On December 27, 2018, my friend and prolific writer, Don Doman, published a story in The Suburban Times titled, Robin Hood and the Plight of the Arrow. It was an exciting story describing Don’s youth as he related to his TV and movie hero, Robin Hood. If you missed Don’s story, click my custom link Don Doman’s Quiver. Of course, the word Quiver has two meanings; #1 A place to store arrows. #2. To tremble and shake. It should be evident that trembling and shaking do not mix well with bows and arrows. For Don, depending on where any of his arrows landed, I imagine he may have related to either or both meanings of the word quiver.
I have never told anyone, but I think of myself, Joe Boyle, as a hometown hero. I am always watching out for other people, and if I see that they are in trouble, I swoop in to help them. Often it is just a matter of making a person’s life fuller and more meaningful.
In Don’s case, he grew up always wanting to be Robin Hood-like but never entirely made it. It is a genuine travesty that Don had to grow up without having a poem like Robin Hood’s as repeated below.
Robin Hood, Robin Hood
Riding through the glen.
Robin Hood, Robin Hood
With his band of men.
Feared by the bad,
Loved by the good,
Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Robin Hood.
As Lakewood’s self-appointed hometown hero, I am bravely stepping forward to right Don’s wrong by having created a custom Robin Hood-like poem for Don. I say bravely because I am not a poet and as one of my good friends said after reading my last poetic effort, “Joe, fun, but you better keep your day job.”
Don, I hope my words put a smile on your face.
If they do, then perhaps your poem is suitable for hanging over your fireplace.
Don Doman, Don Doman
By Joseph Boyle
Don Doman, Don Doman.
I learn by your words; you were quite a bowman.
As a youth, you shot arrows into the sky.
Causing your neighbors to think, oh my.
If your mother and father only knew.
Your bow and arrow days might have been through.
Where they all landed is anyone’s guess.
But you kept shooting them, nonetheless.
When you shot arrows on Cheney Stadium’s Tight-Wad Hill,
I know it was, for you, quite a thrill.
One day an arrow of yours pierced me where I store my wallet.
Which proved less painful than being pierced on my whatchamacallit.
Not knowing what goes up must come down,
You kept firing arrows like no one else was around.
I hope that one day you and Robin can shoot arrows together,
And if you do, you will soon become two birds of a feather.
So that is it, Don Doman, Don Doman, the end of a tale.
I ask that you give up shooting arrows unless you wish
to write your next story from jail.
Joe . . . the title alone started me laughing . . . but I do have to answer . . .
Owed to Joe
Well, go nock me over as you pierce my arrow
Your poem touched me right down to the marrow
Growing up so darn close to the Puyallup River
Your Salmon Rushdie writing left me all a quiver
Both arrows and imaginations always take flight
Repeating and depleting for all of their might.
Was it a Harley motorcycle that let you unravel
And nearly ended your life up there in the gravel?
A policeman’s life is not so easily understood
You don’t find coffee or donuts under the hood
Robin was English and searched under the bonnet
Grabbing his long bow, and a quill for a sonnet.
Robin Hood shot boars, a squirrel and a marmot
Dead center each time for most any old target
He lived in a kingdom, both subject and verse
This is my poem and it could have been worse.
Don Doman, Don Doman, I hope to shout.
You sat right down and knocked Ode to Joe out.
What a clever man you are.
I bet you have a bow and arrow in your car.
Please know that while I can dish it out,
When humor is directed to me, it makes me shout.
Joseph Boyle
So, Mr. Boyle….
I’m quivering in frustration since I, too, confessed to Don that I , in fact, watched that show and soon was shooting arrows. I even told about my mother who had a “real” quiver with arrows. However, no mention of my possible “do-good” spirit was mentioned in your story, not even a line in your dedicated poem!
Hmmm…little girls couldn’t be Robin Hoods back then. It was Maiden Marian or nobody. Well, I could pretend with the best of them: I rode through many a glen on a great steed even without a band of men (merry or not)….lol.
Loved your homage…such fun.
Oopa. Last line of poem appears cut by a mighty sword, oh Lord, oh Lord.
“So that is it, Don Doman, Don Doman, the end of a tale.
I ask that you give up shooting arrows unless you wish to write your next story from jail.
Joseph Boyle
You guys are hilarious. Thanks. I luv it
Thanks for your positive comment Ms. Eliason. I bet you noticed that Don and I use two different spelling systems too as in “Owed to Joe” and “Ode to Joe”.
If we have helped you laugh in 2019, then one of our important writing objectives has been met.
Joseph Boyle
Joe,
I hate to let loose a quarrel but in my case I rarely use a normal word when a pun will do . . . and I owed you a poem and just wanted to make my bodkin point.
Thanks for the constant chuckles.
Don,
Your choice of spelling on the word owed was not a surprise to me, but I could not resist converting it into just one more chuckle.
Joe – A guy known for having the last word and I just did. Heh, heh. heh.