Mary was on time, as usual.
As per usual, John was late.
“He’d be late for his own funeral!”
Mary fumed and cursed her fate.
They’d first hooked up in freshman year
at a frat house mixer bar
John got sick from too much beer
and hurled in Mary’s car.
They were pursuing the same major
and they lived in the same dorm.
He was always in her classes,
and they both worked at the Mall.
It was natural that they bonded.
It‘s said opposites attract.
His folks were alcoholics
from the wrong side of the tracks.
Mary came from Celtic stock
Hence her saintly name
She always called upon the Lord
when, infrequently, she came.
They both loved the Smashing Pumpkins
and were devoted to the band.
But it’s not enough to make her want
to wear John’s wedding band.
When at last John made his appearance
her well rehearsed words went askew.
She said, when giving back his ring;
“It’s not me, it’s you.”

East River’s calming ebb and flow; we stood and watched from the upper deck.
The band was playing, too loud, below; some rhapsody from Rod Stewart.
Before us the twin towers rose, majestic, on the nearer shore.
We were young, you were beautiful, who could ask for any more?
Time and tide, Love, time and tide, Do you recall the song they played?
We danced as a new year dawned, a new year that has long since strayed.
The party boats still sail those waters, other revelers have staked their claim.
The skyline is quite different now, since those twin towers died in flames.
Only in the view from memory point can I see those towers plain
And recall a love songs sad refrain.

Elizabeth, the ****** Queen, left vacant the English throne.
Her Scottish Stuart cousin came and claimed it for his own.
Two nations with one monarchy joined in the Union Jack.
The Scottish lost their nationhood and now they want it back.
Saint Andrews’ Flag of Bonnie Blue will have to be unfurled
if Scotland votes to take its place among nations in the world.
Quebecois and Basques today are eagerly looking on
to see if Scots will vote to tell the English to be gone.
Hadrian’s Wall will, once more, mark where their dominion ends.
Remove your subs from Scapa Flow; your lease is at an end.
There still remains a problem which, just now, occurs to me.
If the English take their Pound with them, what is our currency?
It’s true we’re rich with North Sea oil and better off than Spain.
Yet how do we do business if the Sterling won’t remain.
We need a new “Gold” standard based upon the single malt!
Who needs pounds when we have ounces stored in barrels and in vaults?
So pour me a “MacCallan” on the day the rent comes due.
Hand me a glenfiddich and I’ll purvey food to you..
Our creditors will be well pleased with hints of bog and peat.
We won’t dilute our currency as Scots men drink it neat.

It is a lonely life we chose;
a keeper and his mate.
We live on Execution rocks
saving sailors from sad fates.
The tower light protects the Sound
from Sand’s Point to ‘Rochelle.
The rocks are cruel, the lives they claim
Doubtless with Neptune dwell.

One day, exploring our domain,
I chanced upon a man.
Unusual, to say the least,
to stray so far from land.
His hair was white, his eyes steel blue,
blue as Ocean deep.
A sudden chill passed over me
Like a terror born in sleep.
He asked me if I knew this spot,
And how it got its name.
How, during the Colonial times,
Condemned men here were chained.
At low tide it was no matter
But imagine their distress
As the tide grew ever higher
until it strangled their last breath.
How horrible a fate they faced;
abandoned and alone.
Their screams were mad and guttural
as they drowned in Ocean foam.
There, down at the waterline
I saw a brace of chains.
When I turned back to look at him-
Only I remained.


It is a lonely life we chose;
a keeper and his mate.
We live on Execution rocks
saving sailors from sad fates.
I spend my off time reading
in our little house of stone.
I seldom venture to that place-
and I never go alone.
But sometimes, when the moon is full
And the tide is running high.
I imagine that I hear the screams
of a man about to die.
Published January 28, 2013
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My gleaming white constellation class Starship
(My ***** white Chrysler K car)
was out on patrol near the neutral zone
(I was driving back home from the bar)
It was then I received a distress call
(I urgently needed to ***)
Some Klingons decloaked in proximity

(I sped past a cop car or three)

I called for more speed from the engine room!

(My transmission started to shake)

Klingons pursued in the neutral zone

(They motioned to me HIT THE BRAKE!)

“What seems to be the Tribble, Officer?”

I said to the humorless Gorn.

That Klingon impounded my vehicle

(They caught me exceeding Warp Nine)

If Kirk faced this “no Win” situation

He’d probably get off with a fine.


Dam Klingons!

When eyesight dims and hearing fades,
when even memory wanders,
then the griefs and pains of age
might prompt one to fly yonder.
Our sister, Maya, was great of soul
and wears this cage no longer.
Her wondrous words still sing to us
if we but stop and ponder.

We all have heard of Lady Jane,
A Queen of England who briefly reigned.
Then Mary Tudor took the town
And soon thereafter took her crown.

There’s been Queens like Liz
whose reigns won’t end.
Disposable Queens like Anne Boleyn.
These days, with thrones in short supply
It’s the crown of Beauty
For which girls vie .

Denise Garido had thought that she
had won cosmetic Royalty.
They gave her roses
and placed her crown.
Then one day latter
It all came down.

“A error in math!” the pageant proclaimed.
A drunken judge had misspelled names.
Far from being Queen as thought
Ms. Garido had come in fourth!

It’s Humiliation of a sort
To find out one is an afterthought
To be named Queen just for one day,
Then have the honor stripped away..

The actual winner was quite buff
and had gone to Vegas in a huff.
At least Denise, you needn’t cry
You beat out the Transgendered guy!.

Once, upon the Salisbury plain,
the English Elms stood stately tall.
Sergent's paintings leave us memories
for there are now few left at all.

Perhaps when you were young you spent
Long summer days beneath their shade.
Then a fungus left them bare
and horticulturists were dismayed.

In Canada's far North remains
examples of the old Elm Trees
In Amsterdam they cultivate
Elms resistant to disease.

So in our children's children's time
I pray that we might live to see
once again on Salisbury plain
Elms such as live in memory.

Some Asian folk revere the Tao
the way of Yang and Ying.
Others worship ancestors
and of Confucius sing.
Buddhists seek a one way trip
with no wish to return.
Hindus think we're born again
just not in Christian terms.
Some follow in the steps of Christ,
this life, their cross to bear.
Others say Carpe Diem
and just don't give a D*mm.
Islamiscists eschew alcohol
and never lunch on ham.
This place has many faiths and creeds
to suit our every mood.
The voodoo that you do so well
is with suspicion viewed.
The foodists are the latest cult-
a blight upon the land
like Joey chestnut at buffets
consuming all they can.
To them no cow is sacred
and wine just slakes their thirst
They walk among us and they breed
and I don''t know which is worse!

It was a warm summer night like this,
the night they came for Mister Marindino.
The ambulance stopped in front of his house
as the neighbors gathered in the shadows
"t must be his heart." one muttered.
"Too many of those good Cuban cigars."

I was just a kid, standing at the edges.
I loved those kind old people;
They husband with his stories,
Mrs. M with her Anisette cookies.
Now poor Mrs. Marindino
stood silent , in shock,
as the EMT's carried him out on the stretcher
His face as blue
as the evening summer sky,

In meadows, rich with clover, I have seen them here before;
those industrious little creatures at their pollinating chore.
Now the land is strangely silent, was Rachel Carson right?
Are we killing all the bumblebees? Have they made their final flight?
There are those who point to climate change as the source of all our pain.
If the bumble bee is dying, it is heat stress that’s to blame.
Others theorize a virus as the cause of their demise;
an illness ravaging the hives and emptying our skies.
I even heard one scientist make the hypothesis
that our overuse of cell phones is the cause of all of this.

Could it be that our usage of glyphosate is to blame;
As GMO spreads on our fields, our crops are not the same.
Monsanto is an Agri-Corp with bought friends in D.C.;
A “friendly Legislature insures profitability.
The F.D.A. is slow to act; Congress drafts obstructive laws.
It seems to me, just possibly, they already know the cause.

It’s a sad, sad scene on a Saturday night;
a lady sits  at the bar with no lover  in sight.
Stirring her drink with the straw in their hand,
bemoaning the lack of a suitable man.
She’s long since been abandoned by her ”Mister Right”,
Now the magic never lasts for more than one night.
She’s a leftover lover on the wrong side of thirty.
Feeling sad for herself; not the least bit flirty.
She has a good job and a place here downtown
But a true mate and friend is nowhere to be found.
No one to go home to, except for her kitty,
A sad denouement for one once thought to be pretty.
“Either they’re momma’s boys or they’re gay”
She thinks of the “talent” she sees on display.
She knows all too well that, in a drink or two,
She’ll be stumbling home with Mister He’ll do.

The Polo Grounds, when first seen,
are a most magical shade of green.
Hand in hand, me and my Dad
head for our seats in the right field stands.

It’s the Cincinnati Reds in town
to play the New York Mets.
There’s a double header scheduled,
How much better could it get?

Cincinnati took the first game
by a score of three to nil.
My hot dog was delicious
Dad had a beer to swill.

The nightcap was a wild affair
The Mets won thirteen- twelve.
You could look it up, as Casey said,
if you should care to delve.

We rode the subway home that night
side by side, me and my Dad.
We reminisced about the game
Like the most knowledgeable fans..

The Q44 from Flushing took us
up Queensboro Hill,,
past Carvel and Booth Memorial,
I remember it well still.

My father turned to look at me
as five decades creased my brow.
Making us the self same age-
What he was then, so I am now.

Thirty years, about, it’s been
Since last I saw my Dad.
The dead don’t get to baseball games,
Which I think is rather sad.

He can’t enjoy a summer night
on the wrong side of the grass.
And an ice cold beer is greatly missed-
He can’t pour himself a glass..

In memory, we still can walk
With those who came before.
So I took my Dad to a baseball game-
What was I waiting for?

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.

A flower that last saw the Sun
when Neanderthal was on the run,
scientists have carbon dated
and ,now, successfully cultivated.

No shrinking violet, this plant, I know
bloomed thirty millennium ago.
Just a tick in cosmic time
Its fate with man’s was intertwined.

It was found beneath the permafrost,
a treasure in a squirrels lair.
In cryostorage it remained.
The squirrel forgot that it was there.

Ten Thousand years beneath the plain,
then came the centuries of ice and rain.
The game died out. That same fate befalls
the tribe of the Neanderthal.

Now the flower blooms again-
An ancient beauty born anew-
In those seeds, a living spark,
just don’t expect Jurassic Park.

Somewhere in the blackness of you
hides the light of a young Sol.
Sometimes you are liquid, viscous,.
sometimes you are shards of coal.
You heat my garret and light the night.
Somehow your darkness
has been made bright,
But, even as you
make night to day,
I know they’ll be a price to pay.


-My meter was read yesterday..

A Dentist from Weehawken was feeling miserably;
Depressed, down in the mouth, you know how that can be.
Walt thought salt air would do him good and so he went to sea.
He chartered a large fishing boat and paid a hefty fee.
They set a course for Georges Bank where clam and cod abound.
For centuries this place has been a fertile fishing ground.
With bated breath and baited hook, Walter set his line.
He’d catch some rays and have some beers and have a real good time.
But Fate had other plans for him, things took a darker turn.
Those who fish for sport, not food, are beasts as he’d soon learn.
A tug upon his line foretold the battle to take place
It nearly pulled him from his chair and so began the chase.
What monster he had on his line, the dentist didn’t know.
He played the creature skillfully as it thrashed to and fro.
The massive tuna breached the waves and landed with a splat,
It wore coke bottle glasses and a red Greek fishing hat.
Walt, the dentist, looked upon his catch and was aghast
As “Charlie, the Star-Kist tuna, gasped and breathed his last.
The dentist took a “selfie” that was seen the world around.
Charlie, the Tuna with good taste, had been brought to ground.
“Perhaps I’ll mount him on my wall” Walt said thoughtlessly.
Little did he know what this would cost him personally.

These days Walt is in hiding in his Northern Jersey town.
His patients have all left him and he closed his office down.
His car has four slashed tires, there’s graffiti on his walls.
He can’t even go on Facebook, he’s been unfriended by them all.
So if you are a hunter who wants to **** a hippopotamus,
before you shoot be sure to check and see if he's anonymous!

I've listened to their speeches.
Read their termite riddled planks.
They're unlikely to dethrone Barrack-
A pity, Mitt is no Tom Hanks.
They are out of touch with women,
unsympathetic to the poor.
They're still fighting social issues
that were decided years before.
For a party of small government,
They sure have a lot to say
about *** in America
among the ***** and the gay.

The Democrats, by contrast,
Hit all the right social notes;
Indeed, they will say anything
if it will buy them votes.
Then, when we hit the fiscal cliff,
The Obamas living large,
I'm sure he'll find some Bush to blame
as long as he's in charge.

Election Day is coming soon,
Both parties seek my love.
Alas, my favorite candidate
is None of the Above.

Tommorrow is on my calendar
as is every day next week.
I have interviews, appointments,
Dinners at which I'll speak.

I'll make some time for family
and writing ,I suppose.
I may find time to barbecue
and to launder my work clothes.

When evening comes I'll settle back
with a glass of Pinot noir.
I'm a transient immortal,
I'm on loan here from a star.

The future is a game;
against ourselves we play
We act as if we still have left
forever and a day.

In truth we all are transients
For just this moment free.
Self observing stardust
poised t'wixt two eternities

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.

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?

Out past the Dam
with its whispering water
overflow.
the ducks sally forth
beneath the wooden bridges
of Brady Park pond.
The trees line
our way as
bare silent Sentinels
Our boots crunch
upon the icy, stony path.
Come Spring there will
be cygnets and green
in profusion.
but now only brown
and the white
nakedness
of the Birches

In Detroit, the "motor city".
The wheels are off the cart.
Auto coverage? unaffordable-
four thousand just to park!
So many buy no coverage
or pretend they live elsewhere.
The apathy is palpable
Local government doesn't care.

There is a high court precedent
handed down from Robert's chair
The President must get involved
to save them from despair.
He will assess the situation
and appoint an auto czar.
to force all to buy insurance
It will be called "Obama-Car"

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

“She cannot live forever!”
We told each other more than once.
Still, she had all the Deutschmarks
and to her I was a dunce..

My wife and I were servant/slaves
to her every wish and whim.
It was just after the Armistice
that she ”allowed” us move in.
Germany was a hungry place
As Weimar came into being
What happened after Wilhelm fled,
few could claim to have foreseen.

No, she never spoiled us,
her grandson and his mate.
I cut wood, my wife drew water
For that shriveled old ingrate.
Other than a pittance
and an attic bed of straw
she gave neither thanks nor praise
to her only heirs at law.



Thank Gott, the morning finally dawned
we didn’t hear her ring her bell.
In sleep she had departed
to Heaven or , likely, Hell.

We hugged each other gleefully.
Our servitude was done.
We were rich with Deutschmarks!
The year was Nineteen twenty one.

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 ******!

This lass, like many others, fair,
Her scent fragrant and sweet.
Her skin, exotic, is caramel toned.
Up North are her twin peaks.

Sweet rubies are my lover’s lips.
Sparkling diamonds are her eyes.
Yes my Lady is pleasing and rich,
She is both good and kind.

One hand explores my Lover’s curves
in search of the Divine.
as I vow  to preserve and love
her for all of  my  time.

together we plumb her deepest depths
She shifts to meet my action.
Happiness is in the moment now;
then, later, satisfaction.

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.

How bitter it was to be bereft
of Crown and life
in self  same breath.
Bitter it was  to fall and die
while disloyal Stanley stood idly by.
The arrow lodged close by my spine
as I was pole axed from behind.
A King of England, doubly dead,
stripped naked ,on an *** was led.
In Leicester's graveyard I was lain-
The anointed monarch they had slain.
To lie forever in this hole
while Henry wore the crown he stole.
My Queen, my son, both predeceased,
were nobly interred and rest in Peace.
While I, Richard,  ignobly lie
near Bosworth field with Greyfriars by.

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.

When is a Coup not a Coup?
When is there no Coup there?
It's not a Coup though me and you
might want a Coup declared.
President Morsi lost his job,
as his Generals decreed.
That might seem like a coup to you,
and it sounds like one to me.
Yet Obama said its not a Coup
for if it t'were we'd cut off aid
and it might just be disastrous
if the Jihadists don't get paid

Lord Elgin of Britain, that perfidious thief,
robbed Greece of its heritage, its marble reliefs.
The Parthenon stripped of its decorative stone,
a victim of rapine stands forlorn and alone.
Phidias’ statues, rendered so fine,
Are lifelike and glorious for now and all time.
The British museum houses the collection
Which Elgin purloined while avoiding detection.
Greece, more than most, has been robbed of its past
By ephemeral empires who thought they would last.
Now that the sun sets on the imperial throne
Isn’t it time that those Marbles went home?

I want to see ol’ Warren’s face
When I claim the Billion prize.
When my perfect bracket
takes the cash,
Buffett’s sure to be surprised.
The odds were set against me
much higher than  surmised.
Like making sixty free throws
in only fifty tries.
I’d have a better chance,
They said, to date a super model.
The sort of girl I never get
And google just to ogle.
I bet with Buffet’s cash on hand
I’ll attract their sighs,
Kate and Emmy will cat fight
to be first in my eyes.

They died; they all died, without a moan;
their final passage writ in stone.
Dark shadows here and there you see
where Jews passed to eternity.
In these silent streets no children play
No trees survived the heat that day.
A suicide martyr some call a hero
was detonated at ground zero.
Nine hundred thousand are believed lost
in this second, instant, holocaust.
The suitcase he held in his hand
was the latest weapon from Iran.
My team has come here to retrieve
the evidence from Tel Aviv.
No one will be living here
Not for another fifty years.
• * * * * *
A damsel with a dosimeter,
in a vision I once saw,
warned me that appeasement
nearly always leads to war.

Politicians (Hacks and ******),
with their drawn out fiscal wars,
wreak havoc in our lives
without regret.
Few of them have gone to war-
Fewer seem to know the score;
You can't raise the ceiling
on a soldier's debt.

When a Soldier volunteers
despite his mother's tears
He signs a check;
Uncle Sam is the payee.
His life is on account
but the check bears no amount.
His safe return from tour, no certainty.

At the risk of Life or Limb
He soldiers on and ventures in.
The price he pays
has oft been paid before.
If Dover is his fate,
He earns his place on Lee's estate-
At least he knows
they can't ask any more.

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

I sense the smoke
I taste the Peat.
My tongue caresses
each drop so sweet
The golden Goblet
in my hand
says to the cold and damp
“Be dammed”
While by the fireside
I sip and play
some favored songs
from yesterday.

In my father’s Father’s time
The violin sang
a tune to time
Grandfather too
would raise a glass
to toast the cruel winds
of Loughhesh.

Drop by drop
the daily grid
fills my cup
and perks my mind.
it's heady aroma
thrills me still
as i hand the barista
a ten for the till.
A dash of cinnamon
just for the taste
as my mocha-latte
makes a trip to my face.
My steamed milk mustache
mirrors my smile
as my favorite chair beckons
me to stay for a while.
I nod to a friend
in the usual crew
and sit back to savor
my coffee-licious brew.

“Clear the way, boys, clear the way” said Meagher astride his steed.
The fighting sixty- ninth stepped forth, they were not afraid to bleed.
Upon St Marye’s heights Cobb’s Georgians waited, behind a low stone wall.
The lads attacked that stout defense – how senseless was it all.
There were Irish too up on the hill and they saw the Emerald flag.
“Oh God, what a pity! Here come Meagher’s fellows” one Irish rebel said,
But all obeyed the order given; to fill the air with lead.
The sixty-ninth could not reply, they all carried antique stock.
Muskets are no match for rifles at the distance they attacked.
They climbed that rise into a storm of canister and shot
They got as close as 40 yards before their surge was stopped.
Sixteen hundred had started out from the little town below,
They took the fight as far as any of mortal flesh could go.
As darkness fell upon the field there were wounded men and dying.
Some muttered prayers in their foreign tongue, how pitiful their crying.
It was a dark December for the army Burnside led.
Fourteen assaults in all repulsed with eight Thousand Union dead.
With eighty percent casualties Meagher’s boys had it worst of all:
Fewer than three hundred  were left to answer the roll call.

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.

Torn away from his two loving parents,
And put on display in a zoo,.
Gus suffered from chronic depression
A white bear with black moods, sad but true.
He’d swim figure eight’s by the hour,
as if stuck in a Mobius strip.
Zoo officials called it a neurosis
But were worried their bear just might flip.
A consultant said Gus had depression
And collect a munificent fee.
Gus would be treated with Prozac
And be as happy a bear as can be.

An Aussie Couple in their middle years
had despaired of children of their own.
To fill that empty room at home
They would need a womb on loan.

A Young Thai woman without a mate
agreed to be their surrogate.
To spare them from a childless fate
Ten Thousand was the going rate.

Fraternal twins, a boy and girl,
were implanted in the Surrogate.
The little girl, a perfect child.
Her brother faced a darker fate.

A child with Down’s is often slain
before they see the light of day.
Identified pre natally,
They are aborted right away.

The surrogate, in awe of God,
would not accede to such a fate.
The “Parents” refused the “damaged goods”
and were “understandably” irate.

His “parents” wouldn’t take him home
Due to his mismatched chromosomes.
His surrogate who gave him birth
became his only friend on Earth.

One child accepted, one denied;
They say “He is no child of mine!”
The surrogate will raise him as her own;
Though he be less than kin she’s more than kind.

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.

....


Everywhere I drive, she’s there,
dependably beside me..
Anticipating my every move,
and always there to guide me.
She has a sultry throaty voice
seductive in a way.
I hang on every word she speaks
lest I should lose my way.

She never gives me grief about
Some bill I failed to pay.
I never have to worry
That her Mom will come to stay

She’s always calm in Crisis
She always saves the day
Unless the signal should be lost-
If that should happen-PRAY!

I used to have the names and facts
right quick at my disposal.
It helped in settling arguments
and in drafting work proposals.
Now names and dates elude me.
Appointments just slide by.
Were it not for my Blackberry
you might see a grown man cry.
Yet deep in the recesses
of my bicameral mind
my neural Librarian,Norman
strives not to fall behind.
He's peering into synapses
and looking into lobes
He's hoping I can temporize
till the name he can disclose.
If I relax it comes to me
though too late to save face
Long after she has left my bed
I recall her name was "Grace"

We entered in the hospice room
where Mother lay alone.
By the scourge of this last illness
she'd been reduced to skin and bone.
Now at peace from suffering,
Her visage fairly shone.
The well worn beads
clasped in her hand
had helped her journey home.

"Now and at the Hour.."
a fragment of a childhood prayer.
Now and the hour
were joined together
in She for whom I cared.

With stem cell therapy, one day,
we may keep old age and death at bay.
Immune response can be restored
from a pharmacological horde.
Folks aged a century or more
will still be limber, never sore.
It's possible  a child born today
might live a millennium, scientists say
Imagine Methuselah on a date
with some sweet young thing
who was born too late
I wonder if the ageless geezer
will have the wherewithal to please her.
A small blue pill will help him score
when all his peers are ancient lore.
If she be coy, it t'were no crime
cause he has all the world and time.

In an antiquated walk-up
in an older part of town,
The photographer waits patiently
for her to shed her gown.

His output decorates his studio walls.
Please don’t be confused.
These are pictures, without exception,
of tasteful female nudes.

Some are done in sepia tones,
others in harsh light,
Each girl eyes you wantonly
with the promise of delight.

His model for this evening
is an old grand-dame in pearls.
Her eyes, half blind with cataracts,
have seen the wonders of the world.

She reclines upon the bed
in his suggested pose.
Her arm is draped across her *******.
So many men had fun with those.

He has a special camera,
unique of all its kind.
It has a special lens
that takes its subjects back in time.

The old girl, there on the divan,
In this lens is twenty-three.
Her eyes are clear, her silver tresses  blonde,
Her youth restored miraculously.

Her fingers play with her string of pearls.
She enjoys the cool air on her skin.
Once more she knows the pride she felt
when she could tempt a priest to sin.

Their time is short, soon she must dress
And face the world as a withered reed.
She gladly pays the photographers price
for this great service in her hour of need.

King James demands a Scottish play
and believes in witches three
Look close and see they are the fates
that set our destiny

I can't write about his mother
or the ****** of her clerk
One whisper about Darnley
and we'll all be out of work.

After that unhappy business
about Essex and the Queen.
I won't risk another incident
no abdication scene.

Keep the text, in time to come
it will prove rare like gold
I kept it shorter than King Lear
your attention span to hold.

A fiftieth anniversary party
up in the upper room.
The bride is here dressed in her best-
but,sadly, not the groom.
He rests beneath the
fresh turned earth.
I guess it was his time.
He cannot raise a toast to her
who was his lovely bride.
We did not think it right that she
should spend that day alone.
So we called in all the relatives,
We worked the telephone.
The menu and the courses-
the same as back in 38'
The best man had to send regrets
He wasn't doing great.
At least the maid of honor came.
My nieces sang old songs.
Death may have thought he crashed her party
but he couldn't be more wrong.
Surely Dad was in the room
though dust returns to dust.
We do not live in the past
but those passed still live in us.