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Happy Birthday, oxsan

Happy Birthday, Dad. 75 years is a long time.

Happy birthday! May you see many many more.

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hey my dad is almost as old as you are

happy birfday

Happy birthday Oxsan, I hope its a nice one.

D

Man, you're fucking old.

You're also fucking cool. Happy birthday.

Have Boucher give you an enema for me.

hope you have many more to look forward to.

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Happy birthday from Sweden oxsan!

:singing in Swedish: "Ja må han leva, Ja må han leva, Ja må han leva uti hundrade år" :end of singing:

A swedish happy birthday-song just for you (the meaning of it is "wish you live to be a hundred years old". Don't worry though, it doesn't end there. It continues with that after a hundred you will be so old that you will have to ride in a wheelbarrow It sounds very strange when it's translated but it's a pun in Swedish)

he's outta town til late Sunday, I think, so he probably won't see this til then. he thinks you guys are the deal, btw. he sends me stuff now just to post here, instead of my place, the post whore

Shit, oxsan just turned middle aged too.

Sucks, dosent it?

Happy birthday. You rawk.

Fuck it I'll be mushy for a sec....

quote:

---

Originally posted by Mugtoe
he's outta town til late Sunday, I think, so he probably won't see this til then. he thinks you guys are the deal, btw. he sends me stuff now just to post here, instead of my place, the post whore

---

Re: Fuck it I'll be mushy for a sec....

quote:

---

Originally posted by Paint CHiPs
He's still fucking old though.

---

An old man walking

With two dogs worshipping him

Out to the mailbox

Evening sun on gray head

God’s love through him emanates.





He daily labors

His cheerful obligation

Love’s futility

His perfect humility

Showing me the best in man.





How do I comfort

The one who has always been

The source of my strength?

Water running back uphill

A love sent back to its source.

How come cigarettes never taste as good
As they smelled when I stood on the car seat
Next to my father?
Danger would intrude
And his right arm would swing out
Holding me in place.
The A/C in his company car always blew full blast.
He called me "HotShot" or "WheelHorse",
And he sang to me and revealed mysteries.


There was a big mirror on the wall at home
Right by the door.
He would stop in front of it to fix his tie
Before going off to work in the morning.
I'd run up and hug his legs.
My hands in his, my feet atop his shoes
We would walk about the living room.


I was his puppet.


He had no pretense.
He smelled like Aqua-Velva and Vitalis,
And he travelled to exotic places.
I was jealous of his attention.


He was my protector.


He's an old man now, and the world's a bigger place.
There are few remaining absolutes.
And I'd rather get drunk
Than find some new faith

My father is the kindest, most principled man I've ever known.

MAHMOUD, THE MERCIFUL





Mahmoud Mohammed al Rashid

Was known of all that desert breed

As one who kept The Prophets Laws

And gave his weaker brethren cause,

To bless his name in daily prayer.

For Rashid was just and nerciful and fair.



Now after one Ramadan feast,

A half hours ride into the east,

To Abdul Attar's friendly tent,

Road this Mohammed, well content.

The fast was over---Law was kept.

He would laugh with Attar ere he slept.



His mare was sleek, well groomed and fed,

And of his saddle many said

The silver was by Angels done.

He had bought it for his only son.

His son who then was twenty three

and had worked at the camp of the nazrani.



Twice cursed infidel, nazrani,

Who came by land and came by sea,

Who came by hundreds to this land

And dug for oil beneath the sand.

They who corrupt all they touch

And teach desert sons to want too much.



Mahmoud son, had ten years gone by

Since that night Mahmoud began to die?

When he was told his son was dead,

Hit by a truck, the lawyer said.

He had thrown their money in the mud.

Did they think they could buy al Rashid blood?



Ten years had dimmed that memory,

He had to live with what must be.

Now as he road to Abdul's tent

He thought of the gift that he had sent

The week before to Abdul's son,

By night so as not to break the Ramadan.



Then as Mahmoud looked at a star,

As guide to the tent of Attar,

He sensed before he saw the man,

Lying there still upon the sand.

Full two days there , Rashid could see.

Alive now, this nazrani, but not long to be.



How quick "the sands"--Rub al Khali,

Five days perhaps --or only three?

Days of burning, searing sun,

Hot winds, chill nights, their work was done,

This man would die, unless Mahmoud,

Should give him water, warmth and food.



Still sat Rashid upon the mare,

Returning the near-lifeless stare.

What was his duty? What the Law"

IN this harsh land of tooth and claw

The al Koran ruled every life,

And Mahmoud was called "the Prophet's Knife".



The man had not eaten salt or bread,

Nor had he ever laid his head

In Rashid tent as honoured guest.

No rabia where powers vest

To frank a foe through tribal lands

Came forth to Rashid with just demands.



Kinsman, or slave, child under ten.

Journey partner or friend-of -friend---

He was none of these Mahmoud saw,

That were protected by the Law

Or custom of the bedu breed.

He could claim no mercy then of al Rashid!



But---The Prophet wrote with sacred pen.

Of Allah's mercy to all men.

Now Rashid saw what he must do.

At his saddle hung full goatskins two,

Filled at the well of bir Han.,

He slashed with his knife and a bag hit the sand.



Now infidel drink! If you can

Find your way hear over the sand.

If Allah guides you thirty feet

Before the sun brings killing heat,

And if you drink, then bless the seed

Of Sheikh Mahmoud Mohammed al Rashid.



He turned the mare--glanced at the star

That would guide to the tent of Attar.

The night was still---it had no flaw

For he had rightly kept The Law.

He looked back where the goatskin fell,

Ba Rashud ! Mahmoud, you have done right well.



Mahmoud Mohammed al Rashid

Was known of all that desert breed

As one who kept the Prophet's Laws,

And gave his weaker brethren cause

To bless his name in daily prayer,

For Rashid was just and merciful and fair.

© Charles Turrentine 2000

WOMEN




Now this is all about women,
With deference to Rudyard K.
He knew the women of yesteryear,
But hardly about those of today.
Rudyard found them delightful,
And so, by the way, do I.
But I will never understand them.
They are strange, I'll certify.

If you have a Greek god's body,
(Which I've been told I do not)
You'll have plenty of women around you,
And can take your choice of the lot.
But suppose like me you are plainer than sin,
Take heart and be of good cheer,
Two-thirds of the species go blind as a bat
As soon as you murmur "dear".

Like a lion in a herd you must narrow the field.
It ain't wise to be murmurin' to two.
And you must tell her each day that you love her,
Whether or not it is true.
You have to say that every day,
(There'll be time for the others later)
And when it is done just tell her she was first
She'll only love you the greater.

Now you can't keep this up forever,
She'll eventually see you through.
So get ready for shock and humility,
And quit making eyes at Sue.
I've brought you this far with good advice
And now you must go it alone.
For I failed to read the last chapter
Of How To Make Women Your Own.

"No, Nurse, I'm not of the family,
But a friend of his tried and true.
I am sure he would want to see me.
Critical, you say? Black and blue?
Well perhaps you are right after all
'Twould further no end and he needs his rest
No, I won't bother him now. His wife is there?
It is clear as a bell you know best."

©Charles Turrentine 2000

Keiko Maoka lists something like twenty-six rules for writing Haiku in the English language and then makes 78 suggestions about how to write good Haiku in the English language. But concludes by saying that Haiku is not well suited to the English language because a syllable has different connotative value in each language so just write and have fun. I have taken this last injunction to heart and written a series of haiku, sennyruu and tanka that pays small obeisance to the rules or suggestions.

These poems(?) will probably be meaningless to any one not in my immediate family who did not experience the things they evoke. The sole purpose of writing these is to evoke some memories of growing up among my children.

As I learn more about haiku, sennyruu and tanka and for that matter pengo I may write some more that would have some merit.

Meanwhile these are just for fun.



Washing machine is

not meant for doll's plastic face.

Wrinkles replace dirt.



Tiny feet turned in,

special shoes---bar between feet,

difficult to walk.

A test--was it meant

To have meaning for them ---or me.



Uniform of blue,

It was just ROTC haiku

And yet it scared me.



Warm child cuddled close,

"Fox went out one stormy night"

deep breathing---all relaxed

Sometimes a joy tear

wets childhood hair.





Jimmy Timmy Bear,

Unafraid at Yellowstone--

Noble bear--now in box.



Soccer game rained out

boy bounds up stadium seats

breaks leg--hospital.



Gran buys a horse for

more than he meant to pay

'cause Pam said he would.



Girls game of paper,

scissors, rock ends abruptly

at ice cream cart bells.



Light of rising sun

shows spider builds web at door.

Red hourglass! I fear



Arm in cast from jump

off Chamber's porch. Good deal!

Cast makes perfect hammer.



Dirty dishes on

park table covered in snow.

At night snow cleaned up



Beaver Cleaver! No?

You say it is a fire truck?

Well it-------stupid game.



The fish hook in the ear.

Snip. Snip. By father surgeon.

All right now to play

It is good that we

cannot remember pain.



Walking the fence rail,

a fall, a gush of blood.

Thirty miles to doctor.



Little soldier girl

in pink cape says "I willn't"

And I know she won't.



Dancing round the room

his feet are both on my shoes.

We may win award.



Turning spit on the

cabrito pit---while dad drinks

beer and watches TV.



I will have many more of these and then I will have some that can be called haiku. I think most of the three liners above are really sennyruu.

LOVE dad

This has been posted before - maybe most of em have. I just wanted to stick it up on this thread for anyone who hadn't read it and might like it. My dad is such a fixture in my life, and perhaps my best friend in the world, along with Sigmo. He taught me the importance of character when I would have preferred to do what was familiar rather than what was wise. He also gave me a standard to measure myself against that I have never known him to break. But he also never sacrificed the people around him for the sake of ideas that he held himself accountable to. And he gave me a sense of history and my place in it, and the importance of family, whether I like em or not, that is priceless.

A chore for Jamie

Like my father, there was never a moment in my life that I doubted my parents' love for me or any of my siblings. No matter what I did, the door was never shut. He taught me by example. I'll stop gushin all over him now; I'm sure I've embarrassed him enough, and he'll probably think this is a bit unseemly. But 75 years is excuse enough for me to lay it on a bit thick. I'll return to my normal, reticent self on 5 May.

Happy birthday Oxsan, cool to have you around.

You are probably in better physical condition than paint, too.

Happy Birthday, oxsan. Unfortunately, according to my daughter, you are very old. Just remember, she's only 10.

Youre the coolest guy here I dont care how old you are

Happy Birthday Oxsan, I hope its filled with laughter.

happy birthday Oxsan! hope you have a lovely day and a wonderful year ahead.

Every time I get a point credit, I send it to Oxsan. Small gestures I suppose.