Brenda McClearen will be the featured speaker at Poet’s Corner
August 22, 2013. (7:00-8:00 pm)
Free & open to the public
Fondren Building at Scarritt-Bennett (2nd Floor)
1008 19th Ave. S.
Nashville, TN 37212
Plan to join us for some laughter, misty eyes… and basically a little fun.
Here is a sampling of Brenda’s work:
Greta Mae Skelton (Oct. 2011)
The saucy gal with bosoms…
The one that had ‘em.
She stood out.
Her tall stature,
taller than reality
for the spike heels made her so.
Mama Skelton used to say that only Greta
gave her trouble.
The youngest child of 5
The one with fiery temper… flair,
and a zest to grab life
Make a whirlwind of it… really
Greta must have given her mom a real run…
more than the others
It was true.
She pushed the boundaries.
She jumped those fences.
I’d guess the bosoms
helped to carve her personality
Confident, head high and lilted… sure.
Not many have the luxury of such a physical trait
that enables a creation to become an eye magnet.
Such a shame for all the other Skelton girls
that Greta got all the bosom genes…
The whole linage of bosom blood…
all went into Greta.
And the small leftovers…
dispersed sparingly to the remaining three.
But the Lord knew that Greta Mae
could handle them, I guess.
And she did, they served her well
and all her days
they made her proud.
Her beauty of face and ready smile…
Her tiny waist, caramel skin…
Flashing beauty, bosoms…
turning heads with the ever slight of strut
The power to win men and gain women’s envy
with a simple drifting move
that cuts a room in two.
Colored lips, bright red always,
Stunning, she glided…
confident she posed… perky
Fireworks followed her path
She captured the man…
the handsome, lively one
Natural they were together.
She loved her bosoms
and so did he.
Early to marry, they did,
cause her bosoms needed capturing.
Safe in hand
And a family fast – they made.
One, two the children came.
Her fire grew into a graceful
woman with age.
Her hair grew too, piled higher still, black.
She doted on her man, spoiled him sure.
This matriarch coddled her family.
She drew them all to her.
She loved deep.
We gathered round the casket.
Gone, she was.
The preacher praised Aunt Greta.
He described her love of flashy dress,
and shopping expertise…
her famous cherry cobbler… a perfected achievement.
He shared her love of God and family
and service to her fellow flock.
Then accolades more in detail…
But glaringly… absent to me…
all those words
and not a mention of those bosoms,
famous as they were.
It looked like the virus that had visited all at the office
was finally settled in to live with Mom.
Her labor in breathing and failure to rebound was becoming obvious.
The trip to the hospital changed from an if, to a when.
And I saw that it was coming.
What I dreaded most was watching the small, frail victim be so scared.
I knew the drill and had my “roll-y vein” speech ready.
“You know she has roll-y veins
so when you try to get blood
bring in the best blood sucking, vein catcher that you have
‘Cause this woman’s veins run, they roll
they dodge a needle with the best of skill.
You’ll puncture and poke, sweat and swear…
Then, you’ll give up… you’ll run find the best vein catcher you have.
So if you’ll start with the very best vein catcher in the east…
You’ll get those precious few drops…
quite a bit earlier than later
(cause that’s all you’ll get)
Plus, know at the onset that we can’t fill those tubes…
This blood river is slow, thick and dry… so get your drops and go.”
Then, much to my awe and amazement the vein catcher came,
poked, hit that roll-y vein… first snag!!
Wow, I thought… now that woman is a vein catcher champion, as she said
“That blood is like molasses”,
then skipped out with her vials,
in professional vampire form.
And we rest…