every time

that i mosey on

back down home

to a southern place in my heart

that i can feel in my bones

i know

Cedar Creek Lake is in my blood

with a (903) area code

and so

whenever i feel

a little lost and low i know

just where to go

to break bread with my family and

friends

to soothe my soul

and then King and i go get drunk and

stoned

on the back road

in the old yellow El Camino

with honey roasted blunts

and a few six packs of El Pacifico

and we just let go

when a Merle Haggard song comes

on the radio

and we’re off

and theres only one place i know

in Malakoff

where the guys and girls can go

to get their rocks off

but you better walk the line

or a bouncer might knock your block off

and if you’re looking for a woman

to blow your socks off

i know just where you can find her

go east on Highway 31

to the honky tonk called

Coal Mines…

and here’s another

reminder

just to help you find her

there’s a big bright neon sign

out front

so you cant miss it

just part your dualy in the gravel

parking lot

and pay five dollars at the entrance

to find King and i

inside

on barstools

drinking ice cold Guinness

and having hell ‘o fun in

hillbilly bliss

is part of our martini existence

it’s half Martian / half Texas

with a lemon twist and

we’re in business

so let me buy you a drink

i insist

the possibilities are endless…

at Coal Miners

i wake to the daisy chain of a cowgirls kiss

at Coal Miners

i bask in the drunken sorcery of a redneck bliss

at Coal Miners

i swallow all the hello shots i can take

at Coal Miners

i found the alcohol portal to

Cedar Creek Lake…

and i scoot my boots and my booty shakes

like both dance floors are a

Texas earthquake…

at Coal Miners

© Jeff Callaway 2005

Click here to buy Party Fouls & Other Atrocities by Texas Outlaw Poet Jeff Callaway!

Texas Outlaw Poet, Jeff Callaway, performs his poem Coal Miner’s on EXSE showcase for PAC TV Austin on YouTube.

i’ve been rode hard

and put up wet a many a night

by dirty gin martinis

by fine moonshine

by the crucifix neon signs

of the bible belt of East Texas

where the liquor is always thicker

in one of those wet counties

and it always seems to find me quicker

over on the other side of the tracks

but back to what i was saying

i’ve been rode hard and put up wet

a many a night…

i’ve seen the likes of mystics

madmen

six naked men on bikes

in downtown San Francisco

i’ve seen the likes of speedfreak succubus angels

creeping like snakes inside my beer bottles

listening to Radiohead, reggae

redneck romantics

who had also been rode hard and put up wet

i’ve written poems which i’ve put away

until nowand poems i put to you

today…

i’ve seen the rain

from a trainfrom a Greyhound window

from a plane

i’ve seen the night inked in a blanket of fog

and i’ve sat and admired the moon from a hollow log

i’ve rolled my bones and joints

through cellar doors

through the Celis Brewery

through the celestial stars over California beaches

i love to eat the sweetest little peaches

i’ve read at Big Sur

i’ve loved English teachers

i love the sea

i love this poem that rages in me

i’ve combed the seashores

i’ve slept on floors

i’ve been locked behind bars and i’ve been free

i’ve been in a horrible mad raging sea

i’ve slept under the trees

i’ve watched evil TV’s

and i’ve seen

the sunrise the sunset

and all of these wonderful people i’ve met

who have also beenrode hard and put wet…

i’ve been drunk and just went to bed

i’ve been underfed

i’ve had sex drenched in sweat and i’ve bled

i’ve thought for sure that i was dead

i’ve thought for sure the sun would not rise again

and i’ve made friends and i’ve made love

i’ve cried and prayed to the lord up above

i’ve felt and held in the beds of my lover

sendless nights of soft flesh

wrapped in covers

under Texas skies

beside cheerleader’s thighs

in smoky rooms

the scent of northern lights

and i’ve made love on through the night

and into the day

but what i really wanted to say

was i’ve been rode hard and put up wet

a many a night…

© Jeff Callaway 2005

Click here to buy Rode Hard & Put Up Wet by Texas Outlaw Poet Jeff Callaway!

so after

a hot night of drinking

cold cold brews

and Texas two-steppin’

with the Henderson County who’s who

the redneck reunion

of the Coal Miners crew

resumes

in the mom-and-pop

atmosphere

of an old greasy spoon

deep in the heart of Athens, Texas

for some southern fried soul food

and the psychobilly grooves

that the jukebox exudes

the tunes bloom

in special orange blossoms of

sound that you can feel

when you’re drunk at 4AM

having coffee

at the Pitt Grill

 

endless

pots of java

you can drink until

you get your fill

to help you sober up

so you can drive home

without getting killed

and when all the bars are closed

Pitt Grill is completely filled

with conversation between close friends

they really can be such a thrill

when one wiseman once said to me

sometimes “conversations kill”

but chicken friend steak, country gravy

and 3 eggs now that’s a good meal

and when its all for just $3.99

now isn’t that a deal

for real

the grease must be

enlightening

when we’re dining

under the fluorescent lighting

formica tabletops and saltshakers

seem so inviting

plus after you clean your plate

you can smoke cigarettes

inside and

that’s surprising

like back in the good old days

now isn’t this exciting

and that reminds me

of America

the home of the free

the toothless waitress on speed

ask me if i’d like more sugar or more cream

and i tell them

yes

and can i also get another

order of the hash browns

scattered

smothered

and covered…

 

© Jeff Callaway 2006

Click here to buy Party Fouls & Other Atrocities by Texas Outlaw Poet Jeff Callaway!

she

sat there in the smoky room

where the poets loomed in the gloom

and the coffee brewed

as time seemed to

stand still

I knew that she was real

or that she was like

a wonderful white rose

just waiting to bloom

in Spring

or even right there in front of me

where I noticed how her bones caught

shadows of light

from beneath her skin

that I wanted to be inside

and soon

I longed to touch her

with my long velvet tongue

my hands

calloused and wet

with words

with ink there of

that burned

into the page that was her

with long blonde tresses

and spectacles

all spectacular she

was just like she was

the moon

that I could feel her

pull like I was the ocean

my swoon and my sway

as she sat there silently

scrawling romantic electric words

with her doll like hands

creamy and ceramic

into her black leather notebook

where she kept her poems and things

she seemed just like a cat

with her litters of light

as I took the stage

to read

I watched for her responses

to each

of my bombastic elastic words

that I bombarded

upon her ear lobes

until she became shell shocked

and pulled her kites, her eyes

from the page

to glance up at me

with her eyes

her eyes like lights

that shown up on the stage

where I stood lonely

and longed for her to join me there

but she just smiled…

COPYRIGHT © 2006 JEFF CALLAWAY

Click here to buy A Peck Of Pickled Poems on Amazon!