He's the Only One for Me
Bob Hurt
I've had big
I've had little
I've found that I prefer
someone in the middle

I've had short
I've had tall
Sometimes I've ended up
With no one at all

I've suffered famine
I've enjoyed the flood
I've had my heart broken
And landed with a thud

I'd been love's slave
Till he set me free
And gave me all the loving
I'll ever ever need

Breakfast time romancing
Salacious afternoons
Keep my soul a-singing
These sentimental tunes

I don't want that old life
Of men a-hustling me
My heart's on fire for one,
He's the only one for me.
Lyrics Copyright © 1 August 2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved.

Ordeal at Sea 
Dedicated to the Great Sea Serpent of Old
by Bob Hurt  

We built our tiny, hardy craft, 
Of rugged oak and teak, 
For years to plough the Seven Seas 
Turbulent and infested thick 
With serpent, shark, and killer whale. 
To distant ports we boldly sail 
Haunted by scurvy and pirate brutes 
On our mission important and grave 
To seek and find and spread the truth, 
And the world’s weak and frail to save. 
A thousand leagues from home 
The heavens darkened with menace, 
Erupted with furious lightning bolts, 
Spewed torrents of rain and hail. 
A whirling force-four gale 
Battered sheet, mast, and sail. 
Forty-foot waves towering aloft 
Crashed thunderously to our decks, 
Straining every timber and plank, 
Campaigning calamitously to drown us 
And plunge us to the deep. 
The tempestuous waves relentless for days Tossed our ship as though a toy in a bath. 
But our mighty captain stood stalwart to the helm, 
Driving us bravely against the storm’s deadly wrath, 
Unaware that the Nemesis approached our path. 
Suddenly, her Banshee peal rang shrill and clear, 
And pierced our captain’s noble heart with fear. 
The gargantuan serpent of poison fang, 
Hoisted her horrid horned head of hate 
High above our churning sea, 
And threatening the most excruciating pain, 
Drove with a leviathan’s malignant glare, 
Domineering roar, and evil stare, 
Our courageous captain to his terrible fate: 
"Robert, it's time to get out of the tub." 
Copyright © 2008 by Bob Hurt All rights reserved.

If You Decide to Leave Me
by Bob Hurt  

Words and Music Copyright © 1980-2011 by Bob Hurt.  All rights reserved.  
Honey I know you’re sick and tired 
Of seeing me get fired 
And watching unpaid bills stack up too
I know I don’t work much 
And I’ve lost my loving touch 
And I stay out late and never come home
     on time. 
The situation makes you blue 
And its driving me crazy too - 
If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? 
Maybe I’m not much of a man 
But I try as hard as I can, 
So I know I’m not the one upsetting you – 
It’s the house a mess all day 
And all the trash the neighbors say, 
And I’m ready to go myself, to tell the
The situation makes you blue 
And its driving me crazy too - 
If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? 
Out on the job the other day 
I heard two men say 
That you and I were ripe for splitting up. 
They said you were looking around 
For a place on the other side of town 
To get away from all the stuff that’s
     driving you nuts. 
The situation makes you blue 
And its driving me crazy too - 
If you decide to leave me (think about it 
If you’re going to leave me (don’t worry 
     about the money), 
If you decide to leave me, can I come
     along with you? 

by Bob Hurt

When I was a boy on a Colorado farm 
I often walked the windblown 
fields of winter wheat 
beneath the golden sun 
and frigid pale blue sky. 
Hobbling at my side 
on his three good legs, 
the neighbor’s dog, 
I called him Toke, 
bobbed happily along as though 
an extra leg would do no good. 
We two adventurers, set forth, 
free at times from hindrance of chores; 
he seldom barked, I seldom spoke. 
When far enough away from home 
to keep from being seen 
we’d hunker down alone 
amidst the tawny, rustling sheaves, 
and have ourselves a smoke. 
In a stretch of woods just off the road 
there (tall, thick, and green) 
a hidden patch of marijuana grows 
hearty beneath that precious sun 
sheltered from icy prairie breeze 
and watered from nearby brook 
The pointy leaves are hairy, huge, 
and dappled with the dew of dope. 
A finger’s wipe in that sticky stuff, 
a moment’s suckle as from breast of earth, 
mellowed out my childhood days, 
laced my thought with dream and hope. 
I ventured often there to tend my crop. 
I’d twist off the seedy sticky tops, 
dry them gently in the barn 
then baggie them for me and Toke. 
One gorgeous day in my young teens 
when Toke was on in years, 
and for weeks I’d done my chores, 
Toke skulked in to lure me away to a romp. 
I begged my hard-earned break and won, 
then packed some water and lunch for two, 
snuck a baggie down into my jeans, 
and off we went to share the joy of liberty. 
We ambled out into the fields 
until the house and barn behind us 
had smalled into a pair of dots. 
Free at last to be with his buddy, 
Toke had an air of frisky gladness, 
a kind of happy anticipation 
of what might come. 
We lumbered long through waist-high wheat 
topped with fronds of golden, 
whiskered grain, bursting ripe, 
rightly dry, and harvest-ready. 
Then we reached a distant hillock 
that God had graced 
with a mighty, now ancient oak. 
And there beneath protective boughs 
we sat, me and Toke, 
to enjoy our own private harvest. 
Unbeknownst to us, 
this would be our last meal together, 
our final smoke. 
I broke out the sticky weed, 
crumbled it to dislodge the seed 
that usually pops and spits and sparks, 
deftly unsheathed a translucent Zig Zag 
sprinkled onto it a sumptuous mound 
of those dried and earthy shreds, 
expertly pinched it in the middle, 
and rolled it into a fat cigarette, 
grass protruding from each end. 
I bit off the mouth end of the grass, 
raised it to my lips, 
struck a match, 
shielded it from the breeze 
and sucked in the mind-bending smoke, 
holding my breath 
till it had penetrated my blood 
and started making its way to my brain. 
And then as the dog awaited his share, 
I toked the joint twice more. 
The dope hit me like a fist. 
The open baggie fell to the ground. 
I lost track of time and reality, 
went reeling into a backward tumble 
out of the shade of the oak 
By the time I had crawled 
back to my spot 
Toke had found the baggie 
and was devouring its contents. 
I sat for long moments, 
Toke right beside me, 
his single front paw touching my leg 
in benign friendship that transcends words. 
I visualized fractional instants of our 
adventures together. 
I saw his comic, pathetic gait 
as we ranged the windy prairies. 
I conjectured journeys to 
far away worlds and distant galaxies. 
I glimpsed a future of puppies and kids, 
not knowing today was 
the only future Toke would have. 
Amidst my jumble of thought 
I fumbled in the knapsack 
for the lunch I’d brought - 
one baloney sandwich for me 
and the other for Toke. 
It would have been hard 
for bystanders to tell 
which of us was the dog. 
We both wolfed our food, 
and drank with gusto 
from the same bottle. 
And then, my head still spinning, 
I leaned back against the mighty oak 
and closed my eyes. 
When hours had passed, I awoke 
with buzzing in my ears. 
The sun was low in the sky. 
Beside me was Toke. 
His sole forepaw still touching my leg. 
His head lay on the ground before him 
where his other leg might have been. 
His mouth was slightly open. 
His long dry tongue was draped on the earth, 
and dotted with fat blow flies of dark green. 
His body was still, no longer breathing. 
His eyes were closed in his terminal rest. 
I had just lost my dearest friend, my best 
companion in secret adventures, 
my buddy Toke. 
I couldn’t think of a better way 
for him to go. 
I did not carry Toke’s body home 
I did not tarry to bury it. 
I left it there to decay atop the hill 
in the shade of the mighty oak, 
to become part of the wind 
and Colorado plains he had loved so. 
I knew that if there was a dog heaven, 
Toke’s spirit would find its way there. 
As the crepuscule dimmed 
the rich blue sky into the sable of night 
and overhead the stars glimmered 
hints of my future trek into eternity, 
I trod the long path home. 
And I wept as I trod it alone. 

Copyright © 2003, 2007, 2009 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved. 
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