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Month: September 2021

From a Bridge

A friend of mine is falling fast,
  Her life spun from control;
She walks upon a trail that leads
  To darkness in her soul.

She telephoned me late last night
  From a bridge that’s strung
Across the San Francisco bay
  Where many folks have hung.

Philosophy and physics
  Feed her mental thirst;
I’ve known her at her very best
  I’ve known her at her worst.

Ten years of marriage to a guy
  Who thought the time had come
To have a baby, so they did
  Then left, became a bum.

Wounded by the love she lost
  A daughter she then bore;
Collapsing walls around her
  Without an exit door.

Five years passed behind her,
  And each cut like a knife;
While she observed the meaning
  Escaping from her life.

In self-destructive free fall
  The last weeks swirl about;
Friday she’s arrested,
  Her employer says she’s out.

They took her to a mental ward
  Last night before her call;
The doctor who examined her
  Released her back to fall.

So from the bridge she telephones
  And asks if she would die;
And if she jumps into the bay
  Would anybody cry?
“Alone we are,” I tell her
  And tell her, “I won’t lie;
No one misses anyone
  And no one’s going to cry.

All the people living
  Will die without a voice;
But we don’t live for others,
  And living is a choice.

You’ll be dead forever,
  So it’s a small expense
To live the years you’re given
   Not sittin’ on a fence.

If you choose to jump tonight
 Aim for something hard;
Otherwise you’re in a chair
 Pushed around a yard.

If you choose to drive away
 And in yourself find trust;
All the answers lie within
 Covered up in dust.

She’s lost, maybe forever;
  Perhaps she’ll find her way;
From out of darkness babies
  Are born to life each day.  

I don’t know why she called me,
  From on that bridge so high;
For reasons to continue
  Or just to say goodbye.
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Northerly Neighbors

Once upon the northland shining
Strolled a bear through backyards peering
To the distant venues searching,
Verging on encounter nearing.

Catching scents of seeds in feeders,
Nuts and grains and morsels tempting,
Shifts his focus from his walking,
Birds determined on preempting.

Pulling branches from their moorings,
Feeders flying they were bearing.
Eating every morsel falling,
Not a beast that’s prone to sharing.

Left behind the savaged remnants
Emptied now from seeds that slathered,
Saunters off before the sunrise,
Sated by the bounty gathered. 
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Home Pasture

Arriving in glory
To graze and to ride –
A ton and a half
Of equestrian pride.

Relaxing in splendor
On a hot afternoon,
The night rests before them
Beneath a full moon.

Beasts born of beauty,
They’re muscled and lean -
Sculpted and tapered
By an artist unseen.

Sharing the grandeur
In the pasture between
The dawn of their birth
And life’s final scene.
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Two Timing

Uterus didlephys,
They told the young mom –
Two months along
When they dropped the news bomb.

Two helpings of organs
That women possess,
Linday Hasaj
Has under her dress.

Two cervix, two wombs,
Two pathways that lead
To the place in her body
A fetus would need.

One in three thousand
Of women you meet,
Are likewise afflicted -
Two times they’re complete.

Her husband can have
An affair without strife -
He’s sleepin’ around
While he’s still with his wife.
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Left of Here

There once was a fellow, James Key,
All British and crumpet and tea;
  He had an odd job
  Controlling the mob
That frequented pubs where he’d be.

For reasons unknown at this time,
He was dressed as a chicken in mime,
  When he did the absurd
  While dressed as a bird
And committed an odd little crime.

In pursuit of a woman and man,
He chased ‘em as from him they ran.
  Out into the street,
  He’d catch them (he’s fleet),
And that’s where the troubles began.

Benjamin Miller’s left ear
Was eaten by James. Rather queer.
  By the time he’d withdrawn,
  The ear was all gone,
Now he’s left with one ear left to hear.

Mr. Key’s locked away in a jail,
Fifteen months, he’ll do time for the tale.
  But the food he will get
  Is a much better bet
When weighed on a carnivore’s scale.
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Government Justice

Bryan Steinhauer
Of Brooklyn New York
Got beat to a pulp
By a Serbian dork.

In a Binghampton bar,
A year ago May,
The Serbian struck
And then got away.

Diplomats aided
His overseas flight,
To escape any trial
Concerning the fight.

Hillary Clinton,
A senator then,
Coerced Serb officials
To return him again.

But now she’s moved on,
The Department of State,
And she’s worked out a deal
To set matters straight.

Bryan Steinhauer
Will get some Serb dough -
A cool million bucks
At him they will throw.

But the Serbian people,
They benefit too,
Fifty-million of taxes
To Serbs flow from you.

We give ‘em the fifty,
They return to us one –
Now who’s getting punished
When all’s said and done?
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Gone today,
Robert May
Passed away.

In decline
At sixty-nine,
Got the sign
To cross the line.

Wore the suit,
Though he was mute,
And gained repute
As he’d compute.

To calm and still
The Zachary shrill,
Danger Will,
His special skill.

Unknown his face,
In any case,
Without a trace,
Now lost in space.
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Last Class

Sidney Nurse, that’s his name
Not his town, not his game,
Handles luggage you reclaim
When you present a check of claim.

Works the tarmac with a crew
For an airline, old Jet Blue;
Served a flight that well he knew,
At JFK from where it flew.

New York to Boston it was bound,
When in the hold he up and wound.
The door then closed, secure and sound
He crawled through bags around and ‘round.

Sidney Nurse now out of sight,
Taxied ready then for flight.
In the dark Nurse crouched in fright,
The jet took off into the night.

Hoped not the maker he would meet
When flying one of Jet Blue’s fleet;
It’s cold at thirty-thousand feet,
Should have picked a window seat.
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On Edge

Roger Stephens’ not nice
Herein’s what he did
On a trip to the Wal*Mart
To a two-year old kid.

In an aisle as wide
As an aisle can be,
A mother strolled by -
A toddler with she.

The child was crying
As a child will do,
Mr. Stephens disturbed
And that’s nothing new.

So Roger warns momma,
“Make that child shut-up!
If you don’t, my dear lady,
I’ll stifle your pup.”

Two aisles later
The child yet cried,
Mr. Stephens grabbed baby
To prove he’d not lied.

Five slaps to the face
And the child cried yet,
While mom started screamin,’
“The cops, someone get!”

The Wal*Mart officials
Appeared on the scene,
Then the cops and the handcuffs
With whom they’d convene.

The man told the facts
Just as they’d occurred,
While momma, with him,
Every word she concurred.

The man’s doin’ time
For his wanton attack,
And the child’s little face
Has it’s coloring back.
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Road kill spotted by the way;
Deceased, a carcass rots away.

Pull the pickup to the side,
Grab a stick to poke inside.

Identify the flesh de-boned;
Coyote skull a canine owned.

An animal that hunts in teams,
Tearing teeth in sunshine gleams.

Detach the body from the skull
With hacking knife and steady pull.

An incident of man and beast,
A car and feral dog deceased.

Exhumed he was from where he rolled,
A treasure dug from mud and mould.
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