The young monks all stood around
In complete awe of the visiting priest,
Whose wisdom struck them as quite profound
And remarkable to say the least.
 
One monk with a curious endeavor
Wanted to stump the old sage,
Thinking his question extremely clever
For even a master of his age.
 
The monk said, “Master, can you please,
Since the time of your departure draws nigh,
Answer with your expertise:
What happens after we die?”
 
The young monks all felt dejected
When the priest said, “I do not know.”
Not hearing the answer they’d expected,
They let their bewilderment show.
 
“B...but...how can you say that?” they stammered.
“Don’t you—a wise teacher—know all?
We demand an answer!” they hammered.
The calm atmosphere turned to a squall.
 
The priest’s love had never decreased
For his students; he’d never misled one:
“Yes, for years I’ve been a priest—”
Then he added, “But never a dead one.”

- by Bob B

The scent of pine wafting through the woods;
The gentle rush of serpentining streams;
Plaintive begging calls from forest birds;
A silvery pool reflecting the moon's bright beams…
Nature's sights and scents and sounds combined
Or on their own can give great peace of mind.

A flower squeezing through a neighbor's wall;
An unattended garden, overgrown;
The sounds of children playing in a park;
A stranger musing on a porch alone…
Wherever we are, we can nonetheless
Be moved in ways that words cannot express.

He came home from the Middle East
A depressed and very different man,
After having served a tour
In Iraq and one in Afghanistan.

At one time an athlete with a hopeful future
And mentor to his cheering peers,
He struggled now to balance his memories
With the dismal, heavy weight of tears.

Tears that suddenly came from nowhere
Drenched his pillow. A panic would sweep
Through his body making him dread
The nights and the thought of falling asleep.

The outbursts of anger frightened him more;
They frightened his wife and children as well.
Avoidance and withdrawal only seemed
To aggravate his daily hell.

People and places constantly triggered
Painful memories of war and death.
Loud noises would send him through
The roof and make him gasp for breath.

Walking down a city street,
He'd have a flashback and quickly duck.
His heart would race until he gained
Control of his fears that had run amok.

The doctors diagnosed his condition:
Battle fatigue, or PTSD.
They had a list of remedies.
Of course, there was no guarantee.

Serotonin reuptake
Inhibitors failed to do the trick.
And tricyclic antidepressants
Made him feel listless and sick.

Tranquilizers and neuroleptics
Caused him to be more confused.
Prazosin and propranolol
Prescriptions both remained unused.

When the pills failed to help him,
Alcohol became his friend.
At least temporarily;
The haunting nightmares wouldn't end.

His family suffered along with him.
His friends slowly drifted away.
Who had time to spend with someone
Whose life was in such disarray?

His plaques and medals on his walls
Made his pain more acute.
His isolation made him feel
Emotionally destitute.

Cognitive behavior therapy!
That's what a doctor recommended.
The desperate man acquiesced.
He said he'd go, but just pretended.

He dropped the kids off at the sitter's,
Drove back home, texted his wife,
Held his pistol to his head,
Squeezed the trigger, and ended his life.

Our enemy's sly and insidious.
To recognize it is hard.
It's always lying in wait
To catch us off our guard.

It doesn't announce its presence.
With fanfare and bold display.
Its surreptitious maneuvers
Easily lead astray.

What or who it is
Usually eludes us.
Its ensnaring grasp
Usually includes us.

How to rout it out?
We haven't as of yet.
IGNORANCE is our enemy
And also our greatest threat.

Things are wild in the Garden of Eden
When Adam returns from his daily toil.
(You see: even in Paradise
Adam has to till the soil.)

"Adam," says Eve, "taste this fruit.
How could one ever surmise
That eating this fruit could be one's undoing?
You'll see the world through different eyes."

Adam partakes of the forbidden fruit,
And all of a sudden he feels inside
A rush of shame. Grabbing Eve's hand,
He says, "Come. We've got to hide."

A booming voice shakes the foliage,
"****! I knew I'd eventually dread it.
When I made you humans, I
Certainly gave you too much credit.

"What did I tell you about partaking
Of the tree bearing forbidden fruit?"
?"Eve MADE me do it!" cries Adam.
God yells, "I don't give a hoot!"

"The serpent," says Eve. "It's the serpent's fault.
He was the actual perpetrator."
"Shush," says God. "You silly ninnies.
I will deal with the serpent later.

"Your thirst for knowledge of good and evil
Opened your eyes. I knew you'd rue it.
You'll be banished from Paradise now.
Bottom line: you both blew it."

Then God adds, "And put on some clothes.
Don't you feel at all ashamed?
And, by the way, before you leave,
Are there any animals you haven't named?"

Adam shrugs, "Nameless animals…
Let's see. I don't think there are any.
But there are millions of species here.
Why did you have to make so many?"

"Exit now from the Garden," God thunders.
"You had to know the mess you'd be in.
Both of you are going to discover
That now your troubles will really begin."

The Garden gates slam shut behind them
As the couple sadly wanders off.
"A fine mess you got us into!"
Adam mutters to Eve with a scoff.

"Life was easy in the Garden of Eden,
But there's one thing I have to confess,"
Says Eve, admiring herself in a pond,
"I'm really liking my brand new dress."

If they think they have troubles now,
Wait till they see what else God forbids:
Mixing fabrics and eating shellfish.
And wait till they start having kids.

"People are going to blame us," says Adam.
"We need to come up with a good solution.
I'm hoping that somebody somewhere devises
A logical theory of evolution."

So off they journey, hand in hand,
Wishing they'd gotten by with impunity.
"It was just fruit," they lament, already
Missing their life in their gated community.

Touching her forehead to the cobblestone street
And raising her upturned palms in the air,
The beggar maintains her pose for hours--
A pose of misery, pain, and despair.

Into the Venetian square pours
A constant flow of tourist mobs.
Few pay any attention
To the beggar's miserable, plaintive sobs.

Once in a while her eye will catch
The eye of somebody passing by.
Feeling remorse, disgust, or discomfort,
The person turns away with a sigh.

Occasionally, a kind-hearted
Soul will drop a coin in the palm
Of the beggar woman's beseeching hand,
Hoping to give her a moment of calm.

"Grazie molto, signore, signora,"
The woman cries, lifting her head.
Tears stream down her wrinkled cheeks
From watery eyes, puffy and red.

"Don't encourage her," somebody says.
"Why doesn't she find some employment?"
"How disgusting!" says another.
"She puts a damper on my enjoyment."

Who knows the desperation
That brought the woman to her current state?
It's always easier to turn one's head,
To criticize or castigate.

One man says, "You'll never find me
Begging like her. That's what I know."
He's unaware that the poor woman
Said the same thing years ago.

-by Bob B

Lucita clearly wasn't a beauty.
Her grade school features were unrefined,
Awkward, plain, unattractive….
(I'm trying not to be unkind.)

Her classmates loved--as many kids do--
To find people's faults and then make fun of them.
Lucita's classmates tormented her;
I know because I was one of them.

I didn't say mean things about her,
Tease her or call her a horrible name.
My silence, however, made me complicit;
Because of my silence, I shared their shame.

How often are we silent when
We see injustice right before us?
Do we fear becoming involved
Or hope that the "evil" will ignore us?

History shows what happens to people
When others stay silent and don't speak out.
Only by standing up to injustice
Can real change come about.

Lucita didn't stay long at the school.
I think her family moved away.
I'm sure the kids found someone else
To taunt, belittle, pester, and flay.

I hope that for Lucita a happy,
Fulfilling life has been her reward;
I hope the once gawky duckling
Opened her beautiful wings and soared.

- by Bob B

The concept of heaven titillates,
Bewilders and often befuddles.
Imagining how it operates
Leaves one in tangles and muddles.

Think of a woman whose husbands have numbered
At least two or three.
In heaven will they all be together?
How awkward that would be!

Let's say you want servants galore
To cater to every desire.
Is there perchance a sign on the Gates
That reads "Servants for Hire"?

If HER idea of heaven would mean
Being forever with HIM,
But HIS wishes do not include HER,
Her chances of bliss will be slim.

Though harp music is fine now and then,
Too much would be cloying.
But whiny, screechy electric guitars
Could also become annoying.

If winning's your thing, then heaven's for you,
Whatever the sport you choose.
But if you win, don't forget:
Somebody has to lose.

If for a dog heaven would be
Forever chasing cats,
Paradise for a cat might be
A constant supply of rats.

That would be fine and dandy for dogs
As far as we can tell.
For cats, however, the dogs' heaven
Would end up being cat hell.

The more you think about the idea,
The more it gets confusing.
You can try to figure it out,
But you can't win for losing.

- by Bob B

Lest we hopeful humans forget
That glory ever fades,
Dashing hopes of permanence.
Ah, the ace of spades.

The morning dew on leaves and blossoms
Evaporates in the sun,
Bearing deep significance
When all is said and done.

Holding on to attempts to glimpse
Into eternity
Defrauds the mind that wants to believe
What wasn't meant to be.

What was, what is, and what shall be
Will manifest despite
All attempts to categorize
What is wrong or right.

Relaxing into the universe--
Into the constant flow--
We release the bonds, the fetters,
Of what we think we know.

That must be the ultimate--
The effortless release,
Blissless bliss, beingless being,
Indescribable peace.

- by Bob B

Forty-nine bodies lay in Orlando
Morgues waiting to be promptly claimed,
Which forty-eight families did.
One, however, was too ashamed.

One body lay unidentified--
Alone, rejected, day after day--
Because a stone-hearted father
Objected to his son's being gay.

So intransigent, so consumed
By his intolerant, cherry-picked views,
A father preferred to leave his son lying
In a cold morgue. Heart-breaking news!

After the horror of the nightclub massacre,
Adding insult to injury that dad
Showed the capacity of the human heart
To lack compassion. How very sad!

Extended family of the young victim
Later convinced authorities to release
The body into their care, so now
The abandoned son can rest in peace.

For years did the son have any support
From his dad, or was it too much bother?
One thing we know without a doubt:
The son deserved a better father.

- by Bob B

When Charlotte Corday came to Paris,
She had only one thing on her mind:
To rid the world of Jean Paul Marat--
The veritable scourge of humankind.

Leaning toward the moderate Girondins,
Corday despised the Jacobin stance
Of killing opposers to the Revolution
And terrorizing the people of France.

Marat incited the Jacobin furor
With his deeply radical point of view.
Corday also blamed him for causing
The September Massacres of '92.

After journeying to Paris from Caen,
She found a shop, purchased a knife,
Wrote an address to the "friends of peace,"
And then set out to take Marat's life.

Imagine Marat in his bathtub writing--
It seems an awkward position to be in
When seeing guests, but Marat suffered
From horrible sores all over his skin.

Corday spoke of a possible uprising
And provided names at Marat's request.
Then she took out a six-inch blade
And plunged it into the "monster's" chest.

After Corday was tried and sentenced,
She stirred up some attention when
She asked to have her portrait painted.
(They milked the media way back then!)

Marat's body was marched through the streets
While Charlotte Corday lost her head.
HE became the martyr, which caused
More innocent blood to be shed.

She said she killed ONE to save a THOUSAND.
Co-conspirators? They never found any.
She took matters into her own hands;
But her plan backfired--as do many.

To act or not to act is the question;
There always will be decisions to make.
Remember, consequences will follow
Whatever course of action we take.

- by Bob B

How incredible it would be--
How inclusive, how fulfilling,
How thoughtful, how compelling,
How ennobling, how thrilling,

How embracing of people all over,
How respectful, how caring,
How auspicious, how prudent,
How given to kindness and sharing,

How all-encompassing,
How miraculous, how smart,
How encouraging, how beautiful,
How full of compassion and heart,

How wholesome, how magnanimous,
How honorable; how just--
If only our national motto could be
Stated simply, "In LOVE we trust"!

- by Bob B

"In case you're wondering who we are,
We're your friendly NRA.
Put your worries behind you now;
We are here to save the day.

"Feeling lost and insecure?
Feeling hopeless or dejected?
Come on down and buy your gun.
Your spirits will be resurrected.

"What? You want a handgun? Pshaw!
A handgun is just a toy.
An assault weapon is what you need
To make you feel like a really big boy.

“The thought of guns everywhere
Titillates us to the core.
We can’t describe the ecstasy
Of having more and more and more!

"Your Congressmen love to stick
Their hands into our bulging pockets.
Call it a little *** for tat--
Just keep us off your legal dockets.

"One of our leaders is Wayne LaPierre.
With every gun sale he's elated.
Some say he prevaricates;
We say truth is overrated.

"Gun manufacturers,
You scratch our backs, we'll scratch yours.
We'll make sure that all can access
Weapons that are made for wars.

"Certainly our Founding Fathers
Knew what they were doing when
They envisioned assault weapons
In the hands of all brave men.
 
"Join our 'well regulated
Militia' here in the United States.
We don’t like our beloved Second
Amendment to undergo debates.

"We are doing all we can
To weaken all gun safety laws.
Please don't mention violence;
Every system has its flaws.

"We subscribe to firearm freedom--
A genuine right that's everyone's.
Here's one way to look at it:
Religious liberty for your guns.

"'Life, liberty, and the pursuit of guns'--
That's our motto, simple and clear.
Gun grabbers had best beware:
The NRA will persevere.

"So now you know who we are:
We're your friendly NRA.
You can put your worries behind you;
We are here to save the day."

- by Bob B

"You want to make money? If that's true,
Have I got a proposition for you!
Sign up for my investment school.
Hesitating would be uncool.

"All my instructors will bestow
The best education on you. I know;
I picked them myself. They're tremendous.
My courses without a doubt are stupendous.

"What, you don't have money for food?
You won't get far with that attitude.
You can increase--it's not very hard--
The credit limit on your credit card!

"In fact, in order for you to buy
More seminars, we'll show you why
Obtaining and using more credit cards will
Build your self-worth. How's that for a thrill?

"To satisfy your innermost cravings
For elite courses, don't you have savings?
If courses require too large an amount
Of money, use your retirement account.

"For 35,000 dollars, behold:
A seminar-package that shines like gold.
Can't afford it? Come on, don't tarry.
Those words aren't part of my vocabulary.

"The bottom line is I will for sure
Make you a wealthy entrepreneur.
This is a pathway to wealth and success.
What we want from you is a "yes."

"I guarantee your life will be greater.
You know the drill: buy now, pay later.
All you have to do is sign
Right here on the dotted line."

- by Bob B

Radhika grew up in a poor Indian village.
She, her parents, and siblings survived
Droughts, famines, diseases, and monsoons;
Sporadic good fortune was always short-lived.

A gentlemen came to the village one day
And offered Radhika a job as a maid.
Oh, how exciting! A job in the city--
REAL work, for which she'd be paid!

Once in Mumbai, Radhika was led
To a hovel where she was brutally *****
And beaten and moved to a windowless room
At a brothel from which few girls escaped.

The poor young girl--eleven years old--
Learned very quickly how cruel life could be.
Her daily dream was to make her way home,
As soon as she found a way to flee.

Having lost years of her youth,
Radhika escaped and went home at sixteen
To parents who cast her out of the house
For being "sullied," for not being "clean."

Not knowing which way to turn--
With defeats piled on top of defeats--
Radhika returned in desperation
To the city, where she worked in the streets.

All over the world "Radhikas" exist,
But most of us never see them.
What will it take to end such cruelty?
We have to find a way to free them.

- by Bob B

Under the sprawling Bodhi Tree,
Siddhartha sits with his primary vow:
How to alleviate suffering
In this world--here and now.

Suddenly, Mara appears--
Mara the tempter--with his sinister grin.
Siddhartha stays calm and unafraid
And graciously welcomes the tempter in.

Offering supernatural powers
Around which the human ego revolves,
Mara observes as Siddhartha sits,
And every thought of power dissolves.

Mara then offers his beautiful daughters,
Hoping Siddhartha yields to temptation.
In silence the unperturbed seeker
Shows the depth of his aspiration.

Growing furious, Mara calls up
Armies of demons of fear and desire.
They surely should stir Siddhartha's
Deep anxieties and inner fire.

Siddhartha merely gains greater insight
Instead of succumbing to Mara's ploys.
Mara departs in a rage, leaving
Siddhartha in a calm, quiescent poise.

After six days a Buddha "awakens"
As the traces of night start to disperse.
From looking into his innermost nature,
He's seen the face of the universe.

- by Bob B

If you know the tale of El Chapo,
You know then what will befall
Even the person who's known as
The most famous drug lord of all.

Exporting more drugs to America
Than anyone else in the past,
El Chapo lived like a king
On the millions of dollars he amassed.

You didn't mess with El Chapo.
Woe betide you if you did!
Not only would you suffer,
So would your spouse or your kid.

Back in the 90s El Chapo
Found himself in a scrape
And landed in a Mexican prison,
But he found a way to escape.

A protracted stay in the slammer
For him was not in the cards:
He bought his way to freedom
By bribing the prison guards.

For thirteen years El Chapo
Evaded capture and hid.
He kept up his shady dealings
While trying to stay off the grid.

Authorities in Chicago
Gave this man on the run
Notoriety as Public
Enemy Number One.

In 2015 the drug lord
Was back in prison again.
This time he fled through a tunnel
Dug by some of his men.

One day marines closed in.
They thought they'd caught their man.
El Chapo held a child
In his arms as he ran.

Soon El Chapo got sloppy.
No one could catch him, he thought.
Alas, the marines tracked him down.
Back to a cell he was brought.

Now the Americans want him.
Extradite him, they say.
El Chapo will be an example
To show that crime doesn't pay.

So, say good-bye, El Chapo,
As you sadly wipe your tears.
We hope you like your new home;
You're going to be there for years.

Yes, say good-bye, El Chapo,
To your Sinaloa Cartel.
A maximum security prison
Will be your new citadel.

- by Bob B

Social Media has changed our lives
In ways both good and bad.
Will it stick around or is it
Just a temporary fad?

Know people's current location.
Even see what they had for dinner!
Find out election results:
Who's the loser? Who's the winner?

Keep abreast of births and deaths,
Parties, weddings and celebrations.
Send your condolences,
Comments or congratulations.

Read up on current trends;
Catch the latest breaking news.
Share a joke or witty saying;
Find out people's political views.

Watch a video clip or listen
To a friend's brand-new song.
Post your favorite recipe.
(Hey, with that you can't go wrong.)

Read a poem or view people's
Photo albums on their wall.
Sift through scores of unchecked "facts."
Yes, Facebook has it all.

Sometimes there is TMI;
Sometimes there is not enough.
Sometimes there is powerful info;
Sometimes there's a lot of fluff.

You don't have to read my postings.
No, that would not offend me.
However, if you choose to block them,
I'd prefer that you unfriend me.

- by Bob B

In our world of computers along with
Hackers and scammers, be prepared
To discover that e-mail messages you wrote
And thought were private have been "shared."

You have a right to your own opinions,
But don't think that your code can't be cracked.
You'll be doing lots of damage control
Once your e-mail account has been hacked.

- by Bob B

It's very disturbing to hear people say
That they wholeheartedly object
To being forced to weigh their words
And having to be politically correct.

Forgetting the crassness of earlier times,
They want to return to the careless days
When Jews were called horrible things;
When blacks weren't "blacks" and gays weren't "gays";

When Native Americans were called "redskins";
When despicable names were given to our foes,
And children were taught horribly racist
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moes."

People didn't "cheat" you, they "gyped" you;
The Irish and Italians were both called names;
"Eskimo" was a generalized term;
Men referred to women as "dames."

Mute people were "dumb" back then;
Latinos and Asians were called names, too.
It seems that derogatory words
Were seldom if ever considered taboo.

Will decency and respect both
Be tossed out the window? Please say no.
We can't return to the ignorant days
Of racist jokes and slurs and Jim Crow.

Being a considerate human means
Sometimes bearing a heavy load.
Our lack of sensitivity
Can lead us down a dangerous road.

- by Bob B

My father's life ended twice:
First, on the day my mom passed away;
Next, when he took his last breath of air
Three months later to the day.

The year was 1998.
How long ago it seems! And yet
So many vivid memories
Make it a year I'll never forget.

Tangled up in straps and tubes
In ICU, my dad spent
His final month lying supine
While monitors beeped and tracked his descent.

Pneumonia for an emphysemic
Is not a kind and welcome friend.
A ventilator served as lungs
And breathed for Dad until the end.

A man who'd always loved ideas
And words, the poor guy had no choice:
Unable to speak because of equipment,
A pad of paper became his voice.

"You've got a strong heart," I said,
Trying to make his spirits rise.
"Too strong," he wrote. I looked away
So he wouldn't see the tears in my eyes.

While standing there, all I could see
Was a man who'd devoted many years
To serving others, challenging our brains,
Making us laugh, assuaging our fears.

I heard him reading us bedtime stories,
Correcting our grammar, playing word games,
Arguing politics with his friends,
Discussing Dickens, Hardy, and James.

I saw a man alone in a car,
Within the glow of a theater marquee,
Patiently waiting late at night
To pick up my friends and me.

I saw him working multiple jobs,
Fixing the plumbing, knocking down walls,
Remodeling the bathroom, and on the courts
Smacking the hell out of tennis *****.

Now in his deep blue eyes I could see
A question impossible to dismiss:
"Why after a life so full
Do we THEN have to end up like this?"

Any inkling of an answer
Was stifled with a grimace and frown
As death was tugging at his sleeve
And his body was slowly shutting down.

Life has bitter ironies
That we often bemoan or bewail.
We want to explain the inexplicable.
Our efforts are to no avail.

- by Bob B

Stand up for freedom--
For the right of self-expression.
Speak out against tyranny,
Cruelty and aggression.

Stand up for tolerance,
Acceptance and good will.
Embrace understanding,
So bigotry comes to nil.

Stand up for unity--
For oneness, not separation.
Let inclusiveness
Strengthen our foundation.

Stand up for equality--
For the promise of equal rights.
Keep mutual respect
Clearly in our sights.

Stand up for action
To save the human race.
Unite with others to make
The world a better place.

Stand up for giving--
For generosity and sharing.
Let your noble heart
Be ruled by compassion and caring.

Stand up for justice--
For fair treatment of all.
Let sound decisions
Be our protocol.

Stand up for peace--
For amicable contributions.
Celebrate diplomacy
And nonviolent solutions.

Stand up for love.
Let it resonate
Throughout the world, and let
The tides of hatred abate.

- by Bob B

Fires, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes--
Nature can be quite…demanding.
We're just a speck in the grand scheme;
At least that's my understanding.

Our relationship with nature
Should be one of respect and awe.
But in the guise of progress we've found
That mankind has a fatal flaw:

Our love affair with material things.
You wonder: That can't hurt, can it?
Ah, but just think about
Unlimited growth on a finite planet.

From caves to computers, we've come a long way.
But some resources are irreplaceable.
When they're depleted, their loss will leave
A mark behind that's unerasable.

Population times consumption--
It's really just a simple equation--
Equals environmental impact
And NOT merely on occasion.

Constant growth of both the economy
And population smacks of futility
And gives our world a recipe for
A bleak unsustainability.

As we add to our atmosphere
Carbon dioxide and methane gas
And destroy what it takes to sustain us,
Who knows what will come to pass?

Our world is such an incredible place!
I hate being the prophet of doom,
But let's not ignore reality:
There's only so much for us to consume.

Reasonable consumption now:
Is there such a thing as that?
If so, let's investigate
Our options. Jumping Jehoshaphat!

Avoiding economic collapse
While putting less stress on things
And controlling population growth
Perhaps could soften the future's zings.

Think about our children’s future.
Think what we’re doing? Think what we’ve done?
Why would we turn this beautiful planet
Into an uninhabitable one?

- by Bob B

Joe, our grade school bully,
Never bullied me.
Flying under the radar,
I got off scot-free.

Though I felt relieved,
I should have been incensed,
For seldom were his victims
Ever recompensed.

I wish I'd had the chutzpah
To walk up to him and intone,
"Hey, brainless buttface,
Leave that kid alone!"

What I would have done next,
I haven't the slightest clue.
I was a geeky kid
Who'd jump if you said "Boo!"

I should at least have tried
An approach more diplomatic
And NOT have selected
An expression so…emphatic.

Nonetheless, I never
Castigated Joe.
I was a helpless kid;
What the heck did I know?

We adults see bullying,
And we don't make a fuss.
Are we just delighted
That no one's bullying us?

We all know what happens
When people are afraid
To speak out against injustice:
Humanity is betrayed.

- by Bob B

In the fall of 1972
When cosmos waved in the autumn breeze
For miles along the country roads,
And dappled foliage covered the trees,

In South Korea I knew a man--
I'll just call him Sergeant D--
Who was stationed in the city of Seoul
At a U.S. Army post with me.

Buddies we weren't. To tell the truth
I didn't know him very well.
But he was a definite character,
Always joking and raising hell.

Payday would come once a month
And Sergeant D would be in the black.
A few days later he'd want to borrow
Money that he'd never pay back.

That fall Sergeant D
Was "getting short," an expression that meant
He was close to leaving the service.
For him that was an exciting event.

"Short!" he'd yell, on entering the barracks.
"Short!" you'd hear from a block away.
He loved to rub it in, much
To his homesick army buddies' dismay.

To exit the service, he would fly
To California, where a car--
A flashy new model--awaited him
To drive back home--rather far.

So after the sergeant left Korea,
Picked up his car, and headed east,
He died on a California
Highway. Tragic, to say the least.

After having survived two tours
Of duty in Vietnam, this man
Left Korea and died before
His post-army life began!

Life is full of ironies
That always have us asking "Why?"--
Ironies that make us chuckle,
Make us ponder, make us cry.

- by Bob B

Margaret was more than a family friend;
She also taught me to play the piano.
Once in while she'd have me sing,
When I was still a kid soprano.

I wasn't a gifted piano player.
In fact, I was far from it.
And the stage fright at recitals:
I never could overcome it.

I never practiced as much as I should have,
Which was obvious in my playing.
I'd never become a concert pianist.
That, of course, went without saying.

Yet Margaret never scolded me
Whenever I came unprepared
To my weekly piano lesson--
A little nervous, a little scared.

I would play an exercise
And utterly butcher the innocent piece.
"That one needs a little more work,"
She'd say. Then my fears would cease.

I studied with her for many years--
From childhood through my early teens.
My lessons were not a means to an end;
The end was entirely the means.

Spending time on the piano bench
With Margaret on a chair by my side
Is ingrained in my heart:
Time spent with my mentor and guide.

Instilling the love of music in me,
She was definitely my muse.
Music is a life-changing gift--
A blessing I hope never to lose.

I learned that life can bring happiness,
But also times of sadness and loss.
Margaret developed a brain tumor.
There'd be a river of sorrow to cross.

How could such a wonderful person--
And talented, too--capitulate
To illness? Then I faced the truth:
Cancer doesn't discriminate.

When Margaret died, to me all music
Sounded like a dolorous dirge.
But with time, the glorious sounds
Slowly began to reemerge.

She had taught me so much more
Than how to plunk on piano keys.
How sad it would be if ever the wondrous
Notes faded from our memories.

Music's a powerful force in our lives.
Without it I wonder where we would be.
There's one thing that I know for certain:
Margaret will always be music to me.

- by Bob B

What are you trying to hide, Mr. T?
What do you fear we will find
In your secret tax returns?
Let's see…. What springs to mind?

Are there more illegal dealings
With Cuba? Maybe so.
Or maybe more deals with Russia
Than we want to know?

Regarding charitable causes, perhaps
You don't want us to see
That you are not as charitable
As you let on to be?

Or maybe you don't want us to know--
And thus prefer to stall--
That while we pay our federal taxes,
You pay none at all?

You talk of reasons for nondisclosure;
The reasons are falling apart.
You smugly say that not paying taxes
Shows that you are smart.

Could there be something going on
That's even creepier yet?
When the topic comes up you seem
To break out in a sweat.

You expect transparency
From others. Isn't that true?
But heaven forbid if others expect
Transparency from you!

(9-30-16) By Bob B

The world has fickle ways, Marie.
Winds of discontent keep blowing.
Gratitude drowns in despair.
Sometimes it's hard to keep on going.
Alliances are doomed to fail
When the light inside grows dim.
The world becomes a dangerous place
When human reason gives in to whim.

Are you a victim of circumstances?
Of family ambitions? Possibly.
Do you know enough to know
That knowing might have set you free?
Are you completely oblivious
When people drag your name through the mud?
What about the rumors that you
Desire to bathe in the people's blood?

Don't lose your head, Marie.
Keep your cool. Think about it.
The reason is simple: you know there's
Not much you can do without it.

Are you using others, or is it
More that others are using you?
We know your penchant for lavish spending
Isn't hard to misconstrue.
Did you really plaster your walls
With gold and diamonds? Please say no.
Denying it won't help you now.
It was the gossip long ago.

Public opinion is not based
On wisdom, reason, and facts, my dear.
I wish I were able to tell you that
Rumors and talk are nothing to fear.
A high profile is all that you need
For people with minds cruel and perverse
To criticize your character
Or--heaven forbid!--do something worse.

Don't lose your head, Marie.
Keep your cool. Think about it.
The reason is simple: you know there's
Not much you can do without it.

- by Bob B

In rural Georgia lived a loving
Man known as Robert Eads.
People with a heart as big as his
Are more of what this world needs.

Life has in store for us
A future we can never foretell.
As loving and kind as a person is,
That doesn't mean that all will go well.

In 1996, Robert
Found out he had ovarian cancer.
Ovarian? How could that be? you ask.
He was transgender--a simple answer.

Experiencing abdominal pain,
Robert knew he needed assistance.
But because of his gender identity,
The sick man met with careless resistance.

As Robert grew sicker and sought treatment,
More than a dozen doctors would meet him.
But fearing he'd make their practice look bad,
Those same doctors refused to treat him!

Shirking their responsibility,
Those doctors sealed Robert's fate.
By the time he found one who would help him,
The cancer had spread; it was too late.

A year of aggressive medical treatment,
Gave him time with those he'd befriended,
And time with family, until the day
In '99, when his life ended.

Robert had never understood
How people could be so cruel, and yet
He bore no hatred and took each day
As it came without blame or regret.

How he had loved his girlfriend, Lola--
A transgender woman and love of his life!
If he were still alive today,
I'm sure that they'd be husband and wife.

In Robert's memory, a pine tree was planted.
His ashes were scattered at the base of the tree.
How often in life people must struggle
To be the person that they must be!

- by Bob B