Monday, December 8, 2014

Why Grandma Shot the Preacher-Man

I wrote this poem several years ago to counter the so-called religious healers.  One would think their scams would fade away in light of our increased scientific knowledge.  But that is not the case, they are still out there, on radio and TV, making their pleas for money and promising they can heal just about anyone of anything.

They can't.  They are crooks, charlatans, scam artists!

Grandma is a pistol-packin'
Mama of a type
She doesn't like phony folks
Despises all their hype.
Mealy-mouthed, shifty-eyed
Characters she spurns
She's been down that road before and
She's been badly burned.

It started on a cloudless day
She met herself a man
He was tall and neatly dressed
Said his name was Sam.
He took Grandma dancing
Almost ev'ry night
She concluded way too soon
That he was Mr. Right.

But love hit Grandma big time
When Sam learned Grandma's secret
See, Grandma had a wooden leg
She hid with maxi skirts.
Now Sam, he said he didn't mind
Told her she was fine
She hugged him with her bony frame
Several hundred times.

Alas, alack, Grandma's back
Gave out one crazy night
She screamed and cried and poor ol' Sam
Damn near died of fright!
Ol' Doc Watson said she'd prob'ly
Never walk again
Without a cane or lots of help
From someone name of Sam.

Solicitous and very sweet
Sam told Grandma 'bout his friend
A preacher-man, blessed by God
Why he could cast out sin.
And more than that, he could heal
Broken backs and bones
'Course it wasn't cheap, you know
He'd help Grandma get a loan.

"Come on," said Sam, "let's hear the man
"His tent's just out of town
"Bring your checkbook just in case
"He's got your healing' down."
Ol' Grandma was a little skeered
But hurt, she went along
In fact, she ended up on stage
Before the final song.

The preacher-man grabbed her head
With great big woolly paws
He saw the devil in her eyes
Said that was sure the cause
Then he bent and whispered soft
Hands tight around her neck
"I can make you well again
"Just write a little check."

Grandma barely breathing now
Cried rasply, "I...yi...yi!"
The preacher-man yelled "Hallelujah!"
A glint in gleaming eyes.
But Grandma learned very fast
The whole thing was a farce
'Cause when the preacher-man cried "Heal!"
She fell upon her arse!

The jury ruled it self-defense
Said any fool could see
The preacher-man and Sam were bad
And it was meant to be.
Grandma caught and shot them both
When they was slipping out of town
And if they try that scam again
They'll do it sitting down!

© 2014 and 2006 by Lowell A. Anderson (Ansohn).  All Rights Reserved.

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Anesthetic Anesthesia

[This is for Heather]

Anesthetic Anesthesia

A friend of mine
Cannot spell
She's been confused
By a spell
Of amnesia.

It's really quite

I, sad to say,
Cannot spell
When someone asked
Where does that
Leave ya?

I said

[Copyright © 2014 and 2006 by Lowell A. Anderson]

Monday, April 28, 2014

The Candidate - Flashback to 2012

I was not born with 
A silver spoon
He said
Eyes glinting
As a creeping 
Smile slid
Across his political

We lived in a 
Basement apartment
Like regular folks
She said
Stepping out of a
60s sitcom
All fluffy and 
Full of lace
As is right
For a woman 
Who knows
Her place.

They said
We had to live
On returns from
It was hard
We even got
Regular haircuts
And ate at McDonalds'
Unless daddy and mommy
Took us out
Or gave us money
For the rent.

So, we know all about
You poor folks
Struggling to
Pay the bills
And feed the kids
With college ahead
We suggest you
Get money from 
Your folks and
Live in a tent.

And when you 
Get old
Become a Mormon
Mormons take care
Of one another
By piling up money
And stowing it
Away for a 
Rainy day
And Mormons 
Don't need 
No government.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

The Teacher

Some years ago, Lois Anne taught GED classes, which were established to help adults who had for one reason or another dropped out of school, earn their high school diplomas.  Lois Anne was the finest teacher I have ever met.  The following poem was written in appreciation of her love for learning and her extraordinary ability to connect with the lives of her students.

The Teacher

Sometimes I see you,
A vision in the corner
Of my eye -
Reaching out to touch
The minds of those
Stretching, seeking to
Learn to understand
Lessons long passed by...
Your grace apparent, the
Joy you give,
The pleasure pure as
Dawning light arrives;
A burst of insight
Birthing hope
Where hope, bereft, had died.

Pride quite often
Overcomes the sensibilities
Of my mind.
A rose in bloom,
Your tenderness
Lends fragrance to
Suspend fear.
So, free to be
They come to you
Faith seeking to be fed;
A dream begun
They turn in trust
Needing to be led
By gentle smile
Soft-spoken word.
Your wisdom is the spark
That leads them on
To dream again.
Your life has left its mark.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

The Easter Bunny's
Back in town
None the worse for wear
Until the kids
Climb up on him
And get into his hair
The days drag on
'Til tiredly he
Slumps down in his chair.

Copyright © 2013 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.
This photo & picture was cross-posted to Ocala (Florida) Photos.

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Running with a phone

It was a strange
She turned her
Cell phone on
And chatted with
Her Mom
While running down
Fifth Avenue
in the 
New York City

© Copyright 2006 and 2013 by Lowell A. Anderson
All rights reserved.

Monday, December 3, 2012

Dreams can come true

A photograph
Is like a dream
 What we deem
Should come true
If what we've seen
In the eye
Of our mind
Is brought to fruition
By brushes on canvas
By words upon paper
By cameras poised
To create and record
 What we wrestle
And wring
From the heart
Of our heart
To bring it to life.

Copyright © 2012 by Lowell A. Anderson
All rights reserved
The owner of this photograph is unknown.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

The Shape of Things to Come

Ev'rybody's talking 'bout
A problem in our land
It's big and getting bigger
It's almost out of hand!

They say I'm eating way too much
Junk food, snacks and sweets
My heart is working overtime
My system overheats!

The problem is I'm spreading out
It's called obesity
I shouldn't be all that surprised
When all I do is eat!

So, I'm going on a diet now
I'm down to eating crumbs
'Cause looking in the mirror I saw
The shape of things to come!

Poem copyright © 2006 and 2012 by Lowell A. Anderson (aka Ansohn)
Image copyright © 2006 and 2012 by Lowell A. Anderson and its licensors.
All rights reserved.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

The Mystery

There are times
When it would seem
A mystery hovers in the void
To make its presence known
In ways both banal
And profound
 Before my eyes of stone.
I have found it 
Quite impossible
To believe
In magic or in mystery
Or in the grand delusion
Of gods up in the sky
Their nosy noses poking
Knife-like, carving up the lives
Of the people of the earth --
The sons and daughters of
A spartan evolution
A momentary birthing
Which all too soon
Collapses into mystery itself --
The uncomprehending
And uncaring, often cruel

© 2012 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All Rights Reserved.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Growing Old

Growing old
Does not
Make you
A sage or
Growing old
Merely means
You somehow
To stay

Copyright © 2006 and 2012 by Lowell A. Anderson
All Rights Reserved.
Image copyright © 2006 and 2012 by Lowell A. Anderson and its licensors.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Don't Give a Damn About the Dust!

It's funny how we'd worry 'bout
Some things when we were young.
We cooked and cleaned and washed the clothes,
Our work was never done!

And God forbid if company
Should suddenly arrive.
'Cause if the house was in a mess
We thought that we would die!

We worked all day at what we did
Then fell asleep in bed;
To toss and turn and worry 'bout
All the work ahead.

Now suddenly we've gotten old;
Decided to retire.
We figured these were years of gold
What more can we desire?

We've had enough of working hard
Of slaving every day.
We're gonna take it easy now
So this is what we say:

If the house ain't clean enough
We hope that you'll adjust!
'Cause you should know we just don't care,
Don't give a damn about the dust!

© 2006 and 2011 by Ansohn and Lowell A. Anderson
Image copyright © 2011 by Lowell A. Anderson and its licensors.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Penny for a poem

I'd write a poem
For a penny
But I haven't
Written many
That cheaply

Still, a penny
Is a penny
Said the man
Sitting next to me
With eyes
Upon the floor.

So I wrote a bunch
Of poems
For people
Passing by
And some gave
Me a dime.

By noon I'd
Made five dollars
And maybe
A bit more
I felt rather
Like a whore.

I gave the money
To the man with
Eyes upon 
The floor.
It was quickly spent
At the liquor store.

© 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All Rights Reserved.
Photograph courtesy of Dan Jay at Thousand Word Photography

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


Spring connives
With Mother Nature
To drape the land
In forest green
Gracing hills
With trees
So lean
And full
Standing tall
As Shady sentries
Guarding earth
Our rebirth.

© 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All Rights Reserved
Photo courtesy of Brattcat

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Hand in Hand

the days like the wind
go rushing by
a blur of feelings
aging proceeds 
the end is in sight
we know not whether
to laugh or cry.

often i think of
how far we have come
as together we
walked hand in hand
through tangles of troubles
love won the day
for that love I'd do
it all over again.

how can a heart
be full, you say
how can a heart
burst with joy
only when love's
as your love - sweeping
fear and pain away.

so Happy Birthday to
my very best friend
lover and wife and
my champion
if you see a tear
'tis a sign of joy
as in love we walk on - 
hand in hand.

This poem is for the love of my life, Lois Anne.  
© 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All rights reserved.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Love in Tuscany

[Photo of Tuscany courtesy of Bonjour Luxembourg]

This poem is for Cezar and Leia

Love in Tuscany

There was a young couple
From Luxembourg
Who decided to vacation
In Tuscany.
They put on their clothes
Including their pants - for
This was the home
Of the Renaissance (Italian)!

They took bunches 
of cameras
Guidebooks and
And set off to check out
Old cities and shrines
Both happy as larks
The man and his "honey."

They'll never forget
This time together
Dinners and wine and
Delicious weather.
And when they grow old
Sit sipping their tea
They'll speak of their love
And of Tuscany.