THE FLYING PIGS OF RIVERTOWN

THE FLYING PIGS OF RIVERTOWN,
a remarkable celebration of the city of Cincinnati, Ohio


Pen: A.Teveluwe

Copyright: James Gauselman


There once was an old woman who lived in a shoe
But has anyone ever told you of the pigs that flew?

“Oh! No,” said the farmer, “that just can’t be…”
“My pigs are herded to market walking three-by-three.”

“Well then,” said the young girl, with a disbelieving huff
“You’re a bit skeptical, even rude, I see, and your history’s a bit rough.”

“So then,” said the girl, “I’ll tell you the story…”
“Of how pigs built a city, and then you’ll be sorry!”

---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---


Up on the riverbank where there’s a turn in the flow
Sprung up a village, along the O-hi-o.

Its name was first Losantiville, where a young thriving country grew west
And resources for a budding economy were known to be best.

There were forests of trees
And wide-open spaces
Natural game for the hunting
Even wild buffalo traces.

Fertile soil for farming
Grasses for grazing
Frontiersmen discovered a promising land
Rich for the planting.

Much before long
There were settlers aplenty
And the town grew prosperous
In a Rhine Valley - like setting.

Where flatboats, then steamers
Paddled their way
Hauling goods and passengers
Plying their trade.


Up-sprung industries
For prosperity and fame
Where the strong trees’ timber
Set mighty ship vessels’ frames.

Breweries and bakeries
For the palate and plate
And professional baseball’s
First ‘home plate’.



A business that made soap
From the lard that pigs wrought
That cleaned all the children’s bright smiling faces
For all the world to be bought.

Butchers, bakers and candle-stick makers
All businesses benefiting from the pigs given nature.

Once, others would look at this town
And turn up their noses
At the town they called Porkopolis,
And not for its neighborhood gardens’ roses.

And let’s not forget
Those memorable celebrities of fame
Radio to television, to stage and to screen,
Generations, now, all know their names.

And so, much business and talent has prospered
From the small to the grand
By the hard working citizens
Of this burgeoning land.

This valley, God’s temple,
With its churches and steeples
Living in faithful harmony
Along with its proud mid-western peoples.


Now there’s a warm friendly city
Of old mixed with new
Conservatories and museums
And a world famous zoo.

Derbies to race-cars
The steamboats’ Tall Stacks
Art turned to architecture
And the trains’ mighty tracks.


There are parks and attractions,
Numerous festivals that are a ‘hoot’
With just as many local tasty foods,
And special ice creams to boot.

Schnitzel to creampuffs
Numerous beers from great steins
Oktoberfests to marathons
And Catawba from the vine.

Amphitheaters for summer concerts
And wide open spaces.
An art deco museum
And former train station.


Today on the river
In honor of these days
Rise monuments and symbols
To these marvelous ways.

Universities of wonder
And theater performances to share
All within earshot
Of the city’s ‘Fountain Square’.

All over town
The tradition is big
The city and its people
Even celebrated the “Big-Pig-Gig”.

Once, across the river
Historic battles did succumb
Now, by the John Roebling Suspension Bridge
All friends do gladly come.

But most of all revered
For the heritage they brought
Are the City of Seven Hills famed pigs
And the neighborhood life they also wrought.

So when you look around at this marvelous place
Be sure to look on high
For beyond most others’ common belief…
Pigs do surely fly!

THE LITTLEST COWBOY

THE LITTLEST COWBOY

Pen: A.Teveluwe’
Copyright: James R. Gauselman

Dedication: “For my grandsons, whom I carry in my thoughts daily."


My boots are torn and scruffy
The shine is worn away
My spurs are dull, don’t jingle
I won’t be home today.

The trail’s been long and lonely
Through sagebrush, desert sand, and snow
Just me and my pony, Festus,
Headin’ for the big rodeo show.

We’ve dreamt on many a moonlit night
Of adventures far and wide
But this is our first together,
Seeking a very special prize.

It won’t be long before the trail will end
Around a tree or bend
At our hope-filled destination we’ll arrive
After many a tired stride.

And there we see it before us, the tiny drifters’ town
All dusty, rugged and saddled with age
People all bustling about
In anticipation of a very exciting day.

“Celebration,” one child cries out!
As bullets sting the air.
“We’re going to have a party…,” he pointed,
“It’ll all take place over there.”

As we crossed the town center
Under banners in the breeze waved
We passed the county seat and stables
While the blacksmith’s old mare neighed.

And just outside the edge of town
In a makeshift hayseed pen
The townspeople gathered hastily
While the livestock stomped and frowned.

“I’ll not let another cowboy ride me,”
The mad bull snorted with glee.
“Nor I,” said the bronking horse,
“No cowpuncher will get the best of me!”

Now things were getting rowdy
The hay began to fly
As the rugged cowboy games began
The crowd let out a cry.

Each succeeding cowboy took a tumble
Landing with a thump
While the clowns danced and circled
To the crowd’s laughter, their cheers and their stomps.

Still, no single cowboy
Led the field away
The judges somber in their scores,
“Would someone win today?”

I stepped forward and waved my broad-rimmed hat
“Sir, do not be dismayed.”
“I and my little pony, sir,
We can make the grade.”

Stretching over his table and down to see
The head judge scoured, and pointed menacingly at me,
“Just what do you think that you can do little one?”
“This is a contest for big, strong crusty men; men the size of trees.”

“We have a fabulous trick, dear sir,
That no one else can do.”
And, “ we’ll gladly demonstrate our trick
For the pleasure of the crowd and you.”

“Go ahead,” the judge replied,
“And entertain us with your skill.”
So I mounted my little pony
To the crowd’s delight and thrill.

We set our course for the center of the corral
Where no one would miss our act,
Or be distracted surely nigh
By the gathering storm against the setting sky.

With anticipation they did surely gasp
While I galloped and roped with my steed
But our finale was what all eyes waited for
As I reined-in Festus’s lead.

Our heads held proudly high
And with a swagger in our step
Me and my little pony, Festus,
We did a great big ‘flip’!

Astonished and baffled
Were all who looked on to see,
Such a trick had never been done
Why, how could this possibly be?

Then came more cheers and laughter
Mixed with applause from the stands in the breeze,
And the judges smiling on the perfect day
With a prize for my Festus, and me.

A LITTLE BIT OF HEAVEN

A LITTLE BIT OF HEAVEN

Copyright: James R. Gauselman @ 2007
Pen: A.Teveluwe


A little bit of heaven
Sits with me at my side.

A little bit of heaven
Walks with me in stride.

A little bit of heaven
Plays with me when the weather is stormy outside.

A little bit of heaven
Dines with me, especially when we eat fries.


A little bit of heaven
Keeps me warm and cozy all through the night.

A little bit of heaven
Licks my face to calm me from my fright.

A little bit of heaven
Nips my toes so I’m sure to bundle up tight.

A little bit of heaven
Wakes me to a new day and the new morning light.


A little bit of heaven
Helps me dress and tie my shoe.

A little bit of heaven
Washes our hair with mom’s shampoo.

A little bit of heaven
Makes me laugh when I am sorely blue.

A little bit of heaven
Sighs, as if to say “I love you!”

CRACKING WALNUTS
By: A.Teveluwe
Copyright: James R. Gauselman


When I was just a tyke, long before I grew
I loved the taste of walnuts, even before I liked stew.
Especially walnuts fresh from the shell.
Mom even put walnuts in my shiny lunch pail.

And I loved walnuts more every day
So many walnuts, in different ways.
Walnuts in salad, walnuts in bread
Walnuts in brownies --- I even ate them in bed.

Momma would break open the walnuts, for me
For, I was just a lad of only three.
I tried it myself using my tricycle and speed
Only to find myself dangling from the branch of a big oak tree.

When I was four
And the holidays brought more,
I tossed them against the ceiling
Knocking plaster on the floor.

By the time I was five
There was nothing I wouldn’t do.
I was desperate for them always
Even when we went to the zoo.



Before I was six, I knew I had a fix
A sure-proof way.
Until, with the swing of my dad’s hammer
My thumb got in the way.

Another year had gone ‘round
So I was now seven.
And would you believe it?
It still left me, without that delicious sound…of cracking walnuts all around.

About the time I turned eight
I knew it was getting late.
A ladder, some height, a trajectory and angle
But I wound up with a bruised spirit and red swollen ankle.

And at nine, I thought I must have been blind
It was now so obvious and clear.
My goal would require contraptions
Of much more elaborate gear.

Pulleys, pistons, and levers with weights
A spring, a little twine, some glue --- Now, if I can just keep it all straight!
Uh! Oh! I exclaimed, as my ingenious device whinnied
My ambition was full, but my tummy would remain empty.

A master at ten, I decided to give it one last try.
I thought I would have figured it out.
It really shouldn’t be all that difficult, should it?
“Hey you! Watch out!”

So many tries, so many failures,
I had nothing left to do but pout.
Yet, I knew that the solution would one day be mine
It was just, oh just, a simple matter of time.



Now I am grown
With a family and home,
And whiskers to scratch as I reflect
On those days when I fumbled, tripped and stumbled
For my prized delicious walnuts… but I have no regrets.

Today I have a collection of widgets and gadgets,
That do all the work for me.
They’re everywhere throughout my house,
As far as the eye can see.

Shelves of Nutcrackers from around the world, of many fashion and type:
There are Steam driven…Water pumped… Spring powered… Nutcrackers with Rubber bands wound tight.
Even those run by solar-electric light.
“Oh,” says my family, “Oh! What a sight!”

Now I sit back in ease, without worry,
As I muse over my once silly antics.
My home is quiet, without rumor,
Of what might be going on in my attic.

My attic?

“Son! What are you doing with that watermelon?”

THE ADVENTURES OF JITNEY JET/A Geography Travel Series [Part 1, The Introduction: ‘Discovery’]

Pen: A.Teveluwe
Copyright: James R. Gauselman @ 2011


A little boy/girl gazes with amusement and glee
Straining to point, and says “Daddy, did you see?”

For far up above them streaks an unusual contraption
A dizzying air machine like no other distraction.

While clearly an aircraft of not unusual proportion
The chrome wingtips and engines reflected its peculiar flight motions.

And dangling from nose to tail, and all about its surface
Sprang strings of Christmas lights, belying its unknown purpose.

It was buzzing and whirling all about great billowy clouds
Brightly flashing its magical paint scheme while hardly making a sound.

________________________________________________________________________

Merrily as we fly over circuses with their clowns
Corn planted fields and neighboring towns

We loop and roll ‘round clouds of cotton
While crowds far below cheer for days nearly forgotten.

This is our mystical bird lightly flitting about
Taking us on adventures, spying on high, as an eagle scouts.

Where there are no defined borders to block our view
Sights from dawn to dusk capture our craft’s crew.

We cascade over mountains, desert sands and sea shores
To faraway places and grand oases galore.

From old civilizations passed into history’s memory queue
Onto where new peoples and cultures blend with the morning dew.

Our ‘jitney’ is our transport to places far and wide
Small, or as tall as the brightly sunlit sky.

______________________________________________________________________

Now climb aboard for destinations, fun and whimsical to see
And fascinating memories, you’ll forever recall with glee.