Ode to Doris Thomas

I said couldn't write this poem,
I wouldn't even try.
First Of all, these eulogies—
They always make me cry.

Specially when the loved ones
Are oh so dear to me,
As Punk and Doris Thomas
My adopted family.

Dear Doris, whom today we bid
A tearful last goodbye,
Was known and honored far and wide,
And loved by those nearby.

A faithful friend she always was,
So kind and true indeed.
I've often heard her make a call
To those in time of need.

She sacrificed without a thought
Though little time had she
She nursed her sister through the trials
Of chemo therapy.

Her brothers meant so much to her,
And sisters too, I'd say,
In fact she murmured near the end,
"Come, Nancy, let's go play."

Her mom and mom-in-law she nursed
For years when they were ill,
And yet she did her other jobs
And kept her humor still.

She was a loving mother
And a very faithful wife
Together Punk and she worked hard
Throughout their fruitful life.

Young Punk had come in army gear
To Teague's Drug Store on the square
His Sis had told him of a girl—
The prettiest anywhere.

Sweet Doris must have been
A knockout—that is clear.
And Punk—a gallant gentleman
To win her love so dear.

Perhaps she saw a future bright
And gave up drug store work.
This Thomas guy, she realized,
Was no average soda jerk!

At any rate, they raised a bunch
Of Thomas children swell
They lost young Jimmy far too soon,
But others fared real well.

Janie there was, and Randy next
And Rex, and Tony last,
And Doris gave them lessons strong
From present to the past.

She raised those little Thomas kids
In the hilltop house so small,
With bunk beds in the tiny rooms,
Stacked up against the wall.

She sponsored FHA at school,
On bus trips they would go,
She even taught the Spanish class,
Although she "no hablo!"

We loved the Christmas times we had
With Doris and the clan.
She supervised the whole she-bang
With careful thought and plan.

Like Chinese Christmas—it got squelched
After many happy years,
Because in trade Ky lost his knife
And screamed with angry tears.

Cool in crisis Doris was
No matter what the mess,
When she and great gran Riley failed
The golf cart safety test,

They tried to turn the cart around
But that did not work too well
They could not turn the cart enough,
And down the bank it fell!

They'd gone to see the pigs, you see,
And why not take the cart?
It was great fun for two to drive
But wasn't very smart!

She calmly told the toddler brave
To scale the red gulch wall
And summon any passerby
To pull them out and all.

She almost lost her cool one time,
A lizard was the cause,
It got away from Master Shawn,
Who chased it without pause.

Into the sewing room it went,
And underneath the bed,
"Damn lizard," shouted Shawn,
And DeeDee turned beet red.

"Shawn Thomas, watch your mouth,” she cried,
And slapped him with grim wrath,
But then on hands and knees she went,
To trace the lizard's path.

The lizard, not to be outdone,
Bit Doris to the bone,
And, truth be told, she almost loosed
Some cussing of her Own.

Five cancers she had had,
And bypass surgery.
She fought them bravely all away,
Survived them all did she.

But then on early Sunday morn,
Against the eastern sky,
Along the canyon rim she saw
Young Punk all spruced and spry.

He'd brought a wagon fixed up nice,
With flowers and spice and lace
To take the lovely drugstore girl
To a lovely, golden place.

And there together they will play,
On shiny tables new,
With dominoes Of finest pearl
Long games of 42.

Goodbye, Miss Doris, DeeDee dear,
Your fruitful life is past,
But thank you for your love and strength,
Please rest in peace at last.

Ode to Larry Marchesseau

Ode to a man who was a friend I met through archery and black powder rifle hunting.  He died tragically in a head-on crash near his home.

Ramrod tall and straight he stood
And drew his osage bow.
Back and back he stretched the string
Before he let it go.

With elbow high and anchor firm
He took his deadly aim
His flinty eyes would bore down-range
The ten-ring score to claim

Unleashed, the shaft of river cane
Tore through the morning mist
The turkey feathers spun the shaft
As toward the mark it hissed.

Fist-deep the arrow pierced the foam
Of artificial boar,
Or deer or turkey, wolf or bear,
As Larry upped the score.

We marveled as we watched him shoot--
Jeanine and all us guys--
And though Jeanine could beat us all
Old Larry “took the prize.”

I tried to make him laugh with jokes,
To get him off his game
But never once did laughter spoil
His focus or his aim.

The only thing you had to watch
When he was off your flank,
Was essence of those last night beans
That erupted loud and rank.

For Larry wasn’t squeamish
‘Bout lettin’ loose a poot,
You’d know if from the awful sound,
And smell it in your snoot!

We loved those tournaments we shot
Here, there, and everywhere.
Jeanine and Larry always called
To make sure we were there.

But now we gather here to say
Goodbye to our dear friend.
In this the very pasture
Where often we have been.

Right here Old Larry taught me how
To shoot my flintlock gun:
He showed me how to wad and prime
And fire—my God, what fun!

The deer and turkey still will come
To visit here this year.
They’ll feed and roost and carry on,
And then they’ll disappear.

Perhaps they wonder where the man
Who provided for their needs
Has gone, and if he ever knew
The impact of his deeds.

For Larry cared for all of us
In caring, gentle ways,
And grateful we will always be
For all our livelong days.

Goodbye, tall man with dancing eyes
And thirty-two tooth grin.
We’ll miss your throaty, deep-voiced laugh
And hairy, dark-tanned skin.

You are, no doubt, far better off
Than we who here remain
So raise a glass to our good health
Until we meet again.

Ode to Leroy

This is a poem I wrote while I was head coach at Newton County High School in Covington, Georgia.  An eleventh-grade football player drowned and the coaches had to say something at his funeral.  I wrote this poem and read it at the service.

When Jesus called to Leroy
To climb the golden stair,
He didn't know the glory
Waiting for him there.
The football team in heaven
Is the best you've ever seen,
Every lineman and every back
Is big and fast and lean.
And angels lead the cheers up there,
Waving their golden wings,
And there's always great team spirit,
The victory praises ring.
The crowd will welcome Leroy
With a hallelujah roar,
As he checks into the game,
Wearing No. 34.
And the coach that gives the signals
Is undoubtedly the best,
For Jesus wears the coaching hat
And whistles to the rest.
The devil's troops won't have a chance
On the day of the big game,
With Leroy bustin' holes
And knockin’ demons lame.
I know we're sad to think
He won't be playing here,
But the championship that
Leroy wins is good for every year.
And he'll look down on us
And tell us in his way:
"Y’all fight hard and live for God
And you'll play for us someday."