It's Too Hard

It’s Too Hard.

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

It is so hard.
It is oh so terribly hard.
It’s too hard.

I’ve tried.
I’ve tried so hard.
But it’s too hard.

It’s too, too hard.

I’ve worked so hard.
But it is too hard.
It is too, too hard.

It mattered once.
It mattered too much.
It mattered too, too much.

Oh how it mattered.
It was life or death.
It mattered to me.

It really, really mattered.

But, no more, for
it is too hard.
It was too, too hard.

It was too hard for me.

You were too hard.
You were too, too hard.
You were too hard for me.

And now it doesn’t matter.
Once it mattered.
But, it matters no more.
Because it was too hard.

It was too, too hard.

Now I’m too old.
And it doesn’t matter
Maybe it never mattered.

I did want it so.
I wanted it so badly.
I wanted it oh so badly.

But it was too hard.
It was too, too hard.
It was oh so very hard

You made it too hard.
You made it too, too hard.
You made it too hard for me

too ... too ... hard.

It Is So Regrettable

It Is So Regrettable

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

It is so regrettable.
I feel so very, very sad.
It’s so very, very regrettable.

I know that you do not understand my feeling in this regard,
but it is so regrettable,
so very, very regrettable.

I have thought about it so many, many times.
But it never seems to get any better.
It’s regrettable.

I try, sometimes, not to think about it.
I try to laugh and be happy.
But then there it is
buried in the back of my mind …
deep.
It is very deep.
And the only thing that I can say is;

it is so regrettable.
It is so very, very regrettable.
I really don’t know why it must be this way.
It is not necessary,
but yet;

it is so regrettable.
It never seems to end.
It will not go away.
It goes on, and on, and on, and on.

If I could make it stop, you know that I would,
but ... but, it is beyond me;
it leaves me speechless, and all that I can think is;

Why is it all so regrettable?
Why must it all be so regrettable?
In any case, I suppose that I will say good-bye now.
What else can I do?

I don’t make the decisions.
I’m simply here.
And I will be very honest with you, I find it all

so very, very regrettable.
I hope that you can forgive me.
I wish that I had a better way with words.
But, all I can think to say is;

I find it all so regrettable,
so very, very regrettable.
I wish you all well
wherever you go.

But while you are all here, let me tell you, sincerely,
I wish you the best,
and I do find it all very regrettable.

Thank - you.

I’M A STUBBORN OLD MULE

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

I’m a stubborn old mule,
As stubborn as they come.
A rail between the eyes is the only thing
that’ll make me run.

He doesn’t pat me gently on the brow,
or say, “Come now friend, a little further now.”
No, No! It’s a beam between the eyes,
and a roaring scream and cry,
as he pushes and shoves with venom for an eye,
and brutality frothing in his unpatient sigh.

He has no memory of the burden I bore,
when I carried him, his gold, and a mountain of store.

He forgets how on the side of cliffs I trod,
as he cowered and crazed and cursed his God.

He has no memory of the thirst I craved,
carrying his drink to an early grave.
He’s a brave man who went down in books,
A crusty determined miner.
And I, who braved his dirty looks,
hefted the load of gold for my forty-niner.

Ah yes, a brave man was he,
but he wouldn’t have a nickel if it weren’t for me.

But I’m a stubborn old mule,
and as dumb as can be.
But the old bastard wouldn’t have a nickel,
if it weren’t for the likes of me.

Carried him where his pretty horses wouldn’t go,
through mountains, and deserts, and fields of snow.
But, in his fancies, he dreams of a saddle and a golden mane,
his pretty little horses, dining on sacks of expensive grain.

But for his trusty, dusty steed, forever at his side,
it’s a drunken mumble, an untempered lash,
and another scar in my hide.

Many a day, when I’d had enough,
I sat in the middle of the road,
and laughed as he stammered and huffed and puffed.
Oh, how he wished to shoot me ...
but who would carry the load?

Yes, many a time I wouldn’t go on.
But does he remember how I danced on the edge of a cliff,
as he trembled and gasped, and for his life hung on.
A man of might, and right and power and gain,
and as he drunk his whiskey and barked to the stars,
I stood by quietly in the snow and the rain.

I’m as stubborn as a mule,
as stubborn as they come.
A rail between the eyes is the only thing
that’ll make me run.

I carry his load, sure footed I go,
but when I’ve had enough of his rum drenched batter,
I pull up, take a seat, and listen to his chatter.

The other day, in a fit of rage,
he pulled his rifle from my side.
“Move along, you stubborn old bastard,
or I’ll shoot you right here,
and then tan your damn hide.”

I yawned, then lifted my head and brayed.
I curled my lips, then bared my broken teeth.
And when he shouldered his gun, I stared into the breech.
I felt the powder as it burnt my eye,
and a dull thud as a jolt from hell pierced my skull,
and I fell there onto my side.

But I’m a stubborn old mule,
as stubborn as they come.
I laid there with his pack and store,
and stared up at his eye.
And I’m proud to say, I hung there waitin’ to die,
long enough to see the dumb bastard put down his rifle and cry.

Yes, I’m a stubborn old mule,
As stubborn as they come.
It takes a rail between the eyes
to get me up to run.
But when you have a load too tough to hold,
it’s a call for the likes of me.
And I bear it well, sure footed and determined,
right to the rim of hell.
But what he can’t stand,
is that I’m a bit of a man.
And, as the man, I have my pride,
and how I tried, and tried, and tried.
But, oh how glad I am that when I came to die
I was beast enough to make the bastard cry ...
Yes, beast enough ...
to make that bastard

cry.

IF I WERE A BUTTERFLY

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

If I were a butterfly, I could flap my wings, and fly from flower to flower...
Hour ... upon hour ... upon hour.

But if I were a butterfly, I wouldn’t fly too high,
for I could get caught in the wind currents high in the sky.
And I wouldn’t fly over the ocean, for I’d never be able to rest.
If I sat in the water ... my wings would get wet.

But oh, how wondrous it would be, to fly from flower to flower,
Hour ... upon hour ... upon hour.

But if I were a butterfly, I couldn’t hop or skip or jump.
I couldn’t eat homemade soup or potato pancakes with sour cream
for my lunch.
I couldn’t sit in an easy chair by a log fire.
Or crawl into a warm bed when I want to retire.

BUT, IF I WERE A BUTTERFLY, I COULD FLY... from flower to flower?
Hour ... upon hour ... upon hour?

But I couldn’t drink, or think ... or talk with my friends.
Or hold hands, and walk in the park,
Or stay up all night and sit in the dark.
I couldn’t sing or dance or play
Or dream about a better day.
I couldn’t hope ... or care, or want, or dare

BUT I COULD FLY! ... YES, I COULD FLY!
AND I COULD FLY FROM FLOWER TO FLOWER.
YES, AND I COULD FLY FROM FLOWER TO FLOWER
HOUR ... UPON HOUR ... UPON HOUR.

YES, YES! 1 could fly from flower to flower, hour ... upon hour... upon hour!
upon hour ... upon hour ... upon hour???

I COULD FLY... I COULD FLY!

And then end up on the side of a road to die?
Or in a collector’s net? ... or pressed between the pages of a book?
Or under a microscope for someone to take a look?

I’d be so lovely, and so free
Everyone would want to get a hold of me.

Yes, if I were a butterfly, I could fly
But I couldn’t sigh or cry ... or even tell a lie.

If I were a butterfly, could a falling raindrop break my neck?

Oh, what the heck,
...MAYBE I COULD BE A BIRD!

HOBO

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

Hey Hobo
I didn’t get to say good-bye.
I miss you real bad already, buddy.
This place feels like an empty hole
without you here each morning to say hello.

Why didn’t you stay off the darn road?
You never go out on the road.
You’ve been here so long.
You knew better than that.

I guess that you just got distracted,
didn’t you, buddy.
Yeah, I know.
But now what am I going to do without you?
I’ve got a real pain for you my friend.

I know I told you that I loved ya.
I know I did.
I always stopped to pet you, didn’t I?
I even came back from the truck some nights.

You were always yelling at me.
But I liked it.
Everybody yells at me.

Now you can’t say that I didn’t do my best.
I know that you were mad at me at first.
But you were a stray.
I already had seven cats at home.
You remember … you met them.

What was I supposed to do?
I can’t take care of every cat in the world.

But when you got sick,
I got you fixed up … didn’t I?
I got you all your shots too.
I don’t even get myself shots, man.
But I got them for you.

I even took you home once.
But you were too tough for them guys.
You had old Bogie cowering behind the couch.
He’s too old for that, Hobo.

You had a pretty good time down here at the
Ice Cream Parlor, didn’t you, buddy.
You met lots of people down here at Hobo’s.
They are all going to be asking about you.

I couldn’t believe that you let them kids pull on your tail.
You were a real, real good buddy.

Will you wait for me Hobo?
I don’t know where I’m going either.
But wherever, I know that you’ll help me to handle it.

I’m going to miss you buddy.
I keep seeing you everywhere.
If I could just see you sneak in that door at closing time
one more time.

Yell at me Hobo!
Come on … yell at me!

I deserve it.
I should have done something.
What was it?

Yell at me buddy!
Tell me about it.
I can take it.

Hey … bye-bye.
Keep an eye out for me.
I’m going to be looking for you.

Just yell.
Just yell at me my friend.

Just yell.
I’ll recognize your voice.

Just yell.
Bye- bye … you sweet thing …

Bye-bye.