reminder.

Thanks for stopping by. Maybe we'll do it again -

'Til then,

Tom T