Hooverville
© Joe Beeler, 1996
Got up with the chickens, though the chickens are gone.
Haven’t seen a decent meal since before we left San Antoine.
My throat is dry, just like the land and the clouds are as empty as my hands.
No one is yet awake. No need to wear my face.
Never felt so alone. Never been this far from home.
The morning light allows me to see down the way
lined with Fords, Chryslers and Chevrolets.
Each one tells a story about a man.
Each one different but cut from the same stand.
And that story goes… lost our home. Decided to move on.
Somewhere’ s there’s got to be a better way.
Cost all we owned to find out we were wrong.
So now this is where we stay.
And let me tell you now…
This ain’t no city set on a hill.
Ain’t no one driving no coup Deville.
If they do they’re sleeping in the back
and it’s parked down by the railroad tracks.
We’re all looking for a way back.
Looking for that city set on a hill.
Looking from down here in Hooverville.
I walk on a little ways between where all the cars are parked.
I see the faces of broken men. I see the faces of broken hearts.
Some will speak. Most are too ashamed, but their faces tell their stories just the same.
I wipe the dirt out of my eyes – dirt that fills up the sky –
dirt that cost me my home. No one said we were farming wrong.
We just plowed the fields and then we plowed them up again.
Then those fields were taken by the wind.
And what was left was farmed by a machine.
So goes the end of a share cropper’s dream.
Now our dreams go…find a new home. Settle down no more to roam.
Maybe in California.
But I’ve known all along those odds are just too long.
So here’s where I’ll spend the rest of my days.
And let me tell you now…
This ain’t no city set on a hill.
Ain’t no one driving no coup Deville.
If they do they’re sleeping in the back
and it’s parked down by the railroad tracks.
We’re all looking for a way back.
Looking for that city set on a hill.
Looking from down here in Hooverville.
Dark’s gone now. Sun’s up all the way.
So begins another beautiful morning for another hopeless day.
I look back and I see the pile of trash I call a home.
Rusted tin for a roof. Broken boards make up the walls.
In the winter that’s cold, too cold to cry.
Maybe we’ll freeze to death cause starving’s a sure slow way to die.
But the President says “everything’s going to be all right.
Ain’t no-one going hungry.” No, cause we’re standing in soup lines.
I’m afraid it’s always going to be this way.
So much for Hoover and his sixty days.
What’s the future hold?
The rich will survive and the poor will all just die.
And a mighty nation will fall along the way.
But that ain’t no concern of mine cause I’ve known all the time
That here’s where I’ll be til my dying day.
And let me tell you now…
This ain’t no city set on a hill.
Ain’t no one driving no coup Deville.
If they do they’re sleeping in the back
and it’s parked down by the railroad tracks.
We’re all looking for a way back.
Looking for that city set on a hill.
But it seems like time’s just standing still.
And we can’t find a way to get back to those better days.
Don’t look like the governments going to help.
No they just thump their chests on capitol hill
While we all die here in Hooverville.
But that’s better than living in Hooverville.
It’s just another day in Hooverville.
Star
© Joe Beeler, 2015
In the middle of North Carolina, 1866.
On the banks of the little river they found the gold and they got the fix.
Laid railroad tracks from Philo to where the motherlode was found.
Aberdeen and West man who drew up the map said “What you gonna call this town?”
And they said “ Star, a shining golden light. Star, the future is so bright.
A town that’s destined to go very far – Star.”
The motherlode it all played out but it didn’t take no time
until that train was filled with a new kind of gold – lumber, bricks and turpentine.”
And the sky was still the limit down on Harper Street and Main.
The 20th century looked so good for a town that was named
Star, a shining golden light. Star, the future is so bright.
A town that’s destined to go very far – Star.
Now the lumber mills they all went but the sewing factories came.
Instead of making pulp we were making socks, but man the pay is all the same.
Then I guess it was around 89’ when the factories they went to.
And now there’s nothing left to take their place this time and there’s nothing left to do.
Now there’s about 800 of us left in Star all stubborn, proud and poor.
And most of us all make our living somewhere up or down I-74.
Cause there ain’t too much left in this town except some empty factories
And the quickly fading promise of what was never meant to be
For Star, a shining golden light. Star, the future is so bright.
A town that’s destined to go very far – Star.
Soap Gypsies
© Joe Beeler,- 2012
Afternoon, Mam how are you? Could I have a moment of your time?
What I have here is the world’s best stain cleaner, and it only two ninety-five.
Yes mam, I understand completely. You have all the soap you need.
Well yes mam. Thank you kindly. I could use a good cool drink.
No mam, I ain’t in school now. Been a year since I left 10th grade.
No mam, I ain’t got no family. My that’s good lemonade.
No man. I’m not from around here. We’re staying at the Pines Motel.
Spent last month in Alabama. Where we go next is hard to tell.
We’re the Soap Gypsies. State to state. Town to town.
Door to door and hand to mouth.
We’re the Soap Gypsies. Foot in the door nice words to say.
It’s all a game, but you play to pay. We’re the Soap Gypsies.
Quite a view from your front porch mam. I’d like to have me one like this some day.
I believe I’d sit here forever. It’s such a quiet and peaceful place.
Peace you know I ain’t seen much of. Been a struggle most all my life.
But you don’t want to hear my troubles. That would be most impolite.
So it’s time that I be going. Though I’d love to call this home.
Find a wife and a good job here. Settle down no more to roam.
So thank you for the drink mam. Now I have me more calls to make.
What’s that? Are you sure mam? You won’t be sorry. How many will you take?
We’re the Soap Gypsies. State to state. Town to town.
Door to door and hand to mouth.
We’re the Soap Gypsies. Foot in the door nice words to say.
It’s all a game but you play to pay. We’re the Soap Gypsies.
Where Are You
©Joe Beeler, 2014
You said always to be strong. You said never lose your faith.
You said right always beats wrong. You said this world is a good place.
So I’m trying to be strong and I’m trying to have faith.
But as I sit here by the phone, I find that hard today.
Where are you? Where are you?
Have I lived my life so blind? Have I been so naïve
that it never crossed my mind that someone could hate who they’ve never seen?
But as I wait for you tonight, I think I finally understand
how anger can be blind to all accept the color of skin.
But you would say that I am wrong. You’d say I sound just like them.
Your will to love, it is so strong, that you would never let hate win.
Where are you? Where are you?
I would not want to let you down. I would not want you to be ashamed.
So I will turn my heart around, and I will love until there’s no more hate.
And I’ll do it for you. I’ll do it for you. I’ll do it for you.
Zip Codes
© Joe Beeler, 2014
Between the Mississippi River and the interstate sits a hard luck town south of Horseshoe Lake.
Cotton fields stretch far as you can see all behind the trailers out on 49E.
Absentee Landlords think it’s fine, the deal they got at 39169.
Appalachian chain runs North to South. All up and down its foothills there’s a thousand towns
like one in Kentucky time has forgot. Used to be jobs there; now there’s not.
Once the coal from these mountains made the nation run. But that was long ago at 41311.
North of the border with Mexico, where the cocaine’s running and the oil field’s closed,
near the gulf coast of Texas there’s a migrant town where you don’t go out when the sun goes down.
Pick as far away as you can get from heaven. Welcome to 78537.
Southeast of Phoenix there’s a dry river bed with something like a town hanging on its edge.
It’s called a reservation and its roots run deep in making sure people don’t get on their feet.
Call it bad luck or call it fate. It’s all the same at 85128.
When your memories become your friends
© Joe Beeler, 1998
“I was 18 and 0 back ‘49”
The old man’s talking to no one,
though he goes on all the time.
Forgets all the loses.
Remembers every win,
But that’s how it goes when your memories become your friends.
Can you recall your strong times,
When life ran through your veins?
“I was Evita off Broadway,
But I was pretty then. Things will never be the same.”
She smiles as she recalls the life she held back then.
But that’s how it goes when your memories become your friends.
Can you recall your strong times,
when life ran through your veins?
“I was in Paris on V-E Day -
A conquering American hero
Parading down the Champs Elysees.
Lord what I’d give to be on that street again.”
But that how it goes when your memories become your friends.
Can you recall your strong times,
When life ran through your veins?
Now you’re left in your room all alone
with your memories and your pain.
And the days and nights seem to never end.
But that’s how it goes when your memories become your friends.
That’s how it goes.
Jeremiah
© 2014, Joe Beeler
You’re treading on dangerous ground. You’re treading on dangerous ground,
coming round here showing that camera all around.
You’re treading on dangerous ground.
Why you come round here anyway? Why you come round here anyway?
Why don’t you pack your camera up, get in your car and drive away.
Why you come round here anyway?
You say you’re doing good. You say you’re doing good.
Be honest with yourself. Would you change things if you could?
You say you’re doing good.
I am a simple man. I am a simple man.
Got what little that you see from these two calloused hands.
I am a simple man.
And you look down on me. You look down on me.
You can say that it ain’t so, but it is very plain to see
that you look down on me.
So take this as you will. Take this as you will.
One of these days boy that camera’s going to get you killed.
You take that as you will.
You’re treading on dangerous ground. You’re treading on dangerous ground.
Coming round here showing that camera all around.
You’re treading on dangerous ground.
Gatesville
© Joe Beeler, 2014
My name’s Melissa. I’m twenty-one.
My life is over before it has begun.
In a Texas prison I await to die.
Killed a family of three in the first degree and left them by the roadside.
Every day I remember all my mistakes.
Every night I dream of that little boy’s face.
These wheels of justice, man they sure turn slow.
Why don’t they pull that switch and pull it quick, and this will all be over.
Cause I can’t stand these dreams – I can’t stand them anymore.
The moon was high. We were to.
Needed money. Knew what we’d do.
A pair of headlights pulled off 101
to a roadside park where I stood in the dark with my daddy’s shotgun.
The air was warm. It felt like rain.
Man that thunder rolled through my veins.
I pulled the trigger until I emptied the gun.
The air was so still. It didn’t seem real. God, I was so young.
Now I draw pictures and I write poems
about the life I’ve lived and where it is I’m going.
Eternity in the devil’s hell.
But all my life I ain’t never done right, so it suits me well.
The Deal
©Joe Beeler, 2015
Twenty years I worked the county motor pool.
Cranked a monkey wrench, another honest fool.
While my boss at his desk in a suit and tie
skimmed it off the top and robbed the county blind.
I kept my eyes open and my ear to the ground
‘til I knew just how he had it all going down.
I’d thought it all out. I had a good plan.
One Friday afternoon I went to see the man.
I Said “you’re cutting me in cause I know everything,
or I’ll go to cops and they can listen to me sing.”
He said “I hate to tell you Joe, but you ain’t in the plan.”
I got right up in face, said “better listen to me man!”
“The best laid plans of mice and men
they will change and change again.
So shut your mouth cause I’m calling your bluff.
When your time is up buddy it’s just up.”
He stared out the window and he fiddled with a pen,
then he said “Joe, looks like you’re in.”
“We got another partner that you need to meet.
I’ll arrange it all later on next week.”
Then he said “Grease monkey you’re a lucky man.”
I was thinking everything was going right to plan.
“The best laid plans of mice and men
they will change and change again.
You push your luck til they call your bluff.
But when your time is up buddy it’s just up.”
Then he reached into his desk, got a blank title bill.
Said “here’s a little something that’ll seal the deal.”
“I got couple Chevy’s with no invoice
parked around back you can have your choice.”
“Come back round tonight at exactly 10 o’clock.
Keys’ll be in it and the gate unlocked.”
Padlock was dummied just like he said.
Thoughts of all that money was dancing in my head.
So I never saw the fellow in the shadows next to me.
Ambushed by his partner, a crooked deputy.
Next morning’s paper said “Mechanic was a thief.
He was shot in self-defense by a cop out on his beat.”
“The best laid plans of mice and men
they will change and change again.
It’s the Lord who calls our bluff.
When your time is up buddy it’s just up.
When your time is up honey it’s just up.
Our Boys
© Joe Beeler, 2015
He lay face down on a field in Pennsylvania.
The last thing he heard was a bugle sound.
One of many dead that Mr. Lincoln said
made this most hallowed ground.
And in the fields around that town
with others on a block of stone
They carved his name and beside it they wrote down
the epitaph America’s been built on.
He’s one of our boys.
He lay face down on the deck of the Arizona,
a sailor eternally at sea.
One of many dead on a day Mr. Roosevelt said
would forever live in infamy.
And where that ship went down
with others on a block of stone
They carved his name and beside it they wrote down
the epitaph America’s been built on.
He’s one of our boys.
And old soldiers don’t die, no they just fade away.
But they young ones – that’s a different story.
On the battlefields they lie and oh they were so we brave.
We build monuments to remember their stories.
But ain’t dying still dying all the same?
He lay face down on a rice paddy in the Meh-Kong delta.
And he had no doubts of what he was fighting for.
But how it troubled his head what so many back home said
– baby killer – he didn’t know what for.
Now in the President’s town
with others on a block of stone
They carved his name and beside it they wrote down
the epitaph America’s been built on.
He’s one of our boys.
Cocaine Katy
© Joe Beeler, 1998
Cocaine Katy, you passed out again last night,
and this time you got caught out in the rain
I know I shouldn’t have left you, but girl when you get high
I just cannot stand to share your pain.
Cocaine Katy, that look in your eyes is so much more
than what the needle brings.
What was it you wouldn’t tell me about your other life
that made you give up on everything.
Because oh, I know that once you were different.
I’ve heard you talking in your sleep -
Something about college, home, and a family,
But I don’t ask no questions – that’s the rules here on the street.
Cocaine Katy, Cocaine Katy, sleep on.
Cocaine Katy, I am not like you,
My life has always been such a mess,
But I consider myself lucky because I never knew
All the good things that I’ve missed.
But you oh, you once were happy,
I’d like to have known you in those days.
But I’m sure you passed by people just like you and me
And never once gave it a thought That you’d end up this way,
Cocaine Katy, Cocaine Katy, sleep on.
Cocaine Katy, you passed out again last night,
and finally found an end to all your pain.
I hope you were dreaming about your other life
when the blood stopped pumping through your veins,
Cocaine Katy, Cocaine Katy, sleep on.
© Joe Beeler, 1996
Got up with the chickens, though the chickens are gone.
Haven’t seen a decent meal since before we left San Antoine.
My throat is dry, just like the land and the clouds are as empty as my hands.
No one is yet awake. No need to wear my face.
Never felt so alone. Never been this far from home.
The morning light allows me to see down the way
lined with Fords, Chryslers and Chevrolets.
Each one tells a story about a man.
Each one different but cut from the same stand.
And that story goes… lost our home. Decided to move on.
Somewhere’ s there’s got to be a better way.
Cost all we owned to find out we were wrong.
So now this is where we stay.
And let me tell you now…
This ain’t no city set on a hill.
Ain’t no one driving no coup Deville.
If they do they’re sleeping in the back
and it’s parked down by the railroad tracks.
We’re all looking for a way back.
Looking for that city set on a hill.
Looking from down here in Hooverville.
I walk on a little ways between where all the cars are parked.
I see the faces of broken men. I see the faces of broken hearts.
Some will speak. Most are too ashamed, but their faces tell their stories just the same.
I wipe the dirt out of my eyes – dirt that fills up the sky –
dirt that cost me my home. No one said we were farming wrong.
We just plowed the fields and then we plowed them up again.
Then those fields were taken by the wind.
And what was left was farmed by a machine.
So goes the end of a share cropper’s dream.
Now our dreams go…find a new home. Settle down no more to roam.
Maybe in California.
But I’ve known all along those odds are just too long.
So here’s where I’ll spend the rest of my days.
And let me tell you now…
This ain’t no city set on a hill.
Ain’t no one driving no coup Deville.
If they do they’re sleeping in the back
and it’s parked down by the railroad tracks.
We’re all looking for a way back.
Looking for that city set on a hill.
Looking from down here in Hooverville.
Dark’s gone now. Sun’s up all the way.
So begins another beautiful morning for another hopeless day.
I look back and I see the pile of trash I call a home.
Rusted tin for a roof. Broken boards make up the walls.
In the winter that’s cold, too cold to cry.
Maybe we’ll freeze to death cause starving’s a sure slow way to die.
But the President says “everything’s going to be all right.
Ain’t no-one going hungry.” No, cause we’re standing in soup lines.
I’m afraid it’s always going to be this way.
So much for Hoover and his sixty days.
What’s the future hold?
The rich will survive and the poor will all just die.
And a mighty nation will fall along the way.
But that ain’t no concern of mine cause I’ve known all the time
That here’s where I’ll be til my dying day.
And let me tell you now…
This ain’t no city set on a hill.
Ain’t no one driving no coup Deville.
If they do they’re sleeping in the back
and it’s parked down by the railroad tracks.
We’re all looking for a way back.
Looking for that city set on a hill.
But it seems like time’s just standing still.
And we can’t find a way to get back to those better days.
Don’t look like the governments going to help.
No they just thump their chests on capitol hill
While we all die here in Hooverville.
But that’s better than living in Hooverville.
It’s just another day in Hooverville.
Star
© Joe Beeler, 2015
In the middle of North Carolina, 1866.
On the banks of the little river they found the gold and they got the fix.
Laid railroad tracks from Philo to where the motherlode was found.
Aberdeen and West man who drew up the map said “What you gonna call this town?”
And they said “ Star, a shining golden light. Star, the future is so bright.
A town that’s destined to go very far – Star.”
The motherlode it all played out but it didn’t take no time
until that train was filled with a new kind of gold – lumber, bricks and turpentine.”
And the sky was still the limit down on Harper Street and Main.
The 20th century looked so good for a town that was named
Star, a shining golden light. Star, the future is so bright.
A town that’s destined to go very far – Star.
Now the lumber mills they all went but the sewing factories came.
Instead of making pulp we were making socks, but man the pay is all the same.
Then I guess it was around 89’ when the factories they went to.
And now there’s nothing left to take their place this time and there’s nothing left to do.
Now there’s about 800 of us left in Star all stubborn, proud and poor.
And most of us all make our living somewhere up or down I-74.
Cause there ain’t too much left in this town except some empty factories
And the quickly fading promise of what was never meant to be
For Star, a shining golden light. Star, the future is so bright.
A town that’s destined to go very far – Star.
Soap Gypsies
© Joe Beeler,- 2012
Afternoon, Mam how are you? Could I have a moment of your time?
What I have here is the world’s best stain cleaner, and it only two ninety-five.
Yes mam, I understand completely. You have all the soap you need.
Well yes mam. Thank you kindly. I could use a good cool drink.
No mam, I ain’t in school now. Been a year since I left 10th grade.
No mam, I ain’t got no family. My that’s good lemonade.
No man. I’m not from around here. We’re staying at the Pines Motel.
Spent last month in Alabama. Where we go next is hard to tell.
We’re the Soap Gypsies. State to state. Town to town.
Door to door and hand to mouth.
We’re the Soap Gypsies. Foot in the door nice words to say.
It’s all a game, but you play to pay. We’re the Soap Gypsies.
Quite a view from your front porch mam. I’d like to have me one like this some day.
I believe I’d sit here forever. It’s such a quiet and peaceful place.
Peace you know I ain’t seen much of. Been a struggle most all my life.
But you don’t want to hear my troubles. That would be most impolite.
So it’s time that I be going. Though I’d love to call this home.
Find a wife and a good job here. Settle down no more to roam.
So thank you for the drink mam. Now I have me more calls to make.
What’s that? Are you sure mam? You won’t be sorry. How many will you take?
We’re the Soap Gypsies. State to state. Town to town.
Door to door and hand to mouth.
We’re the Soap Gypsies. Foot in the door nice words to say.
It’s all a game but you play to pay. We’re the Soap Gypsies.
Where Are You
©Joe Beeler, 2014
You said always to be strong. You said never lose your faith.
You said right always beats wrong. You said this world is a good place.
So I’m trying to be strong and I’m trying to have faith.
But as I sit here by the phone, I find that hard today.
Where are you? Where are you?
Have I lived my life so blind? Have I been so naïve
that it never crossed my mind that someone could hate who they’ve never seen?
But as I wait for you tonight, I think I finally understand
how anger can be blind to all accept the color of skin.
But you would say that I am wrong. You’d say I sound just like them.
Your will to love, it is so strong, that you would never let hate win.
Where are you? Where are you?
I would not want to let you down. I would not want you to be ashamed.
So I will turn my heart around, and I will love until there’s no more hate.
And I’ll do it for you. I’ll do it for you. I’ll do it for you.
Zip Codes
© Joe Beeler, 2014
Between the Mississippi River and the interstate sits a hard luck town south of Horseshoe Lake.
Cotton fields stretch far as you can see all behind the trailers out on 49E.
Absentee Landlords think it’s fine, the deal they got at 39169.
Appalachian chain runs North to South. All up and down its foothills there’s a thousand towns
like one in Kentucky time has forgot. Used to be jobs there; now there’s not.
Once the coal from these mountains made the nation run. But that was long ago at 41311.
North of the border with Mexico, where the cocaine’s running and the oil field’s closed,
near the gulf coast of Texas there’s a migrant town where you don’t go out when the sun goes down.
Pick as far away as you can get from heaven. Welcome to 78537.
Southeast of Phoenix there’s a dry river bed with something like a town hanging on its edge.
It’s called a reservation and its roots run deep in making sure people don’t get on their feet.
Call it bad luck or call it fate. It’s all the same at 85128.
When your memories become your friends
© Joe Beeler, 1998
“I was 18 and 0 back ‘49”
The old man’s talking to no one,
though he goes on all the time.
Forgets all the loses.
Remembers every win,
But that’s how it goes when your memories become your friends.
Can you recall your strong times,
When life ran through your veins?
“I was Evita off Broadway,
But I was pretty then. Things will never be the same.”
She smiles as she recalls the life she held back then.
But that’s how it goes when your memories become your friends.
Can you recall your strong times,
when life ran through your veins?
“I was in Paris on V-E Day -
A conquering American hero
Parading down the Champs Elysees.
Lord what I’d give to be on that street again.”
But that how it goes when your memories become your friends.
Can you recall your strong times,
When life ran through your veins?
Now you’re left in your room all alone
with your memories and your pain.
And the days and nights seem to never end.
But that’s how it goes when your memories become your friends.
That’s how it goes.
Jeremiah
© 2014, Joe Beeler
You’re treading on dangerous ground. You’re treading on dangerous ground,
coming round here showing that camera all around.
You’re treading on dangerous ground.
Why you come round here anyway? Why you come round here anyway?
Why don’t you pack your camera up, get in your car and drive away.
Why you come round here anyway?
You say you’re doing good. You say you’re doing good.
Be honest with yourself. Would you change things if you could?
You say you’re doing good.
I am a simple man. I am a simple man.
Got what little that you see from these two calloused hands.
I am a simple man.
And you look down on me. You look down on me.
You can say that it ain’t so, but it is very plain to see
that you look down on me.
So take this as you will. Take this as you will.
One of these days boy that camera’s going to get you killed.
You take that as you will.
You’re treading on dangerous ground. You’re treading on dangerous ground.
Coming round here showing that camera all around.
You’re treading on dangerous ground.
Gatesville
© Joe Beeler, 2014
My name’s Melissa. I’m twenty-one.
My life is over before it has begun.
In a Texas prison I await to die.
Killed a family of three in the first degree and left them by the roadside.
Every day I remember all my mistakes.
Every night I dream of that little boy’s face.
These wheels of justice, man they sure turn slow.
Why don’t they pull that switch and pull it quick, and this will all be over.
Cause I can’t stand these dreams – I can’t stand them anymore.
The moon was high. We were to.
Needed money. Knew what we’d do.
A pair of headlights pulled off 101
to a roadside park where I stood in the dark with my daddy’s shotgun.
The air was warm. It felt like rain.
Man that thunder rolled through my veins.
I pulled the trigger until I emptied the gun.
The air was so still. It didn’t seem real. God, I was so young.
Now I draw pictures and I write poems
about the life I’ve lived and where it is I’m going.
Eternity in the devil’s hell.
But all my life I ain’t never done right, so it suits me well.
The Deal
©Joe Beeler, 2015
Twenty years I worked the county motor pool.
Cranked a monkey wrench, another honest fool.
While my boss at his desk in a suit and tie
skimmed it off the top and robbed the county blind.
I kept my eyes open and my ear to the ground
‘til I knew just how he had it all going down.
I’d thought it all out. I had a good plan.
One Friday afternoon I went to see the man.
I Said “you’re cutting me in cause I know everything,
or I’ll go to cops and they can listen to me sing.”
He said “I hate to tell you Joe, but you ain’t in the plan.”
I got right up in face, said “better listen to me man!”
“The best laid plans of mice and men
they will change and change again.
So shut your mouth cause I’m calling your bluff.
When your time is up buddy it’s just up.”
He stared out the window and he fiddled with a pen,
then he said “Joe, looks like you’re in.”
“We got another partner that you need to meet.
I’ll arrange it all later on next week.”
Then he said “Grease monkey you’re a lucky man.”
I was thinking everything was going right to plan.
“The best laid plans of mice and men
they will change and change again.
You push your luck til they call your bluff.
But when your time is up buddy it’s just up.”
Then he reached into his desk, got a blank title bill.
Said “here’s a little something that’ll seal the deal.”
“I got couple Chevy’s with no invoice
parked around back you can have your choice.”
“Come back round tonight at exactly 10 o’clock.
Keys’ll be in it and the gate unlocked.”
Padlock was dummied just like he said.
Thoughts of all that money was dancing in my head.
So I never saw the fellow in the shadows next to me.
Ambushed by his partner, a crooked deputy.
Next morning’s paper said “Mechanic was a thief.
He was shot in self-defense by a cop out on his beat.”
“The best laid plans of mice and men
they will change and change again.
It’s the Lord who calls our bluff.
When your time is up buddy it’s just up.
When your time is up honey it’s just up.
Our Boys
© Joe Beeler, 2015
He lay face down on a field in Pennsylvania.
The last thing he heard was a bugle sound.
One of many dead that Mr. Lincoln said
made this most hallowed ground.
And in the fields around that town
with others on a block of stone
They carved his name and beside it they wrote down
the epitaph America’s been built on.
He’s one of our boys.
He lay face down on the deck of the Arizona,
a sailor eternally at sea.
One of many dead on a day Mr. Roosevelt said
would forever live in infamy.
And where that ship went down
with others on a block of stone
They carved his name and beside it they wrote down
the epitaph America’s been built on.
He’s one of our boys.
And old soldiers don’t die, no they just fade away.
But they young ones – that’s a different story.
On the battlefields they lie and oh they were so we brave.
We build monuments to remember their stories.
But ain’t dying still dying all the same?
He lay face down on a rice paddy in the Meh-Kong delta.
And he had no doubts of what he was fighting for.
But how it troubled his head what so many back home said
– baby killer – he didn’t know what for.
Now in the President’s town
with others on a block of stone
They carved his name and beside it they wrote down
the epitaph America’s been built on.
He’s one of our boys.
Cocaine Katy
© Joe Beeler, 1998
Cocaine Katy, you passed out again last night,
and this time you got caught out in the rain
I know I shouldn’t have left you, but girl when you get high
I just cannot stand to share your pain.
Cocaine Katy, that look in your eyes is so much more
than what the needle brings.
What was it you wouldn’t tell me about your other life
that made you give up on everything.
Because oh, I know that once you were different.
I’ve heard you talking in your sleep -
Something about college, home, and a family,
But I don’t ask no questions – that’s the rules here on the street.
Cocaine Katy, Cocaine Katy, sleep on.
Cocaine Katy, I am not like you,
My life has always been such a mess,
But I consider myself lucky because I never knew
All the good things that I’ve missed.
But you oh, you once were happy,
I’d like to have known you in those days.
But I’m sure you passed by people just like you and me
And never once gave it a thought That you’d end up this way,
Cocaine Katy, Cocaine Katy, sleep on.
Cocaine Katy, you passed out again last night,
and finally found an end to all your pain.
I hope you were dreaming about your other life
when the blood stopped pumping through your veins,
Cocaine Katy, Cocaine Katy, sleep on.