Tag Archives: poetry

Rhyme Tyme

Let me preface this post by saying…

This is not one of my traditional posts. You will not laugh, you will not cry, you will not be overly entertained. This is just a little self promotion, perhaps a little self reflection, perhaps a little request for input.  I realized today as I was adding my latest rhyming poem, “Things on me are changing…” to my page “Rhyme Tyme” that I now have 18 poems on this page. As I am close to reaching my 200th post, that’s roughly 10% of my posts that have been rhyming stories, which is either really cool… or which means I have a serious mental illness.

Anyhow, I’ve never really added them up, I just add the links as they are published and hope that some naive reader happens by and hits the page and reads some of them.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to happen very often. Today, I added them up and was frankly kind of impressed with my little self!

During my recent six-week hiatus from blogging, (which I was happy to discover that many of you noticed) I have to admit to going through one of those blog-polar spells, where on a daily basis I wondered what the point of this whole writing gig is and why I spend so much time on it. It happens every once in a while, as I suspect it happens to all of us. As usual, something clicks and the ideas and the motivation come roaring back and the posts start flowing again.

My motivation?

I think about this a lot and although it’s a complex mixture of ingredients that get me to the keyboard, for the most part, it’s a need to entertain, to write something that has an impact on someone, that makes people laugh or smile or cry or think. The interaction, the comments, the “likes” the subscriptions, the tweets… that’s the reward and just like when we get a paycheck, or a thank you, or a pat on the back… it makes us feel good and keeps us going.

But there’s also, in the back of all of our minds, that idea, that maybe… just maybe… we can write something good enough to be noticed on a larger scale.

I have always felt if there was anything remotely marketable from my blog, out in the real world, it would be some of the rhyming stories I have written, either individually or as a group. Some are these are personal, some are fictional, some are influenced by stuff that happens in my life.  Some are legitimately kid’s stories, some I would classify more as “kids stories for adults!” As these poems will no doubt continue to grow in numbers, I wonder sometimes if I should do something with them.

What? I don’t know. Sometimes I consider consolidating them all onto a separate site geared specifically towards rhyming stories, but the thought of building and maintaining a second website is horribly overwhelming to me. On the other hand, I do feel badly that, for the most part, they will continue to be housed here on Brown Road Chronicles only to rot away like a field of dead zombies during a zombie apocalypse!

So… if you have a few minutes today and want to  read some fun rhyming stories, please check them out. If you are a parent, share them with your kids… or share them with your dog… or your turtle… or whatever.  If you don’t want to, that’s okay, I won’t be offended, I’ll just hold a grudge  on you for the rest of my life.


A few favorites of mine:

From One to Ten

Mr. Smither was in a Dither

When Goats Eat Remotes

The Snow Globe

The Tale of Slobenia Isle

Roadkill Stew

Or click on the Rhyme Tyme link and you can see all of them.

Have fun… and of course… THANKS, as always, to all of you that read this blog on a regular basis!




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Things on me are changing…

Things on me are changing
My parts are rearranging
These changes are incessant
I guess I’m acquiescent

My belly, it is growing
I’m not sure where it’s going
My belt size not withstanding
It seems to be expanding

My skin is getting wrinkly
Rugged, jagged, crinkly
More age spots are appearing
I don’t find them endearing

My ears are getting hairy
It’s really kind of scary
I trim them with a shearer
While looking in the mirror

My hair is getting grayer
I won’t be a naysayer
They say it adds some mettle
With that I’ll have to settle

My nails are growing thicker
Perhaps it’s all the liquor
I trim them very often
They just don’t seem to soften

My joints are getting tender
My back, the worst offender
My knees, sometimes a bother
I get that from my father

My sight is getting hazy
My eyes are getting lazy
I’m not in any hurry
For my vision to be blurry

But though there’s changes changing
And parts are rearranging
I don’t think I’m declining
It’s more like I’m refining!


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The Historic Duel Between Anna Phylaxis and Epinephrine Penn

‘Long time ago in the wild, wild West.
Lived a tough ol’ gal, a woman possessed.
Dun lived by the gun, the fassest around.
‘Fore you could draw, you’d be dead on the ground.

Anna Phylaxis, the name of this gal.
She ruled the roost in this wild West locale.
Them residents knew when she rolled into town.
Lock all ‘ur doors and shut the town down.

Now the name of this town, Allérgiaville.
A dusty ol’ town on the top of a hill.
Used to be families could build ’em a life.
Avoidin’ them usual struggles and strife.

But lately when Anna Phylaxis come through.
Ain’t nearly the town that most of ‘em knew.
Streets were deserted, business shut down.
They needed a hero to save their small town.

Then one day a man, Epinephrine Penn.
“Epi” a nick name he used now ‘n then.
He rode into town, tall on his horse.
A Stetson sat up on his head, well , of course!

Now Epi had dealt with more than his share.
Of the criminal sort, he was tough as a bear.
Anna Phylaxis? He wasn’t afraid.
Her welcome, he knew it been long overstayed.

So he tied up his horse, knew right where to go.
The Tavern, where all of the liquor would flow.
The toughest of tough’d be there every day.
Booze they would drink and cards they would play.

Epi opened the door and glanced ’round the bar.
Saw Anna Phylaxis sitting afar.
Tossin’ back glasses-a-whiskey and beer.
No one around ‘er, a circle of fear.

He called to her, said, “your time here is done!”
“This town wasn’t meant to be ruled by the gun!”
“I challenge you now, risk my very last breath!”
“A fight for this town, a duel to the death!”

That bar, was a-silent with this stunning decree.
The aisle opened up like the parting Red Sea!
As Anna stood up, her vict’ry implied.
Hand on ‘er gun, she stumbled outside.

There in the road, they stood eye t’ eye.
Twenty-five steps ‘til the bullets would fly.
On the twenty-fifth step, turn ‘round and fire.
One will survive, one will expire!

So they turned back to back and started to count…

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25….

And on that twenty-fifth step they turn’d round ‘n drew.
The townspeople watched as them bullets, they flew.
When the dust finally cleared Epinephrine Penn.
Had saved this small town, to thrive once again.

‘Cause Anna Phylaxis would no more be ‘round.
A shot to her heart, she lay dead on the ground.
Without further ado, Epinephrine Penn.
Rode out-a-town…

To be seen… never again!


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Deafening silence

Engulfs the house

Like a choking cloud of noxious gas

Seeping into every crevice

Of my emotions

The only interruptions

A ticking clock on the wall

Keeping time like a heartbeat

Slow, deliberate time

And fingers hitting a keyboard

The occasional passing car

Or the old house groaning

At the breath of a cold winter day

Otherwise silence

Deafening silence

It conjures up every thought

Every worry

Every memory

Every regret

Where did all the sounds go?

The sounds of laughter and joy

Of celebration and play

Of family and friends

Of food and drink

Of Thanksgiving

Gone overnight

Swept away

As if by the whisk of a broom

Into the dustpan of life’s memories

Now, nothing but silence

Deafening silence

Does your home seem deafeningly quiet after a long holiday weekend spent with family and friends or are you happy for the reprieve?


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A Ghostly Tale (the audio version)

The original post here if you’d like to read along.

Or here you can read about the real Abbie Hill in the photo.


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One Less Moose

A Counting Story…

I was driving down a Busy Road.
And ONE big Moose got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s ONE less Moose alive today!

I was driving down the Interstate.
And TWO large Deer got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s TWO less Deer alive today!

I was driving down a Thoroughfare.
And THREE fat Geese got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s THREE less Geese alive today!

I was driving down a Boulevard.
And FOUR Opossum got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s FOUR less Opossum alive today!

I was driving down an Avenue.
And FIVE small Frogs got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s FIVE less Frogs alive today!

I was driving down a City Street.
And SIX Pigeons got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s SIX less Pigeons alive today!

I was driving down a Two-Track Trail.
And SEVEN Turtles got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s SEVEN less Turtles alive today!

I was driving down a Quiet Lane.
And EIGHT Raccoons got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s EIGHT less Raccoons alive today!

I was driving down a Country Road.
And NINE Turkeys got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s NINE less Turkeys alive today!

I was driving down a Rural Route.
And TEN Coyotes got in my way.
Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s TEN less Coyotes alive today!

I was driving to the Body Shop…

And ONE Moose… and TWO Deer… and THREE Geese… and FOUR Opossum… and FIVE Frogs… and SIX Pigeons… and SEVEN Turtles… and EIGHT Raccoons… and NINE Turkeys… and TEN Coyotes… got in my way!

Although I tried to brake and swerve.
There’s ONE less Truck alive today!

***Not a true story!***


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Roadkill Stew

This is the tale of Billy O’Hill.
Who lived all his life in the town of Saville.
In a lil ‘ol cabin, he’d made his abode.
At the end of the dirtiest, dirty, dirt road.

Now Billy O’Hill had been married a time.
To a girl named Pearl, a lady sublime.
But Pearl’d got sick, dun gone up to heaven.
Ten long years ago, or maybe eleven.

So he kept to hisself, stayed mostly alone.
‘Cept for his pooch who he called Al Capone.
And a few of his friends that he’d see now’n then.
Down at the coffee shop now’n again.

The Hill Top Cafe is what it been named.
Cornbread and Johnny Cakes what they was famed.
They’d sit there fer hours not talkin’ ‘bout much.
‘Cept for some gossip and weather and such.

And on his way yonder he’d pass by the house.
Of the purtiest lady, as cute as a mouse.
She’d sit on her porch, a-sippin’ her tea.
In the shade of a giant magnolia tree.

See Billy O’Hill had a crush on this lady.
A purty ol’ girl named Myrtle O’Grady.
She lived in a house in the center of town.
Where them wealthy folks lived, the rich and renown.

But he never could git up the nerve to suggest,
“Wouldya meet me for coffee, I’d surely be blessed?”
‘Cuz what would a girl so swanky and chic,
See in a guy “from the hills”, so to speak?

So Billy would wave as he briskly walked by.
He wouldn’t say nuthin’, cuz he was right shy.
When Myrtle would smile her purtiest smile.
Billy’d be floatin’ on air for awhile.

Then one day he asked for some friendly advice.
From his closest of friends, named Earl Versluice.
‘Cuz everyone privy knew Earl could charm.
Like a rooster that woos all them hens on a farm.

Now Earl had fetchin’ advice to impart.
“The stomach’s the way to a good woman’s heart!”
“Let’s throw a party like we used to do.”
“Invite all our friends, we’ll serve roadkill stew.”

“Every-un brings somethin’ fresh that they’ve found.”
“From the side of the road, just plain dead on the ground.”
“Squirrel or coon or rabbit or beaver.”
“We’ll slice ‘em all up with a very large cleaver!”

“We’ll mix in some collards and veggies and rice.”
“Add in some ‘shine to give it some spice.”
“We’ll invite Ms. O’Grady to join us that day.”
“Then you can dun meet her, whatdaya say?”

So Billy went home, started makin’ a list.
Of who’d be invited and who could be missed.
At the end of the list he penned really neat.
“Myrtle O’Grady”, the list was complete.

He wrote out the invites, said R.S.V.P.
We’re throwin’ a party on Sunday ‘bout three.
We’ll serve roadkill stew and plenty-a ‘shine.
I’ll break outta jug of my dandelion wine.

Then he mailed ‘em all out and dun prayed for the best.
Would Myrtle O’Grady show up for this fest?
When the day dun arrived, his friends all came through.
They’d all brung some roadkill to add to the stew.

Ms. Blossom brung possum…

June brung raccoon…

Mr. Monk brung a skunk…

Mr. Babbitt brung rabbit…

Jake brung some snake…

Mr. Weaver brung Beaver…

And his best friend Earl? Well, Earl, he dun brung lots of Squirrel…

Then Myrtle arrived and the place got real quiet.
What had she brung, would anyone try it?
Every’un watched as she walked through the door.
She carried a bag from a fancy clothes store!

She handed that bag to Billy O’Hill.
Who opened ‘er up with the most gracious skill.
And Billy looked in and dun said with a grin.
I reckon Ms. Myrtle O’Grady fits in!

‘Cuz Myrtle…

Well… Myrtle… she brung Turtle.

In fact… she dun brung the freshest, most purtiest turtle, bigger’n any of ’em had ever seen!

So they cooked up the stew ‘n that party was grand!
And Billy’n Myrtle hit it off just as planned.
And the rest be dun history, them guests they all knew.
That Billy and Myrtle fell in love over stew!

Listen to the Audio Version!


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