Call & Mosby
Call and Mosby, they have friction
Hannah was their one addiction.
Now she's gone; they both feel blue.
Don't know what they're gonna do.
Will they ever find a way
To keep from fighting every day?
Hannah wouldn't want them to
Hate each other as they do.
2001
Ode to Mattie
Ode to Mattie, she's so sweet.
In a draw she's got you beat.
She sells guns and fills up graves.
But Call's the one she truly craves.
She wears pants just like a man.
And Unbob is her biggest fan.
9/2001
Call & Florie
Call likes that Florie
It's really no joke.
He goes to see her
When he wants a poke.
Now if that bugs Mosby
He really should wed her
So all of the cowboys in town
Couldn't bed her.
11/2001
Ode to Call
Ode to Call,
He's tough, but small.
He takes no guff,
He shoots 'em all.
He has a knife.
He lost his wife.
He has a bench.
He has a stench.
He has a horse,
Hell Bitch, of course.
He's quite a man
With a frying pan.
He likes to smirk
And Mosby irk.
He thinks the loft
Is nice and soft.
His eyes are blue.
His heart is true.
We love our Call
His grime and all.
6/2001
Ode to Clay
Ode to Clay, he struts all day.
Cross him and there's hell to pay.
He has goons who do his bidding.
He means business; he's not kidding.
He wears a fancy brocade vest.
That way he always looks his best.
Clay has gorgeous curly locks.
All in all he's quite a fox.
With his charming Southern drawl,
He annoys the surly Call.
Clay has lots of manly pride.
And, gosh, that guy can really ride!
He likes to drink. He likes to smoke.
He calls on Florie for a poke.
He's a dandified S.O.B.
But we love Clay from A to Z!
6/2001
Commuter Musings (for Jill)
As I sit here, stuck in traffic
Muttering things much too graphic
To put on a website for all to read
I think about Call on his noble steed
The man has no need for speed.
He's only going to the Number 10
To consume a bellyful of whiskey and then
Head to his bench and pretend to sleep
When in reality what he does is keep
An eye on Mosby.
Oh yes, Call keeps a watchful eye
On every person who happens by
It may look like he's not awake
But that's a sorry mistake to make
He's got you covered.
He may sit all day without even moving
But all the while the man is proving
You don't have to do another's bidding
That's my goal, but who am I kidding
I need the money!
No, Call wouldn't put up with this daily grind
Call's a man who knows his own mind
I hear him say with a decided smirk
That job's not for me; I choose my work
I'm jealous.
1/2004
Yoga Buddy
(with Darcie D.)
A Yoga Ode to Call
Call, you have such a cute nose
I ponder this whilst in Tree Pose
When I do a Downward Dog
My mind is really in a fog
As I breathe deep and my mind clears
I contemplate on your cute ears
Then I do Proud Warrior too
And think about your eyes so blue
I do a Table; I do Awkward Chair
There's no one like you anywhere
When my butt cheeks are in a clench
I think about you on your bench
Leaning in a forward bend
All my love to you I send
Call, Oh Call, you're my yoga buddy
Even though you're so awfully muddy.
1/2004
Ode to Call's Chaps
Call's chaps are mighty fine.
He seems to wear them all the time.
But I wonder with all that grime
Do they chafe that man of mine?
11/2001
Winter Musings
What does Call do when the temperature drops,
And his butt freezes to his bench?
What does he do when he’s chilled to the bone,
And his teeth he can’t unclench?
He thinks about Florie in her warm bed,
And he counts his pocket change.
He wonders if an afternoon tryst
Is something he can arrange.
Then he sighs and put his money
Right back there in his pocket.
He has only enough to buy a drink
Not much, but hey, don’t knock it.
A little red eye will warm his bones,
And he’ll feel right as rain.
It will have to do until the spring
When the sun comes round again.
For now Florie will have to wait,
And while away the hours
And hope that when Call comes to see her,
For goodness sake, he showers!!
3/2004
Mosby Prose
(with Darcie D.)
Now, Mosby is handsome as everyone knows.
So for him we wrote this prose.
He's as pretty as a rose.
We wonder if he has cute toes.
He'd have to, we suppose.
Now, Mosby likes his fancy clothes.
He's not like your average Joes
Who wear only so-so clothes.
I wonder who sews his dandified clothes.
Only Mosby and his tailor knows.
Now, Mosby has a lot of foes
Who like to say, "Damn you, Mose!"
I guess that's just the way it goes
When you are the Mose.
He really has a lot of woes.
Now, Mosby positively glows
Right down to his tippy toes.
He likes to strike a regal pose.
But still he has his highs and lows.
Cuz after all, he is the Mose.
Now, Mosby's great, and it shows.
Do you think he'd like this prose?
Who really knows?
We could go on until it snows.
But this poem really blows.
9/2002
Ode to Curtis Wells
Curtis Wells is full of mud.
And lots of other awful crud.
There even is a lot of blood.
Which really makes it dirty.
Unbob's pigs are right at home.
Busy rooting in the loam.
They get filthy when they roam.
But Unbob thinks they're purty.
11/2001
Are There More of Us?
Are there more of us,
Than just the four of us?
Who love the Call,
His grime and all?
Call to you,
We'll ever be true.
But surely there are more,
Than just us four.
There's Sara and Cheryl,
Darcie, and Deb,
Just the four of us
Here on the web.
We get lonely,
Yes, we do.
Call Girls everywhere
We're CALL-ing you!
revised
7/2004
Ode to Mosby's Beard
(with Darcie D.)
This here's an ode to Mosby's beard.
Now, we suppose you'll think us weird,
But we wish he hadn't had it sheared.
We often cheered when we saw his beard.
But now we're feared that he's not geared
To ever growing another beard.
Anyway, that's what we heared.
Our eyes are teared; our hearts are seared.
Why, oh why, did he shave that beard?
8/2002
A Boy Named Newt
When Newt was a baby, he was chubby and cute
And his mother, Maggie, named him Newt
He gurgled and cooed as babies will do
He basked in her love, and little Newt grew
When Newt was a boy, he lived with his pa
A man that Newt held in awe
And as the boy started to grow
Gus taught Newt what he needed to know
When Newt was a man, he fell in love
After he left Texas and Lonesome Dove
Her name was Hannah; she was good and fair
In Curtis Wells, he found her there
When Hannah died, Newt became Call
A bounty hunter who was feared by all
Quick to anger and fast on the draw
He brought in those who broke the law
But the pain in his soul burned the man like fire
And he lived by his gun, a gun for hire
No longer Newt but a man named Call
A name to respect, and Call stands tall
6/2004
