His last sunrise shone in his eyes
as we readied, aimed and fired.
“Shoot straight you *******!”“Breaker” yelled
as his life and time expired..

Handcock and Morant together lay
sightless eyes toward the sky.
The courts-martial had convicted them.
Kitchener ordered that they die.

How did I feel about this man
my bullet helped to slaughter?
This man who ordered Boers shot
without a written order.

I’d seen him fight, and bravely too
when Boers struck the town.
The prisoners had manned the line
and helped us hold our ground..

Now stretcher-bearers took their limbs
and bore them from the field.
So fast and secret were their deaths
There was no chance of appeal.

Australians had been killed by Scotch
to please the Dutchman Boers.
British men and Africans-
we were all just following orders.

His last sunrise shone in his eyes
as we readied, aimed and fired.
“Shoot straight you *******!”“Breaker” yelled
as his life and time expired..

Handcock and Morant together lay
sightless eyes toward the sky.
The courts-martial had convicted them.
Kitchener ordered that they die.

How did I feel about this man
my bullet helped to slaughter?
This man who ordered Boers shot
without a written order.

I’d seen him fight, and bravely too
when Boers struck the town.
The prisoners had manned the line
and helped us hold our ground..

Now stretcher-bearers took their limbs
and bore them from the field.
So fast and secret were their deaths
There was no chance of appeal.

Australians had been killed by Scotch
to please the Dutchman Boers.
British men and Africans-
we were all just following orders.

Some people call them toe-mae- tos.
They’re toe- mat -toes to other folk.
Monsanto has patented versions
that may poison us and leave us broke.

Their genetically modified brand
belongs neither on plates nor in cans.
Their health effects may include cancer
In some other countries they’re banned..

They are touted for being resistant
To herbicides, thus reducing toil-
But herbicide residue is persistent
How quickly it poisons the soil.

If farmers, each season, must purchase
Genetically modified seeds
Monsanto will corner the market
For supplying nutritional needs.

How many Monsanto execs
infiltrated the executive branch?
With so much political sway
Its no wonder that they get their way.

For years, it remained hidden,
behind a picture in its frame.
Seen, unseen, forgotten
behind people now unnamed.

My cousin went to toss it out,
but felt the metal’s heft.
She felt, refurbished, it would look nice
on her Mother’s antique Chest.

Her husband took the frame in hand
with the thought to paint it blue.
“What’s this?” he said when,
from the back, a paper he withdrew.

There upon the yellowed sheet
in a spidery scripted hand
were our maternal ancestors:
Great Grand Ma and Dad.

Great Grandfather was John Devine
of Kildress Parish in Tyrone.
His bride, Sophia Gormley-
a name, till now, unknown.

They had a child named Margaret;
Grandfather’s second wife.
She was mother to my father
and thus my own path to life.

The name Sophia stands for wisdom”
and she married a” Devine.”
Thus I may claim a 1/8 share
of wisdom that’s D(e)Vine.

A small Bronze plaque commemorates
the fate of Chaffee, Grissom and White:
Near half a century has passed
since their final, fatal night.

Ad Astra per Aspera-
a rough road to the Stars.
We do well to remember that
as we make our try for Mars.

The fire was horrific
and death, though quick, was cruel:
Like heretics of an earlier age
they served as human fuel.

Engineers by radio
could hear their muffled cries.
Thick black smoke drove back
the men who made a rescue try.

Poorly insulated wires
had given off a spark.
pure oxygen has fed the flames
on that distant night so dark

Ad Astra per Aspera
a proud epitaph for them:
Apollo’s sons who heard his call
to search the skies again.

It was chilly in the house of stone
where the body of Maud’s  son
had been interred the year before.
(Her first born had died young.)

Her lover was a Frenchman,
Maud Gonne was her name.
She was, of course, a famous muse-
as William Butler’s flame.

She let down her golden hair
and her clothing came undone.
Lucien lay a blanket down
on the gravestone of their son.

She lay her naked beauty down
and took a passive role--
convinced the child conceived that night
would have her dead son’s soul.

Mystic occult spirits danced
as mortal flesh entwined.
Lucien spasmed flush with lust
Maud called on the Divine.

In course of time a girl was born
a child of beauty rare
But that she held her brother’s soul
none can, for sure, declare.

A dappled light beam spills upon the floor
and highlights lines of wooden tongue and groove.
I raise my   student violin to my chin.
Practice, Practice, how else does one improve?

My bow draws slowly down across the strings
as callused fingers coax out mournful sighs.
I work alone;no audience attends
the movement ends in silence, not applause.

My grandfather used to play the violin
at celli dances in and around Strabane
He was noted for his strong clean tenor voice
and how the violin wept at his command.

In later life he had a battered Atlas
in which he'd peruse maps of foreign lands.
He never travelled  ten miles from his home.
Eventually arthritis took his hands.

I’d worked late the previous night,
programing applications.
When the alarm went off at four A.M.
I hit snooze- no hesitation.
Eventually my feet found floor,
I stumbled to the shower.
A routine usually done in ten
took me a half an hour.
I was running up the platform steps
but my train just left the station.
Great, I will be late for sure,
I thought, in consternation.
At least the day was perfect,
Warm and clear, no threat of rain.
I fished and found my ticket
and took the next westbound train.
The ”E” was fairly crowded
When I boarded it at Penn
I’d missed the first and I was glad
Another quickly came.
Beneath the streets of Gotham
The subway lurched downtown.
Above all hell was breaking loose
as two large planes were down.
I climbed the stairs up to the street
And entered the inferno
The sky now black from billowing smoke
Bright day turning nocturnal.

A Seven thirty Seven’s wheel-
I heard a woman screaming
I saw a body at my feet
Were we at war or was I dreaming?
I stared up at my window-
where I worked the night before.
Where flames and smoke leapt to the sky-
where my co workers were no more.
They’re jumping, someone shouted
I saw black specks launch from on high.
Better to die upon the street
Than to suffocate or fry.

I turn and ran, I am ashamed.
No Hero’s tale to tell.
I was a safe way away
when the first tower fell.

Had I not hit the button
or dawdled in the shower.
Had I caught my usual train
I’d be dead in the tower.

This is my shame and burden
To live when others died.
Preserved by fate and circumstance
From terror from the sky.

It happened, once only,
on an African plain.
A subtle mutation
and everything changed.
On Chromosome Seven
A new protein emerged.
A peripatic primate
Spoke her first word.
There were apes that were stronger
or had larger brains.
But it was **** sapiens
who gave all things names.
The mutation of speech,
an advantage unknown,.
soon reduced competition
to a mere pile of bones.
Our forebears surged forth
From the African plains
Some wandered to China,
others summered in Spain.
As elders died off,
Their knowledge survived
Through oral transmission
til the advent of scribes.
Now each human mother
awaits baby’s first word
It’s the price of admission
to the tribe of the verb.

The dying songbird rested
Too weak to even fly.
The virus burning through her
wouldn’t let her try.
Still she kept on singing,
Giving song full throat
She knew life is too precious
To waste a single note.

In the shadows rose the gallows,
his execution date drew near.-
Wolfe Tone, denied a soldiers ‘death,
could not hold life that dear.

He took a blade to his own throat
and cut a swathe of red.
It’s said he lingered but a week
then brave Wolfe Tone was dead..

He was the father of desire
for an Ireland brave and free.
Desire famine could not ****
nor emigration flee.

He choose the manner of his death.
He did not die a slave.
It put his life in context-
His words transcend the grave

Each year on the day he died
as long as Wolfe’s lived there
They lay a spray of roses
on his graveside in Kildare..

It should all become clear as you continue to read




My wife has been driving me crazy
with long lists of chores I must do.
I’d rather just sit and watch football,
So I slipped out the back door to you.

Your smile took the chill from the evening,
You seemed genuinely glad I was there
The forty niner's and Giants were playing
You sat me in my favorite chair.

You procured me a “Girl “for my pleasure,
Another, when the first “Girl “was through.
You brought me an excellent dinner.
There seemed nothing that you wouldn’t do.

We engage in a harmless flirtation-
You toss your blonde hair and laugh sweet-
Rex Ryan would lust for you madly
As you sure have a nice pair of…feet.

True, I know there are others
I must share you with, even today.
But I’m not the type to be jealous,
I know your just earning your pay.

I settled the tab with the cashier
and left a nice tip there for you.
You know I’ll be back for the Giants and  Pats-
Meanwhile, there are chores I must do.

The young woman struggled,
she pushed and bore down.
She was covered in sweat
when they first saw the crown.

The doctor, with forceps,
Tried to coax the newborn
Into the light from the
womb dark and warm.

What came next was amazing,
a wonder to see.
The obstetrician so shocked
He nearly dropped the baby.

A cute baby boy-
There no cause for alarm-
and his miniature wings
Merely add to his charm.

This cuddly cherub
hovered feet off the ground.
The umbilical cord
All that kept him earth bound.

His wondering mother
Was clearly perplexed,
For none of her lovers
had been winged’ sexperts.

True, one was named “Angel”,
her Swedish masseuse,
but, apart from good hands,
he’d been of little use.

Perhaps that old goat
With the lengthy Greek name
Who muttered “by Zeus”
Every time that he came.

Not that it much mattered
Not here or not there
Still there’s no denying
Her boy’s got a pair.

Song Parody to the tune of the Police's
"Every little thing she does ( is magic)"


Though I've tried before to tell her
Of the feelings I have for her in my heart
Every time that I come near her
the Court Restraining orders start

Every little thing she does annoys me
Everything she does just turns me off
Our married life was less than magic
Now she’s contesting our divorce.

Do I have to tell the story
Of those many court dates since we first met?
I have decided not to **** her
But it's decision I may come to regret

Every little thing she does annoys me
Everything she do just turns me off
Our married life was less than magic
Now she’s contesting our divorce


she resolved to call me up
A thousand times a day
It’s hard to work, I cannot sleep
I pray she’ll go away

But my silent fears have gripped me
Long before I reach the phone
Long before I hear her yapping
The ***** won’t leave me alone


Every little thing she does annoys me
everything she does just turns me off
our married life was less than magic
Now she’s contesting our divorce.



Every little thing, every little thing
Every little thing, every little thing
Every little, every little, every little
Every little thing she does

Every little thing she does
Every little thing she does
Every little thing she does
Thing she does annoying

Every little thing, every little thing
Every little thing she does annoys me
Tragic, Tragic, Tragic, Tragic Tragic

Do I have to tell the story
Of those many court dates since we first met?
I have decided not to **** her
But it's  a decision I may come to regret

The 506th is aging,
passing into history
**** Winters now has fallen in
with Easy Company.

He did not like to speak of war,
once He was safely home.
-Excepting at reunions
Or, infrequently, by phone.

Still the story needs be told
to the generations next:
How they parachuted into France,
How they fought ******’s best.

How many left their youth behind
In hedgerows or in fields,
Or in the snow around Bastogne
which they refused to Yield.

He was the biggest brother.
He commanded "Easy "well.
He had the gift of leading men-
They would follow him to Hell..

He never wanted medals
Or acclaim for what he’d done.
In the company of heroes,
He never boasted he was one.

Some are old and crippled,
some forever young.
In that company of heroes
Each man did what must be done.

Somewhere Easy Company
is gathered all around.
As they place **** Winters in the earth
let a mournful trumpet sound.

When all we count as friends have passed,
and we alone remain- Will this grey world
seem beautiful? Or will it just seem strange?
Like the last rose of summertime,
encountering the frost-
Will our beauty be remembered
or will it be simply lost?

He must have looked like an easy mark,
the old man and his dog.
He walked with a cane
with his dog on a chain
on a deserted stretch of road.

There were three of them
they were young black men
as their car pulled up behind
They viewed that man as an ATM
and set out to rob him blind.

As he faced his foe
with his dog at his side
he parried with his blackthone stick
When one tried to grab the cane from the man
it ripped his hands to shreds right quick.

The faithful dog lept to the fray
and his teeth sank into beef.
He warmed to his task
as he bloodied the calf
of the somewhat tasty thief.

The third crook had a knife
and he tried for the life
of the little old grey haired man
but the cane ,like a club,
gave his kidney tough love
and the thief said
"its high time we ran ."

They fled from the scene
in their crack limousine
and my Dad and his dog
cheered their flight
Though he was quite out of breath
and his coat had been ripped
all in all it had been a good night.

My Dad and his dog
have long since passed on.
It's been thirty years now
since that night
but his old  blackthorne cane
in my homestead remains
ever ready in case of a fight.

Love is a connection between two people.
When one of them hangs up you get dial tone.
Followed by a little voice saying:
"There appears to be a receiver off the hook."

He worked at the War Department,
in the Munitions Ministry,
for the Bureau of Cannon Fodder
on the Condolence Committee.

“On behalf of George, our king,
and the grieving British nation
We regret to have to share with you
the following information….”

Passchendaele was at its height,
he’d written letters by the score.
On the Altars of Incompetence,
what’s a hundred thousand more?

It was the sort of sinecure
in which he took a certain pride:
Informing British parents
that their darling boys had died.

His department heads approved
of his selfless dedication,
recording for posterity
each man’s final destination.

Thus it was they failed to notice
when he received a telegram.
That day he went back to his flat
a changed and broken man..

When next day, his chair was empty,
and they received a  telegram,
they were grieved to be informed:
He’d died by his own hand.

“On behalf of George, our king,
and the grieving British nation
I regret to have to share with you
the following information….”

There are some, who serve big business,
who spread them wide and smile.
Some others say they’re populists
“Spread the Wealth’s” their style.
Some are just obstructionists.
For them,delay is fun.
They all **** heads together
And by default get nothing done.
They are the US Congress,
I wish they’d close their doors.
A plague on both your houses-
you Parliament of ******!

Call no man truly happy
until after breath has fled.
for a  legacy may be tainted
by things left undone, unsaid.
The accomplishments he treasured,
that left us all in awe.
These may be overshadowed
by what his minions did or saw.
Had he left this life a  year before.
It might well be said:
“He was great on and off the field.
Our beloved coach is dead.”
Now knowing that he failed to speak
when children were at risk
casts dark shadows on his rites;
How did it come to this?
Its like the Attic poet said
Millennia ago:
“Call no man happy until he’s dead.”
Until then you never know.

Remember our high school finals-
the proctors, attentive, alert.
They roamed the aisles like policemen;
on the lookout for cheaters and flirts.

I was an enigma to them;
in some classes, first honors, hands down.
In others I ranked near the bottom;
acting, you’d say, the class clown.

I mention those long ago days
as I’m facing a final of sorts.
I’ve taken the medical tests-
Now I wait in my robe and my shorts.

This new proctor gives me the creeps
with his scythe and his hooded black gown,
but he’s sure to command my attention
when he tells me to put my pen down

When the Costa Concordia met with a reef,
it was certain some lives would be lost.
As she listed to starboard at eighty degrees,
Her Captain was first to get off.

Captain Schettino was schmoozing some blonde
when his ship began veering to shore.
He was unwilling to go down on his ship,-
The blonde? yes, but hold the encore.

It seems his chief waiter hails from the Isle,
the Isle with the ship eating reef.
They drew close to shore so he’d wave to his wife
an excursion that beggars belief.


The Coast guard responders where shocked and amazed;
They just couldn’t believe what they saw:
The Cruise liner Captain, paddling furiously,
beating women and children to shore.


Unlike Captain Smith, who stood at his post,
hearing “ Nearer my God to thee.”
The tune that Schettino will sing his bambinos
is “Nearer to Shore take me!”

He’ll spend time in jail, but the punishment pales
when compared to the scope of his sin
This sailor has fallen from grace with the sea
in his dreams let their screams never end.

After lengthy calculations, the aged cleric stood:
“This Saturday, May twenty first, those up to no good,
will find themselves abandoned by those who bless the Rood.”
The blessed and the Chosen will be caught up in Mid- air.
Evil-doers will suffer, the Righteous will not care.
It’s been a long time coming, the new Heaven and new Earth
But by my calculations, the four horsemen are at work.
“A time of tribulation will descend upon the land.-
It s’ past time for repentance by the legion of the dammed.

“If I’m perhaps a little off, (as I’ve been wrong before)
Keep those contributions coming, while I check to see the flaw”

My life was changed when you arrived,
I moved from Rock to lullaby.
I watched you as you grew and thrived
Just Daddy and his little guy.

When first you learned to ride your bike
and, wobbling, you sped away
I had a weird sensation that
I had just grown a touch more grey.

through every step of life with you
from nursery school through your degree
I paid the bills, I gave the rides
Life's afternoon you walked with me.

Afterwards, out with your friends
some beauties' eyes attracted you.
You stayed out late with your dates.
and I could not wait up for you.

Still later when you moved away,
and had a family of your own.
I didn't get to see you much,
we kept in touch mostly by phone.

Life is a journey, not a state
We knew this day would come for me
When I must go embrace my fate
and you must bide your destiny.

Our paths diverge, just yours goes on.
but do not stop to grieve for me.
I always knew this day would come
That I'd become a memory.

For so it was, and will always be
We parents bring life to this world
We start out as your guide and friend
never to see the journey end.

Dull sublunary lovers need
the help of 3D glasses
to ever seen things differently,
or grasp just what romance is.

We poets see things differently
because we take more chances.
The seen and unseen, we embrace
without cardboard enhancers.

Could Love even express itself
without our helpful similes?
Honor or Courage, without our help,
would be just pale  facsimiles .

We are the guardians of the words
that hollow men would empty.
Poetential is our flaming sword
against their verbal  entropy

These eyes have seen the fire from the sky
I felt the heat a thousand clicks away
At first no screams, just people turned to shadows
A sunburst touched to earth one fatal day.

These eyes have seen my City turned to ashes
I have heard her women sobbing in despair
I stood alone amidst my city dying
No God above to whom I’d make a prayer..

And now I stand before a Buddhist temple
A different city and a river view.
This city seems most beautiful and vibrant
Hiroshima what has become of you?

A morning in Hiroshima

In August of the year

I walk towards a tower

with battered walls and naked steel.



The dome is open to the sky

The walls have crumbled down

All else around had been laid waste

This was the zero ground.



In that river there were bodies

burned beyond recall.

Thousands dead around here

And scarce a standing wall



An involuntary Shiva

A chill creeps down my spine

One bomb destroyed this city

A monster born of mind..



We gather to remember-

The mayor says some words

Silence, a bell ringing,

sounds a warning to this world.

It’s strange, there was no pain.
The atom moves too fast for that.
It left my shadow on that wall,
There’s nothing else intact.

It’s strange to die so quickly
I had no time for fear.
Swept up, as in a rapture
Less than a leaf , more than a tear.

My conscious self dissolving
Like a sugar dropped in tea.
No body left to bury
You incinerated me.

Elsewhere in the city
They’ll unearth a murdered clock-
It’s hands forever frozen
on the moment I was not.

To be, and not merely seem to be
is the core of authenticity.
Those who, instead, essay a role,
(like actors in a classic play),
Hold up a mask before their face.
They speak what others bid them say.
These merely seem to have a soul.
Such folk are fools or clones or trolls.

Those who tread the stony road
Where honor truth and virtue dwell
need no  masks or other wiles
The truth will serve them well.

The look of pleasure in her eyes
as she sniffs, then licks, then bites.
She savors the taste on her tongue
with a look of pure delight.

The first taste doesn’t jade her
I can see that she wants more.
Her two partners in this moment
have lost none of their allure.

There will be countless others,
of this I’m doubtless sure-
Yet her first Peanut butter
and Jelly
is a sensual pleasure pure.

The nation's Capitol rattled and shook.
Washington's monument cracked.
The Nation's Cathedral is minus a spire.
The people cried out for Barrack.
A previously unknown fault line had shifted
causing a crack in basalt
The President paused from his golf game to chat
with his geologist, a man named Walt.
After a lengthy Analysis
down in the Smithsonian's vault
The commander in chief is relieved to report
that this too was Bush's Fault

From the courtyard far below
We all heard the woman scream.
Faces at the windows saw
The masked assailant stalk his prey.


“Stop that”, someone shouted down.
but none went to the woman’s aide.
Not even did we call police
while she still might have been saved.


She screamed for help but no help came,
Her hands bled from defensive wounds.
Her killer made a final ******
And she folded in a swoon.

He grabbed her purse which was the prize
And left her in the courtyard, dead
Her name was Kitty Genovese
A pretty girl, the tabloids said.

A moment in a City’s life-
Not a source of civic pride
Glad she was not a child of mine
Did you watch the night that Kitty died?

What happened on Weehawken Heights,
that warm midsummer’s day?
There are several versions of the “truth”
but none for sure can say.

The Principals were both well known:
Hamilton and Burr.
Aaron Burr had made the challenge,
Hamilton would not demur.

Hamilton choose pistols as the weapons
Then Burr proposed the site.
Per the Irish Code Duello
It was all proper and right.

Dueling was illegal,
so the Seconds looked away
so they could plausibly deny
that they had seen the fray.

Each man walked off ten paces,
and Mister Pendleton yelled “Pre-sent”!
Most think that Hamilton fired first;
wide and right, his shot was spent.

Aaron Burr was deadly accurate:
His shot, its target found:
Alexander Hamilton, wounded,
swooned upon the ground.


“this wound is mortal, Doctor.”
was all Hamilton could say.
They bore him to the City where
he passed on the following day.


Aaron Burr also fled the scene,
evading prosecution.
He had “Full Satisfaction”,
this hero of the Revolution.

What is full satisfaction
when Burr’s Star was past its season?
He never more held public trust,
indeed, stood trial for treason.

A person can be haunted
by a ghost that none can see.
Burr’s brilliance had been blighted
by a sort of infamy.

Towards the end of his own life
Burr said of his enemy:
“{Had I known}The world was wide
enough for Hamilton and me.”




On July 11, 1804, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr fought the most famous duel in American history. These two heroes of the Revolution were political enemies and Hamilton had done much to exclude Burr from the Presidency and from the  New York  governorship.  Burr,feeling he had been defamed by Hamilton's published remarks demanded the "Full Satisfaction" of a duel.  My account generally follows the account of the historian, Joesph Ellis. Any errors are my fault. Any items in quotes are words ascribed to these two famous individuals.  Aaron Burr never after held public office and eventually stood trial for treason for his alleged attempt to set up an independent country in the territory Jefferson purchased from France. After several years living in France, Burr returned to New york where he faded into obscurity. Alexander Hamilton is buried in the churchyard of Trinity Church in downtown New york.


Towards the end of his life, Burr remarked: "Had I read Sterne more and Voltaire less, I should have known the world was wide enough for Hamilton and me."[35]

The first to fall were fortunate
in the eyes of the survivors.
The whole world smelled of brimstone,
as the shock wave toppled spires.

A huge Tsunami swept the shores
of Asia and the Pacific.
Although no newscasts captured it
the losses were horrific.

The world grew cold,most food crops
failed. Gangs of humans fought.
In the aftermath of impact
all their self interest sought.

With several Billion humans dead,
extinctions by the score.
Gaia sought to heal her wounds
that life could rise once more.

Last night they checked my garbage can.
It’s a good thing that I have a shredder.
My cell phones records are of interest-
I’ve made calls to known “tea baggers”.
Warrant-less “burglaries” have been made,
then I find my screen door broken.
The I.R.S. just called again
my case has been “ reopened”.
On every airline trip I take
I’m “Caressed “by the T.S.A.
I’m almost ready for a cigarette
after they’ve had their way.
Such harassment is “kinder spiel”
compared to what comes next.
They have a “brain wave” scanner
that can translate thoughts to text.
So I wear a cap of aluminum foil
whenever I’m on American soil.
To protect my ideas before they find them
I always make sure to copyright them.

Six tons of fine Carrara marble
lay supine on the Cathedral grounds.
Agostino had carved two legs,
then he had laid his chisel down

Rossellino's turn was next
to wield the mallet in his hand.
The guild learned he was better suited
to carve meat than sculpt a man.

A quarter century came and went
The giant lay in the churchyard there.
He waited for Michelangelo
to come perfect his stony glare.

They raised the giant on his feet
and asked opinions on the stone
Michelangelo was the one engaged
to finish David for his new home.

David, a symbol of liberty,
Defiant like the Florentine state
His stony glare was turned towards Rome,
a warning to the Fearsome Pape.

Libyan Rebels ring the town,
poised to make their final ******.
The defiant wait with loaded guns,
The butcher tallies up the cost
Is this the Arab Alamo?
Defeat presaging victory.
Or just another episode
Of “I **** you and
You **** me.”

The world waits

In ****** anticipation

For their oil to be

Delivered

I’d worked late each night that summer,
before the crash in Eighty Nine.
So, it was only natural
when I needed to unwind.
I’d grab a meal and have a glass
(or two) till final call
Then show up in the morning for
my stint at Broad and Wall.

The Blue bar at the Algonquin
was always my first choice.
Steve Ross was singing in the oak room,
You may recall his tenor voice.
The bartender and the waiters
knew my wants without a word.
As I waited for my supper
a distinctive voice was heard.

Even in her eighties, Garbo struck a
regal tone.
Despite age’s indignities
She would have honored any throne.
.

She knew I’d recognized her,
though I never said her name.
I was just a child when she
had her last brush with fame.


She knew me from the brokerage house
Her account was with my boss.
We’d sometimes spoken on the phone
about a gain or loss.

I asked if she would like a drink
when next the barkeep came.
She eyed the Bourbon in my glass
and said “I’ll have the same.”


We were two people, both alone,
She famous, me, obscure.
For me it was her solitude
that acted as a lure.

I knew she’d never married
though there were lovers and affairs.
It was as if the single life
was answer to her prayers.

“You know I never really said:
‘I want to be alone.’
Its just I knew I had the strength
to be out on my own.”

She knew I had just lost my Dad,
The pain was very keen.
She said “I lost my Father back
when I was seventeen.”.

“I appreciate your kindness...
It‘s going to take some time.”
“If you know where your heart lies,”
She said,” You’re going to be fine.”

I paid the bill and we stepped out
into a  warm and humid  night.
I hailed a cab for her
and then we said our last good Night.


I never saw her face again
or beheld those striking eyes.
It was just a few months later
We got word that Garbo died.

I dared to love my brother’s wife
And I am not in love alone.
I took her while he was at war
as I will take his throne.

True, Hamlet smote the sledded ******,
And gained Denmark a prize,
But I have a poison that will freeze his blood-
guaranteeing his demise.

Gertrude, love, he left your bed
so many years ago.
Now the King lusts for younger flesh;
Look- he eyes Ophelia so.

Polonius sees and will declare
And place me on the throne
We’ll join our hands and fortunes
Before your son gets home.

My brother’s art is violence
With which he overawes the world.
I do my deeds in silence,
Deadly schemes I thus unfurl.

So, Gertrude, love, give me a kiss.
Provide me with the key.
That I, with poison, enter in
and set both of us free.

I dared to love my brother’s wife
And I am not in love alone.
I took her while he was at war
as I will take his throne

A Prehistoric Dragon Fly/ Encased in amber, on display/ Caught my eye as I passed it by/

                                    in the museum yesterday.


Encased in amber, as if time/ itself was stopped and held at bay./ You will never know decay

                                    Or another summer's day.



                                    You in amber, me in time

                                    Both are trapped and on display.

                                    You in resin are enshrined,

                                    while I am seen encased in        
          rhyme.

An immigrant from County Clare
brought to this harsher clime-
Phoebe Prince, an Irish lass,
a gentle heart and mind.

First used, and then discarded
by one boy, then another.-
Object of the mean girl’s scorn
the consummate "outsider"
 
On her last day alive                                                            ­                                                                 ­                           
They hounded her from school.
The girl they called the “Irish ****”
disgraced and played the fool.

Her sister, Lauren, found her body
hanging lifeless in the hall.
Befriended by nobody
Phoebe chose to end it all

And on the day they held her wake
Those monsters held their dance
A debutante cotillion
for a troop of soulless tramps.

She’s buried here in County Clare
because the Ocean's waves
protect her from the harpies
who drove her to her grave

Luscious Legs, Plump *******,
Succulent thighs.
These ladies know how
to appeal to us guys.
My brother’s no different
as he grabs for a breast.
Each guy has a favorite.
A part he loves best.
Me. I’m a leg man,
my preference well known.
I like my bird
with some meat on the bone.
The Colonel’s our ****,
and he keeps us supplied
with the parts we prefer
Extra Crispy deep fried.

The first brave buds of spring burst forth
In shades of yellow and green.
They stand sentry at my door
Like fierce mujahedin.
They expel the bear of winter.
They sneer at frightful frost.
I wouldn’t want to be the snowflake
That they chance to come across.
In the seedbed things are stirring,
germinating beneath the sod.
There’s a riotous revolution
that bespeaks the touch of God.
Flowers are like people
They can be kept down just so long.
Then solar warmth will melt the snow
And birds break into song.
The garden trees are setting buds
That soon will dominate the scene.
It is Heaven enough for now
as things bloom and grow and preen.

Crawl into my bed
The way you creep
into my dreams.
Let hands and tongues
Explore as if
We were
two wanton teens..

Your long brown hair
frames your loving face
as you savor every taste.
Then take my lips
Between your hips
to tongue tease
your secret spot.

Hold me tight
in your embrace.
As I probe and explore.
Till I recall
You’re moonlight..
A memory….
nothing more.

Pro patria mori
Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
For generations
we've sold these goods
to young boys
who burn for glory.

Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Indeed, how sweet ,
Pray tell
Poppy covered warrior.

Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
How sweet was the Somme?
Such little ground
was gained with
half a generation gone.

Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
When weapons
far outpace the men
what an empty word
is glory.

When He came home from work that day
He said “Enough’s enough”.
“Let others built the widgets,
I have done that long enough.”
I’ll live a life of leisure,
crafting poetry and song.
Perhaps I’ll write short stories
or play my guitar all night long.”
Such boundless optimism
didn’t take Fate into account.
Fate, the foe of youth and love,
was lurking there about.
That man thought that He had years of time
to write and think and putter.
Yet Fate was of another mind,
and a malediction muttered.
A tightness in the chest He felt.
A soreness in one arm.
He was sure that it was nothing.
Soon thereafter, He was gone

The markets up, the Markets down
For weeks it just meanders.
Alas, my stocks are always down
Each time I take a gander.

GM, Lehman, Citicorp
My broker bought for me-
And you can guess the net result-
I’m broker now, not he.

Those friends who don’t avoid me
Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch.
I don’t turn things I touch to gold
I turn gold into rust.

I’d heard dart tossing Simians
Can best the S & P
So I went to the Zoo this March
to consult a Chimpanzee.

He perused the chart then flung a dart
to pick a stock for me-
And now I’m getting margin calls
because I bought BP.

He seemed the sage of Omaha
before he ruined me.
I should have tried Orangutans
And paid their higher fee .

They wanted five bananas
My monkey worked for three.
But now I’m bust because I used
a discount Chimpanzee.

I might have dodged a massive loss
And profited besides
Had I but heeded the baboons’
Sell signaling behinds

Through grain fields with bayonets fixed,
from Belleau Woods the Germans came.
The sixth Marines in shallow pits
unleashed a deadly metal rain.

The French collapsed upon the left
Their flank exposed by craven fear
The Marines held fast when urged to flee:
"Retreat?, Monsieur? We just got here."

By June the sixth, it fell to them
to take a Hill to save the French.
A German company with machine guns
waited for them, well entrenched.

Their tactics from another war,
Audacious yes, but not too clever
"Come on, you *******" Dan Daly roared,
"Do you really want to live forever?"

With casualties high, so many dead
The Marine Corps held the hill by night.
Counter attacks were fended off
some times with fists and K bar knife.

Now the cannon of both sides
rained steel where the combatants stood:
A once beautiful preserve of princes
was turned into a shattered wood.

Through mustard gas and cannon fire
The Marines advanced into the Wood.
Silenced machine guns and cut bared wire
till the enemy fled, this time for good.

Before the flag at Iwo flew,
Before  the Canal's jungle squalor
Marines were nicknamed "Devil Dogs"
by the Germans who admired valor.