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	<title>Berrys Family Blog &#187; Poetry</title>
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	<description>Just us, family, not intended for prime time.</description>
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		<title>Dad Turns 90; Jay&#8217;s Haikus</title>
		<link>http://theberrys.net/2009/dad-turns-90-jays-haikus/</link>
		<comments>http://theberrys.net/2009/dad-turns-90-jays-haikus/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 06 Oct 2009 18:35:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Tim Berry</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Memories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://theberrys.net/?p=254</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Oct. 2, 2009. Dad turns 90. We celebrated the next day, Oct. 3, a Saturday. Martha arranged it, and gave a very nice speech. Then Jay pulled out his haikus. I hope to post the video on YouTube, but I&#8217;m also going to try to recreate some of his commentary, aside from the actual haikus [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Oct. 2, 2009. Dad turns 90. We celebrated the next day, Oct. 3, a Saturday. Martha arranged it, and gave a very nice speech. Then Jay pulled out his haikus. I hope to post the video on YouTube, but I&#8217;m also going to try to recreate some of his commentary, aside from the actual haikus themselves. Where I don&#8217;t have commentary it&#8217;s because I don&#8217;t remember. </p>
<p>Thia first one is very familiar to the three of us, me and Chip and Jay, who grew up watching football with dad.</p>
<p><strong>
<p>Grass is greener<br /></strong><br />
Things not great on the field<br />
What the heck is goin on?<br />
Put in that freshman.</p>
<p><strong>Unholy Thing</strong><br />
Dad drinks his vodka<br />
he likes it mixed with milk. Yuk.<br />
I want to throw up.</p>
<p>Everybody in our family knows that dad has always liked his licorice more than any other sweets. Not unlike me. Here&#8217;s Jay&#8217;s tribute:</p>
<p><strong>
<p>Black Goddess<br /></strong><br />
Dad turning ninety!<br />
Think of all the licorice<br />
This man has eaten.</p>
<p><strong>
<p>Good, True, and Beautiful<br /></strong><br />
He comes from the Church<br />
Virgin Mary watches him<br />
St. Michael protects</p>
<p><strong>
<p>His Lucky Day<br /></strong><br />
After tragic loss<br />
He sure did strike it lucky<br />
When he found liz</p>
<p>First, we learned that wonderful Irish grandfather Jack O&#8217;Neill was actually mom&#8217;s stepfather, not real DNA for us. At least we were 100% Irish on Dad&#8217;s side &#8212; until the discovery, 10 or so years ago, that the Dudley in dad&#8217;s background was actually Dudelein, and we was French.</p>
<p><strong>
<p>Le Crushing Truth (Family Tree Shockeroo!)<br /></strong><br />
Presumed all Irish<br />
Til shocking revelation<br />
Dudley&#8217;s Dudler</p>
<p>Jay pointed out how quick dad was to warn us about &#8220;ballooning up&#8221; and other familiar &#8220;don&#8217;t get fat&#8221; phrases. And that he had eaten 39 its-it (an ice cream treat popular in the San Francisco area) in a single weekend. </p>
<p><strong>
<p>Dad&#8217;s World Record<br /></strong><br />
Ya gotta, gotta<br />
push yourself away from that<br />
thirty ninth It&#8217;s it.</p>
<p>It turned out later that Uncle Cal had secretly bought a ping pong table and had been practicing for months when he, with pretended nonchalance, challenged dad to ping pong.</p>
<p><strong>Ping Pong Apocalypse </strong><br />
Uncle Cal ready.<br />
Dad plays with gin on table.<br />
Dad whips Cal&#8217;s butt bad.</p>
<p>Jay wasn&#8217;t sure this actually happened and suggested he dreamt it because of something that had been said. Martha thought it did in fact happen (he is an ophthalmologist).</p>
<p><strong>Weird Day Job</strong><br />
He removes eye balls,<br />
Brings them home to show his kids.<br />
They gleam on the shelf.</p>
<p>Controversy broke out in the neighborhood as the Knights planted trees that threatened the view. There was a discussion but Mr. Knight was unmoved and unsympathetic.</p>
<p><strong>Bad Night for Mr. Knight</strong><br />
Tiptoe to Knight&#8217;s yard<br />
One strange and moonless evening;<br />
Too bad for that tree.</p>
<p>For many years in a row, Gram sent dad balloon seat pajamas for Christmas. We all laughed.</p>
<p><strong>The Gift She Keeps on Giving</strong><br />
Each Berry Christmas,<br />
The gift of hysteria,<br />
Balloon Seat Classic.</p>
<p><strong>Mushy But True</strong><br />
Language is useless.<br />
Words don&#8217;t capture the feeling.<br />
We love Dad so much.</p>
]]></content:encoded>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Songs and Words in Songs</title>
		<link>http://theberrys.net/2008/songs-and-words-in-songs/</link>
		<comments>http://theberrys.net/2008/songs-and-words-in-songs/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 07 Jul 2008 05:00:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Tim Berry</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://theberrys.net/?p=109</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Have you seen the Freakonomics Blegs series? It&#8217;s fun. Great lines in movies, things like that. I gather that  bleg is a contraction for blogging and begging, a play on words related to asking readers for contributions. It made me think of some great lines in songs. Some of these are pure poetry. Or so [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Have you seen the Freakonomics Blegs series? It&#8217;s fun. <a href="http://freakonomics.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/07/03/our-daily-bleg-what-are-the-film-quotes-of-the-century/">Great lines in movies</a>, things like that. I gather that  bleg is a contraction for blogging and begging, a play on words related to asking readers for contributions.</p>
<p>It made me think of some great lines in songs. Some of these are pure poetry. Or so it sees to me.</p>
<blockquote><p>Freedom&#8217;s just another word for nothing left to lose</p>
<p>I&#8217;d trade all of my tomorrows for a single yesterday</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Kris Kristofferson, <em>Me and Bobbie McGee</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">They paved paradise and put up a parking lot</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Joni Mitchell, <em>Big Yellow Taxi</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">The last time I felt like this I was in the wilderness and the canyon was on fire</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">and I stood on the mountain in the night and I watched it burn</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Emmy Lou Harris, <em>Boulder to Birmingham</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">You of tender years can&#8217;t know the fears that your elders grew by. So help them with your youth, they seek the truth before they can die. Teach your parents well, their childrens&#8217; hell will slowly go by. And feed them on your dreams.</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, <em>Teach Your Children</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">because the cops don&#8217;t need you, and man they expect the same</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Bob Dylan, <em>Just Like Tom Thumb&#8217;s Blues</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Once I had mountains in the palm of my hand, and rivers that ran through every day. I must have been mad, I never knew what I had until I threw it all away.</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Bob Dylan, <em>I Threw it All Away</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Cowboys like smoky old poolrooms and clear mountain mornings</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Patsy and Ed Bruce, <em>Mamas Don&#8217;t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">I married her because she looks like you</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Lyle Lovett, <em>I Married Her Because She Looks Like You</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Paul Simon, <em>Train in the Distance</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Why am I soft in the middle when the rest of my life is so hard</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Paul Simon, <em>You Can Call Me Al</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">All I ever had: Redemption songs: These songs of freedom</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Bob Marley, <em>Redemption Songs</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">In the end, only kindness matters</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Jewel, <em>Hands</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
<p style="text-align: right;">
<p style="text-align: left;">
<p style="text-align: left;">
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: left;">And, if you happen to speak (or read) Spanish, how about these:</p>
<blockquote>
<p style="text-align: left;">Simon Blanco tuvo suerte. De tres balas que le dieron, solo una fue de muerte.</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Anonymous corrido, <em>Simon Blanco</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Yo soy como el chile verde, picante pero sabroso</p>
<p style="text-align: right;">Anonymous, <em>la Llorona</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p style="text-align: left;">
</blockquote>
]]></content:encoded>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Moonlight on Granite</title>
		<link>http://theberrys.net/2007/moonlight-on-granite/</link>
		<comments>http://theberrys.net/2007/moonlight-on-granite/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 08 Jun 2007 03:17:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Tim Berry</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mountains]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Tim]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://theberrys.wordpress.com/2007/06/08/moonlight-on-granite/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[High mountain near midnight bright moonlight outside the tent and cold, and almost barefoot, but I was out there and I stopped, suddenly, stopped, cold, and looked at the landscape. Moonlight on granite. The granite held it all steady and solid: mountain lake and the lakeside meadow, the peak above it, and the rockstrewn snowpatched [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><span>High mountain near midnight bright moonlight outside the tent</p>
<p>and cold, and almost barefoot, but I was out there and I stopped,</p>
<p>suddenly, stopped,</p>
<p>cold, and looked at the landscape.</p>
<p>Moonlight on granite.</p>
<p>The granite held it all steady and solid:</p>
<p>mountain lake and the lakeside meadow, the peak above it,</p>
<p>and the rockstrewn snowpatched cliffs between.</p>
<p>But the moonlight made it magic &#8212; crystal, sparkled, rock-flecked magic.</p>
<p>The rock, like solid time, relentless &#8230;</p>
<p>draped in a silver moonlight as equally unreal as rock is real. my people asleep in the tent in the meadow.</p>
<p>The slopes, the pass, the peak, everything there rested on granite.</p>
<p>Think about solid rock, miles deep, mountains made of it, that&#8217;s the granite.</p>
<p></span> </p>
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