"A Little Something"


MISTER DUCHNOWSKI’S BEAN SUPPERS
[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

The majority of my friends, and myself, spent the most of our young adult lives ... looking for love in all of the wrong places. I don’t think that we knew what we were doing. I don’t think that we realized that we were looking for love. But that is what we were doing. That is what we are all doing ... no matter how we express, or try to deny it. That is what we are doing.

Mister Duchnowski was the Dad of one of my bosom lifelong buddies. Every time that we saw him, he had the same advice for us. We had heard his advice so many times, that we knew his lecture by heart. We were always respectful to Mister D., but for the most part we thought of him as somewhat odd. I think that he knew what we thought, but he continued to give us the same speech nevertheless. There were times when we just laughed. We never took him seriously. We never really listened to his well intended lecture. And, we never followed his advice.

Today, Mister Duchnowski is no longer with us, but I can still see him smiling, his teeth back home on the bureau soaking in a glass, his stained, flat-topped golf cap stationed askew atop his wavy gray, and those polish eyes sparking sincerely and hopefully as he offered to us his best thought considerations with regards to our future love life. I still smile as I hear his voice, but now that I am the age that he was then, I have to think twice about what he was trying to say to us. I don’t think that we should have been laughing.

Here’s to you Mister D; and here’s Mister D to the all of you.


MR. DUCHNOWSKI’S BEAN SUPPERS

Listen to me ... listen to me!
You guys is entirely on the wrong track, ya see.
Skip the nightclubs, the booze, and the dim lights.
Take yourself down to a church bean supper one of these nights.

The prettiest girls that you have ever seen,
are right there in the line, spoonin’ out the beans.
I know, I know, you think that I’m old and outta my mind,
but believe me, at them ham and bean suppers are the prettiest
girls that you’ll ever find.

You wouldn’t believe the girl last night slicin’ up the German rye.
It gave ten years back to my life just to see that sweet look in her eye.
And next to her, with the Polish Kielbasey,
was an Italian girl by the name of Bonacarsee.

That dark hair and olive skin ... she could a been a movie star.
And there you guys are, down some dive or two bit bar.
What do you think you’re gonna meet down there?
You guys are missin’ it, I’m tellin’ ya ... But I don’t care.

My life’s over. It’s no matter to me.
But if it’s beautiful girls that you’re lookin’ for
them bean suppers is where you oughtta be.
That’s right! That’s right!

Oh yeah, you can laugh all you want,
but them Church bean suppers
are the places you guys oughtta haunt.
The prettiest girls that I’ve ever seen,
spoonin’ out pork ‘n beans like outta some dream.

You guys is just missin’ the boat.
Why it puts a lump right here in my throat
to think if I was you guy-es age,
I’ll tell ya, I wouldn’t be watchin’ some nude-y dancin’
in some cage.

I’d be down to one of them bean suppers, in a rush
tryin’ to steal a smile or pinch a blush
from one of them lovelies with sauce on her apron,
and bread flour smearin’ her chest.

Take it from me, it’s at them bean suppers
where the girls are the best.
You can leave it behind ... you can forget all the rest,
try one of them church bean suppers

and then you tell me if them girls ain’t the best.
That’s right! That’s right!
You try one of them bean suppers some night.
then you come back and tell me if old Mr. Duchnowski didn’t tell ya what’s right.

You just try one of them bean suppers some night
and see if what I tell you ain’t right.

WHERE'S OLIVER?

By Richard E. Noble

"Where's Oliver? ...
Have you seen Oliver? ...
Where's Oliver? ..."

"She can't find Oliver."

"I know.
It's sad, isn't it?
It seems like she and Oliver were married forever."

"Where's Oliver? ...
Has anyone seen Oliver? ...
Where's Oliver?..."

"Somebody ought to tell her ...
Not to be mean ...
Just in a way that she will understand."

"Where's Oliver?
Where is that man?
Where's Oliver?"

"Honey? ... Come over here and sit-down.
Yes, right here at this picnic table.
Oliver died sweetheart.
You know that don't you?
You remember? We had that big funeral?"

"Oliver died?"

"That's right sweetie. You remember now, don't you?"

"Oliver died?"

"Yes ... Over a year ago ...
You remember? ... Remember we had that big funeral?"

The old woman paused, thoughtfully.
She stared off vacantly into the cherry orchard.
She turned and looked into her questioner's eyes.
Her eyes were momentarily thoughtful.
Then slightly tearful.
Then suddenly wide and frightened.

"Wh...whe...Where's Oliver?" she asked.

"I don't know sweetie.
Maybe you had best look for him."

The old woman smiled.
"You know, I can never find that man when I want him.
I think I'll keep looking."

"Yes, maybe you'd better.

She rose from the table, then slowly shuffled her bedroom
slippers over the lawn towards their old farm house.

"Where's Oliver?" she cried out, warmly.
"Where's Oliver? ...
Has anyone seen my Oliver?
Ohhh ...where's Oliver?"

HERE I AM ALIVE

By Richard E. Noble

It's funny,
here I am alive,
and tomorrow I'm going to die,
and nobody knows that I have ever actually been here.

Nobody knows me.

It is like I sneaked in over the fence
when the world was closed.

I stood on the field ...

I held the ball ...

I played the game ...

but the roaring crowd never was, and no one saw me.

I've been here ... and there ...

and nobody has seen me come or go.

And when I die ...

nobody will care, or ask ..."God ...Why?"

I've worked like a fool,

and I haven't accomplished a darn thing.

I haven't been here.

I've hidden myself away, inside ...

And here I am alive ... and tomorrow I'm going to die,

and nobody will really know that I've ever actually been here.

And sometimes, I wonder ...

is there anyone who will really care?

I NEED ANOTHER POOR FOLK SONG

By Richard E. Noble

I need another poor folk song.
One filled with butter beans and turnip greens.
Got a condo in El Paso,
from singin' 'bout my lasso.

I'm a big country singer.
My gal-friend's a real ring-dinger.
I've got a chain of restaurants that makes a million,
Grillin' chitterlings fer yer chill-ren.

But I need another poor folk song,
or my fans will forget me a'fore too long.
I'd like one that talks about bar-b-que,
black-eyed peas and howd-ya-do.

I've worn out all my pick-em-up trucks
and 'Tractor Trailers' made big bucks.
But now I need another poor folk song
Or my fans will forget me a'fore too long.

I need one dealin' with say, leather, and filigree
with a good refrain and a tweedle-dee-dee
Don't know how I'd like it to begin
but I'll sing it with pathos and a cowboy grin.

I'd like one that could bring a tear to your eye.
Make even your spoiled rotten little brother cry.
I need me another poor folk song,
before I get a hitch in my get-a-long.

I've got fourteen accountants, old pard,
and a genuine full sized replica of the B&O Railroad in my back yard.
I've had eleven dee-vorces
and my own race track, complete with horses.

I own the San Diego Padres
And the San Antonio Madres.
I bought four professional basketball teams
and I'm runnin' out of stupid things to buy even in my dreams.

But if I don't get me another poor folk song
my fans will forget me a'fore too long.
I made it big with that one about the chewin' gum.
Hit the top ten with "Cow-Bum Dung"

Made ten million on "Spittin' and Chewin'"
But now dang it, I need a new-un.
I need me another poor folk song
or my fans will forget me a'fore to long.

Yesser,
...I need me another poor folk song.

SCOTCH ON THE ROCKS

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble


He blazed that jug before his mug, then raised that prop to
the sky;
"To the glory of drink I draught this laugh, and make a
toast, no lie.
To live, to love, to be,
for you, for me,
it's we ... to eternity."
Then he downed that mug for a subtle brew.
Then a scotch, a rye,
here's mud in your eye.
A bucket of ale,
then a preacher's tale.
A month full of monks, then a vineyard of fears,
with thoughts for the seers, and buckets of tears,
for old lost friends, and forgotten years.

"A toast to you ... to be,
ah yes my friend, that we ever be.
And now before I burst at the knee,
it's off to the closet, my cause ... a pee ...
To friends, to life, to love, to all."
A sip, a swig, then bottle and all.
Then the guilt and the pain,
and a tuft of fluff for the lion's mane.
Oh bitter the man, and much he hates,
for well he knows that death awaits.

He holds that jug before his mug,
and sloshes around the assassin's slug.
Drink by drink, and drop by drop, with a barrel stave
he digs his grave.
He draws the weapon to his lips,
then pulls the trigger to his pain.
Slow and torturous this bullet's path,
"It's a horror my son, and the pain abides,
but why must you re-die my suicide."

That purple glass, that mug on high,
the one he hangs before my eye,
Will beam forever and never will it hide,
the bullet that made his suicide.
No never, ever, and forever and ever,
no never, ever will it hide,
the bullet that he used for his suicide.

GRANDMA'S COMING!

By Richard E. Noble

Grandma's Coming!

Let's clean all the pots, and boil all the pans,
wash all the tots, and scrub all their hands.

I hope, in the plates, we can all see our face,
because ... "you know how Mother hates, dirt and dust all over
the place."

Clean up the shed, and pick up the toys,
make up the bed, and warn the boys ...
"Grandma's coming, so do what you're told.
No chewing gum, or guitar strumming,
you know, your ma's Mother's coming."

Let's make this house fit for a King.
We'll use the good silver and every fine thing.

Let's clean out the oven, which hasn't been cleaned,
since Eleanor Roosevelt's Mother was weaned.

Tell all the neighbors, we ain't gonna sell.
It's just Grandma, visiting for a spell.

There's only one thing that ruffles my fur,
If all year, this old place is good enough for me ...

WHY THE HECK AIN'T IT GOOD ENOUGH FOR HER!

She Came to See Me

By Richard E. Noble

I once owned a little ice cream parlor on the outskirts of a small town. Many of my customers were older people who lived in a retirement village up the road. It was hard to build a business in this atmosphere - as fast as I gained new customers, I lost an old one to … time.
The old folks always came in couples, until one day, one of the two would stumble in, awkwardly ... alone. It was difficult to know the right thing to say. You didn’t want to say; Hey, where’s Rita ... or Bob? - because if you did, out would come the handkerchief and down the wrinkled cheeks would flow the tears. So if the remaining party didn’t say anything, you didn’t say anything.
Often times nothing would be said. Sometimes there would be a brief announcement that there was no more Herb, or Ethel. Then with others there would be a long involved explanation of the last weeks or months or year.
When I was a young person, I didn’t want to hear such stories. As an older person I no longer had that problem. These were all beautiful stories, filled with love. These were all stories about people who cared about one another. They were sad, but …
On one occasion this very sad, and very alone, old man came into the shop. He had been in a few times now, without his chum. He had gotten his hot fudge, caramel brownie sundae or whatever and had left without saying anything. On this particular occasion, though, he was smiling and seemed relieved. He told me a story that I have converted into a small poem and I entitled it:

She Came to See Me

I saw you in my dream last night.
You seemed to be so happy where you were.
You were laughing once again.
You were frightened when you left.
You wept, … and clasped my hand.
You didn’t know where you were going.
I saw the fear in your eyes.
I saw the tears.

But last night in my dream
you were laughing again.
You were, once again, yourself.
Last night you were telling your jokes.
You smiled.
You were happy and relieved.

Thank-you for coming to see me.
You looked so pretty, my dear.
You were so rosy, my lovely friend.
I feel so much better knowing that you’re safe.
Now I won’t worry anymore.
Thank-you my dear.
Thank-you my darling,
I feel so much better.
My troubled heart is now at peace.

Come again, if you would like.
I enjoyed your visit so.
I’ll be waiting …
by the swing …
with a rose …
I’ll be waiting.

And I’ll remember what you said:
“Don’t forget me.
Don’t think without me.
Don’t be alone.
Don’t be without me.
Don’t forget me.

Don’t think that I have forgotten you.
Don’t think I don’t remember.
I do.
I do.
I remember
and
I love you, too.

Don’t forget me.”

Never, my darling.
I’ll see you in my dreams, my love.
I’ll see you in my dreams, my friend.
I’ll see you in my dreams …
my dreams …
my dreams.