Writer/Poet
JUST LISTENING
OUR TOWN
BILLY THE KID
The soul…it calls and those who listen to its breathless murmurings are reminded.
Reminded of the true nature of things, that we are the absolute silence. Our world is just our playground. A window to view the mind’s eye.
We reflect the illusions that traverse within us.
There is no side to see, all is present,
past and future.
Contemplation allows the shadows to take flight
The nearer the understanding the more we float in an ocean of space. Free to explore the secrets to existence. Sometimes I imagine a glimpse
then I am shrouded once again.
Exhausted I sit and struggle to see.
It teases me with an ease by which it eludes my grasp. I step lightly on the edge, teetering as though I might fall. Into the absolute surrender of the unknown. Still shadows linger,
my mind won’t let go...
Will the veil ever be lifted? A chance for me to be that which I already am. Not some flimsy story of myself, but a conscious expression of life.
Control is a false master who would lead me to ruin. As I struggle on my journey
towards enlightenment.
Always and forever, all is as it should be.
Life is worth living in our town.
Life is so simple in our town.
Life is just fine, any old time in our town.
What you see is what you get in our town.
Love, marriage, death and dying,
All are worth trying in our town.
A grand story within so the play must begin about our town. The set is sparse, the characters are few.
Unhindered by props let’s see what they’ll do,
in our town.
Morning begins the year 1901 in our town.
There’s Doc and Joe probably many you know in our town. Living day to day come what may in our town.
Average lives to be lived in their own way in our town. Even the ordinary, is quite extraordinary in our town. Emily, oh dear Emily can’t relive not one day in our town.
So the play comes to an end, my dear friend in our town. Remember one and all Life is worth living in any town at all, especially in our town.
By Judy England-McCarthy
Five foot eight and eyes of blue,
were all them tales, really true?
Some say he died a young man. Slight and slender did he stand. Angular not round, just 140 pounds. The ladies all loved him and did reply:
“Pleasant young man, and then they would sigh.”
Five foot eight and eyes of blue,
were all them tales, really true?
Just seventeen, and a temper for sure.
The legends of his life, well they endure.
Killed his first man for just a slap on the jaw,
He was quick as lightning and fast on the draw.
Killing was the name of the game,
he did it well and earned his fame.
Five foot eight and eyes of blue,
were all them tales, really true?
A six shooter was his weapon of choice, and with it, he gave it his voice. Young, loyal, rebel with a cause, most colorful of all them outlaws. They caught Billy and put him in jail, to stand trial he was given no bail. One guard on duty was cruel and mean, so when Billy escaped he killed him clean. With ill fitting clothes, just a wisp of a kid
He ran for his life, and in New Mexico hid.
Five foot eight and eyes of blue,
were all them tales, really true?
The sheriff returned to find his deputy’s dead.
A pose went out with him at the head. Pat Garrison, Sheriff of Lincoln County, wanted to have the $500 in bounty. Five hundred dollars will go along way, Even, if it meant killing
his friend that day.
Five foot eight and eyes of blue,
were all them tales, really true?
It was dark in the room when they came eye to eye. “Who is it? Who is it?” was the kid’s only reply. It was 1881, when he got shot with a gun.
Right in the chest, he went down like the rest.
His legend lives on my dear friends,
Though Billy the Kid came to his end.
​
Five foot eight and eyes of blue,
were all them tales, really true?
ALWAYS AND FOREVER,
ALL IS AS IT SHOULD BE.
Who was listening on August 9th, 2014 when the shots rang out. Who was listening when his last breath was felt. Who was listening as the buildings were torched The streets littered with destruction of all sorts.
The trigger was set long before it was pulled.
Two souls collide, in a world based on gold.
The plain truth is out there for all of us to see.
In this land of freedom, whom
among us is free.
A meaningless death, for a senseless crime.
Who was listening when he fought his unseen foe Who was listening for the anger of a lifetime of woe, Rules all rigged, colored
by history and time
Who was listening for the real truth untold.
That the color of ones skin, ones life does it mold. Who was listening for the voices of unrest. Who was listening when we failed
our current test.
Who was listening when justice was no longer just. A young man's dying, still jars us, it must.
He was born, with a color that would shape his life. A world filled to the brim with
meaningless strife.
For the war on justice is forever ongoing.
To reap the harvest, we must have the sowing.
The inequality was seem for just a moment in time. We have a choice to view it and
make up our minds.
The streets are quiet now in the town of Ferguson Missouri. People begin to go about their business, no one now in a hurry. It is time we see with our souls and not with our eyes.
So our world can be free and where
no one must die.
“The Just Listening Event”
presented by
The Missouri Arts Council in 2016.
The Aventures of Petunia
Once upon a time...
(because that is how all good stories begin),
a long, long time ago in a magical land, there
was born the prettiest pink pig there ever was.
Her name was Petunia.
​
Written by Judy England-McCarthy
Illustrated by Mariya Kovalyov