The Poetry of John Pinkerton Old Photos  Old photos often make me sad: The bright eyes of the smiling lad, The rosy cheeks of the young lass, Their fleeting smiles which soon may pass. The camera with its sly eye Gives hope with a wink and a lie. Capturing their hopeful faces, Expressions that time erases. JP Do as I Say!  Oooo…why won’t people just do as I say? Clearly I’m old enough to know the way, And I disperse my wise wisdom for free, Generously dispersed without a fee. These wrinkles and beard signal “good advice.” Your following it, jackass, would be nice. Damn it to Hell, you inferior beast, At least heed my words before I’m deceased! JP Paul, Jim, and Goat  Paul, Jim, and goat looking their very best, ‘gainst their wills which, of course, they did detest, For a photo for the brothers’ mother. There they sat, brother right next to brother, A sad couple, this brotherly pairing. The goat, bless his heart, really not caring. JP This is a song Bob Dylan would have written if he had realized that he was still alive in 1993. It illustrates the point that greed, arrogance, stupidity, and unrestrained power meeting at one place is not a good thing. Greed, because the ATF was trying to make a public show to garner a larger budget. They could have arrested Koresh any time they wanted to on the streets of Waco. Stupidity, arrogance, and unrestrained power by the FBI which had the Davidians surrounded but displayed a childish impatience by trying to end the standoff with tanks and teargas. There is no saving grace for the ATF, the FBI, the Attorney General, or the President. They all acted foolishly. None deserves our praise. As far as imagining this as a song that Bob Dylan might sing, imagine Bob’s strange rythyms and nasal voice. About a year ago, I saw an interview of Bob in which he said that he had never written a protest song. Well, Bob, you certainly fooled me, but you should have written this one. I guess the reason I like Bob is that we’re about the same age and neither of us can sing. It’s Ranch Apocalypse Now  Hey, Mister ATF, I want to know the reason why Your agents had to die. Come on, give me one more lie. “I take responsibility, but don’t try to blame me. Our plan was good. Our plan was sound. Man, we even got off the first round. We aimed to save them from themselves, But they put four agents on the shelves. I take responsibility, but don’t try to blame me.” Hey Mister FBI, I want to know the reason why The Davidians all had to die. Come on, give me one more lie. “I take responsibility but don’t try to blame me. Our plan was good Our plan was sound. We never meant for them to burn down. Just a little tear gas. It wouldn’t even hurt the grass. I take responsibility, but don’t try to blame me.” Hey, Ms Attorney General, I want to know the reason why All these people had to die. Come on, give me one more lie. “I take responsibility, but don’t try to blame me. Our plan was good. Our plan was sound. The FBI and I would not negotiate another round. We were law enforcement bound. Get them off their communal property. What right did they have to be a cult with which we don’t agree. What a concept, guns in Texas? They should live in a highrise and drive a Lexus. David was inconsistent when he lied. Who knew they’d commit suicide. We must control the situation. We look like fools to the nation. Get the tear gas, fire up the tanks. Our President will give us thanks. I take responsibility, but don’t try to blame me.” Hey, Mr. President, We want to know why all these people had to die. Come on give us one more lie. “I take responsibility, but you can’t blame me. Their plan was good. Their plan was sound. They didn’t burn the compound to the ground. Their plan was timely. Their plan was primely based on the fact that it’s time to react. From my Presidency it was a distraction when we all know I’m the main attraction. Who does David think he is? I’m number one in the Jesus biz. I can play a saxophone, and all he does is negotiate via phone. I am the President. He is just a Texas resident. I back my people all the way. What does the lastest poll say? I am the people’s president, not just a Texas resident. If that’s Perot on the phone, tell him I too like Koresh have gone.” Hey, Mr. Historian, We want to know why all these people had to die. Come on write me one more lie. JP Back when I was teaching, I’d pass empty moments by making up songs in my head. If you’ve ever read my “Music” essay, you know I’m not a big fan of music, but I did find a use for the genre---fighting off boredom. I decided to write down my latest boredom fighter. It was inspired by a Muddy Waters’ CD I bought as an impulse purchase while at a bookstore the other day. Muddy Waters, born in 1913, gave me a clue that music wouldn’t be an important influence in my life. When I was about twelve, I found an old, scratchy 78 with a crack in it that produced a clicking sound each time it rotated. As I recall, all Muddy Waters said was “muddy waters” repeatedly on the record. The click certainly didn’t interfere with my comprehension of the lyrics, and I liked the clicking sound more than the music. On the album I bought, there was a song entitled “CrosseyedCat” which, when I played it, I discovered didn’t have much to do with a cross-eyed cat. I thought the cross-eyed cat needed another shot at dominating the lyrics; thus my “Cross-eyed Cat.” Now, as a poem, it’s not much. As a song, who knows. In my head, a strange place, I hear guitars and drums and harmonicas and a honky-tonk piano plinkings and, of course, Muddy Water’s voice...but, that’s just me. Cross-eyed Cat John W. Pinkerton  Cross-eyed cat keeps crossin’ my path Bringin’ no cheer or good news. Cross-eyed cat got ahold of me. Damned cat givin’ me the blues. When I wake, you be starin’ at me, Never cuttin’ me no slack. Why you always starin’ at me? Your heart must be nothin’ but black. Eatin’ my eggs, you eyeballin’ me. Brushin’ my teeth…you lookin’. When I go to bed you peekin’. You watchin’ me when I be cookin’. You damned cat be in my dreams. Pick out someone else to choose. Cross-eyed cat, your hold of me Givin’ me nothin’ but the blues. Cross-eyed cat, you stealin’ my soul, Always, mornin’ and night, Knawin’ away at my old heart. I wish you away with all my might. Cross-eyed cat keeps crossin’ my path Bringin’ no cheer or good news. Cross-eyed cat got ahold of me. Damned cat givin’ me the blues. JP Old Fellows John W. Pinkerton  When old fellows like myself Wax poetic about our youth, We miss not our youth itself; It’s the times we miss in truth. Most old timers would in fact Decline offers to go back, Decline the chance to unpack The youthful selves we now lack. What we long for is just this--- God, Family, Country first, When at God we did not hiss, And our Country was not cursed. JP Sugar Bob John W. Pinkerton  Sugar’s the name we gave our cat. Sweet, she was certainly that. But once walking away, Strange changes “she” did display. Now, she’s “Bob” when we chat. JP Morning Moon by John Pinkerton  The moon smiles slipping through the trees, Defining cats in the morning breeze, Defining deer gliding home, As I sip my coffee on the porch alone. But not alone when the moon is there Floating above me as I sit in my chair, Sometimes full, halved, or new, Hanging there for me to view. It shares my old early morning meditations, My old mind’s beginning its daily vibrations, But never does it its dark side show. Its dark side secrets are not for me to know. As the moon and I await the day My old mind does dance and play Beneath the moon before its gone Pleased my thoughts are not alone. JP My Calendar Does Disappear by John Pinkerton  My calendar each year does disappear. For months I walk around without a clue. Not knowing current days or dates I fear Does cause my lovely wife on me to chew. She can not understand my total fog, Sundays and Mondays I can’t tell apart, Of dates I remember less than my dog. I fear my confusion she takes to heart. But she should realize that patience pays, I’ll regain knowledge of chronology When upon a new season I cast my gaze, The dates and days become theology. Thursday night reappears as TNF. MNF means it’s another Monday. Shazam! My calendar returns when it’s NFL all day long on each Sunday. JP Pseudonym by John Pinkerton  I have become a pseudonym, A nom de plume---a fiction. Who is this ancient gentleman Who signs my name with conviction? He’s not the youth I’ve always known, Insulting is his depiction. I’d arrest this interloper If I knew the jurisdiction. JP I Am John W. Pinkerton I am mankind Come from the Sea. I am Man. 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