Well, HI-dee-HO - what do yaz know and w’assup!   Ahhhh…I gotta say, my BLOG THING has become a source of joy and inspiration to me, and I love you guys and gals who bring it on.   As Sandra Bernhard likes to say: Without You, I’m Nothing.  Which is a blessing because I absolutely love writing.   It’s a genuine fact that writing is my first love, even before I became a bona fide musician.  Which I really love too, of course, but they’re different types of loves and when you have two great loves in your life, well…let’s face it – what’s not to LOVE?  I really LOVE that!  Hey!  A Third!

But I’m not the only writer in the house, O no, not by a long shot.  It’s a little-known fact that my husband Chris happens to write poetry.   I have to beg him to write, because he’s a really laid-back kinda guy.  But once he picks up a pencil, the prose literally spews forth so effortlessly that it’s really quite extraordinary.  In my own humble opinion, he has never produced a poem that I haven’t found to be just tremendous.  Now, I’m serious here.  Lest you think differently.

As you know, last I wrote on this blog, it was the story of my 15-year friendship with my bud, Hiram.  While it was a necessary, emotional and dare I say holy experience to have recorded and shared that friendship with you, I have been needing to lighten things up a tad for my next blog venture.  I came up with the following idea. 

One of Chris’ more epic poems was inspired by the old, 3-story apartment building we used to live in.  The cast of characters coming and going from that place were completely insane.  Or, I don’t know – were they normal and WE were insane?  I don’t think so.  No. Many were definitely insane.  Others perhaps simply eccentric.  But they all have one thing in common, and it’s that they each hold their own very special story in our hearts. 

And so, I will proudly post – with his halting, modest permission - Chris’ poem, grandly entitled Richmond Hall, which was his unofficial name for said apartment building.  But here’s the kicker:  I am also herewith posting a reader-interactive invitation to YOU, dear blog-pal…

 I don’t expect the characters or the situations in this poem to make a helluva lot of sense to you off the bat.  But indulge me.  Read the poem, and if there is a particular character or phrase that jumps out at you which you’d like me to describe with a wee anecdote of my own, kindly let me know.  Because I promise you, there are stories.  Oh, there are stories.

Without further adieu, I bring you: 

Richmond Hall

Grandma Q.  How do you do?

Alex George, why are you so poor?

Why, Shit-smeller, what’s got your goat?

That smell ain’t me –

It’s that pig-bowel stew you cook every week.

Here’s a well-dressed young couple,

New to the building.

How are you today?

Hello?  Hello?

Can’t you hear me?

Oh, well.  It’s just the coloreds.

We have to forgive them.

Who’s this pulling up in a

Money-green Jag?

Why, it’s Sweet Little Buttercup

And his snarling pit bull wife.

The Clarks!

“Pack your bags!”

“I’m calling my lawyer!”

“Which one are you?”

I’m feeling more and more at home.

“Witting, not enough air,

Not enough air!”

Raffy, what is wrong with your little boy?

Vince, why are you shooting at the alley cats?

Please stop – you might just hit

Surrogate Mom.

Hi, ugly weirdo sisters next door.

Mind your tongues

Or my wife will have to

Kick your fucking asses!

C.C. Rider, please save me a parking space.

Hi, neighbor.  I love your little puppy-bear.

Would you like to borrow a dog crate for training?

Your husband seems nice

(I hope I don’t get shot).

Hi, other neighbor.

Thanks for helping me with my van.

Hey, where did my new battery go?

No, crack-head guy down the hall –

You can’t borrow any money.

I’m broke.

Pay-day is next Thursday,

Please don’t meet me at

The subway station.

Hi, Knuckles, Hi Grace Steel –

Nice to see you both

(Cold glares, silence).

Ahh – it’s Frederico - !

The rare gentleman in this place!

Allow me to help you up to your room, Sir!

Who cares about the shit in your pants?

Who’s here now?

Why – it’s Gomez!

Hi, how are you?

Would you care for a nice glass of wine?

“I WILL CALL THE POLICE!

YOU BELONG IN THE SUBWAY!”

Oh, okay.  Adios.

Well, Jackie – we shall leave this all

In your capable hands.

You always seem to

Bounce back up

After a fall –

Like most retarded executives.

Rock on, Dennis.

Good luck, Kayla.

 * ~ C.B. – 3-5-08 ~ *