Showing posts with label Doc Hollen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Doc Hollen. Show all posts

Monday, June 17, 2013

Doc Hollen's Traveling Medicine Show 2013


Step right up now folks, come on in, don't be bashful now.You are about to see some of the most amazing wonders of the modern world.  In just a few minutes you may see Madam Salsaberry dive from 100 feet in the air into a five gallon bucket filled with damp sponges!

Let the little ladies up to the front gentlemen, I know it is a stretch to call you gentlemen, but I am feeling gracious, indeed.  Let them come closer men, destiny calls to them and they may faint from female weaknesses at any time.

I am feeling genteel and honorable, even generous today, as you will soon see when I present an amazing offer to you.  Not since the time of the pyramids, since Cheops the 4thor Bud Vizeer the 5th have common folks had the opportunity to gaze upon such miraculous potions and purees.

Folks, I'm not talking a sham hoozie or a whacka doodle Dice a slicer or any other gimmick sold to you by tinkers, tramps, gypsies or thieves. Not a get rich quick scheme suggested to you by a shyster or politician.  I'm talking the real thing, no fakes or switcharoos here, my friends AND I do call you my friends because just the moments we have spent together thus far has infatuated me toward each of you.

Right here, right now step up and see the wonders of patented medicines direct from the ancient cities of the dead in Egypt, the great lost continent of Atlantis or the mysterious and wondrous mountain hide away fo Shangri La via the hills of Appalachia...

Where they have be brewed, distilled and laid up for hundreds of years. A veritable treasure trove of elixers, balms, tinctures and extracts handed down to this humble servant of the people, not for financial gain but for the sheer pleasure of seeing simple minded folks cured of their ailments.  Folks just like you today.

I'm talking also about ancient secrets handed down from Cherokee, Choctaw, Lackawannee and the Wha-Nah-Bee Tribal Ancestors to their children and children's children. handed to me as rightful heir and designee. Promised to me by the last great Medicine Man of Appalachia - Handin Pock Et

Written on the preserved skins of Elk, Eland, Coon, Squirrel, Buffalo, Whitetail Deer and the ubiquitous, unseen and deadly Squeezel.

Recipes and potions preserved by our ancient and revered Celtic forefathers who brought cherished books and journals wrapped in oilcloth and placed in the trunks and travel bags of Scotch, Irish and Welsh ancestors... right beside their Scotch...

Pardon me neighbors, I digress, remembering an ancient liquid refreshment laid up for me in a clear Mason jar back home. A potion awaiting my return having aged days if not weeks as I travel.

Yes friends, secrets found written in caves in the ancestral homes of clans in the highlands of Scotland, runes that whisper secrets of healing, of potions both potent and potable.

Runes traced back to the secrets and hieroglyphics of Egypt and now found in Doc Hollen's Tincture of Papyrus...

We take ancient papyrus documents, snatched from the hands of wizened, bedazzled and dried up mummies, smuggled from far away lands, grind them up and put just a pinch in each bottle along with a preservative composed of a distillation of amazing, all natural and organic ingredients including pure organic spring water, sugar, corn mash and yeast.

I know you are asking yourself if it really works.

I see on your faces your mind working and thinking, "Is what this dear, wonderful, kind and handsome Doc Hollen, man of integrity and veracity that he is, help of the widow and orphink, lover of justice and the American way, being straight with us?"

Well, my friend, never fear. The answer is yes, of course, I wouldn't dare lie to you, who I have come to love and revere in this short period of time together.  I have looked down upon you with compassion and pity.  I call out to you to give me your tired, your poor, your yawning messes wanting to get something for free.

Our amazing line of products have been scientifically proven to make the lame to see and the deaf to walk. It is magnanimous, my dear friends.

It can make one young again, make your skin look youthful.

Take a look at any Egyptian mummy in museums across this land. thousands of years old...

Buried with papyrus...

Yet preserved for hundreds of generations.

You too can look as well preserved as they are. Your skin can last, can glow with renewed vigor with just a dash of this tincture each morning.

Why, one day I accidentally dropped just a small splash of Doc Hollen's Tincture of Papyrus onto a boiled egg in my ice box...

And low and behold, a few days later I heard a noise, a veritable peep.

Dare I say it, yea and verily, an actual cheep coming from the environment of that very same ice box and there it was...

A hot chick in a cold icebox!

Newly hatched from an unfertilized, yes, a hard boiled,

I'm talking a fully cooked egg.


All thanks to the healing power of Doc Hollen's Tincture of Papyrus.

Step right up now, ladies.  I can see from the sun ravaged skin, the wrinkled brows that look more like burlap than skin, eyes not with just crows feet but whole crows around them, cheeks that should be sanded with sandpaper to smooth them, I can see from all those subtle signs that I am just in time.

And gentlemen, as I said I use that term lightly and with no confidence, you too are in need of a modicum of refreshment, a renewing of that time ravaged hunk of skin and bone on your shoulders that you call a head, bald and sun blistered though it may be... you too can look renewed and refreshed.

You see men, those of you that are folliclulary impaired, yes, you, bald as a turnip and likely as dense, you too can see new growth on that pate.  Realize today that hair is like any other cover crop.  It has to be watered and fertilized.  Notice my full head of hair and you will see I have more fertilizer than most men!

Doc Hollen's Tincture of Papyrus can bring new growth to that hair free punkin you call a head.  It can release the hidden power of the mummy and grow hair on a rock.  Step right up gentlemen, push through that line of ladies waiting to see if someone one else bites first and take the plunge!

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Lonely Night

Standing quietly on the front porch
The clouds move quickly to cover
Then reveal the crescent moon.
Though it is not so very late
And the night is just lovely
I stand alone in the midst of homes
Wondering if anyone else
Even noticed.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Muggy Morning

The promise of dawn is already summer muggy
Trees rustle with an autumn dryness
Sinking their roots deeper into parched earth
The birds that will sing good morning are asleep still
Savoring the infrequent gusts of wind
The first hints of morning are almost unwelcome
It promises to be a hot, uncomfortable day
A farmer rises early, unable to sleep
Hitches up his overalls and steps outside
Scanning the horizons for any sign of rain
His hopes of a storm, for a cooling mist
Sink low with each blink of his eyes.
It is summer, hot, uncaring summer.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Sunday, January 08, 2012

Breakin' Beans

Worn hands reach mechanically
Into a beat up tin pan
Grabbing a handful of green beans
Taking one after another
Between skilled fingers
To string, break, drop
Into a waiting pan.
String, break, drop
String, break, drop
As the old woman sits
Quietly working as she swings
In her porch swing,
Listening to the National Barn Dance
On her big ol' Philco radio.

Thursday, September 08, 2011

Dank Dawn

It is a dank and misty dawn
A morning that stirs up
Stories of ghosts and spooks
And headless horsemen.
A drippy, wet morning
Full of damp dog smells
And distant hints of wood smoke.
Coughs and fits sound thin
From an ancient rooster
Somewhere up a holler.
Along the dirt roads
Standin' under the umbrella
Of protective trees
Or in a tin roofed shelter,
Teenagers grin in the dark
As they haunt little fellers
With stories of haints
Monsters and bumpitty sounds
In the dark.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Morning in Beloved

As the sun rises
It is a bright
Banana yellow
With a rind of orange.
Through my window
The world is awakening
To Crayola colors
As if creation was
A coloring book.
A periwinkle sky is filled
With clouds whipped thin;
But clouds are no competition
For sun or sky.
In the distance the hills
Stand round about this holler
A ring of isolation
From a harsh world.
The morning mist wraps
Next like batting,
But more alive than
Sun or sky or even trees.
Closest to this cabin
Guardians stand tall
Oak, pine and hickory
Silhouettes against the mist.
Sourwood, dogwood and redbud
Huddle near their feet.
Guarding the low road
That leads to home.

With regret I lower the curtain
I have held ever so long
As I looked out in wonder,
Turn away with regret.
Oh, that I could stay at that window
Watching the sunrise
Watching my little holler
As the world seems to forget
I am there.