I was happy in our home and she answered all my needs
So the day that my first person died, I was sorely grieved.
I plucked out all my feathers as a sign of my distress.
My silences spoke volumes about how I was depressed.
My first persons’ other family didn’t want a cockatoo,
So they took me to the shelter on the day that I found you.
Now I sing and speak and play. I’m happy once again,
But I will never once forget her; my first person and my friend.

“Did I hesitate a moment? Did I stop and wonder why?
We were ordered to attack from some blunderer up high.
We were all, I think, afraid. Who wouldn’t be right then?
Those Russians were entrenched and had artillery with them.
We must have looked magnificent on our chargers riding high
As we rode for God and Country, we knew Death was standing by.
I saw my brother Henry die and more brave lads besides.
We dressed the line and galloped on, We who were about to die.
My horse was shot from under me and that threw me to the sod.
The battle sounded distant and my left arm felt quite odd.
Some Shrapnel cut my face and thigh, but I saw many worse.
Some men called for their mothers, others raged and cursed.
Our gallant charge was broken by effective cannon fire.
There were many horses riderless like the one that I acquired.
When I got back behind our lines, I thanked my equine friend.
Then I realized he’d been Henry’s mount when this travesty began.
I’m sure there will be an inquiry into how this was misplayed.
It is then I’ll tell my tale about our murdered light brigade.”

Dead leaves smoking on an open fire,
Tricksters dressed up in odd clothes.
Ghouls and Goblins sneaking up on our porch-
Give them chocolate and maybe then they’ll go.

Everybody knows the jack-o- lanterns wick-ed light
Means it’s a pagan sort of Gourd.
Tiny tykes, munching sugar all night,
will wind up bouncing off the walls.

They know Brunhilda’s on her way
trying out her new broom on her special day.
And every little goblin’s gonna try
To see if chubby Witches still can fly.

And so I’m offering this simple phrase
Since trick or treat I think is overused.
Although it’s been said it’s the day of the dead;
Happy Halloween to you.

In Noah Webster’s lexicon of 1828
this word meant one who walks about
in an aimless mindless state.
(He did not of course mean to describe
our present head of state.
Still I didn’t make it up-
I don’t prevaricate!)
He seems irresolute to deal
with Isis’ militancy.
His only firm direction is
towards the Eighteenth tee.
In the chill of an autumn afternoon,
as the light begins to fade,
it appears his major goal in life
is the par shot he just made.
Now that his term is winding down
I get the strange impression
that all this golfing is prelude
to a planned change of profession.
He’ll join the tour, he’ll make the cut
He’ll finally have it all.
when the only lie concerning him
Is the lie of his golf ball.

On Spring Street in SOHO I worked in a bar
The Manhattan Bistro, since closed down, I hear.
In its basement what remains of a well can be seen;
the scene of a ****** that still haunts my dreams.

The Winter solstice was, once again, drawing near,
its night, cold and dreary, the longest of the year.
What brought me downstairs, I cannot now tell.
It was there that I saw her, the woman from the well.

Her long tresses hung down; limp, lifeless and dead,
and an old fashioned hair comb she wore on her head.
Her muslin dress was archaic, with bustle and lace.
She seemed lonely and listless, a sad look on her face.

In life she’d been lovely, a pert Twenty two.
Yes, Elma Sands, I’d heard all about you.
As I stood in stunned silence, another appeared.
A malevolent Specter of a man passed me near.

He throttled the girl till, unconscious, she fell.
He tossed her, still living, down the depths of the well.
Then like vapors they vanished- to Heaven or Hell?
Someone called from the Bar and it shattered the spell.

Few heard her pleas on the night that she died.
When she first was discovered it was thought suicide.
Rumors spread quickly back in Old Dutch New York.
Surely that girl was murdered, such was the talk.

No doubt killed by a Lover who wanted no Bride.
Levi Weeks was arrested. The charge- Homicide.
Rumors were spread that he’d promised they’d wed,
That they planned to elope- but he’d killed her instead.

The Lawyers he hired were both men of renown;
Hamilton and Burr were both heroes in town.
The mob wanted blood; they screamed Levi’s name.
The jury declined to convict, just the same.

The facts of the ****** may never be known.
What man followed Elma, and found her alone,
In a meadow deserted on the outskirts of town?
What man took her life, which was not his to take,
when she bravely refused to consent to her ****?

In the heart of our city, her ghost finds no peace;
Two centuries later and still no release.
Venture down to the cellar on Spring Street if you dare;
On the Solstice her ghost will appear to you there

One hundred and fifty travelers each day
Arrive from West African climes.
While its clearly insane to let them board planes
They can travel on scheduled airlines.
If they’re asymptomatic, they enter our ports.
Is the government out of its mind?
With dishwashers and Laundries our first line of defense
Ebola will spread over time.
Airline and hotel stocks are selling off big
Pharmaceuticals ought to do fine.

A nurse who watched Duncan as he sickened and died
Flies to Cleveland and back to big D
Her temperature was merely ninety nine point five.
“.Oh, you’re fine.” said the C-D-C.

On a cold winter’s night with the streets dark and still,
We converged at the Pillar with a plan and a will.
We placed sticks of dynamite Around and inside-
enough to send Lord Nelson upon his last ride.
In the wee hours of morning The fuses were lit.
We ran like mad devils so we wouldn’t get hit.
The concussive explosion made Lord Nelson fly.
Many windows were shattered, But nobody died.
It was fifty years on since our brothers in arms
Had proclaimed the Republic For which so many died.
The skyline’s been altered To reflect Erin’s pride.
The might Brit hero Will never again
Lord it over our Dublin Or free Irish men.