"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