Homeless in Tyler

A country lyric inspired by complications with a hotel reservation

 

Verse 1: Homeless and lonesome on the streets of Tyler,

my lover has left me, my friends have all gone;

but, like you can see, I keep walking and smiling,

drinking cheap whiskey ’til I feel like I’m home.

 

Chorus: Homeless, homeless in Tyler . . .

I’m just a loser—drunk, lonesome, and broke.

Homeless, homeless in Tyler . . .

The bottle’s run dry, I’ve lit up my last smoke.

 

Verse 2: When I get too drunk, I’ll lie still and play dead.

If you happen to find me before it’s too late,

don’t try to help me, just shoot me instead.

It’ll do me no harm to speed up my fate.

 

Repeat chorus

 

Bridge: Tyler’s in Texas, and Texas is big,

but the stars in the sky are not meant for me.

 

Verse 3: I could have been famous, or lucky in love,

or living life large in some mansion somewhere,

but the fact of the matter’s I’m totally fucked,

with no place to go and no one to care.

 

Repeat chorus

Repeat and fade

 

Copyright 2019

T. Allen Culpepper

 

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Light Source

Whence comes the yellow light

that bathes the bare-branched tree

at the bottom of the garden

behind the curtains of rain?

 

Copyright 2019

T. Allen Culpepper

Long Night Moon

After a storm, the drapes of rain are drawn,

but a low ceiling of clouds still obscures

the fullness of the December moon,

making darker the longest night of the year,

with Mercury and Jupiter conjoined,

as stars fall behind the heavy barrier,

and Earth’s upper half leans backward until

it reaches the maximum tilt of winter solstice,

inviting winter in, but also promising

the turn of the wheel toward another spring.

A cold midwinter moon, a long night moon,

at the solstice ritually fired and feasted;

the decorative evergreen branches, cut, must die,

except as symbols, but the trees live on.

Next day, the sun rises late, but rises still,

and blazes bright until its early setting.

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

Barking Time

On Wednesdays at noon,

if the weather is good,

they test the tornado sirens,

and the dogs on the street behind me

join in, turning their howls

to harmonize, but the test

blasts through a solid minute,

longer than the dogs can

hold out without a breath,

and, one by one, their voices

drop our of the chorus;

but the siren, mechanical, controlled,

trails to silence when its time is up,

while the dogs, being dogs,

will still have their day.

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

Remorse

At home alone at night,

a drink sounds good,

a chat with a friend online,

but before you know it,

the bottle’s empty,

you’ve talked too much.

The morning after, it’s just you,

quiet from the headache, sad.

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

 

 

The Interpretation of Leaves

Brown leaves dancing on the lawn,

like a flock of tiny birds,

suddenly rise into flight,

circling in late-autumn wind—

rustling omen of something,

but who can fortell of what?

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

Septimus

After the character from Woolf

 

That one time in the trenches

when the fear and loneliness had been

too much, when the panic had come

on him, Evans had taken his hand,

pulled him close, and embraced him,

wrapping strong arms and legs

tightly around him–and then came

the kiss, erotic, yes, but more than that,

the exchange of the life-force,

an infusion of warming breath.

For Evans it had been a one-off,

a gesture of comfort extended

to a blood-brother in time of distress;

but for Septimus, though he dared not

hope for the act’s repetition,

it was the moment that defined

his life, the glorious high that,

having once been reached,

left an aching void, the hunger

of addiction that, no matter how

richly fed, could never be

satisfied again.

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper