Perhaps they had tried to escape,
or else done some petty crime.
These three would not be gassed or shot-
The rope would serve just fine.

Two men, one boy with nooses fixed-
condemned but never tried.
The nooses tightened on their necks
as they kicked the air and died.

Except the boy, he was too light
He lingered when they died
“Where is God? ” one man muttered
“Where is He? ” others cried.

They made us all march past the place
Where those three in judgment fell
The boy in his slow agony
still endured his private Hell.

The path we walked was ash and bone
Of former inmates made
Those gassed and buried in the air
These were their sole remains.

“Where is God? Where is He now? ”
Some muttered as they passed.
I thought- if He’s not hanging here
More than likely He’s been gassed.

Perhaps they had tried to escape,
or else done some petty crime.
These three would not be gassed or shot-
The rope would serve just fine.

Two men, one boy with nooses fixed-
condemned but never tried.
The nooses tightened on their necks
as they kicked the air and died.

Except the boy, he was too light
He lingered when they died
“Where is God?” one man muttered
“Where is He?” others cried.

They made us all march past the place
Where those three in judgment fell
The boy in his slow agony
still endured his private Hell.

The path we walked was ash and bone
Of former inmates made
Those gassed and buried in the air
These were their sole remains.

“Where is God? Where is He now?”
Some muttered as they passed.
I thought- if He’s not hanging here
More than likely He’s been gassed.


( based on an entry in a Auschwitz survivor’s memoir)

I nearly fell out of my comfortable chair
when I heard some sexologist declare:
“The scent of licorice in the air
makes men and women want to pair.
Far more effective than cologne,
Use licorice or you’ll sleep alone.”
Some say Chocolate gets you “Honey”-
I say try some “Good and Plenty”

Remember Charlie? he was an engineer
He didn’t drink coffee and abstained from beer
“Charlie had an engine and he sure had fun
He used “Good and Plenty” candy
cause it made his “train” run”

For all I know, this tale is baloney
Licorice may leave you ***** and lonely.
But if you are lonely and feeling forlorn,
candy’s much cheaper than rhinoceros horn.

Norma McCorvey has died today
In assisted living in a Texas town.
She was Jane Roe in Seventy Three
when the court struck all restrictions down.
She was used by lawyers for their cause
Used by men and women both.
Once a Lesbian then a Christian
Her fame the thing she hated most.
The times have changed and many have died
Because of what that court decided.
Her child still lives; she was adopted.
Its Sad how we have become hard hearted;
Divided we are, now as then.
We never met, nor were we friends;
Goodbye Norma (Jane) McCorvey
May you rest in Peace at journey’s end.

It is a raw windy April day
As the small band of mourners make their way
To the opened grave on the hill in Calvary.

Funeral services had, of necessity, been limited,
Performed by a mortuary assistant
dressed like an ICU nurse.

He had worked quickly
In constant dread of the possibility
That he too would become infected.

Now, the handful of survivors
With roses in gloved hands
Listen to the muffled words of prayer
From the masked padre.

It is a horrible lonely death
The virus brings.
Gasping, like a fish on a barren shore
No hand to hold for comfort.

The Priest finished as quick as he could.
He spoke his words of Heaven’s promise.
Fearful, that one of these few here
Might carry some trace of the infection.

Later, the essential workers will come
And fill the hole where he has been laid.
There he will remain in  joyful hope
Until the day of resurrection.

Hands joined around the table on the roof of the hotel.
Ten years ago this night he passed on to where spirits dwell.
A single candle, burning bright, illuminates our band.
Will Houdini deign to appear to any mortal man?
There is a whisper on the wind, how ill the taper burns.
Is it Harry come back from the dead to tell us what he’s learned?
Bess Houdini called his name and kissed his photograph.
Alas the chains of death are strong and hold her hero fast.
She, at length, blows the candle out and bids us to disband.
She said “Ten years is long enough to wait for any man!”

A pretty blonde researcher
was observing, from a “blind”,
some Silverback Gorillas-
among the final of their kind.

The senior of the silverbacks,
his back turned towards the” blind”,
was communicating with his troop
with gestures much like sign.

“She who is observing us
is a member of that tribe
who fell from grace with Heaven
and was banished far and wide.”

“They were banished from this Eden,
and confounded in their speech.
They then made war upon each other
and have never once known peace”

“Observe, in them, their arrogance,
they think themselves evolved,
Yet they are apes that practice war
and ****** their own kind”

“A gorilla child knows not but love
and tenderness in kind.
Where there is many a human child
left neglected on the vine.”

From elsewhere in the Jungle came
the shouts of evil men.
Poachers of the coarsest sort
with Silverbacks in mind.

“Disperse my sons and daughters.
It’s time to flee and hide
from those who seek our hides and meat
to sanctuary, hie.”

The silverback then beat his chest
and, to buy the others time,
charged against those evil men
and, for his children, died.

Time passed before the searchers
came upon the blind
where the murdered Dian Fossey lay
where the Silverback had died.

Poachers want no witnesses
to their  theft of meat and hide
They left with her the severed hands
of one not kin but kind.

The cows of California produce methane from green grass.
They are causing global warming every time that they pass gas!
The assembly has determined that this simply cannot stand.
(The cow pie situation is completely out of hand.)
A researcher from down under has devised a clever method
To reduce methane production which is utterly impressive!
It seems that when Australian cows munch seaweed for their fodder.
Their farts smell so much sweeter and the Earth will not get hotter.
I hope this satisfies the “Greens”, but I fear it’s just a start;
Next they’ll demand that **** plugs be installed in us old farts!

The first time that they two entwined
her passion nearly blew his mind.
Never had she known such bliss
from each and every orifice.
The lust went on for months, not weeks;
two ****** athletes at their peaks.
Thereafter it somewhat declined
pressing business, lacking time.
Yet while it wasn’t “off the charts”
It satisfied two loving hearts.

Sometime after they had wed
routine crept in their marriage bed
children came and there went sleep.
Their eyes, like Raccoons,
with circles deep.
Though they dearly loved
both boy and girl.
There was something missing
from their world.
Too much to do from nine to five.
They barely made the evening drive.
A hour after kids were abed
They likewise drooped their sleepy heads.
He gave a wink, she gave a yawn
They did not stir from then till dawn.
If I were to chart the sad progression
they now did nothing worth confessing.
First Night and Day
then from time to time
then I’d rather sleep
If you don’t mind.

I am older now
than you were then.
That day still lives
in memory

Did you hear the rifle's
echoing sound
as you passed me
in your Limousine?

The next,
like a Zapruder film,
plays out
in my unsettled dreams.

I saw a spray of pink
and blood.
I heard shouts
and a woman
scream.

Panic filled
my childish heart
I saw fear in
my Father's face.

I am older now
than you were then
that day
the world changed.

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.

Grumpy cat has shuffled off of this immoral coil.
For years he was my favorite meme; my most favorite  foil.
He had a constipated look, a near perennial scowl.
He was a cat that didn't purr, In truth I think he growled.
He had a most unpleasant mien.
A most unpleasant stare.
This tabby has checked out for good,
Don't ask me if I care.

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.

His wife had always been afraid
of death, disease, decay.
So she made her husband promise,
before she passed away,
That she would be cremated
not interred and hid away.

Their children were against it;
Cremation they abhorred.
They much preferred the customs
of those who’d gone before.
Her husband, old and feeble,.
her two sons proud and strong.
They took over the arrangements
and felt sure he’d go along.

Instead he brought a lawyer
to the Simmons Funeral Home
with an order to cease and desist
from the plans they’d made alone
Mom was refrigerated while the case
hung in the court
Her husband’s strength and wealth
were spent quicker than he thought.

It was decided in her favor
in the civil court of war
She was retrieved from
her cold storage and
at last the flames would roar


When the deed was finally done
and the urn placed on the shelf.
His love’s last labor finished
He drifted off himself

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.

Now, I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the lord of song
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah­
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Halleluja­h
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Halleluj­ah
Hallelujah
Songwriters: Leonard Cohen

Unseen and scene,
Of both composed;
these aery heavens,
this solid globe.
Will roused my Sire’s
ghost from the grave.
Will would, for
that’s the part
he played.
What is Will’s will
I next should say?
Will I best Laertes
with my foil today?
Will the villain, Claudius,
be undone
by his victim’s
vacillating son?
What is Will’s will
regarding Mum?

Unseen and scene,
Of both composed;
these Aery heavens
this solid globe.

Now I lay dying,
and Fortenbras comes.
Let my tale be told
in every tongue.
“The rest is silence”-
Thy will be done.

I don’t suppose they will have a cake,
The years mean nothing now.
You’ve long since ran your victory lap,
You kept that wedding vow.
You led, like us, an imperfect life
But that didn’t keep you down.
You’ve exchanged corruptible mortal flesh
for a celestial crown.
You and Mom are together again
with your parents and all your brethren
Oh, what a joyous event it must be
To celebrate your birthday in Heaven.

Pressure intense
around my head
and shoulders.
I am pushed
******
towards a distant
glimmering light.
My perfect
world
collapsing.
I am pulled
unwilling
into a world of bright
and cold.
Pummeled
by a white coated
assassin.
Made to weep
forced to breathe.
They lay me down
on your warm belly.
Your voice says
softly
"Hello, little guy"
I think
( but do not say)
Happy Mother's Day!

Pressure intense
around my head
and shoulders.
I am pushed
******
towards a distant
glimmering light.
My perfect
world
collapsing.
I am pulled
unwilling
into a world of bright
and cold.
Pummeled
by a white coated
assassin.
Made to weep
forced to breathe.
They lay me down
on your warm belly.
Your voice says
softly
"Hello, little guy"
I think
( but do not say)
Happy Mother's Day!

Happy New Year to my hello poetry friends and followers.

The table is set and the guests are arriving.
Tom Turkey is brown and your uncle's imbibing.
"Please pass the biscuits." my Aunt Edna said,
while blithely ignoring my drunk cousin Fred.
Don't talk about politics, Religion or Fate.
Don't wear a red hat; keep your eyes on your plate.
You can survive this; I'm certain you will.
Just pile your plate high and eat what you will.
There are six types of cake here and Nutella pie.
If you don't take your statins it is likely you'll die.
But should you survive and avoid your demise
We'll send you home weighed down with three kinds of pie.

You'll have gained fifteen pounds and you're not very tall-
The folks at Weight Watchers are expecting your call.

Thinking about the end of the World
should not keep you sleepless at night.
If predicted correctly, you’ll never get credit-
So what does it pay to be right?
To wrongly predict the end of the World
will make you the **** of derision.
As Harold Camping found out
To his shock and dismay
when reality triumphed his vision.
We know not the day or the hour my friends
when Gabriel’s trumpet might blast.
With kindness and patience so live this life
You will not be ashamed of your past.

Formerly she’d sneak into my room,
and whisper things that only I could hear.
She‘d provide a fortunate turn of phrase
And I would craft the lyric sweet and clear.

I would praise her for her golden hair,
those sensuous lips, those cerulean eyes.
Yet she would often fool me, even then,
by entering my thoughts in a disguise.

We had such power, then, my muse and I
to infuse a verse with truth and light.
We once were lovers on red satin sheets,
Crying out in mutual delight.

Those were days to treasure then.
Some things we take for granted we should not.
We once made love beneath the bowl of stars.
This I remember, but she seemingly forgot.

These days now I seldom hear her voice.
Her beauty she reveals to others’ eyes.
I think she will no longer sing to me.
Her truths by others’ pens will be inscribed.

The corn is crowned with flowers
as harvest's end draw near.
Men and Women, Lads and maids
all raise a rousing cheer.
Pile high the wagon with the fruits
of Ceres Golden Horn.
The fortune of the fields is ours
for now is Harvest Home.

A House divided cannot stand,
though we try to preserve it no one can.
Uncivil discourse leads to civil unrest.
Both sides dig their heels in
But no one is impressed.
I recall this all happened once before
when rancor escalated into civil war.
Six hundred thousand died by the end
and the weapons they used were inferior then.
What will the butcher’s bill cost us this time?
The hate of disunion-
It Approaches

It’s time.

It’s the battle of Baghdad all over again.
Shiite versus Sunni, it’s them against them.
The push for a Caliphate exacts a high toll.
ISIS marches on the capital and, I fear, heads will roll.

On Potomac’s fair shores the politicos dither.
Are we going to help or just let Iraq wither?
We created a vacuum too big to ignore
And ISIS has filled it with ****** and gore

The blood of the innocent washes the streets
as the Iraqi government stares at defeat.
Feckless, our leader, abdicating his role,
is making a putt on the seventeenth hole.

Was it part of his plan to incite revolution?
Is he evil or clueless? What is the solution?
Does he take a position not based on a poll?
We have paid, blood and treasure, and heads ought to roll.

I have bad dreams.

They come, unbidden, into my room at night.

They pass through the maze of my alcoholic daze;

They take me back,

Back to a dusty desert road;

Our convoy is headed towards Mosul.

But we never make it there:

The Humvee is upended by an eardrum shattering blast.

I am falling.

I see you are screaming but there is no sound..

Blackness.

I died three times on the medivac copter

But the Corpsman kept bringing me back.

I have bad dreams

In them I see the faces of the dead,

They are the faces of my friends;

My friends, for whom I mourn

Until this heart becomes a stone.

Plastic really, actually,
It pumps and Hemo flows.
The doctors placed it
beneath my breast
How long will it beat?
None knows.

I’m undersized for seventeen,
Brown eyes and auburn tresses
A year behind to graduate
with my friends in their prom dresses

Back when my heart was still my own
before my failed bypasses.
I was like many High school girls,
I slept through history classes.

.Back then there was a boy I loved
We’d spend hours on the phone.
His smile made my heart skip a beat
when it didn’t on its own.

Then I fainted in my science class,
my complexion turning blue
Mister Sullivan saved my life
by knowing what to do.

Now can I give my heart away,
a heart that’s not my own?
Can I feel as I used to feel
when its just us two alone?

Was my soul within the heart
that died when we untwined?
Is that spirit an illusion,
just a construct of the mind?

Will this heart race in your embrace?
Will your kisses taste divine?
Or am I just the Tin girl
feeling hollow all the time?

For years it was the seat of Love;
an all-consuming fire.
Eros was his guiding light
to which his thoughts aspired.
His words have touched so many hearts,
a master of his art.
But now his heart is silent
but not his Heart’s desire.
For, surely, one who loved so well
lives on an astral plane.
I cast my verses and my pen
With Shakespeare in the grave
And pray the Lord his soul to keep
While we his music save.

Half obscured by powder smoke, the long Grey line comes on.
“Double canister and hard shot, pour it on them boys!”
They dress the line and still they come, inexorably, like fate.
We are in need of some support, but will it come too late?
A high wood fence disrupts their charge, like clotting blood they mass.
As many a dying Virginian boy wishes for his cup to pass.
“For Fredericksburg!” “For Fredericksburg!” Alonzo Cushing cried.
We worked our guns and gave them hell for all our friends who’d died.
Our blood is up and still they come, over the parapet.
We are all determined this is as far as they will get.
A breath of air, a cooling drink, a lover’s soft embrace;
Strange things crowd into your mind when in a hellish place.
A company of New Yorkers, coming on the double quick,
Have piled into the Rebel mass where the fighting was most thick.
Back you go, proud Virginians, back over the low stone wall.
Not so many as started out, no longer proud and tall.
A rebel of some prominence sits, dying, near my gun.
He asks for General Hancock, strange to hear that name upon his tongue.
My friend, Alonzo Cushing, lies beside the caisson where
He bleeds profusely from his wounds. He is too far gone to care.
He will not live to see the Sun rise in the East again,
Or live to hear a nation’s thanks for what he did for them.

He was at the hospital
until he learned it was a girl.
That fact was just in-congruent
with his model of the world.
Don't look to him for child support
for he will give you naught
He'll delay, deny and threaten
and you'll spend your life in court.
He's devilishly handsome
and can complete a forward pass.
If asked to put a ring on it
he'll look at you and laugh.
He was last seen in the minor leagues
but he never got "the call"
There are "Baseball Annies", hangers on
prepared to bare their all.
So today is not his day
He never has and never will
considered Fatherhood
as more than just a passing thrill.

So long she was disconsolate,
her only son was gone.
Years had passed and still she mourned,
while everyone else moved on.
Pictures in an album
brought pain as she recalled,
still, gradually she took solace
from the fact he'd lived at all.
We all bear psychic scars
from those we've loved, then lost.
It's the burden of existence
and we all must pay the cost.
She hopes, upon an astral plain,
to meet him face to face.
A place where sorrow turns to joy
and all tears are erased.

A weak and vacillating man,
one vain and narcissistic ,
once drew a line upon the sand
with consequences cataclysmic.

Now some will say
the line’s been crossed,
while others say not yet.
Intervening in a civil war
won’t end without regret.

Relentlessly his minions beat
the drums and call for war.
Propagandists lionize
Their would be king once more.

In Austria, Franz Ferdinand
is stirring in his crypt.
Entangling alliances-
It seems I’ve read this script.

Now if the lights go out again
as they have dimmed before
We will not see them lit again
If we blunder into war.

The dikasts had cast their votes,
and their votes had sealed my fate.
I serve as scapegoat for my city,
which has been in decline of late.

Banishment would have been death,
a lingering one for me.
So I managed to persuade them
to vote for the death penalty.

So now friends I become
a Hemlock connoisseur.
Others favor wines and liquors
but my poison is more sure .

To be sure, the juice was bitter,
and I drained it down in haste.
It is not the sort of beverage
for which one acquires taste.

I am, in truth, no Democrat
and My gods were not their gods.
My constant questioning annoyed them
which is why we were at odds.

The chill has reached my *****
and soon now I will sleep.
but one thing on my mind
requires that I speak:.

“Crito, we owe a ****,
to Asclepius,.
Make sure it is paid
please do not neglect it.”

I cover my face over
as my heart slows and stops.
A mystic fog envelopes me
as the boatman’s ship departs.

“My crown is hollow without a son. My kingdom cannot bide uncertainty.
My Lady Anne would be my wife, but never will my mistress be.
The papal legate on my case is a master of delay..
Wolsey wants to be a Prince but Rome is very far away.
I can’t depend upon the Cardinal to accomplish what I pray..
I need a quick and legal way to disavow my Spanish Queen,
Then wed and bed my Lady Anne and sire sons of lordly mien.
I am convinced by Holy Writ that marriage to Catherine was a sin.
My gentleman of the Privy chamber; Please show Thomas Cromwell in.”

Since she was young she had dreamed of the day
When she would be dressed in white lace
With a bouquet of roses held in her gloved hands
and the sheerest of veils on her face.

You know how time flies
In this work a day world
In business she was a success.
The men in her life seemed mere boys, nothing serious,-
Then she noticed a lump on her breast.

A dread diagnosis, a virulent Cancer,
This surgeon said terminal C.
She had little time left for romantic love
She thought that her dream could not be.

Her friend, a photographer, encouraged her then
to put on her loveliest dress.
She posed for her close-ups
In a flower decked chapel
And they say even Death was impressed

Every young woman possesses a beauty
No matter their complexion or size.
In this difficult life they are angels among us;
Truth and Beauty reside in their eyes.

There’s safety in numbers
I’ve oft heard it said-
Unless there are ninety cows
stuck in a shed.
Those numerous ruminants
Munching on hay
Produce mucho methane
in the course of a day.
Ninety odd bovines
Snacking on grass
Take in the fuel
And produce moos and gas.
Those flatulent heifers
Many cow pies produced
Until a stray spark
blew a hole in the roof.
It was shocking to the farmer
And a blow to the farm,
But at least we take comfort
That not one cow was harmed.

Here there be Giants,
wearing red and white and blue.
See them raise the trophy;
Eli's Lombardi number two!.
Tom Brady had a final chance
to make the winning score.
A Giant knocked the ball away
as time ran out our spirits soared!

The hats and shirts they hoped
to sell, up in Patriot nation,
now are Nicaragua bound,
to Tommy's consternation.
those perfect season T shirts
were worn threadbare after four.
Now that  you've provided new ones-
they're not needed anymore.

So Mister Brady, please don't cry
by most measures, you've done well.
Eli's off to Disneyland-
Go home and sack Gisele.

What images swirl through the dying mind
of a man who’s been peppered with shot?
Does life pass in review, as some have claimed true?
Is he judged and found wanting? Then what?


Or does he embrace and take leave of this place
as life’s’ blood empties out of his veins.
Is the thought of her face the one instance of Grace
When only a moment remains.

It was something of a medical miracle;
First, an acid attack had destroyed one girls face.
Then another young woman died and
her parents donated her guise
so the first girl's could be replaced.

It was a delicate operation,
detaching the face of one dead.
It became  as pale as a Kabuki girls'
It looked like a death mask they said.

How strange then was the sensation
when the patient was UN-mummified
To see someone else in the mirror;
The face of a stranger through her eyes.

She was glad to once more appear human
though the donor was somewhat older  than she.
She would live out her days in the face of another-
but then, We are all wearing masks- aren't we?

The manuscript was proofed and approved
when Rachael Carson spoke to us that night.
Silent Spring would be her testament;
her final gift to the world of men.
Her cancer of the breast had spread
and she fought weariness often now.
Still, she knew she must sound the warning;
“Reform your ways or face your worlds end.”
To her well-trained mind, it’s true
She found Our Earth beautiful and new.
Still, she saw troubling things as well
in the thinning of the Ospreys shell.
If these beautiful birds still grace our skies
Thank Rachel Carson for she was wise..
Heed well her words and the light they bring
If you seek to avoid a silent Spring.

We all come to our final play,
our last Touchdown, our last score.
When we reach the realization
We can’t do it anymore.
For most, our age will dictate
when we leave the field or floor,
but to one athlete dying young
one last game means much more.
Lauren Hill loves basketball.
She was a High School Star.
Her cancer is inoperable.
She stumbles now and falls.
She knows how little time’ she’s left,
before the last leaves fall
On Sunday next she’ll take the court
to feel the Love once more
.
She’ll hear Our Anthem one last time
Ten Thousand throats will roar.
Lauren Hill, for all of us,
will make her final score.

She was not born to be a bride,
She had no child of her own.
When she faced evil face to face,
some will say she died alone.
But to the children whom she helped hide
when terror roamed those halls.
She didn't die for nothing
She died to save them all.

Some learn their purpose early,
Others at the final turn.
Many blunder blind through life.
There are those who never learn.

Someday past suffering and grief
may her family feel some pride.
She was Victoria Soto,
a Heroine, she died.

She was not born to be a bride,
She had no child of her own.
When she faced evil face to face,
some will say she died alone.
But to the children whom she helped hide
when terror roamed those halls.
She didn't die for nothing
She died to save them all.

Some learn their purpose early,
Others at the final turn.
Many blunder blind through life.
There are those who never learn.

Someday past suffering and grief
may her family feel some pride.
She was Victoria Soto,
Not for nothing did she die.

She was just a teen;
pretty ,blonde - and dying.
In a town in the Southeast
where she was born.

Cancer was her foe,
then in remission.
She’d been told
she would be sterile
even so.

A neighbor’s boy
escorted her to prom.
A special friend
within a
threatened life..

Could they be blamed
for trying to
steal pleasure?
Pain was her
companion all her life.

They joined their flesh
to share a moments pleasure.
Soon afterwards
her cancer had
returned.

A sick girl, thought sterile,
found to be with child.
She would not take
their poison in her veins.

The Doctor didn’t know
her heart and will.
She vowed her child
by cancer won’t be claimed..

She willed herself to
bring her babe to term.
Just barely lived to hold
him in her arms.

Like Simeon in the temple
she had lingered
Until, at last,
the torch of life passed on.

Her lover wept and held
her as she died.
Though she was then blind
she heard her newborn cry.

An Academic (with too much time) deplores our use of him and her.
“These gendered pronouns give offense; to transgenders, they are a slur.”
“So at our University, “Ze” shall stand for “He” or “she”
And when crowds gather now and then, “Zey” shall now be known as “zhem”.”
“Old style pronouns must not be used when the student body is so confused.”
“Gendered bathrooms, were so unkind, now the doors bear equal signs (=)”
We must not judge or interpose when boys dress up in women’s clothes.
Nor should we act with prejudice if Zey decide to make a switch.
For what you may have been at birth may not be what you had in mind;
Hormonal treatments can, in time, make a drab boy look Divine
Though Ze went to an all girl’s school, Zee’s now packing all the tools
With the surgeon’s skill and care you can lose or grow a pair.
“Though Male and Female He created them, surgically we have updated zhem.”

Beneath "the Blue Room" of Picasso
lies a mystery long concealed;
It is the portrait of a man
which only infrared revealed.
Reusing canvas is a trait
that struggling artists understand.
Concealing one work with another
masking the efforts of weaker hands.

We too are canvas of a sort
drawn in the culture of our birth.
Then, painted over by other masters
of uncertain provenance and worth.
Beneath the layer of the cynic
lies the young child's trusting eyes.
The image we are shown, world weary,
concealing where true beauty lies.

Eyes dilate and look distant as Will puffs upon his pipe.
The distinctive scent of Cannabis commends itself tonight.
Each puff makes him mellow and his imagination soars.
He dwells not on the tragedies his future has in store.
He dreams on Fairy Kings and Queens, Young lovers showing pluck.
“What fools these mortals be.” I’ll give that line to Puck
His shrew wife will have none  of it she only scowls and scolds.
“His blood!” Will thinks, she needs a puff of what this clay pipe holds.
He likes it well, this gentle herb that lulleth him to sleep.
He will awaken ravenous and need something to eat.

Her first few steps
on the high wire frightened her.
(Don't look down! I mustn't look down.)
Her lithe body suspended in mid air
high above the killing ground.

Step by step she inched across
to a place where freedom was assured.
Her old life she now left behind her.
Those ties that bound her she abjured.