Poems About People
By Wil C. Fry

POEMS HOME

Over the years, Wil wrote various poems about people in his life, whether they were friends, strangers, lovers, or family members. These were always meant as a tribute to those people and the impact that they'd had on his life. At times, Wil's opinions of those people may not have been entirely correct, and sometimes, there are negative observations. But in general, the tone of the poems is intended to be one of admiration for the differences among all humans, celebrating their uniqueness. Here are some of those poems.

MY BROTHER IN THE LORD
About: Wesley Michael Ramon and Matthew Wesley Lawrence
May 17, 1989 (age 16)

You’re my Christian brother, i love you with all my heart
when you need some help, i’ll gladly do my part
i’ll stand beside you, even when we’re all alone     
i’ll be your brother, when all the rest have gone     
You’ve shown love to me, in a way no one else has     
All i can do is thank Him, for purposely crossing our paths     
Yes, you've failed me before, and i know i’ll fail you,     
Yes, we'll disagree sometimes, and we'll argue too,     
but we’ll always draw close again, when the battle’s through     
i know that if we’re together, we’ll make it through     
we’ll pray together, and for each other     
i love you, ‘cause you’re my Christian brother     
i’ll stand by your side - please, stand by mine     
When we fight satan - we’ll be side by side     
i’ll watch your back - you cover me     
we’ll make it through - just wait and see     

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THE GOATEE MAN     
About: Matthew Wesley Lawrence     
April 27, 1990 (age 17)     

There’s this guy I know, his name is Matt     
He’s not very dumb, and he’s not very fat     
Now and then he burps, now and then he sings     
When he’s bit by a bee, he feels a slight sting     
He’s a goatee man, a goatee man     
Oh, baby, he’s a goatee man     
He has no plan, for his life span     
He doesn’t have a friend who’s name is Dan     
He lives in a can, has an electric fan     
His music has been banned     
His mind has been canned     
The Gap has been spanned     
On day he will land (on the moon)     
He eats from a spoon     
He sings the looney tunes     
(repeat chorus)     

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THE FRIED CHICKEN     
About: Lisa Hickman
April 27, 1990 (age 17)     

I know this girl named Lisa     
I know this girl named Lisa     
I need a word that rhymes with Lisa     
not a word that rhymes with Eugene     
Her pool is full of chorine     
‘sposed to make it clean     
Her pool is quite a scene     
Her mind is in her body     
Both of them are rotting     
She hates going jogging     
on Wednesday, her spleen starts clogging     
When she swims she wears little floatees     
She never ever had a goatee     
at least not yet     
maybe to win a bet     
Her pool’s a little wet     
It’s the best she could get     
Ever since we met     
She’s my little pet     
catch a fish in a net     
go fly in a jumbo jet     
Her penguin is in debt     
That’s why it died     
That’s why she cried     
Then her pool dried     
Then her chicken fried     
And she ate it.     

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HE BEASTLY SONG     
About: Les Guilliams     
May 1, 1990 (age 17)     

There was this guy named Les, made some leather boots     
He lived off of crickets, and lots a’ roasted roots     
He lives for the fun of it, has no purpose at all     
He has funny red hair, doesn’t ever comb at all     
Wears a funny green jacket - never ever tries to shave     
Everybody laughs at him, but they all think he’s brave     
You see, les is the Door - Need I tell you more?     
He has to live for nothing but the Doorway     
And the people that go thru every Day     
If you go through the door, you may not come back     
If you ever try, you’ll catch a lot o’ flak     
Things have gone in - never have returned     
If you ever try you’ll really get burned     
Don’t you ever try - you’ll really get spurned     
And you life maybe rudely overturned     
You see, Les is the Door - Need I say more?     
He has nothing to live for but the Doorway     
And room that is thru it, across the way     
He never caught a cricket     
But when he caught it, it died     
He buried in the ground, outside     
It’s a sad ending, to a beastly song, and     
now this song is getting much too long, (so, bye!)     

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KRIS     
About: Kris Burkholder, fellow student at Wil's high school     
May 4, 1990 (age 17)     

Kris is this guy, last name’s Burkholder     
if you look at him, your feet get colder     
(and your great-grandmother’s flowers get older)     
His hair is weird, but so is mine, so who cares at all     
i see a big, fat, obese rat behind that wall     
i smell a rat, things are getting kinda fishy     
the scum between your toes is gettin’ kinda squishy     
Kris, Kris, how did you miss     
What a neat guy, this Kris (People say he’s gay,     
i know he’s not that way) (Maybe in May)     
After it’s all over, he’s a cool guy     
a little weird, but so are you and i.     

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ELVIS ANGEL     
About: Molly "Elvis" Trosdale     
May 8, 1990 (age 17)     

Elvis, O, great Elvis, shake that pelvic pelvis     
Oh, you do it so well, you just can’t be from hell     
What a heavenly pelvis, that girl called Elvis     
She’s my Elvis angel, from heaven on high     
She’s back again, yeah, to take us for a ride     
She’s got the hair, she’s got the pelvis     
She’s just gotta be that guy Elvis     
Some call her “Molly”, but the name Elvis makes her jolly     
Where did the name come from? From the deranged mind of someone     
Could it have been Matt? Well, i’ll agree with that     
He’s definitely deranged, his brain has the mange.     
One day he saw her pelvis, and coined the term Elvis     
She does it so well, she just can’t be from hell     
She’s my Elvis angel, shakes her pelvis for me     
She’s back again, yeah, already older than three     
She’s got the hair, she’s got the pelvis     
and there’s no way in the world you could say that she’s not Elvis     
“You ain’t nothin’ but a hot dog, eaten all the time     
You ain’t never been a good to me, y’ain’t no friend o’ mine.”     

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YOU BRING ME PEACE     
About: Holly Urban and Wesley Ramon     
July 15, 1990 (age 17)     

I write to you of my troubles, I speak of my trials     
I like to tell you when I’m down     
You smile, and tell me to smile too, saying “It’s okay”     
You like to remind me of the day I’ll get a crown     
When sorrows overtake me and I lash out in anger     
And I try to hurt someone close     
You’re no “fairweather friend”, you love me the same     
Even when it hurts the most     
And you bring me peace, you bring me peace     
I am comforted when you are near to me     
And you bring me joy, you bring me joy     
I see your love for me, and I have to rejoice     
And you bring me love, you bring me love     
You’ve taught me about the love from above     
And you bring me peace     
There’s times when evil rises against me and     
I see the temptation and want to bow     
You pray me through, and tell me it’s wrong     
but assure me that you’d love me anyhow     
Then cowardice entices me, and carelessness too     
Angry, jealous lips spit forth bitterness     
But from your heart comes acceptance and love     
Your hurt, bleeding heart shows forth forgiveness     
And you bring me peace. . .     

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OF WESLEY, A KNIGHT OF OLDE     
About: Wesley Emm Arr Punisher     
("Wesley Emm Arr Punisher" was a character in a fictional story that Wil wrote when he was young. The character was obviously based on his close friend, Wesley Michael Ramon. This poem was actually written about the character, not the person)     
Aug. 10, 1991 (age 18)     

Warrior was he, and roughly clad     
His skin was dark, his heart was glad     
With piercing eyes and lengthy hair     
With muscles hard, and wife so fair     
He hefted sword that none could lift     
Then, shield stalwart, and arrow swift     
Yes, he was known to fight true well     
When all his men beside him fell     
His horse was white, a stallion strong     
It bore him thru the raging throng     
He rode upon his stallion, yes     
And then dethroned the country’s best     
Upon his feet, might quick ran he     
And so surpassed all rivalry     
Earthly masters? Nay, he had none     
‘Xcept in this world he followed one     
He pledged his life, his wealth he left     
To follow one whom he called Jef     
Friends they had been, since meeting first     
For each other they fought the worst     
Then high rose Jef, in leading men     
Along with him, Sir Wes his friend     
Now lands they rule with friendly hand     
While Wesley wars, and Jef commands     
Wesley listens with willing ears     
But no other on earth he fears     
One more ruler Sir Wesley heeds     
But this One lives above the trees     
“Light” is His name, also the “Door”     
The “Way”, the “Truth”, and many more     
More knowledge and more pow’r he holds.     
And when in hearts, He makes men bold.     

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KARISA     
("I never knew her last name.")     
Sept. 6, 1999 (age 26)     

On a whim     
She came into my life     
And I let her     
Small of frame and     
Large of smile     
I liked to make her laugh until the tears ran down     
Her exquisite face     
Brought joy to mine, where     
No joy had dwelt     
For some time     
Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s friend     
She might have been my lover in another life     
And that’s where she went     
Maybe there, in that next world, they will understand her     
“I’m not sure; I don’t know; I guess I never noticed it ‘til I was fucked in the head”     
Were some of her last words to me     
Words that haunt me now that she’s gone on     
How we walked and talked, it’s still with me     
How we touched, and looked into each other’s eyes     
Both of us finding safe haven there together when both of us     
Had known worse     
And the world will never know just how glad I am that     
I was able     
To be just what she needed for a short time     
Because I know she was for me     
Karisa, maybe I will see you     
Again     
If not, then     
Goodbye     
and Good luck.     

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DON & CAROLINE’S     
About: The two people in the title (last name unknown)     
April 4, 2000 (age 27)     

Caught up in the here and now, forgetting about being stranded     
And a smiling face across the pool is a welcome sight     
Curling smoke arranges itself in the sun’s morning rays     
Or hides in the corners, darkly awaiting new breath     
A quickly forgotten joke hovers, apparent in the laugh lines     
The white lines, the safety lines, the lines on a new page     
And it’s about time this old book had a new page     
Beer in three flavors goes down with salted peanuts and     
Burger King wrappers clutter the table and the black tile counter     
But we’re looking at the sun-drenched nipples instead     
Hearing the clack of billiard balls in the other room, no     
Not the room with the giant TV and heated massage chair     
Or the room with the tanning bed, where there’s a waiting list     
A stimulating conversation, a titillating view     
As long as you can still get in touch with someone called “you”     
(continued on April 9, 2000, 20:00 hours)     
You have to be invited to walk through the door     
And you have to be approved if you want to stay     
All decent people are accepted and only the rude are turned away     
Don is the don, but he can be your friend or he could be your father     
Caroline lives life with a smile and a bad neck, and she’s someone you can’t bother     
Sleepy, wobbly, or bloodshot, you’ll have a good time     
Letting life slide by and ignoring everybody’s crime     
You’ll go back even if it takes a while and you’ll     
Breathe a sigh of relief when you walk through the door     

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HE ENJOYED IT (ODE TO RANDY)     
About: Randy (last name since forgotten)     
Sept. 13, 2000 (age 27)     

Flailing through life     
Mouth open wide     
Brain unattached     
But enjoying it.     

Setting your sights     
On the ultimate ride     
Reaching for the skies     
And enjoying it.     

See through to the soul     
Heart spread open wide     
Climbing out of a hole     
And enjoying it.     

Interrupting life     
Still out, causing strife     
The past will take its toll     
But you’ll enjoy it.     

When you’re finished with your role     
And the grave is open wide     
The epitaph says, with a sigh:     
“He enjoyed it.”     

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GOOD OLE CITY SLICKER (ODE TO MARK)     
About: Mark Alan Hurst     
Sept. 29, 2000 (age 28)     

Well, he still defies definition     
But then, I have this premonition     
That he likes it that way     
Born ‘n’ raised out in the country     
Lived and worked in the shitty city     
And some say he lost his way     

You might be a slave, but he works harder     
You could be a genius; we say he’s smarter     
Living to the tune of a thumping techno beat     
No question; he’ll give his all for a friend     
Generosity and loyalty without end     
Look! There he is, walking on the street     

You might find him watching the history channel     
With a beer in one hand     
And two empty bottles on the table     
Or at a pay phone, arguing about a credit card     

He’s the good ole country boy, only with math skills,     
He’s the sophisticated city man, only with a quick smile,     
He can change the subject before you hear the first part     
The heart of a little boy wrapped in an old man’s scars.     

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My father, the strongest man I know     
Nov. 7-9, 2000 (age 28)     

His hands were strong     
I felt them as he held me, carried me     
Heard the grinding as he loosened rusty bolts     
Watched as he built barns, fences,     
Our lives     
Felt the restraint as he disciplined     
And knew we were safe     
In his hands     

His heart was strong     
I watched him cry, and felt the hot tears     
While he forgave me, inspired me     
I knew he would give his money, his advice,     
His time     
Take a bullet if need be     
For any of us     
Right in the heart     

His mind was strong     
As he taught me, corrected me, surprised me     
With what kinds of things he knew     
How he could figure things out so quickly     
Amazed us     
What use was there for a science book?     
When my dad was around,     
Speaking his mind     

His back was weak     
And laid him out more than once, I guess     
We weren’t sure how to handle that     
But he always seemed to get back up     
(So far)     
More than anyone else, he could push himself     
With the entire world     
Riding on his back.     

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Till The Day I Die (Ode To My Mother)     
May 11, 2001 (age 28)     
("There’s so much more I could say… Smart shopper, Master’s degree, home school teacher, giver of well-thought-out advice, the best family cook in the world – bar none, THE BEST MOM IN THE WHOLE GOSH DARNED WORLD! I love you, Mom.")     

‘For richer and poorer’     
My mother has lived and loved     
Every moment in her life greatly prized     
From Arizona’s deserts     
To Oklahoma’s wilderness     
And the rest of the world, besides     

She walked through the largest cities in the world     
With wide-eyed wonder and girlish delight     
Although she never feared returning home     
To fight the good fight     

Where she raised four wild children     
With much grace, patience, optimism,     
And a firm hand     
The Home that others envied     
Where she held us, loved us,     
And was always ready to understand     

Where she cooked, cleaned, washed and sprayed     
And worked, and prayed, studied and stayed     
And few were the times we appreciated     
The sacrifices she lovingly made     

Where her gardens grew green     
And fed us many times     
But don’t give credit to a “green thumb.”     
She worked, slaved, persevered     
And brought the flowers and vegetables up     
No matter how hot the sun     

She was an example to us, and to others     
A counselor, a teacher, a fount of wisdom, and a friend     
A sewer, a mender, a sower, a reaper,     
A rock in times of trouble     
And she will be, until the end     

Although I am trying, I cannot express in words     
How she was tough as nails     
Yet as soft as the petals of a rose     
Not given to flights of fancy,     
She taught me the value of researching my opinions     
These are things only a mother’s son knows     

Sometimes, I wish I was still that little boy, playing outside     
So I could come to her with my skinned knee, and bruised pride     
So she could hold me as long as I needed her to     
Hearing her prayers over me as I cried     
That’s what I’ll never forget     
Till the day I die     

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