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Month: October 2020

The Calling

The squirrels are nesting,
Preparing for fall,
Summoned by instinct,
They answer the call.
They’re gathering acorns
That fall from the trees
As the foliage scatters
With the shedding of leaves.
Too busy to rest,
They scurry around;
They need to find food
While there’s food to be found.
Their industry awes
The casual few
Who’ll stop to observe
What it is that they do.
Fulfilling the call,
Generations renew,
As they do what they must
And must do what they do. 
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Illicit Love

He’s taken a lover
But she’ll never know,
Though it’s not that he’s lacking
In seeds that he’ll sew.
Like so many people
He met her at work;
Along with vacations,
Considered a perk.
At an age where he’s tired
Of the ol’ singles scene,
It’s time that he settled
Down into routine.
At age twenty-four
He’s dated a bit;
He’s awkward ‘round women
But she’s a good fit.
A little bit older,
He likes her that way;
She’s quiet, reserved
And her hair’s gone to gray.
‘Twas love at first sight,
But a love born in haste;
Consummation aborted
‘Twas love gone to waste.
For the cops interceded
When they went to bed
In the morgue where she’s lying
With other folks dead.
Strange sure it was
For his first I love you
To be muttered post mortem
To a love, ninety-two. 
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Guitar Lesson

E, B, G, D, A and E
Tune your strings, just like me;
Place your fingers here and there,
Strike a chord most anywhere.
Strung between the bridge and nut,
Strings of steel or strings of gut;
Up and down the fingers go
To make the notes sound high or low.
Suspended on a leather strap
Or set it down upon your lap;
Stand and play or keep your seat,
Tap your foot and find a beat.
The character set in the key
Wrapped around the melody;
Major, minor, flat or sharp,
Strum the strings or pluck like harp.
In harmony the spirit springs
To quiver there upon its wings;
Within the dream to which it clings
Soars the soul upon the strings. 
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Quiet Life

Once upon a lifetime born
Upon a distant star,
A child from another world
Descended in a jar.
On the surface bright with light
Emerging from the jar,
The child assumed his place in time
Upon this distant star.
Beneath his feet the surface soft,
No clouds were in the sky;
No forces gravitational
Secured him, he could fly.
Acknowledging the life he’d live
While other lives deny,
He set about the life he’d lead
And never questioned why.
High above the surface flew,
Exploring niche and nook,
Looking for some company 
And everywhere he’d look.
Desolation filtered from
The crevices and hills;
In the vast and cosmic state,
No company fulfills.
He settled into loneliness,
Abandoned on his sphere;
Carved an ‘X’ into his scalp
Beneath then, ‘I am here.’
No one knew his circumstance,
And no one knew his name;
And when his candle flickered out,
No one missed the flame.
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Tax dollars are hard at work.
  The government is here
To represent your interests in
  Matters near and dear.
Legislative sessions held
  In states from coast to coast;
Lawmakers are makin’ laws
  In sessions that they host.
In Little Rock, that’s Arkansas,
  The congressmen were faced
With Arkansas’ possessive form
  And ‘round the hall they paced.
Now recollecting grammar school
  The answer seemed quite clear;
Nothing to confer much less
  Consider, vote and cheer.
If at the end of English words
  An ‘s’ be tightly bound,
Beyond the ‘s’ possessively
  Apostrophes are found.
But like all things in government,
  All logic was defied;
They voted on Arkansas’s
  How they say it, you decide.
A different crisis faced a state
  A further bit out west;
In Utah plates of vanity
  Are plates they might contest.

A fellow name Glen Eurick ordered
  Plates that seem benign;
Reflecting on affection for
  Merlot, like in the wine.
The state has asked he give them back,
  For plates that say, Merlot
Promote the use of alcohol
  And that’s just wrong, you know.
You can’t go in a bookstore where
  This word cannot be found
On magazines and manuscripts
  From publishers they’re bound.
But yet the legislative branch,
  Through proxies they’ve employed,
Find that Merlot ‘d license plates
  Should never be deployed.
Thinkin’ he would beat these guys
  He changed his plate request;
‘No Merlot,’ is what he wants
  His congress now is pressed.
They can’t say he promoting it,
  Their argument’s gone flat;
But off to court they’re headed now -
  Adjudicate the spat.
Legislative session held
  In states from coast to coast;
Rest assured your money’s spent
  On things that matter most. 
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The Mutants of Trenton

The government’s at work again,
Lookin’ after all our good;
Taxin’ us for things they want,
Then burnin’ it like piles of wood.
Eventually the people balk
Express through votes, ‘Enough’s enough;’
Accuse the government of waste -
They tax and spend on too much stuff.
To keep the natives happily
From breaking through the Trenton gates,
They tax in excess of the need
Then give it back with tax rebates.
And so it is they passed a bill
Reducing taxes on our land;
Opened up the treasury,
To soothe the natives as they planned.
Knowing that the seniors vote
In numbers larger than the young,
The write a clause addressing them -
Lucky you, if you’re among.
They send a note to advertise
So seniors all en masse will thank
Their senators and governor -
The bottom feeders in the tank.
But in the note, a private page
To indicate the savings made,
They include, but it reflects
The taxes that their neighbor paid.
All the seniors up in arms!
The taxes that they paid the state,
Recklessly and indiscrete
The state placed on their neighbor’s plate!
Don’t underestimate the men
Who tried to soothe the maddening mass;
Trenton’s filled with mutant men -
Half a brain but twice the ass.
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Jersey Politics

Here’s a story, rather weird;
A Jersey mayor’s disappeared.
It’s been a week since he’s been seen
At his post; He’s split the scene.
Atlantic City’s now without
A mayor wielding mayor clout;
Another man has now appeared
To claim the office in his name.
To the City Council showed
A note claimed he, the mayor bestowed;
Appointing him to serve the term
Of mayor, to him the role confirmed.
Dom Cappella won’t say where
The mayor’s gone or how he’ll fare;
But to him Mayor Levy said
‘You’re in charge while in my stead.’
The council says Dom wrote the note
Appointing Dom without a vote;
And think the mayor’s disappeared
Because the FBI draws near.
Beneath the scrutiny of the law,
The mayor appears to have a flaw;
It seems he might be on the take;
The council thinks he’s made a break.
The mayor’s counsel says he’s sick
But won’t say where or what afflicts;
And so the mystery deepens still,
Where’s the mayor gone to chill?
He might have simply gone away,
Perhaps he’s floating in the bay;
In a trunk or alleyway,
We’re better off most any way.

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Bottom of the Barrel

Handcuffed and tethered,
Forever together,
Children adopted 
Into hell they would weather.
Nine children taken
From the State of New York;
Judith Leekin found ways
To feed on the pork.
An assortment of names
She used to abuse
The foster care system
In nefarious ruse. 
Nine children in all
She’d cut from the herd,
Then tied ‘em and hid ‘em
From them, no one heard.
New York paid her plenty,
Fifty-five bucks every day
For each child she’d taken
And hidden away.
A six-figure salary,
Not a dime did she spend
On the upkeep and care
Of the children she’d tend.
When found, they were starving
Not a day spent in school;
While some couldn’t walk
Many others would drool.
Sixteen to twenty,
In diapers, restrained;
She’d torture the noisy,
She’ll soon be arraigned.
For years she’s been scamming
The government’s plan
To assist the deserted -
The offspring of man.
A decades long scheme
Fueled corruption and greed;
Fertilized by neglect
Of this humanoid weed.
Multiple homes
And luxury cars,
Financed by the dollars
That used to be ours.
Another fine job,
Incompetence reeks
From the government agents
Who for each of us speaks.
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That’s Gotta Hurt

Margret Wegner, four years old,
Was running ‘cross the room;
Unbeknownst, ahead of her,
For Margret danger’d loom.
Though her mother many times
Had urged her, “Please don’t run;”
A four year old is overwhelmed
With chances to have fun.
In her hand, a pencil held
And when poor Margret fell,
Through her cheek, into her brain,
The pencil came to dwell.
The year was 1952
And doctoring was quaint;
The best that they could do for her
Was wake her from her faint.
The pencil had to stay in place
For no technique had they
To medically remove the stick
So left it there to stay.
Through the years the nosebleeds came
And headaches by the score;
Unable she to smell a thing
Like she had done before.
Fifty-five years came and went
When endoscopically
Medical advances grew
To fix her surgically.
A 3D reconstruction built
That mirrored the inside skull
So Margret Wegner’s No. 2,
Distinguished, they could cull.
Surgeons working in Berlin,
Would toil for Margret’s good;
Two hours after surgery
She smiled just like she should.
The headaches have abated now,
And Margret’s spouse is pleased;
No longer will the headache card
Be played when Margret’s squeezed.
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Deceptive Past

They had a date,
They’d meet for lunch
  Sixteen years ago;
She left her work
And he left his
  But then he didn’t show.
His partners, brothers
Life-long friends,
  The cops would poke and probe;
But none of them
Had seen the man,
  He’d dropped clean off the globe.
That was June
Of ninety-one,
  He’s not been seen again;
In ‘99
A judge declared
  The man was dead. Amen.
His widowed wife
Began to claim
  The benefits then due;
Survivor’s checks
Came rollin’ in
  From benefits accrued.
Sixteen years
Have come and gone,
  The widow moved along;
Picking up
Her shattered life,
  The widowed woman strong. 
But things are never
Quite the same
  As things first manifest;
A letter came
And claimed her man
  Had not been laid to rest. 
The government
In letter said,
  A man had filed a claim
On benefits,
And it’s believed,
  The spouse and man’s the same.
They billed her 
For the benefits
  She’d gotten through the years;
Reducing her,
Confused and dazed,
  To never-ending tears.  
Compassion rarely
Seen in men
  Who run our government,
But circumstance
Prevailed on them
   She’d keep what she had spent.
But they won’t tell her
Where he’s been,
  Or what he’s seen or done,
Since the day
He stood her up
  In 1991. 
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