We read that Jesus was a Jew--
A Palestinian Jew.
He was a poor itinerant preacher
And far from well-to-do.

A Jewish god was thus, of course,
The one to whom he prayed.
Not all, but many Jewish laws
Were ones that he obeyed.

He walked around with twelve disciples--
Also Jewish men--
Who, I guess, were probably
Considered "born again."

The twelve disciples felt he was
The Jewish Messiah, though he
Wasn't exactly what most Jews
Thought the Messiah would be.

To them the Messiah would be a hero
Whose praises they would sing
For being both a peacemaker AND
A powerful, conquering king.

The Jewish Messiah was going to bring
Justice to the land.
The strong Jewish nation would then
Have the upper hand.

They thought that he'd restore the nation
To its former glory.
They needed a powerful leader who
Would fit in with their story.

How could Jesus be their Messiah--
A man so scorned and rejected?
He COULDN’T have been the Anointed One
Whom they had expected.

It really does seem quite ironic
And also very odd
How a rejected Jewish Messiah
Became a Christian god.

-by Bob B (1-12-25)

Today I got
My booster shot.
I never had
A second thought.
Two shots first,
Then THIS makes three.
No, COVID's not for me.

Hi ** the derry o!
Vaccinations work and so
I've known since long ago:
Getting sick is not for me.

My booster shot
Protects me now.
The scientists
Should take a bow.
Viruses
Aren't fun, you see.
So, COVID's not for me.

You MIGHT not want
To get your shot.
It’s hard to un-
Derstand why not.
Experts say
That when we do,
It's best for me and you.

If only all
Would persevere
To help make CO-
VID disappear!
We’re in luck
For we have got
A safe, effective shot.

Yes, herd immunity:
We know what that's all about.
Let’s stand in unity.
Get your booster shot and shout,
"Hey!
I got my shot today!"

-by Bob B (10-25-21)

°This poem could be sung to the melody of the 1940 song "I’ve Got No Strings" by Leigh Harline and Ned Washington for the Disney film PINOCCHIO. If you don’t know the song, check it out on YouTube. Knowing the melody helps with the rhythm of the poem.

(For some reason, I found this poem in my DRAFTS. I guess I hadn't "published" it for public eyes, and it sat, along with 25 or so of my other poems, in my DRAFTS folder until today. Sorry about the delay.)

"Dear Donald Trump, my friend,
I bet your patience is wearing thin.
Because of your democracy,
Investigations are closing in.

"Since I can use my magic
To make people disappear,
Such investigative threats
Are never going to happen here.

"From watching your revolving-door
Administration, I can see
That you, like me, expect one thing
Above all others: loyalty.

"What is all this talk about
Ties with Russian oligarchs?
Don't your people realize that
Our bites are much, much worse than our barks?

"Although I appreciate
What you did during your campaign--
The helpful steps you took to soften
Your stance on giving aid to Ukraine--

"We still have a ways to go.
But one thing that I have to say
Is you have been good about
Respecting our little NDA.°

Lifting sanctions would be a big help.
I thought that maybe a good incentive
Would be our many ICBMs,
For you know we're very inventive.

But, no, let's not talk about threats.
If your cards are rightly played,
You will be as strong as I.
In other words, you'll have it made.

Ah, silence is golden, no?
One thing is sure as shootin':
I'd hate to have to spill the beans
'Bout you know what. Your friend, Putin.

-by Bob B (4-2-18)

°non-disclosure agreement

(For some reason, I found this poem in my DRAFTS. I guess I hadn't "published" it for public eyes, and it sat, along with 25 or so of my other poems, in my DRAFTS folder until today. Sorry about the delay.)

Sometimes you see her admiring herself
In the mirror that's hanging next to the shelf.
And when she does it, oh, how she shines!
Is that, dear cat, how you practice your lines?
She seems not to care if we pay attention,
But maybe right here I ought to make mention
That being an actress, she's disinclined
To always reveal what's going on in her mind.
And she'll never, never tell you her age--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

She says, "You know…I'm not one to cuss,
But when I am hungry, I WILL make a fuss."
Yes, she can certainly put on a scene
And act as though she's an importunate queen.
She says, "My dears, if I'm weak or mild,
I'll never drive the audience wild."
That critical scene is repeated each night--
A regular tour de force all right.
Yes, it's best to try to assuage
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

Her eyes were surely her greatest feature;
She THUS scoured the town for a drama teacher,
"Who," she says dolefully, "told me one night he
Could make me a star. ME: Aphrodite!"
But as it turned out, ol' Mr. Mittens
Made her instead a mom of eight kittens.
"But," she says, "THAT'S between you and me.
You know how I like my privacy."
It's good to always be on the same page
With Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

One thing you learn is for her it's the norm
To act a bit slighted when asked to perform.
She must be totally in the mood
Or else she behaves in a manner subdued.
And heaven help you if you are neglectful
Of if her audience is disrespectful.
She'll exit the room like a "cat" out of hell,
And you may not see her for quite a long spell.
You never want to see her rage--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

She sighs and says, "It's such a shame that
Few playwrights write good roles for a cat.
My friends say--when they see me upset--
'Commercials might be a better bet.'
My talents, however, as you might have guessed,
Best fit the stage. But now I must rest."
With that she lifted her nose in the air
And strutted out of the room with great flair.
It's always nice: advice from a sage
Like Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.

-by Bob B (1-24-20)

(For some reason, I found this poem in my DRAFTS. I guess I hadn't "published" it for public eyes, and it sat, along with 25 or so of my other poems, in my DRAFTS folder until today. Sorry about the delay.)

He died at seventy years of age;
His words had poisoned a nation.
Much of what he ranted about
Was total fabrication.

White identity politics:
He set a blueprint for that.
And when he criticized liberals,
He upped the thermostat.

Race-baiting for him was certainly
Par for the course.
Constant attack was his strategy,
With no hint of remorse.

Being politically INcorrect
To show his point of view
And crossing the line of propriety
Were what he loved to do.

True he had his loyal fans
Who would never condemn
His bigotry and conspiracy theories.
What is wrong with them?

The Capitol insurrectionists,
Naturally, he'd spout,
Were NOT thugs, but patriots!
Figure that one out.

When giving him the Medal of Freedom
Despite his divisive ways,
Trump insulted all the people
Really deserving of praise.

There are some who’ll jump for joy,
Knowing that Rush is gone.
But sadly all his vitriol
Continues to live on.

-by Bob B (2-18-21)

(For some reason, I found this poem in my DRAFTS. I guess I hadn't "published" it for public eyes, and it sat, along with 25 or so of my other poems, in my DRAFTS folder until today. Sorry about the delay.)

OFF TO CANCÚN

So if you're a U.S. Senator
And your state is besieged by cold,
Extreme weather, putting the state
In a catastrophic stranglehold,

With power outages, houses flooding
From bursting pipes, people dying,
Shortages of food and supplies--
The situation terrifying--

How do you help your constituents?
How do you show them that you are in tune
With all their pain and misery?
I know: why not fly to Cancún?

Ask Ted Cruz. That's what he did.
He did it for his kids, he said.
Why suffer here when he could
Play on a Mexican beach instead?

Actually, he cut his trip short,
And flew back home earlier than planned,
Only because he'd gotten caught
And had to leave the sun and sand.

Cruz reveals how little he cares
About the people and dodges attacks.
In a crisis, leadership matters.
And that is something the Senator lacks.

-by Bob B (2-19-21)

FLY ME TO CANCÚN

(This poem can be sung to the melody of the song "Fly Me to the Moon" by Bart Howard.)

Fly me to Cancún
So I can play upon the sand.
Let me get away from Texas.
Cold I can't withstand.
I want to play…in the sun.
I want to play….Who will miss me?

People in my state
Should understand what it's about.
I don't think the government
Should have to bail you out.
Just blame the Dems; they're the cause.
Yeah, blame the Dems, and their laws.

Anyone who wants
To leave can do it if they choose.
I am being attacked
Just because my name's Ted Cruz.
Some people say I'm not fair.
In simple words…
In simple words
I don't care.

-by Bob B (2-19-21)

(For some reason, I found this poem in my DRAFTS. I guess I hadn't "published" it for public eyes, and it sat, along with 25 or so of my other poems, in my DRAFTS folder until today. Sorry about the delay.)

Every day it seems that we hear on the news
That someone else has a few loose screws:
Anti-vaxxers causing disruptions on our planes.
Trying to be obnoxious, they go to great pains.
Defying mask rules, they are picking fights,
Intimidating passengers and delaying flights.
Physically and verbally abusive, they don't care
If they cause disturbance on the ground or in the air.

Foolishly trying to assert their independence,
They spit at, and yell at, and curse at flight attendants,
Who must bear the burden of all the lunacy.
It also is a serious threat to you and me.
Recently, we've heard that a certain nutcase
Punched a flight attendant right in the face,
Knocking out two teeth! Another commandeered
The plane's PA system. Boy, was that weird!

Some unruly passengers have so turned up the heat
That they have had to be duct taped to their seat.
To spread misinformation about our vaccines,
Some of them resort to using any means.
Screeching and preaching, expressing their defiance
Of epidemiologists who rely on science,
Some of these crazies seem to be intent
On being as obnoxious as the former president.

It's so sad to see that we have come to this.
It makes a person wonder what has gone amiss.
Why do some people choose to reject
Behavior toward others that involves more respect?
Fools! They show a lack of common sense.
Fools are the ones who come to their defense.
Fools! I can't think of any other word--
Fools!--to describe behavior so absurd.

THEY'RE FOOLS!

-by Bob B (10-18-21)

(For some reason, I found this poem in my DRAFTS. I guess I hadn't "published" it for public eyes, and it sat, along with 25 or so of my other poems, in my DRAFTS folder until today. Sorry about the delay.)