Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Jake and Shorty

The day was hot when he was born
Midst bushes low and full of thorns.
Without the aid of doctor’s skill,
Just mid-wife and his mother’s will.
With serenade of howling wind.
In shanty house with roof of tin.

And there he grew, a ranch-hand’s son.
He learned to ride and use a gun.
Roping, throwing, branding steers
Hard work hardened through the years.
A lot of man on stubby frame,
Shorty Briscoe was his name.

Jake Reed was another hand.
He and Shorty raised some sand.
They worked from dawn to setting sun,
Then went to town when work was done.
Jake was tall, wiry and hard,
And Shorty Briscoe was his Pard.

One weekend when the work was done
They rode to town to have some fun.
Ambling through the swinging door
At Pecos Rose’s as before.
They spied a stranger standing there
A fancy Dan with perfumed hair.

The stranger’s gun was tied down low
With yellowed ivory grips for show.
His eyes were steely gray and mean,
Soft hands with fingers long and lean.
He drank alone, but glanced their way
Inviting them to make a play.

Jake just laughed and turned away.
A grave mistake - He’d make them pay.
The stranger called for Jake to draw.
Jake moved and faced the pale outlaw.
The gunman’s move was smooth and fast
Jake hit the floor ‘neath fiery blast.

There was Shorty standing tall.
The bullet missed and hit the wall.
The shootist knew he’d erred that day
As Shorty Briscoe blazed away.
When smoke had cleared, the stranger fell;
Jake stood up alive and well.

Dennis Price

Monday, August 30, 2010

Think About It

Where Does Space End?

The thought
should be enough to give us pause.

A picture of eternity.

A tiring mind push.

So, we create reality.
A show to watch.
A triviality.
A gothic play
that lacks originality.

So much knowledge.
So little wisdom.

Perhaps if we had no food
we could focus.
We don’t leave the mirror
long enough to care.
Our lives are air.
It’s all about what’s fair.
Rights without responsibility.

It will not last.
It never has.
The cycle will repeat and
we’ll be forced to scratch
for scraps of bread.

for a while we’ll understand
the beauty of a loaf.

Dennis Price

Sunday, August 29, 2010

A Summer Thunderstorm

The land is parched and dry
beneath the summer sun
and one might question,
why its been so long since rain
has spattered softly in the dust
until the droplets blend
in numbers large enough to
soak the crust and run in rivulets
steaming in the heat with
pitter, patter beat
backed up by lights
behind gray clouds
and roar of distant tympani?

First pianissimo, then forte
as the lightning cymbals crash
and drum roll thunder shakes
the core.

The howling wind joins in
for harmony and takes the
movement down to pianissimo
once more
then fades to blue.

Dennis Price

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Modern Mayhem

Whoever thought a modern invention,
designed to assist us,
could cause such contention?

In theory it’s great,
a freeing contraption.
But freedom’s a dream,
an illusive distraction.
We’re free, but we’re not.
We can’t get away.
It’s there in our lives
every night, every day.
No rest at a meal,
in a movie or church.
No relief from the thing
at play or at work.

“Turn it off, turn it off.”
There are signs and announcements,
admonitions and pleadings,
proclamations, pronouncements.

We forgot to consider the human condition.
That one fatal flaw that leads to perdition.
“It’s mine, it’s mine.”
they say as they flaunt.
“I’ll force you to listen.
I don’t care what you want.”

We swerve and careen
ever faster and bolder
with that hard plastic case
pinned twixt cheekbone and shoulder.

We’ll pass laws I am sure,
but who will obey them?
We’ll never return to those
days without mayhem.

Dennis Price

Friday, August 27, 2010

Dallas "Blackjack" Price, circa 1917

Sweat covers his body,
forms dark stains on
satin trunks,
a sheen on
red leather gloves.

Years of training
in stale smelling gyms
prepare him for
fights that
test his foundation.

He shuffles forward,

Sweat drips pink
over scarred eyelids
to taut canvas.

He draws from a well
deep inside,
where more than sweat flows.

Dennis Price

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Never Forget

Out of revolution,
the grip of monarch’s rule.
Driven by freedom.
Founded on values
from God’s holy book,
the glue that binds,
in trust,
its varied masses.


Through fire of war,
was forged in strength
a strong republic.


And though the vision dims
in her prosperity,
she rises to the challenge
when tyrants seek
to quell her voice.


Blessed by God,
we must hold those
values close
that bound
our loose knit colonies
in their infancy.


Dennis Price

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Fifty Four Willy's

It sat alone in an old wood garage.
Its engine long silent.
I found it one day.

Painted green with white top.
Covered with dust.
Nose coned,
hump fendered,
like a stretch Henry J.

I painted it black.
New tires all around.
Filled it with Casite.
Drove it to town.

Dennis Price

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Hauling Hay

I was a teacher
my salary was meager
I spent the summers
hauling hay.

The Texas sun
was searing at dawn
when I rose to see
if my hay truck
would start.

I climbed in the cab.
looked at the ground.
The truck had no floorboard
just blue smoke and sound.

The hay fields were strewn.
Square bales of alfalfa.
Heavy to lift,
tough to inhale.

We stacked them high
on the flatbed behind us.
One hundred and twenty
at twelve cents a bale.

We made for the barn.
A loft with no air flow.
Sweating and stacking
and swatting the wasps.

The scene was repeated
as long as the sun shone.
Then we, and the truck
coughed our way home.

Dennis Price

Monday, August 23, 2010

Old Trigger

Trigger was a plow horse
Who, seldom saw a saddle.
I was just a big kid
Who rarely rode a straddle.

I lived in the city,
Away from field and barn.
When school was out I’d visit
Old Trigger on the farm.

I thought I’d try and ride him,
And made a split-bit bridle.
I knew it might not stop him,
But hoped it’d make him idle.

Uncle Barney’s saddle
Was split right down the middle.
It was old, the leather dry,
The cinch strap cracked and brittle.

I saddled Trigger, led him round
Beside an old steel drum.
I stood on top and jumped aboard
He snorted, bucked, and spun.

The summer sun was brutal
Old Trigger soon lost steam.
He plodded down the gravel road,
At plowing pace it seemed.

I tried to make him pick up speed
With kick, and click, and whistle.
Then I turned him toward the barn
And he became a missile.

I rocked back and grabbed the horn,
Pulled hard on cotton reins.
But Trigger galloped faster
As he barreled down the lane.

The barn loomed large before us.
He stopped just past the door.
I became a yard dart,
Flying headfirst to the floor.

When I regained my senses
I made this observation:
That you shouldn’t ride a plow horse
For fun or transportation.

Dennis Price

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Sunday Poem

He who is,
He who was.

He was sent,
But chose to die.
Conquered death our lives to buy.
Arose triumphant,
Reigns on high.

He who is,
He who was.

Dennis Price

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Finding Purple Sea

On the road I do not sleep,
but rather nap in fitful blocks of time.

I stare through darkness at some plastic box
with glowing luminescence red, or green.
11:47, 1:29, 2:33, 3:08.
Times I would not see if you were here,
or I was home.

I miss my nightly kiss.
Your whispered, “I love you.”
My signal day is done and all is well.

I’m free to sail upon night’s purple sea.
Outward turn my inward mind,
shed reality.
Wake refreshed at break of day.

But on the road,
night goes on and on.
Till groggily I rise,
stumble into day,
yawn, and rub my puffy eyes.
Find the nearest vendor of a caffeinated brew.
Stimulate my fog filled mind,
to imitate the energy
that seems to come so naturally
when I wake next to you.

Friday, August 20, 2010


High atop the mesa
cowboys sit in restful pose
and watch the sun
slide down the western sky.

Purple, pink, golden hues
bleak and rugged scenes
in ever changing show
from dusk to night.

In saddles, worn.
On ponies, tired.
They sit in awe as stars appear
and know,
why they,
are richer than most men.

Dennis Price

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Early morning delights.


No, just the rising sun
blasting through the frosted
glass on the east wall.

A laser.

Eyes closed,
I can feel it.

No fast moves.

Aroma of dark elixir.

Quiet electric hum
inside insulated walls.

A favorite time
that does not last.

Dennis Price

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Aging Memories

A century old sage
on his old Farmall cub
strokes his gray stubbled beard
stained with tobacco juice.

“Everything’s changed
Ain’t nothin’ the same
‘cept the tractor,
the house,
and the barn.”

He grins and spits.
“Got no teeth, but still chew.”

His old red tractor
chugs, sputters, and squeaks
much like he does.

Slowly, memories come.

Memories of childhood
clearer than yesterday.
The house as it once was.
His life as a young man.
Those in his family now
all passed away.

“Everything’s changed
ain’t nothin’ the same
not the tractor,
the house,
or the barn.”

Dennis Price

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

On meeting someone of like persuasion.


fellow traveler,

out of sync with time and place.

I know you.

The searching in your eyes.
The etchings on your face.

Was our meeting happenstance?

Or planned?

Oh, life’s mysterious dance.

Dennis Price

Monday, August 16, 2010

A tired blogger.

I'm just plain tired of blogging about the political, social and moral condition of our nation.  There are so many others who are doing the same thing.  I feel like I'm preaching to the choir most of the time.  Very few people are commenting anymore, including me.

I think I'm going to change tracks for a while and maybe refresh myself and some of my readers.

I have been writing my congressmen and women and all I get back are form letters and pablum.

I don't think any politician in Washington, D. C. is capable of a straight answer.  I send specific questions with the best documentation I can muster and I get back a canned "answer all" letter sent by some staffer.

They all sound like campaign speeches.

Facebook is the rage and I can't find much entertainment value there.

Stay tuned for the new look and feel of Pappy's Place.

When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.
  - Mark Twain

Friday, August 13, 2010

A plug at last.

Thank you B.P.  You did something no one else has been able to do.  Let's just hope it stays plugged.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

You Write the Caption.

One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity, there ain't nothin' can beat teamwork.
  - Edward Abbey

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

How Simple Can I Make This?

These are Imams.  They are the high holy leaders of the Muslim world.  They desire to kill all who do not believe as they do.  We are the Infidels spoken of in their Qur'an.

The Qur’an (pronounced [qurˈʔaːn]Arabicالقرآن‎ al-qur’ān, literally “the recitation”) is the central religious verbal text of Islam,[1] also sometimes transliterated as QuranKoranQur’ān, or Al-Qur’ān. Muslims believe the Qur’an to be the verbal book of divine guidance and direction for mankind. Muslims also consider the original Arabic verbal text to be the final revelation of God.  Wikipedia

This book instructs them to kill all those who don't believe and practice as they do.

They intend to take over the world by infiltrating and expanding their base until Shaira law is implemented everywhere.

They have no religious prohibition against lying to Infidels.  So, we cannot believe anything they say.

No other religion seeks this kind of total domination by force, deception, and death.

We are at war with the soldiers of this perverse intolerant religion set on our destruction.  

If you see anything that resembles this in your neighborhood, know that it is there to further the aims of this Un-American and subversive religion.  

There is no such thing as a moderate, peace loving, Muslim.

We have never allowed our enemies (especially in war time) to build camps, raise funds, and plot our demise right under our noses.  

We should expel all who wish to practice this religion.  It is designed to overthrow our government and subject us to its hideous stone-age philosophy.  

The enemy is within our gates and these mosques are the Trojan horses.


Thursday, August 5, 2010


I found this photo of a baboon gasping in the blog, Lobo's Rants.  The post next to it read in part as follows:

"-  In no particular order – the ‘papers, please’ insanity in Arizona is apparently popular with people over 50 (not me) and curious to younger Americans. That seems clear enough.  Young people are not afraid of people who do not look like them and perhaps, just perhaps, they enjoy the diversity rather than the boring homogeneity."

I gasp at the lack of understanding this young blogger displays about the whole issue of illegal immigration.  Once again I must restate for those trained in the nebulous world of our public schools, it is not about people of any particular race, it is about breaking the laws of the United States of America.  Let me put this clearly;


There are millions of people from every race on the face of this green earth who have immigrated to this country legally.  They have come as legal resident aliens, or have applied for, studied for, and been accepted as naturalized U. S. citizens.  It is a kick in the face to these who have acted in a legal manner and done what is necessary to gain their citizenship for our government leaders to confuse the issue and try to make this some kind of race based bias.  It is a plain and simple case of obeying the laws of the United States of America.  How can we even consider a blanket amnesty for people who have blatantly ignored the laws of this country?

I gasp at the actions, or lack thereof, of our current administration in dealing with this serious problem.  No other country on the planet will allow outsiders to enter their borders illegally and roam about seeking employment or committing criminal activity.  In fact, in most, you can't stay in a hotel without a properly stamped passport.  In ours, under this current insipid and incompetent regime, they are welcomed with open arms with all their diseases, dope, criminal records, harmful intent, and lack of visible means of support.  In addition they are supported by the U. S. taxpayers.

Let me ask you this, should we ignore other serious violations of our State and Federal laws?  Let's pick a violation - How about Bank Robbery?  Why don't we prevent the states efforts to identify and go after Bank Robbers?  No more security cameras in banks.  No more efforts at silent alarms, and exploding money packs to identify these thieves.  Absurd you say?  I say no more than ignoring and failing to enforce our immigration laws.  I know most of you who read me know this, but I feel compelled to continue posting on this issue for those who might accidentally drop by.

I think all governmental agencies, and foreign governments who make stupid resolutions opposing Arizona's state immigration laws should be sanctioned in some way for doing so.  The Arizona law mirrors the federal law and is well within the legal protections afforded by the U. S. Constitution.  There is no law against ignorance, or the detractors  would all be in the penitentiary.  I think the federal government should withdraw all financial aid to countries who challenge U. S. laws. Mexico is a third rate, third world participant whose government is so corrupt it can't function.  It has a severe caste system in place with only the rich and powerful enjoying any semblance of a life.  I also think U. S. citizens should boycott Mexican tourism, and commerce.  The Mexican government's lack of control over the drug cartels, corruption in law enforcement, and a wide spread criminal element makes it unsafe to travel or even shop there.  Our government on the other hand has now been handed over to a leftist president and his complicit support groups in the legislature, the courts, and the media.  Failure to take quick and decisive action is only going to prolong the process and make enforcement more difficult when we try to do something about it.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Just Got Back.

I was out of town until Monday night tending to my little 90 year old mother who was in the hospital in San Antonio.  She is better now and back home - so am I.  Too much to talk about until I have time to sift through the material that comes in daily.  Here are a few cartoons I got while I was gone and thought you might enjoy.

This really highlights a new methodology being used by some Democrats.  Doesn't matter if it makes sense as long as it diverts your attention from what they are doing.

Maybe a trip to "Mamby Pamby land is in order.  I may need psychological counseling if we don't get rid of the current administration including their allies in the legislature and the courts, soon.  Too much inbreeding.