Hohman Poem #1 - RIP Tom

Many of you will remember Jeff Hohman's "epic" poems. Hard copies of "the collection" will be available tonight. And there may be a possible performance of some of the best of. But for those of you who can't attend, I'll publish them one by one to the blog.

On occasion of Tom Haworth leaving BDB for Ingram...

R I P TOM

Here lies Tom Haworth, now passed away

From our friendly midst he has gone today.

So in a festive spirit of all soberness

I’ll review his plus and minuses.

His features unusual to say the least

A cruel Rickles wit could on them feast.

But, since we’re friends and he’s bigger than I,

I’ll say he’s handsome, a fair to middlin’ lie.

His temper we know is even and fair

(Another small lie, thin as his hair.)

For you all know, as well as me,

At the drop of a ball, his ire he’d free.

Red would the hue of his jowls become

Sometimes turning to the color of plum.

He’d flash his eyes and furrow his brow,

And before his fierce visage many would cow.

His clothing, too, caught our rapt attention,

Having seen better attire in a house of detention.

One tie in particular stands out from the rest

To describe it in language is too tough a test.

It was white and mustard with tiny figures galore

With whate’re he wore it, it clashed, caused war.

Dinosaurs, too, lumbered onto his ties

The Stegosaurus for sure brought tears to some eyes.

A jock he considered himself still to be

Even as he strapped braces to each liquid knee.

Those braces of metal, those struts for his joints

Caused him to run like an ostrich on tippy toe points.

His humor was odd, off beat, somewhat twisted.

Manys the joke he has told, only to be hissed at.

Alfred E. Newman was his mentor for laughs

Which explains why so little humor, so many gaffes.

Oh, he was fun, he was, back in his prime

For some of you that was during your grade school time.

Not that he’s old, don’t me mistake,

But between he and us there’s a generational break.

He remembers the days before there was TV,

Back when he’d go to the movies, Saturday serials, to see,

Back when the hula hoop was a fad for the young,

Even back to the time before rock n’ roll was sung.

Aged? Not Tom, he has retained his free youth

(Another small, innocent, wonderful, untruth.)

His beard he scraped off because it turned white

And he’s loosing his hair out of old age fright.

And now, its to Nashville, first step towards the fun

As he slowly makes his break out to the sun.

Later or sooner I’m sure we’ll all see

That Tom has moved to Sun City A R I Z.

So, Tom, as you head off to Ingram’s warm bosom

We want you to know that we’ll all lose some,

We’ll lose some humor, some wit, some panache.

Go with best wishes, you’ll be a smash.