Growing up in Torrance—
A suburb of L.A.—
Billy was a SoCal
Dreamer all the way.
He loved sunny beaches
And smooth mountain slopes.
A day without the sunshine
Would always dash his hopes.
Not the greatest student,
He wasn’t good with books.
Luckily, he quickly learned
To get by on his looks.
 
He never went to college;
School was not his style.
Modeling, he thought,
Might be more worthwhile.
Sure, he was good-looking
And knew he could excel.
But like many others,
He didn’t do so well.
Deciding on a path
Requiring looks and charm,
He felt that entertaining ladies
Couldn't cause much harm.
 
(Chorus)
The king of the ******* circuit—
The lord of the nightclub scene—
In New York and California
And places in between
Will walk into a room
And all the people’s eyes
Look in his direction—
Both the ladies’ and the guys’.
Although he’s buff and handsome,
He tends to put on airs.
Despite the six-pack down below,
There’s not a lot upstairs.
 
Being a male stripper
Could get mighty old.
Removing all those clothes,
Doesn’t one get cold?
But Billy loved his lifestyle
And took it on the road.
He even tried “escorting”
Whenever business slowed.
All across the country
You’d hear the ladies scream.
When Billy walked out on the stage,
You could feel the steam.
 
Pumping iron by day
And stripping after dark
To Billy was exciting—
A walk in the park.
It must take some talent
To strip before the lights.
But his knock-out body
Helped him reach the heights.
You wonder, Was he happy?
It’s really hard to tell.
All we know is that for years
He raised a lot of hell.
 
So what does Billy do now?
Ask at clubs and bars.
Some say he sells insurance;
Others say used cars.
Someone said she saw him
Last month near Chapel Hill,
Sitting on a bar stool
At a bar and grill,
Sweet-talkin’ the ladies
And trying to hold fast
To all the vivid memories
Of his glorious past.
 
(Chorus)
The king of the ******* circuit—
The lord of the nightclub scene—
In New York and California
And places in between
Will walk into a room
And all the people’s eyes
Look in his direction—
Both the ladies’ and the guys’.
Although he’s buff and handsome,
He tends to put on airs.
Despite the six-pack down below,
There’s not a lot upstairs.

- by Bob B

One day it dawned on Lana:
Some physical “flaws” seemed more dominant.
Rivers of wrinkles crisscrossed her face,
And the bump on her nose looked more prominent.
“This just won’t do,” she said to herself.
“Good looks are SO in demand.
I’ve got to see Dr. Slicestitch before
All of this gets out of hand.”
 
The doctor, after examining Lana,
Made a few helpful suggestions:
“I have the perfect plan for you.
Just stop me to ask any questions.
Let’s start with a major skin resurfacing
To get rid of wrinkles and spots.
We’ll do a slice here, a little slice there,
And then we will start with the shots.
Collagen and Botox injections
Will follow your mid-face lift.
Rhinoplasty will flatten your nose.
But we can’t give your ***** short shrift.
If you’re looking at breast enlargement,
We can give you an impressive rack—
Unless reduction is more beneficial
To somewhat relieve that pain in your back.
We’ll lift your eyelids, raise your cheekbones,
And put an implant in your chin.
We’ll thicken your lips and pull back your neck
To allow you to have the tightest of skin.
There's sclerotherapy for varicose veins;
My accuracy is really uncanny.
And a little more work in the lower area
Will give great form to your flat *****.
Liposuction on your thighs and belly
Would, I think, be very smart.
Plus laser treatment for unwanted hair.
All this should be a great START.”
 
You should see Lana now;
Stop by to kindly surprise her.
You’ll be astonished by her new look,
Although you won’t recognize her.
Her face is so tight that she can’t smile;
Her translucent skin is pale and waxen.
Her chin protrudes and her nose is flat.
She’ll remind you of Michael Jackson.
It almost seems as though she can’t blink;
If she could, I’d be amazed.
The look on her face is the look of a woman
Perpetually shocked or crazed.
Regarding her *******, she went with large
Instead of doing the breast reduction.
Her ******* might turn heads, but not
The loose skin from her liposuction.
Yes, she’s got new shape to her bottom,
But now especially she must beware:
Since she is so heavy on top,
It makes it hard to sit on a chair.
Since she’s started all this work,
Frequent adjustments will be needed
To fine tune areas that would get messy
If they're left entirely unheeded.
 
A major overhaul on a car
Works well on an old Model T.
The human body is more problematic;
The outcome has no guarantee.
A little adjustment here and there
Is fine if it’s done quite tastefully.
But many people like the idea
Of growing old gracefully.
Lana received a complete transformation;
Of options she was presented with plenty.
It’s just that it’s strange when someone looks
Seventy going on twenty.

- by Bob B

We'd often see her in the neighborhood,
Taking her friendly dog for a walk.
Always affable, upbeat, and cheerful,
Pat was eager to stop and talk.

Life keeps us busy and occupies
Our days with issues, both great and small.
Suddenly, it occurred to me:
For weeks I hadn't seen Pat at all.

Deep down inside I had a bad feeling.
Always so visible, yet suddenly not there,
She had me worried because of her absence.
I wanted to ask and yet didn't dare.

A neighbor's words ended the mystery:
"Pat died eight weeks ago."
The information confirmed my fears;
The shocking news still came as a blow.

You can grieve the loss of another
Even though you weren't close friends.
Whatever you shared will be no more;
It's always sad when a life ends.

When I go out, I will still see her,
Walking Buddy with a smile on her face.
Her loving memory will be--I hope--
One that time will not efface.

- by Bob B

"No medicine for me," a patient says.
"If God wants me healthy, He will cure me.
Your pills and your shots and your treatments, Doctor,
Do nothing to comfort or assure me."
 
God notices the woman's stubbornness
And shakes His head in utter disbelief.
"Why doesn't she realize that I gave her
Doctors and medicine to give her relief?"
 
"Why should I help the sick and needy?"
Asks a man. "Let them fulfill
Their own destinies. If I can manage,
Why can't they? It could be God's will."
 
God shakes His head again in amazement.
"Why does he think I came up with compassion
And the concept of sharing and helping others?
Love is not a thing that we ration."
 
A fire approaches a family's home;
The fireman instructs them to leave the vicinity.
The family members refuse to flee
And await a message from their Divinity.
 
"What is wrong with people?" God asks.
"I sent a fireman to protect them from danger.
Why don't they use the reason I gave them?
I swear: Some people grow stranger and stranger."
 
"God told me to hate those people,"
Says a man, carrying a sign.
Spewing his venom, he spreads his lies
Based on reasons he claims are divine.
 
"Who the heck does he think he is
To claim that he knows how I think and feel?"
Cries God, losing patience with people
Whose hateful behavior is far from ideal.
 
"Reason clouded by ego and hatred?
Compassion clouded by anger and greed?
Judgment clouded by irrationality?
Some people really make my heart bleed!
 
"But wait! Somebody else is calling.
What is it now? Is this a mistake?
This one wants help to win SURVIVOR!
Come on, people! Give me a break!"

- by Bob B

Write it down. Make a note.
Add it to your list.
Organize your facts so that
There's nothing you have missed.

Keep track of activities.
Organize your files.
Sift through clutter endlessly.
Maneuver 'round the piles.

Listen to the constant chatter
Occurring in your mind.
Update, upgrade, upload, and upscale
Before you get behind.

Connect all dots, look for answers--
Leave no stone unturned.
If the stress builds up then try
Acting unconcerned.

Be sure to take in everything;
Do not miss a sight.
You notice that your grasp is weakening?
Hold on with all your might.

Buy the latest, smartest, greatest--
Maybe pull some strings….
But wait! Surely life must offer
More than countless things.

Are YOU living or BEING lived?
Only you can know.
Slow down. Breathe. Smile. Don't be
Tossed to and fro.

Why be a slave to busyness
And ultimately curtail
Your freedom by condemning yourself
To your own private jail?

Why pore over volumes of words
For clues that will misguide you
Instead of looking within to see
That truth lies deep inside you?

Why seek answers in so many places
Hour after hour
When life's profound meaning can be
Reflected in a flower?

- by Bob B

I enjoy a good band with its
Drums and fine guitars,
A keyboard and a couple of singers
At concerts, clubs, and bars.
A mellow band with harmonizing
Voices is a treat—
Not a loud rambunctious one
That blasts me out of my seat.
An exciting band can really send me—
That I will concede.
But an acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice,
And a song are all I need.
 
Take me to a symphony;
That can be exciting.
Beethoven, Brahms, and Mozart
All can be inviting.
Chamber music with a string quartet
Can often do the trick;
A grand concerto that gives me goose bumps
Has a definite kick.
Big band, pop, or classical
Music are fine indeed;
But an acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice,
And a song are all I need.
 
Opera can be scintillating
If you like the score.
A giant chorus or a plaintive aria
Makes your spirits soar.
Mozart, Wagner, Puccini, Verdi
Massenet and the rest
Make me realize that I am
Listening to the best.
But as much as I like opera
When it's up to speed,
An acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice,
And a song are all I need.
 
I like music from all around
The world as a rule.
Both modern and traditional
Sounds to me are cool.
German, Japanese, Norwegian,
Mexican, and Chinese
Music makes me feel good;
It puts my mind at ease.
But as much as I like all music,
One thing's guaranteed:
An acoustic guitar, a pleasant voice,
And a song are all I need.
 
- by Bob B

Wandering down the road an ***
Encountered a lion's skin.
He dressed himself up in it
Without an ounce of chagrin.

Frightening all creatures who saw him--
Animals and humans as well--
The *** stifled his braying and watched
As they all ran off pell-mell.

Finally, unable to hold it in,
He brayed some loud "Hee-haws!"
The fox heard him and also happened
To notice his hooves--not paws.

"Well, my friend, if I'd only seen you,
I might have been afraid.
But now that I've heard you speak, you can
Dispense with your charade."

The moral? Clothes can disguise many fools,
But despite their fancy array,
When they open their mouths--Yikes!--
Their words give them away.

Or

You can put on fancy airs,
Pretending you're suave and urbane,
But if you are truly an *** at heart,
An *** you will remain.

- By Bob B

A long time ago a very young mother
Named Kisa Gotami gave birth to a son—
A child who was the light of her life.
The mother’s love was second to none.
 
Not long after her son was born,
The poor child grew sick and died.
“Who can bring my son back to life?
Have pity!” Kisa Gotami cried.
 
The villagers knew that there was nothing
They could do to help and suggested
That she seek out the help of the Buddha.
“He can do wonders,” they attested.
 
She found the Buddha and beseeched his help.
“My only son has died,” she wailed.
“Can you bring him back to life.
Everything I have tried has failed.”
 
The Buddha calmly said, “I will help you.”
The poor woman waited with bated breath.
“But first you must find for me
A family that’s never been touched by death.
 
“When you finally encounter that home,
Tell the family there’s something you need—
Just one thing to take to the Buddha—
And that’s a single mustard seed.”
 
With great excitement the mother ran
From house to house—to every abode.
But death had visited every family.
On her face, great disappointment showed.
 
After a long, unsuccessful search,
The young mother came to realize
That everything born had to die;
Everything had to have its demise.
 
She understood the law of impermanence
And that her suffering was not unique.
She now saw life from a new perspective;
Her eyes were open, so to speak.
 
Kisa Gotami returned to the Buddha
And started to follow his teachings--the Way,
Or Path to Enlightenment,
Which still guides many seekers today.

- by Bob B

Fleeting time:
Just try to contain it;
Try to grasp it,
Hold it, regain it.
 
Time evades us
Like liquid through a sieve.
Our best option
Is to LIVE and LET LIVE.
 
To appreciate the moment:
Make that your VOW.
Bask in the light
Of the eternal NOW.

- by Bob B

Ol’ Jonah was looking pretty **** pale
After three days and three nights in a whale—
Or giant fish (according to translation).
Whatever the case, it was no vacation
For Jonah, who had to be pretty smelly,
Spending seventy-two hours in that belly,
Fending off digestive juices
And other secretions that a body produces.
He didn’t agree with the creature, no doubt,
Because the animal spat him out.
If Jonah had early on followed directions,
This story would NOT be in our collections;
And he wouldn’t have taken that trip
And found himself being thrown from a ship.
 
Now Solomon they say was supposed to be wise,
Which is handy when certain situations arise,
Such as the “Judgment of Solomon,” which—
Luckily for him—went off without a hitch.
Solomon understood human behavior
And proved to be for one mom a savior.
Taking a chance, and entirely off the cuff,
He shrewdly called the false mother’s bluff.
It’s amazing it all worked out as it did;
Otherwise, there would have been a dead kid.
Back then could Solomon ever have guessed
The advantages of a DNA test?
 
Kind David’s son Absalom was handsome and charming;
His personality was rather disarming.
Ostentatious and debonair,
He was known for his huge mop of hair.
His thirst for power got so overblown
That he usurped his father’s throne.
So David and Absalom had to wage war;
Father and son had to settle a score.
At Ephraim’s Wood when trying to flee,
Absalom got his locks caught in a tree.
If he had kept his hair short and trim,
He wouldn’t have died on that blasted tree limb;
And his plans might not have fallen apart
As he hung from that tree with darts in his heart.
 
Salome loved to dance up a storm;
And apparently the lady had perfect form.
Her mother, Herodias, bore a deep grudge
Toward John the Baptist; and she wouldn’t budge.
Just imagine the trouble he was in
For having told her she was living in sin.
Unfortunately, he landed in jail
And languished there with no chance of bail.
When Herod’s birthday came around,
To get the merriment off the ground,
Herod asked Salome to dance for him.
He’d give her anything—whatever her whim.
She didn’t want gold or silver; instead,
She wanted John the Baptist’s head.
(Actually, for one reason or another
She wanted to give John’s head to her mother.)
If John had NOT insulted Herodias,
She wouldn’t have found him so odious.
And if Salome hadn’t been SO into dance,
The poor guy might have had a chance;
But since her dancing was so first rate,
His head ended up on a plate.
 
IF...THEN in retrospect
Makes us want to stop and reflect.
Actions and reactions both make up life
And sometimes bring happiness, sometimes strife.
Behave with wisdom and common sense,
And know that there’s ALWAYS a consequence.

- by Bob B

Astronomers have found what appears to be a planet
One thousand four hundred light years away
Called Kepler 452b.
What incredible news to convey!

If the universe has one hundred billion
Galaxies--give or take a few--
Then astronomers' dreams of encountering other
Living beings just might come true.

With a possible seventy trillion stars,
It's very likely we're not alone.
More than a few of these solar systems
Could have what is called a "habitable zone."

The orbit of Kepler 452b
Makes a 385-day year
As it circles a G2-type star--
One that's like our own solar sphere.

The newly discovered planet--it appears--
Is sixty percent larger than Earth
And was formed 1.5 billion
Years before our planet's birth.

If we determine it can't sustain
Life as we know it, chances are
There are other possible planet
Candidates circling another star.

What could the other life forms look like?
The creatures from ALIEN, STAR WARS, E.T.?
Are they beyond our imagination,
Or do they resemble you and me?

Some say be careful what you ask for;
Other life forms might hurt or annoy us.
Or even more frightful than that,
Other life forms could simply destroy us.

That's scary! But consider mankind's destruction
Of our planet Earth, and it's just getting worse.
It might be refreshing to know there's intelligent
Life somewhere in this universe.

- by Bob B

Every morning when she awoke
From her nightly repose,
There upon her doorstep lay
A single, crimson rose--

A rose as fresh and as fragrant as any
She'd ever smelled or seen.
She put it in a vase each day,
Wondering, "What could this mean?

Is it a secret admirer? Or could it
Be a secret gawker?"
Then a thought occurred to her:
"I hope it's not a stalker!"

She tried waiting up all night;
Her vigilance was in vain.
Every morning a new rose appeared
Despite wind or rain.

She figured that a surveillance camera
Would clarify everything surely.
"But maybe it's better left unsolved,"
She said to herself demurely.

So on and on the mystery of the roses
Continued year after year.
She was curious as to how long her secret
Admirer could persevere.

One day her neighbors noticed a pile
Of roses at her door.
Something wasn't right, for that
Had never happened before.

They entered her home and what they found
Caused them all to start:
Their lifeless neighbor lay on her bed
With a red rose over her heart.

- by Bob B

Longing is a part of human nature.
Seeking worlds beyond a fixed star
Pushes us to seek adventures--
Helps us discover who we are.
Stumbling on a golden path
Might change your heart and your demeanor;
Discontent could spur you on
To seek a place where the grass is greener.

But if you could see through Dorothy's eyes--
See the world with awe and wonder--
You could fly above the clouds
And see the rainbow from over and under.
Though your journeys take you far,
Remember no matter how far you roam,
Deep inside your heart for certain
You'll know there is no place like home.

When dark clouds and stormy times
Take you to strange and distant places,
Sometimes you ignore the signs
And misread the looks on people's faces.
Love and friendship are all around us.
The path to realization wends
Through encounters that show us that we
Must love ourselves to love our friends.

So if you could see through Dorothy's eyes--
See the world with awe and wonder--
You could fly above the clouds
And see the rainbow from over and under.
Though your journeys take you far,
Remember no matter how far you roam,
Deep inside your heart for certain
You'll know there is no place like home.

- by Bob B

Isn't SPAM a pain in the rear?
NOT the canned Spam that you can eat;
I mean the spam in your email mailbox.
It's so annoying and so indiscreet.

"Mark as Spam" sometimes works,
But obnoxious messages still get through.
It seems as though you always have tons
Of unwanted email staring at you.

Have you seen "Six Months to Skinny"
Or the "One-Pound-a-Day Diet"?
There's always "Hi, you're going to love this"
Or "Want a good time?" That one's a riot.

What about "Help with Alcohol,"
"Penny Stock Tips," or "Erectile Dysfunction"?
Or "Toenail Fungus"? Yikes! Please spare me.
They send out this nonsense with no compunction!

Breast augmentation? That I don't want.
Baldness cures? Well, if I let it
Be a problem and needed some snake oil,
I know exactly where to get it.

I often get messages dealing with meds.
Those boring messages always fall flat.
And then there's "Male Enhancement Madness."
No thanks; I will pass on that.

Have you received the message that goes
Something like "Hi, my name is Pam"?
The one that I find really hilarious
Is the one that reads, "This is not spam!"

Despite precautions, when checking your email,
You're bound to find SPAM--lying in wait.
I have to say that I much prefer it
Not in my mailbox, but instead on my plate.

- by Bob B

Summers at a South Dakotan lake
Were a constant delight.
My brothers and I--three young boys--
Lived each day outright.

Having been sent to stay with our grandparents,
We certainly didn't mind,
For every day was a new adventure;
We'd left our worries behind.

Mornings Gramp brewed our coffee--
He was the first to awake.
We drank it together as the morning sun
Shimmered on the lake.

He'd pour some coffee into his saucer,
Then lift it to take a sip.
I'd copy him and lift my own--
Mindful of my grip.

I'm sure I pestered him with questions.
He probably wanted to enjoy
The calm, peaceful summer mornings
Without a pesky boy.

But the loving man never complained;
The kindness showed in his eyes.
Those were special moments we shared
As we waited for the others to rise.

As soon as we could, we boys would dash
Outdoors to explore and play.
So many wondrous possibilities
And never a boring day!

My favorite activity was cowboys and Indians--
I got to wear feathers, you see.
I laugh when I look at photos of then;
We weren't very PC.

I don't know how I did it, but
We would catch frogs until
We had enough to cook frog legs
On a makeshift grill.

We also caught catfish, bullheads, and perch
As we fished off the pier;
Or we'd take the boat out on the lake
When the weather was clear.

Once when we were out on the water,
A summer storm approached.
We had to speed back to shore as dark,
Threatening clouds encroached.

Back at the house all hell broke loose
With lightning, thunder, and rain.
Gram feared a violent tornado,
Which was her constant bane.

She and I fearfully sat
By the cellar door and waited,
While Gramp snored away in his room
Until the storm abated.

When Gram and I weren't playing cards,
She would be making a feast.
In the kitchen she displayed her skills
As a culinary artiste.

I'll never forget her scrumptious cookies,
Rhubarb pies, and bread.
Needless to say, she saw to it
That we remained well-fed.

Gramp kept busy working on projects--
Building, maintaining, repairing.
Once in a while--to Gram's dismay--
We could hear Gramp swearing.

The days passed so gloriously by,
And it wasn't long before
Our parents set out for South Dakota
And suddenly appeared at our door.

Soon we left to visit more relatives
Before heading west.
Though we had left our childhood paradise,
We were wonderfully blessed.

Much older now, I'm more reflective
And still seeking wisdom and truth.
But I'll always cherish those glorious days
Of my carefree, golden youth.

- by Bob B

Starting out as a precocious child,
He always maintained a calm exterior.
He never begrudged the competition
For winning and never felt inferior.
A lucky streak would occur for a while;
A spate of losses would follow. Alas!
He took the wins and losses in stride
And merely stated, "All things must pass."

He felt he was somewhat lucky in life--
Though luck always comes and goes, it seems.
He met someone and fell in love--
He claimed he'd found the "girl of his dreams."
Three kids later they parted ways--
By mutual consent--no fights; no sorrow.
"So it goes," he calmly said.
"Here today and gone tomorrow."

His acumen in business matters
Brought him solid financial security
While many competitors sadly foundered
And faded away into obscurity.
He kept his dignity and calm demeanor,
Even during a major fumble,
And said, "Life is constant change,"
When Wall Street took a disastrous tumble.

A second marriage later in life
For him was a type of resurrection
As he and his new love explored the world.
That gave his life a new direction.
When she succumbed to a major illness,
His feelings, over which he held sway,
Allowed him to grieve by quoting George Harrison
As he said, "All things must pass away."

"I've had a good life," he'd proudly aver,
"I have no regrets and no complaints.
I'm not the biggest cad in the world,
And you won't find me among the saints."
While on his death bed surrounded by family--
Knowing it was his final hour--
Unable to talk, he lovingly smiled
And pointed at a wilting flower.

- by Bob B

Discover your inner music and dance!
Sing your song with glee.
Let your ability to be yourself
Light up your glowing marquee.

Accept yourself; be kind to yourself;
And be considerately bold.
Don't let purveyors of mediocrity
Force you into a mold.

Proclaim your individuality.
Be humble yet self-assured.
Don't let the light of your heartfelt endeavors
Ever be obscured.

So what if you are not like others.
If you want to go far,
Keep your focus, follow your heart,
And simply be who you are.

Be impervious to scornful mutterings.
See through hypocrites and fakes.
Don't let others' weaknesses cause you
To imitate their mistakes.

Be attentive to those around you,
But go where your inner guides take you.
Don't let the sticklers for conventionality
Stifle your song or break you.

Appreciate every single moment;
Try to maintain good cheer.
Trust in yourself and realize
There's nothing, there's no one to fear.

- by Bob B

Balance is a key word for you.
You give back what you've been given--
In relationships, that is.
You're a doer, creative and driven.

You lack passion, some people think.
But that is truly not the case.
A compromise between passion
And intellect must be in place.

You really need other people;
Your need to be liked must be fulfilled.
Though reluctant to face confrontation,
Sometimes you can be strong-willed.

You probably like to entertain.
Your grace and charm can make you flirty.
You want to make your surroundings pleasant
Without getting your hands very *****.

To achieve peace and harmony
You will go to amazing lengths.
Being an expert communicator
Is considered one of your strengths.

Regarding physical exercise,
You could have a lazy streak.
You need motivation since
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

If you lack comfy surroundings,
You can easily be depressed.
Your stamina runs in cycles.
Be aware when you need rest.

Partnerships are important to you.
Just keep your head out of the clouds.
You relish being around other people,
But not necessarily crowds.

Diplomacy helps you succeed
As long as your wit and charm aren't obsessive.
When your wiles are ineffective,
Watch that you don't become aggressive.

If you try to please others too hard,
You lose your individuality.
It's crucial for you that others can see
Your kindness, fairness, and impartiality.

When you know it's time to move on,
You can do it with no hesitation.
Being knocked off balance can cause you
Emotional and mental frustration.

Your love of beauty in all forms
Is on an intellectual level.
You--with your social grace--
Could even charm the pants off the Devil.

- by Bob B

A finger pointing at the moon:
Such are the Teachings, they say.
The Writings themselves are not the Truth;
They merely point the way.

Direct experience leads us to
The gateway of the inspired.
Yet trying to describe the ineffable with words
Leaves MUCH to be desired.

Journeying through life we encounter distractions,
Which in their clever fashion
Can obfuscate the clarity
Of the heart of true compassion

Or lead us down a confusing path
Where knowledge and wisdom are blurred,
And the hopes of our transcending the mundane
Are stifled by a word.

Seeking the Truth is a noble goal;
Awareness comes never too soon.
Just be careful not to mistake
The finger for the moon.

- by Bob B

Mr. Miller was our neighbor,
And what a mean, grumpy old man!
At least that's what we kids thought.
Whenever we saw him, we all ran.
He seemed to have an uncanny sense
Of knowing when we were in his yard.
Some of the feisty neighborhood kids
Tried to catch the grump off guard.

At Halloween the Miller house
Was one I always tried to avoid
Until one night my friend said, "Let's visit
The Millers." I wasn't overjoyed.
Mr. Miller opened the door
And--wow!--he wasn't wearing a frown.
He and his wife were warm and friendly
And they had the BEST candy in town!

It's odd how suddenly a person can change
To a kind neighbor from a mean old ****.
But amazingly the transformation
Was not in him, it was in my heart.
Soon after that Halloween he died
From a heart attack; that left us in shock.
I'll never forget kind Mr. Miller--
The "Boo Radley" on our block.

How often we judge before we know!
How often we live in fears we create!
Once our eyes are opened, how glorious!
But when that happens, it's often too late.

- by Bob B

I'm glad that dinosaurs preceded mankind
On earth by millions and millions of years.
We have enough worries these days
Than to find more reasons to add to our fears.
 
Imagine walking through the forest
And meeting a Tyrannosaurus Rex!
No, tyrannosaurs were NOT
The ones with the long, slender necks.
 
The tyrannosaur was a killing machine--
A carnivore, frightening and vicious,
Possessing powerful legs and teeth.
It would find you delightfully delicious!
 
Raptors, from the Mesozoic Era,
Were also among the most feared of their day.
On each hind foot they had a large claw
For killing and disemboweling their prey.
 
Small but deadly they were, and what's more:
Their brains were of larger than average size.
A nightly stroll in a raptor area
Is NOT something that I would advise.
 
The long-necked one was the Brachiosaurus--
Not much smarter than the leaves it ate.
It measured 85 feet long
And weighed 40 tons--a LOT of weight!
 
You think, What fun: to slide down its neck!
If I were you I'd forget that idea.
If, perchance, it stomped on you,
You'd be as flat as a flour tortilla.
 
The spiked, plated dinosaur
Was the Stegosaurus--a plant-eater, too.
It didn't have a very big brain
And didn't last long. So, what's one to do?
 
There were thousands of species of dinosaurs.
We're lucky that they exist no more.
You wouldn't want to worry about danger
Every time you walked out your door.
 
But wait, that's no different from now!
Maybe one difference; let me propound it:
You wouldn't be STEPPING on dinosaur ****,
But you would be making long treks around it.

- by Bob B

Would you hold a tarantula
On your upturned palm
And watch it creep up your arm
While you stayed cool and calm?
 
You might be able to do it,
Or at least be willing to try.
Not for a billion dollars!
No, no, no…not I!
 
In some parts of the world
Tarantulas are a snack.
Could you eat one without
Having a heart attack?
 
They're roasted on a stick
And eaten with gusto and glee.
That might be something you'd like;
It's NOT my cup of tea.
 
Tell me: why do spiders
Send shivers down my spine?
Only some are dangerous;
Most of them are benign.
 
I mean, in CHARLOTTE'S WEB
I have to admit that I cried
When--SPOILER ALERT!--
The poor spider died.
 
Although in my garden they eat
Flies and other critters,
Despite their usefulness,
They STILL give me the jitters.
 
Maybe some spider jokes
Would make them less of an irk:
A spider walked into a bar…
No, that doesn't work.
 
I have to see spiders as simply
Mysterious creatures of nature.
My fears, however, are real
And not about nomenclature.
 
I can try to stay calm
In the future whenever I meet one.
But I can tell you right now:
I'll never HOLD or EAT one!

- by Bob B

A beginning is often an ending;
An ending is often a beginning.
Sometimes winning is losing;
Sometimes losing is winning.
 
Bad can come out of good;
Good can come out of bad.
Something that makes one happy
Might make someone else sad.
 
Though giving is better than receiving,
Sometimes receiving is giving.
Living leads to death;
Death contributes to living.
 
Bliss to some is ignorance;
Ignorance to some is bliss.
To one a miss is a hit;
To another a hit is a miss.
 
Sometimes we laugh when we cry;
Sometimes we cry when we laugh.
A bold move to you,
To me might be a gaffe.
 
A lie can sound like the truth;
The truth can sound like a lie;
Some people seem very distant,
Even though they're nearby.
 
You have to know to ask,
And you have to ask to know.
We need the earth, yes?
Does the earth need us? No!

- by Bob B

“Is the glass half
Full or half empty?”
Such was the question presented to me.
It depends on whether
The glass contains
A good Cabernet or a cheap Chablis.
 
If it contains
A good Cabernet
With a bold, full-bodied, smoky flavor,
The glass is always
Half empty because
That’s an experience I want to savor.
 
If, however,
A cheap Chablis
Stares at me from the glass’s interior,
That glass is always
Half full to me,
As I endlessly sip a wine that’s inferior.
 
What? You say
That I don’t get it—
That I am trying to redefine
The meaning behind
The expression? I say:
Just shut up and hand me my wine!
 
- by Bob B

Sometimes Mother Nature *****!
But we can’t live without Her.
It behooves us to pay attention to
Her whims and learn about Her.
 
If it weren’t for Mother Nature
We would NOT be here.
Because of HER we can survive
In Earth’s atmosphere.
 
The indispensable light from Her sun
Helps vegetation grow
By allowing for photosynthesis
Here on Earth below.
 
Thermal energy from the sun
Causes evaporation,
Which in turn supports life on Earth
Through welcomed precipitation.
 
The soothing sun caressing the earth,
The gentle breezes and rains,
The towering peaks, the rolling hills,
The lakes, the rivers, the plains...
 
How beautiful Mother Nature can be!
But, oh, She has a dark side—
A sometimes wild and violent demeanor,
A harsh and extremely stark side.
 
Parched by fiery rays of the sun,
The earth suffers damage and drought;
Lakes and rivers and streams dry up,
And destructive fires break out.
 
Gentle breezes become tornadoes
And hurricanes in violent forms.
And lovely rains turn into torrents
And cataclysmic storms
 
That flood our cities and towns and fields,
Causing death and disease;
Then freezing temperatures sometimes follow—
Nature’s angry reprise.
 
Sometimes the ground upon which we live
Suddenly rolls and shakes,
Or spits out fire and volcanic ash
And creates hot lava lakes.
 
So often we have some wonderful moments
When nature can delight us;
But don’t forget there are snakes and mosquitoes
And other creatures that bite us.
 
Doubtless, Mother Nature deserves
Both our awe and respect.
Of course She’s fickle, but still She doesn’t
Deserve our abuse or neglect.
 
Her whimsical ways confuse and confound us,
But we have to cut her some slack.
Mess with Her and—oh, my goodness!—
With a vengeance She’ll strike back!

- by Bob B

The things I should have said in the past,
I didn't know how to say.
The things I want to say right now,
Constantly eat away
At inculcated inhibitions, which
Stifle apt expression
Out of the fear of uttering
A possible indiscretion.
 
The things I couldn't see in the past
I "see" much better now,
Such as the deep and powerful connections
Of the where and why and how.
Although there is a current diminishing
Of youthful visual acuity,
One doesn't need perfect vision
To penetrate ambiguity.
 
The things my ears could hear in the past
No longer sound the same.
Listening with the ears of experience
Completely changes the game.
To see with the ears and to hear with the eyes--
What a challenging perspective!--
Instead of being stuck in a pattern
That's sadly ineffective.
 
The things I knew so well in the past
I know right now even better.
Strict adherence to worn-out ideas
Proves to be a fetter.
If knowing is truly becoming, that means
The immeasurable range of our knowing
Is tied to our experiences and is
A direct result of growing.
 
George Bernard Shaw said youth
Is wasted on the young.
But maybe it's better for us to consider
Our youth as merely a rung
On the amazing ladder of life that we
Haven't ascended for naught.
We're lucky we've made it as far as we have;
The alternative's an unpleasant thought.
 
Knowing what I know and seeing what I see,
I'm forced to speak my mind,
Lest my silence be misconstrued
As agreement, which I find
Would contradict what I have learned
And what experience reveals.
Moreover, I can't justify
Abandoning my ideals.

- by Bob B

Experience the moment.
Breathe it in.
Watch it. Observe it.
Ignore the din
 
In your surroundings—
The chatter, the clatter.
Just this moment
Is all that should matter.
 
Let the moment
Fill you completely.
Notice how subtly
And how discreetly
 
Your body responds
As calm imbues you.
Breathe in and out;
Let it suffuse you.
 
Thoughts will come
And thoughts will go;
Just don’t hold them;
Go with the flow.
 
Ideas pass by
Like images on a screen.
Watch them proceed.
Don’t intervene.
 
If the sensation
Of being bathed in light
Pervades your being,
That’s quite all right.
 
Past, present,
And future exist
All in this moment;
Life is a mist,
 
A cloud, a dream,
A river that flows,
A flash, the morning
Dew on a rose.
 
Observe how everything’s
Interrelated;
Are you meditating
Or being meditated?
 
- by Bob B

A traveler needing help decided
It would be handy to rent an ***.
He found someone and made a deal.
Observe what then came to pass:
 
The owner of the *** followed behind
To drive the animal along on its way.
A few hours later the traveler and owner
Decided to rest; it was a hot day.
 
The traveler spied the ***'s shadow,
Which was the coolest place he could find.
"Oh no you don't," the owner said.
"That is MY spot, if you don't mind."
 
"Since," said the traveler, "I'm renting the animal,
"The shadow belongs to me as well."
"You're renting the ***--NOT its shadow!"
Exclaimed the owner. "You go to hell!"
 
Ooh, the argument grew tense and heated
And eventually led to shoving and blows.
Instead of seeking a compromise,
The two men acted like a couple of schmoes.
 
Suddenly, it dawned upon the men:
The *** was gone; it had run away.
The fight continued; each man said
The other one would have to pay.
 
What is the moral of the story?
If you are wise, surely you’ll wish you
Could focus less on the minor "shadow"
And more on the real, essential issue.
 
Or…
 
When we consider what is important,
There is a lesson for the masses:
You will likely be left in the lurch
If you place too much trust in *****.

- by Bob B

The mission graveyard was peaceful and calm.
Sporadic gravestones and crosses marked
The final resting places of some
Who for some reason had embarked
 
On a new journey--a new phase--
A final, unavoidable transition.
Their remains still sleep, I hope undisturbed
By visitors at the sleepy mission.
 
Swaying in the gentle breeze,
The olive trees wistfully cast
Their shadows on the neglected sod
And on the graves that we wandered past.
 
Reading the carved inscriptions on the gravestones
Brought so many questions to mind:
Who were the people buried here?
Whom did they sadly leave behind?
 
Were they rich or were they poor?
Was their life easy or hard?
Was it pestilence, age, or violence
That brought them here to sleep in this yard?
 
My glance fell upon a simple stone.
I couldn't help but think that maybe
Some people's lives had been torn apart;
Carved in the gravestone was one word: Baby.
 
Oh, Life and Death, you keep us wondering.
No matter how much we people yearn
To second-guess you, you surprise us
And deliver us to the grave or urn.

- by Bob B

Whether to have dessert
Is not even a question.
Not to indulge in sweets?
Don’t even make that suggestion.
 
Having no apple pie
Or luscious lemon meringue
Would be a real ******—
As we say in slang.
 
Right out of the oven:
Hot cinnamon rolls...
Or donuts right out of the fryer--
With or without holes...
 
Crepes filled with strawberries,
With a dollop of whipped cream...
When I talk about sweets,
I never run out of steam.
 
Don’t forget about cakes,
And anything with custard...
Chocolate in every form...
And--I’m getting flustered--
 
Fresh homemade cookies
Of any delicious kind...
Chocolate fudge or divinity...
Yikes, I’m losing my mind!
 
Dessert bars, oh, my goodness,
Chewy, crumbly, flaky...
Banana, zucchini, and pumpkin
Bread—soft and cakey...
 
Cupcakes topped with thick frosting,
And filled with chocolate ganache...
Creamy Crème brûlée...
Boy, aren’t we getting posh!
 
A sugary German plum cake,
A Danish butter ring,
And Greek galaktoboureko
Give me a reason to sing!
 
Chocolate frosted brownies...
Lefse with sugar and butter...
My sweet tooth is growing larger
With every word that I utter.
 
Some people say that these sweets
Might be the cause of my death.
Then let me be holding a cookie
When I take my last breath!

- by Bob B

Holding his adversary
Carefully within his scope
To soldier A is a challenge--
A distant, forlorn hope.
 
An occasional glimpse of a helmet…
An aim as yet unfulfilled…
He knows that he has no choice:
It's ****, or he will be killed.
 
Good timing is essential.
All he can do is lie low…
And wait. But there is something
That he doesn't know:
 
His enemy across the field--
Let's call him soldier B--
Is, like himself, a father--
And also a father of three.
 
He lives for his children,
Who are the light of his life;
And he hates not being at home
To support his struggling wife.
 
His two older brothers
Died in a previous war.
His mother died of grief.
How can he settle the score?
 
For now he can only take aim
At his enemy--at soldier A.
"Focus!" he tells himself. "Focus!"
As his mind starts drifting away.
 
Though soldier A is his target,
B is unaware, too,
Of soldier A's situation--
Of all that he is going through:
 
Soldier A's three children
Count the days till their dad
Will come home to take them to ball games--
To return to the life they once had.
 
The youngest child needs treatment
For a rare, childhood disease.
The middle child is being bullied
And requires his dad's expertise.
 
His wife--on the verge of a breakdown--
Finds it hard to suppress
The constant fears within her
That add to life's daily stress.
 
     *     *     *     *     *
 
So soldier A and B
Await the instant to shoot--
To end the life of the other.
For that they deserve a salute?
 
If the two soldiers could only
Lay down their weapons and race
Across the shell-pitted field
And into each other's embrace,
 
Wouldn't that be amazing?
Much needless suffering would end.
And they could consider everyone
A brother or sister or friend.
 
Ah, but that's just a fantasy--
An illusion, a fancy, a dream,
An unreal expectation
With no place in mankind's scheme.
 
For as long as we're driven by ego,
And ignorance and vengeance and fear,
We're caught in a vicious circle,
And wars will not disappear.

- by Bob B

It wasn’t much fun to be sick as a child.
I’m sure you would agree.
One thing, however, made it worthwhile:
LUCY on TV.
 
Morning reruns of I LOVE LUCY
Were a daily must.
And if the TV was out of order?
Oh, no! That was a bust!
 
How many years we watched Lucy,
Well, it’s hard to say.
I watched her up through my high school years;
But I’d even watch her today.
 
Every summer morning and every
Winter and spring vacation
Meant a daily dose of Lucy.
We watched with utter elation.
 
So what if we’d seen a particular show
Ten times in the past.
Each time watching I LOVE LUCY
Was just as fun as the last.
 
Watching her get into a jam
In every episode
Was exactly what we looked forward to—
And then watching Ricky explode.
 
Just the look on Lucy’s face
Was all that it would take
To make us all break out in laughter—
So much that our stomachs would ache.
 
There was Vitameatavegamin
Or Lucy stomping on grapes
Or Lucy and Ethel in the chocolate factory;
The two were always in scrapes.
 
It didn’t matter how silly the plot—
How corny, how dumb or inane—
Laughing at Lucy would lighten the heart.
Who needed food for the brain?
 
If there was a snag, Lucy would find it
And chaos would ensue.
And once the cat was out of the bag,
She had some “splaining” to do.
 
We knew the plots backwards and forwards;
We knew the dialogue by heart.
But that didn’t matter; we would still laugh
As Lucy’s schemes fell apart.
 
We owe a lot to Lucy and friends.
There’s a lot to be said
About growing up laughing at Lucy
And Ricky and Ethel and Fred.

- by Bob B

Two monks were traveling
To a town some miles away—
A journey that would take them
A good part of the day.
 
They stepped mindfully;
Their voices wasted no words.
The only sound they heard
Was the singing of the birds.
 
Suddenly crossing their path
Rushed a rippling stream—
Its current on the rough side
(Or so it did seem).
 
Before the flowing current,
A woman stood—waiting—
Assessing the situation—
In her mind debating
 
Whether to turn around
Or to cross the gurgling water.
Her foot slipped on the moss
And she began to totter.
 
The older monk caught her,
And so she wouldn’t get wet,
He carried her across the stream
With no hint of regret.
 
On dry land again,
He carefully set her down.
She thanked him and continued
To the local town.
 
As the monks continued
On their resolute path,
The younger monk complained—
His words were tinged with wrath:
 
“How could you pick her up?
That’s against the rules.
You make us look suspicious—
Like lascivious fools.”
 
On and on he grumbled,
Talking without cease,
Depriving them of calm,
And giving them no peace.
 
The older monk grew tired
Of the ranting and the raving.
Concerned about the way
His companion was behaving,
 
He stopped and said, “My friend,
I carried her—I know—
Across the stream and put her
Down LONG ago.
 
“You don’t like the manner
In which I applied goodwill;
But you, dear friend, are the one
Who carries the woman still.”
 
They walked on in silence;
Neither felt distraught—
The older monk smiling,
The younger deep in thought.

- by Bob B

It takes a YEAR for planet Earth
To revolve around the sun;
It takes Neptune eighty-four Earth years
To complete a single run.
 
So if I’d been born on the planet Neptune,
I say as I’m sighing,
BEFORE I even turned ONE year old,
I’d have a good chance of dying.
 
(Yes, I know that I couldn’t LIVE
On Neptune; nevertheless,
I’m using the example to make my point.
Forgive me: I digress.)
 
Our solar system orbits the center
Of our GALAXY, the MILKY WAY.
I’m sure there’s a method of calculating
The length of a cosmic day.
 
If it takes over 200 MILLION YEARS
To revolve, then it’s very clear
That our solar system has
A very long COSMIC YEAR.
 
In fact, the last time our solar system
Was where it is right now,
Dinosaurs were walking on Earth.
If that’s not amazing, and how!
 
Clusters of galaxies also spin—
Wow! This is getting too BIG.
To figure out how much time that takes,
I need to know physics and trig.
 
Grasping the vastness of the universe
Is hard. What we must do
Is understand that time is relative
And depends on our point of view.
 
My hair—once brown—has now turned gray;
My gait is slower. It seems
The world, universe, life, and time
Are nothing but phantoms and dreams.

- by Bob B

Sing out, nation of IMMIGRANTS!
Sing your glorious song
Of how this country was built—
Of what made this nation strong.
 
Sing about all the challenges
And hardships our ancestors found
When trying to build their lives
And get their feet on the ground.
 
Sing of the PERSECUTION
That drove them out of fear
To abandon their native homelands
And often haunted them here.
 
Sing of the Native Americans—
Of the proud and varied nations—
Displaced from their territories,
And forced into reservations.
 
Sing of our fellow Americans
Originally brought here by force;
Let the melody echo
Kindness and REMORSE.
 
Sing of the jobless, the homeless,
Whose families suffered the bane
Of a harsh, cruel existence
And here sought relief from their pain.
 
Sing of the countless refugees
Who fled from war-torn places,
Hoping to live in PEACE
In a land of welcoming embraces.
 
Sing of the life of the immigrant
Who faced prejudice and jeers—
Whose struggles for rights and acceptance
Sometimes lasted for years.
 
Sing of the factory workers
Who worked under hellish conditions—
Whose voices were long unheard
By the deaf ears of politicians.
 
Sing of the plight of the miners
Who extracted the underground coal—
Of the dangers that they encountered
As they worked in that dark, dusty hole.
 
Sing of the laborers from Asia,
Who helped lay our tracks—that’s a fact—
And to whom we showed our thanks
With the Chinese Exclusion Act.
 
Think of the German, Norwegian...
All farmers who tilled the soil
To feed a nation that took
For granted their sweat and toil.
 
Sing of those working in fields,
Because of whose work you are able
To place with minimum effort
Fresh strawberries on your table.
 
Sing about all of the workers—
Such as the ones that you
Hire to do the work
That you refuse to do.
 
Sing of the great DIVERSITY
That people brought to this land,
Lest we forget who we are
And how to understand.
 
Sing of our immigrant nation
Before our memories fade
And we lose our self-identity,
And our actions become a charade.
 
Sing of the "huddled masses
Yearning to breathe free,”
And may others expect
KINDNESS from you and from me!
 
Sing of our generous nature
And let us try to fashion
A nation full of heart,
Built on love and compassion.

- by Bob B

Can you keep a secret?
Or do you also find
That maybe Franklin had it right?
If so, then never mind.
 
Can you keep on smiling
When you’re feeling pain?
Do you fall apart when things
Go against the grain?
 
Can you say, “I’m sorry”?
Has it happened yet
That you’ve said—and please be honest—
Things that you regret?
 
Can you show your thanks
And resist the inclination
To take so much for granted and not
Feel appreciation?
 
Can you look within
And watch your busy thoughts,
Letting the calm embrace you while
You connect the dots?
 
Can you walk for miles
In someone else’s shoes?
If you’ve done it, was it truly
Felt or just a ruse?
 
Can you grasp the wisdom
That the messages impart—
Stirrings of the true self’s longings
Buried in your heart?

- by Bob B

Noah was righteous (though maybe
A bit of a stick in the mud),
So God decided to save him
And his family from the great flood.
 
Again going over the instructions
After building his ark,
He had a couple of questions
Before they could embark.
 
“It says here that I need two
Of every living thing.
But I have some misgivings:
That’s going to be hard to swing.
 
“What’s this about a pl...platypus,
And penguin and k...kangaroo?
And I need to find two skunks.
What am I going to do?
 
“If I don’t find these animals,
They’ll think my work is a sham.
Ah, I know what I’ll do:
I’ll delegate this job to Ham.
 
“But first, another question
Is going to be hard to solve,
And that is the problem of food
And what it is going to involve.
 
“‘All food eaten on Earth’
Has to be on our boat.
With all that food and the animals,
How will we stay afloat?
 
“There’s another problem:
My lions aren’t nice and sweet,
And they have a strong preference
For gazelle and antelope meat.
 
“Cramped in so tight a space,
I hope we all don’t smother.
How will I keep the animals
From eating one another?”
 
He gave his list to Ham
And said, “I’ve found you some work.
I’ve got too much on my mind,
And it’s driving me berserk.”
 
Then Ham elicited help
From brothers Japheth and Shem.
No one else was available
To help him aside from them.
 
There were millions of species
Of animals that they had to find!
They’d be in a lot of trouble
If they left any behind.
 
Noah’s curse on Ham
Didn’t come till much later.
Meanwhile Ham had a few
Questions for his pater.
 
“Now, about this floodwater—
I'm not disrespecting your wishes—
Will it be salty or fresh?
It makes a difference to fishes.
 
“And for forty days and nights
We’ll be floating around;
When the waters recede,
Won’t all the plants have drowned?”
 
Noah said, “Don’t even go there!
There’s no time to stall.
Let’s get a move on before
Raindrops start to fall.”

- by Bob B

Floorboards creak; ceiling beams snap;
Walls crackle and pop.
Cold drafts chill me to the bone;
The shivers never stop.
I awaken at night to the sounds of moaning
That fill the house with grief.
An icy breath of anguish blows over me,
Allowing for little relief.
 
Lying awake, I wonder about
The cause of each eerie sound.
I’ll never know the answer unless
I take a look around.
Expansion, contraction, heat, cold:
A probable explanation;
But what explains the mournful moaning
That causes such consternation?
 
Feeling my way down the creaky stairs,
I shudder with coldness and fear—
Wanting to know but at the same time
Afraid of what might appear.
Silently standing at the base of the stairs,
I stare into the dark.
If asked how I felt, horror and dread
Would certainly hit the mark.
 
Groping the furniture, I sit on the sofa
And listen to the dead of the night;
I start to nod, then jump with a start,
Filled with panic and fright.
An amorphous figure appears before me—
Vague, undefined, obscure.
My fear turns into deep sadness,
Which is difficult to endure.
 
“Are you a spirit?” I whisper, and wait.
At first I have little success.
Finally, I hear a soft, sobbing sound—
A plaintive, fragile “Yes.”
Yeah, right, I think, a spirit that haunts
My house. Isn’t that cool?
Is this a joke—somebody’s trick?
Do they take me for a fool?
 
“What draws you here to my house,” I ask.
“What is this perverse
Penchant you have for creaking and moaning?”
The spirit replies, “It’s a curse.
Years ago I lived in this home.
My life was happy and free.
Everything was going my way.
Now look what’s happened to me.
 
“The world was in my hands; I had
Everything under control.
Nothing could get the best of me
Till death bells started to knoll.
No! I refused to succumb or give in;
Too hot were the fires
Of greed and longing and wanting and having—
Too powerful were my desires.
 
“Too late I realized my mistakes;
Too late, too late, too late.
I’m stuck here to play out all of my longings.
This is my cruel fate.”
It occurs to me to ask of its gender;
I am curious to hear it.
“Are you a man or woman,” I ask.
It laughs and says, “Just a spirit.”
 
“I’m sorry for your pain,” I say,
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” it answers, “it’s up to me;
I must see this through.”
“Obviously, you’re not,” I continue,
“As quiet as a mouse.
But could you be so kind as to haunt
Someone else’s house?”
 
“Aha! So you think that THIS is humorous!”
The spirit thunders with a roaring.
“I was here long before you arrived;
And YOU disturb ME with your snoring!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and ponder what
Could be a possible solution.
One thing I know: these night-time visits
Are not good for my constitution.
 
“How about this? Let’s make a deal,”
I say. “You’re free to roam
As much as you want, and you can be loud
Whenever I’m not at home.
When I am here—asleep or awake—
So I can have peace of mind,
You be quiet and work on your karma,
If you’re so inclined.”
 
“Deal! You’ve got my UNDYING promise,”
It responds with a voice full and sunny.
I think to myself: Now it's the one
Who’s trying to be funny.
I yawn and say I’m going back to bed,
And I give the spirit my best
And hope that soon—VERY soon—
It finds eternal rest.
 
I often wonder if the gloomy spirit
Is still working its way
Through its torment, which I hope
Is being held at bay.
If I hear a creak or pop in the night,
Now peace and calm prevail;
I hope I’ve learned a lesson from my
Nocturnal visitor’s tale.

- by Bob B

If your life is full of stress,
And you’re being tossed to and fro,
Two little words might help you;
Those two words are LET GO.
 
If the world is going crazy,
And wherever you look there is woe,
You’d like to fix the world’s problems;
At some point you have to LET GO.
 
Sometimes daily pressures
Can make you a mean so-and-so.
Release the steam from your cooker
With a good attempt to LET GO.
 
If you’re micromanager
And control is your M.O.,
You might increase your longevity
If you can learn to LET GO.
 
If words come back to bite you
And you end up eating crow,
Well, worse things could happen;
Just say to yourself, “LET GO!”
 
By always approaching life
With expectations in tow,
You’re bound to be disappointed;
Try to stay calm and LET GO.
 
If you’re in high gear
And haven’t learned to go slow,
Avoid wear and tear on your engine;
To do so you’ve got to LET GO.
 
If you’re still having some trouble
Getting your ducks in a row,
Delayed gratification
Will happen if you can LET GO.
 
You wake up and go to the kitchen,
And what? there’s no morning joe!
Stay calm and take a few breaths;
You’ll manage if you can LET GO.
 
Though easier said than done—
Ask sages, for they ought to know—
Your life changes forever
Once you learn how to LET GO.
 
If you’re up the creek with no paddle
And you have to go with the flow,
Relax and enjoy the adventure,
Repeating the mantra: LET GO!

- by Bob B

It’s been said that HOPE springs eternal—
That it elevates one’s point of view.
Three cheers to Alexander Pope!
Perhaps my DREAM may yet come true.
 
I DREAMED that people worked together,
Eager to put their differences aside;
Their beliefs in no way clouded their reason;
And this happened worldwide.
 
I DREAMED that nations conquered hunger—
All people had enough to eat.
Everyone shared without begrudging
Those who struggled to make ends meet.
 
I DREAMED that tolerance and acceptance
Were the order of the day—
That hatred and discrimination
Finally both died away.
 
I DREAMED that people realized
The world did not revolve around them—
That their selfishness and egoism
Had only stifled them and drowned them.
 
I DREAMED that people loved the Earth
And taught their children to respect it;
In so doing their children learned
To appreciate it and protect it.
 
I DREAMED that anger dissipated
And that out of vengeance no one killed;
Wars became nonexistent;
Therefore, no more blood was spilled.
 
I DREAMED that people in all nations
Acknowledged everybody’s rights,
Pushing the goals of inclusiveness
And caring to amazing heights.
 
I DREAMED that our entire world
Worked together to vanquish disease;
Health care and housing everywhere
Were automatic guarantees.
 
Precious HOPE, I’ll hold you tight;
If my visions are mistaken
And the world becomes more hostile,
Then from this DREAM let me not waken.

- by Bob B

Did you hear of the chicken
Who wanted to be a duck?
You have to admit that the chicken
Had a great deal of pluck.
 
Scrutinizing her duck friends,
She sought out the best model,
But despite weeks of practice,
She still couldn’t waddle.
 
“This clucking,” she said, “won’t cut it.
I need to learn how to quack.”
But the only sounds she emitted
Were still not a “quack” but a “clack.”
 
“I prefer to eat duck food,”
She boasted, and with that
She gobbled up all she could
And ended up getting too fat.
 
“Ducks are good at flying,
So it makes perfect sense
For me to try it,” she said—
Barely reaching the fence.
 
“That’s it!” she finally exclaimed.
“For swimming ducks are renowned.”
She dashed into the lake,
Flapped her wings, and drowned.
 
The ducks sighed in sadness.
Poor chicken—she just couldn’t see
THAT THINGS AREN’T NECESSARILY
ALL THEY’RE QUACKED UP TO BE.

-by Bob B

“That surely wasn’t meant to be,”
The grieving wife cried.
“How could one so young and strong
Like him have upped and died?”
 
In vain the woman’s family and friends
Again and again pursued
Ways to mitigate her grief—
To elevate her mood.
 
“You’ll get through this,” some friends said.
“In no time you’ll regain
Your stamina and strength,” they said.
“Time will ease your pain.”
 
She could not grasp the intricacy
Of causes and conditions,
Or halt the endless chain of events
Through wishes or petitions.
 
If she could probe beneath the surface
Of all that she could see,
She’d realize that all that happens
Is REALLY meant to be.

- by Bob B

One day Skunk said to Fox,
“Boy, do you ever reek!
I have to tell you, Foxie:
You smell worse than last week.”
 
Fox replied to Skunk,
“Hey, you’re one to talk.
I can smell you coming
From way around the block.”
 
Skunk said, “Okay, let’s ask
Ms. Flower since she’s so discreet.”
Said Fox, “Yuck, why her?
She smells so sickeningly sweet.”
 
So Fox suggested Pelican.
“Well,” said Skunk, “if you wish.
But don’t forget that he always
Smells like rotten fish.”
 
They tried and tried for hours
To agree on who could best judge
Which of the two smelled the worse.
Finally, Fox cried out, “Fudge!”
 
Then Fox went on his way,
Wandering back to his den.
“Don’t YOU smell good!” said the Missis;
She even said it again.
 
Skunk hurried on home,
Where he knew his mother would be.
“Mom, do I smell bad?”
She answered, “Not to me.”
 
A moral of this story
Is all about point of view:
Let others be who they are,
And enjoy just being you.
 
Take with a grain of salt,
What others say or think;
And never let it upset you
If they say that you stink!

- by Bob B

Overwhelmed by so much to do,
And concerned that things would only get worse,
God decided to reevaluate
And take stock of His universe.
 
“I know it’s small in the scheme of things,
But I have to say, for what it’s worth,
One of my favorite projects was
A little planet known as Earth.
 
“What a beautiful place it was—
Forests thick with towering trees,
Emerald valleys, golden fields,
Crystal lakes, and unspoiled seas!
 
“But, oh, my goodness, look how man
Has managed to the nth degree
To sabotage my work of art!
Good intentions backfired on me.
 
“Majestic forests: disappearing;
Gorgeous valleys: barren mounds;
Lakes and seas: polluted waters;
Golden fields: dumping grounds.
 
“I gave people ears to hear with,
But no one listens anymore;
I gave people hearts to feel with,
Yet feeling has gone out the door.
 
“I gave people eyes to see with,
Yet so many folks are blind;
I gave people brains to think with;
What has happened to their mind?
 
“Instead of helping their fellow man,
Out of anger they hurt and maim.
Instead of peacefully living together,
They fight their battles in my name.
 
“WHY is there such reluctance
To offer aid to those in need?
Generosity and sharing
Both have been replaced by greed.
 
“The measurement of countries’ success
Unfortunately corresponds,
Not to taking care of the people,
But to GNP and stocks and bonds.
 
“People also use my name
To justify their cruel hate.
Why can’t more see me as LOVE.
Now THAT truly would be great.
 
“They love to put words in my mouth
And claim to know my secret thoughts;
Then they try to control others.
People, you don’t call the shots!
 
“Having had so much to work with,
Folks should easily get along.
So either this was meant to happen,
Or my experiment went wrong.
 
“When considering the laws of nature,
I included circumspection.
HA! I guess that we can say
I’m perfect in my imperfection.
 
“There’s one good thing about this, though:
All things must pass. So maybe I’m
Going to have much more success
When I make an Earth next time.”

- by Bob B

Sitting on the sidewalk
With his back against the wall
Of Bank of America,
He stared. That’s all.
 
With frayed trousers,
A tattered shirt,
Worn sneakers
Covered with dirt—
 
He sat alone.
Only now and then
Did he look up...
And then stare again.
 
A striking contrast
To the passersby—
The Gucci dress,
The George Neale tie...
 
He held a sign;
“HUNGRY” it said,
Scribbled on cardboard,
Written in red.
 
His beseeching gaze
Seemed to convey
His hunger and pain.
I looked away.
 
Someone will give him
Enough for a meal,
I rationalized—
Trying not to feel.
 
I should have helped
The guy somehow;
Those imploring eyes
Still haunt me now.

- by Bob B

“Hey there, Mr. Slug! Why do you like my cymbidiums?
Why don’t you dine on the dandelions that so abundantly grow?”
“Well, Mr. Bob, your cymbidiums are so delicious,
And your weeds are not so agreeable. I feel you ought to know.”
 
“Hey there, Mr. Termite! Why do you like my house?
Why can’t you chomp on the neighbors’—the one with such beautiful wood.”
“Well, Mr. Bob, your house is so nutritious;
Your neighbors’ house has been treated, and it doesn’t taste so good.”
 
“Hey there, Mrs. Whitefly! Do you have to **** my hibiscus?
What’s wrong with the morning glories that cover the neighbors’ fence.”
“Well, Mister Bob, hibiscus plants are enticing;
If I feasted on the others, I’d lack some common sense.”
 
“Hey there, Mr. Aphid! Do you have to devour my roses?
Why can’t you gorge on the grasses that grow in yonder field?”
“Well, Mr. Bob, not a thing in that field has
The lure of the genus Rosa, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
 
“Hey there, Mrs. Fly! Do you have to buzz into MY house?
What is wrong with the neighbors’—the one with the door open wide?”
“Well, Mr. Bob, we love the smell of your cookies
And cakes and blueberry cobblers. We’re dying to get inside!”
 
“Well, so much for asking! At least I made an attempt
To deal with you pesky visitors; to bid you all adieu.”
“Sorry, Mr. Bob. We don’t feel very welcome;
But perhaps you’ve forgotten something: WE were here long before YOU.”

- by Bob B

You don’t have to wave your country’s flag;
Nor do you have to boast and brag
That yours is the best country on earth—
Whether or not it’s the land of your birth—
To be a patriot.

There’s no need to brandish your weapons to show
That you have your rights that you’ll never forgo;
Nor do you have to copy the ones
Who feel the need for an arsenal of guns
To be a patriot.

You don’t have to heed everything you are told,
Fear seeking truths that your leaders withhold,
Or forget that in your laws there’s a reason
That public dissent’s not the same thing as treason
To be a patriot.

You don’t have to feel that the government is right
To force young men and women to fight
In wars that profit the War Machine--
And which you in your heart know are obscene--
To be a patriot.

There’s no need to always bewail and prate
On the separation of church and state
Or let the troublemakers upset you
By saying the government’s out to get you
To prove you’re a patriot.

But caring about the poor and the needy;
Wanting to have, without being greedy;
Feeling concern for the rights of ALL;
And helping others up when they fall:
That's being a patriot!

- by Bob B

A life so early beset by struggles
Was yours when your family fled from Hanoi
And in South Vietnam sought refuge and freedom—
It’s sad what conflicting ideals can destroy.
The South was only a tentative haven
While you attended French schools through the years.
The North-versus-South conflict exploded;
Your country was hurled into suffering and tears.
But luckily you escaped with your children,
Again seeking refuge, this time in the West:
In Europe, Canada, and then California—
A safe life for your children, your constant quest.
 
Your flower boat has gently borne you
To the Other Shore—your journey’s end.
You will always be in my heart.
Tạm biệt, lovely Liên; au revoir, my dear friend.
 
We met in the 80s and as fate would have it
We became friends. I’ll never forget
How we thoughtfully guided our students—
Our work together: the perfect duet.
I could sit and listen forever
As you shared interesting tales from your past.
Your knowledge was thorough, your stories intriguing,
Your manner so charming, your wisdom so vast.
I miss our dinners and social occasions.
In thinking about them I have to smile:
We’d talk for hours over large bowls of phở,
And I’d get a word in just once in a while.
 
Your flower boat has gently borne you
To the Other Shore—your journey’s end.
You will always be in my heart.
Tạm biệt, lovely Liên; au revoir, my dear friend.
 
If anyone needed a helping hand,
You would be there, offering support.
Then, not needing to earn recognition,
You’d turn down all praise; you’d sell yourself short.
How I envied your mastery of languages—
English, French, Vietnamese!
Your mellifluous voice—I can still hear it—
Tender, angelic, as soft as a breeze.
Our phone conversations—whenever they happened—
Were always an adventure. Oh, yes, but I swear
That I could never be in a hurry—
I needed at least a whole hour to spare.
 
Your flower boat has gently borne you
To the Other Shore—your journey’s end.
You will always be in my heart.
Tạm biệt, lovely Liên; au revoir, my dear friend.
 
Teacher, friend, sister, cousin—
I saw you in so many ways—
Your kindness and generosity inspired me,
Broadened my world, brightened my days.
You lived for your family—who always came first—
And never resentful, you never complained.
Imagine how much you influenced your children
With your giant heart! Just think what they’ve gained!
How much you accomplished in your precious life!
How much you managed to do on your own!
You, with that tiny, delicate frame,
Were one of the mightiest people I’ve known.
 
Your flower boat has gently borne you
To the Other Shore—your journey’s end.
You will always be in my heart.
Tạm biệt, lovely Liên; au revoir, my dear friend.

- by Bob B

Ah, to be an ostrich!
I'd bury my head in the sand.
I could remain oblivious
To what was going on in this land.
I'd hide from gnawing hunger
That showed on children’s faces,
And my total lack of involvement
Would leave no guilty traces.
 
Ah, to be a bear!
I’d hibernate in my cave
And wouldn’t worry about
Those whom I couldn’t save.
The lost and disenfranchised
Could struggle on their own,
While I stayed safe and sound
And slumbered all alone.
 
Ah, to be a turtle!
I would hide in my shell,
Ignoring world injustice
And abuses here as well.
When the power-grabbing wealthy
Tromped on the rights of the poor,
From such wrongdoing I’d hide
Behind my keratin door.
 
Ah, to be an eagle!
I'd soar across the sky.
Removed from worldly problems,
I’d never have to ask why
So many people **** others
Because of ideals so absurd.
I could maintain my distance.
How lucky to be a bird!
 
But being an ostrich is awkward
For people tend to stare
When your head's under the ground
And your **** sticks up in the air.
Being a bear can be hard,
For a cave can be damp and cold,
And not to mention lonely:
I guess that would get very old.
And about being a turtle—
And this is the honest scoop—
Your chances are very good
That you’ll end up in soup.
Finally, on being an eagle:
Though flying brings you great mirth
And you love high altitudes,
You still must come down to earth.

- by Bob B

O Eve, we love you to death—
More than we can say, BUT
Why did you have to go
And get us into this rut?
Hey, you had it so good.
Talk about life of leisure!
But one little bite and zap!
That put an end to our pleasure.
Of all the fruit in the garden
You fell for the apple, of course.
You’re lucky that dear hubby Adam
Didn’t request a divorce.
Kicked out of the Garden of Eden,
You had to suffer the throes...
And because of you look what happened:
Now we all have to wear clothes!

Oh, woe is me!
What’s there to do?
Thanks to dear Eve,
We’re all in a stew.

O Pandora, beautiful lady,
Did Zeus not foresee the hard knocks
That would have to befall us
After you opened that box?
Did Hephaestus and Athena
Mold you out of the earth
Only to let out the evils
And put an end to our mirth?
We know that you weren’t being malicious,
For that’s not the person you were;
Your curiosity tricked you
Before you knew what would occur.
With all the plagues and diseases
I don’t know how we would cope
If you hadn’t left in the box
That one little glimmer of Hope.

Oh, woe is me!
What’s there to do?
Thanks to Pandora,
We’re all in a stew.

O Prometheus, why did you have to,
After making man out of clay,
Go and present us with fire?
Now we all have to pay!
Surely your flames have been useful
For helping us to warm our buns,
Or for boiling our drinking water
To keep us from getting the runs.
But look what else you have started:
Because of you and your fire
We now have powerful weapons
That we can never retire.
If we just had rocks and arrows,
We’d still be inflicting much pain.
But bombs that could blow up the earth?
I swear! That is truly insane!
 
Oh, woe is me!
What’s there to do?
Thanks to Prometheus,
We’re all in a stew.
 
Victor Frankenstein, tell us:
Were you not cognizant prior
To making your monstrous creation
That it was sure to backfire?
For the suffering that you caused
Numerous victims have scorned you.
I’m sure some wary friends said,
“Sorry, Victor, I warned you!”
We all know that you suffered.
Your daily life was hell.
And because of you and the others,
We all have to suffer as well.
We in our infinite wisdom,
Ignoring all the signs,
Continue to assemble
Our own Frankensteins!
 
Oh, woe is me!
What’s there to do?
Thanks to dear Victor,
We’re all in a stew.

-by Bob B