I’ll meet you in the meadow, among the wildflowers.
I’ll meet you on the mountaintop, at the break of dawn.
I’ll meet you by the fountain, where we will while away the hours;
I’ll greet you with a poem, I’ll greet you with a song.

I’ll meet you on the steps of the cathedral made of stone;
I’ll be wearing white and gold, and my hair will be braided.
We will walk toward the altar, where vows we will intone.
We would remember always, our love that never faded.

I’ll meet you in my visions, I’ll meet you in my dreams.
We live together always in my vivid memory.
We will never be apart in the essence of my psyche,
because although you died, you still live as part of me.

I think about you.
I think about you hard.
I didn't like your attitude;
it left my image of you marred.
You were immature,
sometimes a nasty ****.
But there’s a thought about you
that’s a real perk:
It might be naughty,
it might be sick,
but I find my thoughts turn pleasant
when I think about your ****.

You annoyed me day and night,
and drove me a bit crazy.
There are some things that  I remember
that I wish were hazy.
Your voice was whiny,
your habits loathsome.
You smoked and stayed up late;
I'd wish that I was lonesome.
Except for that bit about you--
the key that fit my lock--
it’s what I miss about you.
My dear, it’s just your ****.

You talked too much.
You weren’t very bright.
I pretended I was listening
as you rambled on all night.
You didn’t pay the bills.
I mostly cooked the food.
Our stupid arguments
left me in a foul mood.
But even when my thoughts
about you were at their meanest,
I somehow changed my view
when I thought about your *****.

There’s no way to separate
you from your biggest asset.
So though you looked like trouble,
in every single facet,
I tolerated much--
more than I’d like to remember--
because of my strange attraction
to your firm and friendly member.

"Distractions, yes! How I love them!
I love to keep the media guessing.
And I can do most anything
And still get my supporters' blessing.

"Wait until they see my budget.
I can hardly contain my laughter.
Crafty convincing will prove we don't
Need the programs I'm going after.

"The EPA? A waste of money.
How easy it will be to arrange
To spend our money on something much
More important than climate change!

"And programs for the needy? Bah!
Important to me is the person who offers
The most discreet methods of placing
Large amounts of cash in my coffers.

"My poorest supporters won’t even see
How badly they are being *******.
I'll keep blaming the dishonest press
And the Democrats' ineptitude.

"Those making over 250
Thousand dollars a year deserve
More in the way of tax breaks for they
Are the supporters I aim to serve.

"I don’t care if kids go hungry.
The rich and poor and in-between
Will benefit more if we direct funds
Into our giant war machine.

"I'm beside myself with joy.
I'm the expert. I'm so good
At making people think I give
A **** about their livelihood.

"The poor, the kids, the elderly,
People needing jobs…ALL
Will be so much better off
After I build my towering wall.

"I need my weekends at Mar-a-Lago.
It's there where I can clear my head.
Will three million dollars of taxpayer money
Per weekend put us in the red?

"It's great how you can manipulate
The people by making up facts and lies.
Most of them don't even know
You're pulling the wool over their eyes."

- by Bob B (3-17-17)

My apartment once was beautiful; hard woods and fine antiques.
Then civil war came to Aleppo and the fight was in our streets.
A improvised explosive shattered every pane of glass.
Hot metal and the fog of war obliterate my past.
I stand in the ruins of what was once our home.
My family has been scattered; I am frightened and alone.
I search about for some semblance of shattered civility.
A Deutsche gramophone recording has survived along with me.
My television has been shattered; I have no working phone.
Just a working turntable and I listen, all alone,
To the sweet strains of a chamber piece
That was written by Chopin.
I enjoy this scrap of harmony
in a  City of the dammed.

White crisp field, unbroken snow,
waits for gentle imprint
of boots, or bodies making angels.
Let’s go!

We the People have an enemy
But it isn’t who you think:
It is not the Liberal Printers
with their paper and their ink.

It is not protestors in the street
Who wear pink p*ssy hats-
No, the enemy of the People
is not as obvious as that.

The enemy of the people
is no social media link.
He’s not some homeless vagabond
adorned with tattoo ink.

He is the oaf who took an oath
To Preserve ,Protect, Defend
The very basic liberties
He would subvert and suspend.

So if you seek the enemy
You vain and pompous ***
You will very likely find him
In a West Wing looking glass