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Month: February 2022


The slate before me
Fresh and clean
No words are typed
No words are seen.

So many thoughts
Of what to say
As we begin
This summer day.

Every letter
Can be used
Put in order
Not confused.

Letters forming
Words to type
Words are like
A fruit that’s ripe.

Pick them from
The page and see
Within your mind
What they can be.

Sentence them
To form a thought
And punctuate
The sentence wrought.

When you do
And you are through
From me to you
A thought to chew.
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Beside her bed they sat and prayed
  For better than a week;
Their daughter lying comatose
  No longer could she speak.

With her best friend in the car,
  The car had crashed and burned,
Going ‘round the curves and hills
  Steered straight and should have turned.

Upon the scene the cops arrived
  To find her best friend dead;
A funeral was held for her
  While this one lay in bed.

Two families both from Michigan
  Were left to sort through lives
Cut short by fate or altered -
  One dead and one survives.

But yesterday the doctors found
  The girls were mixed around;
The parents at the bedside learned
  That theirs was in the ground.  

The other set of mom and dad
  Found out the funeral
That they attended earlier
  Was for the other’s girl.

A set of parents missed the chance
  To say goodbye to theirs;
The other’s daughter born again
   But only blankly stares.

In the hour darkest born,
  The light we fail to see;
 But in the darkness seek the light
  For worse it still can be. 
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The biggest snow there ever was
  Fell on our fair state;
Where ever you had planned to go
  You likely got there late.

Every street and every walk
  Was piled high with snow;
Drive or walk, in boots or car,
  You found it hard to go.

Abandoned streets, abandoned cars,
  Stores and restaurants closed;
Trains and buses, planes were parked
  While folks stayed home and dozed.

In the parks the children played,
  Every hill was filled;
Snowmobiles on the streets
  And every bone was chilled.

Summer sun and falling leaves,
  A springtime morning dew;
Every season has its charms
  And snow’s what winters do. 
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She slips away from memory,
She slips away from thought;
She slips away from gravity
She slips away uncaught.

Into the ether of my times,
Into the ether flows,
Into the ether she now climbs
Into the ether goes.

In her wake an absence filled,
In her wake the weeds,
In her wake a field’s tilled
In her wake it seeds.

She slips away the spirit’s hold,
She slips away from me.
She slips away into the cold
She slips and she is free.
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Saddam Sendoff

His days are drawing to a close,
  And soon he’ll hang alone
From the gallows on a rope
  For sins he will atone.

Driven from his palaces,
  Toppled from his rule;
His last days spent within a cell
  Upon a metal stool. 
His country lies in ruin now,
  His soldiers march no more;
Shiites rule the parliament,
  Insurgents wage a war.

In his wake the graves amass
  The blameless and the pure;
In his death these monuments,
  Pervasive will endure.

A hole will open in the floor
  And through it he’ll be tossed;
Like all the money that we’ve spent
  And all the lives we’ve lost.

Historians will note the day,
  Reflect upon the cost;
Determine if his death was worth
  All that has been lost. 
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Investigative Journalism

60 Minutes called to ask
  If we could lend a hand
With information we may hold
   To help with what they’ve planned.

The plan they have involves a bomb
  That someone built from gear
They’d kept within a storage place
  We ran for many years.

It seems in 1993
  When New York first were hit,
They found explosives that were used
  Were stored inside of it. 

They want to know what we might know
  About the storage store
And manager we used to have
  In Jersey City’s core.

What they asked was all revealed
  When first the crime occurred;
And every paper in the land
  Had put it down in words.

Investigative journalists?
  Who’re they tryin’ to kid?  
They might believe that’s what they are
  But lazy’s what they did.

Instead of faxing random notes
  Fishing for some clues,
I somehow think it’s smarter
  To simply read the news. 
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Fulfilling Time

It never takes as long to get
  To where you have arrived;
And like a book or story told
  Your life will be archived.

Unclear when you begin to steer
  But every mirror so deems,
From here to there to anywhere
  Is closer than it seems.

Stolen moments, memory’s prize,
  Like chapters of a book;
From time to time you’ll open it
  And have yourself a look.

Some chapters you’ll diminish,
  Some chapters you’ll enhance;
Some chapters you had planned for
  But most occur by chance.

In some you’ll show a kindness
  To characters you meet;
To others you’re dismissive,
  They’ll pass beneath your feet.

You’ll lead when you are able
  And follow when you’re not;
At times you not as certain
  Of what you’ve really got.

You’ll act without a conscience
   Then wish perhaps you’d not;
You’ll act with selfless duty;
  Abraham to Lot.

Many times you’ll fail
  And many times achieve;
You’re spirit lift with laughter
  And many times you’ll grieve.

At times you’ll find you’re mired,
  Fall prey to pity’s plight;
Then in the darkness rising
  Ignite your inner light.

You could be just beginning,
  You could be near the end;
You’re on a line and marching
  And time will never bend.

In the waking hours
  Before you go to bed,
Appraise the chapters passing,
  Imagine those ahead.   
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Essex Eulogy

Fourteen units gone today,
  We’re on the way my friends;
Headed down the corridor
  To where the sidewalk ends.

Rehannah and Quakara,
  Young gals of twenty-one
When first we opened up the doors -
  Their twenties now are done.

My kids were still in high school
  And I still had a wife;
Eight years can make a difference
  In anybody’s life.

Some good ‘n bad, some in between,
  The times that we have spent,
Sellin’ space to all those folks
  Who wouldn’t pay their rent.
We tried to make the best of it,
  We struggled from the start;
But no one’s ever told us
  We didn’t have the heart.

 The taxes kept on risin,’
  The mortgages came due;
Competitors kept buildin’
  And now our days are through.

We’ll bid farewell to Newark,
  We’ll close the doors and go;
And I’ll remember fondly
  The friends I came to know. 
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Robert Rich has passed away,
  He’d just turned ninety-two;
Through his life he touched us all
  By things he chose to do.

Most of us will live our lives
  Just wishing for our dream;
But Mr. Rich, his fulfilled 
  By making Rich Whip Cream.

A little soybean in a tub,
  Threw in a chemical;
Fluffed it up a little bit -
  Voila! Delectible.

Frozen it would keep for years
  And still deliver taste;
Use a bit, refreeze the rest
  And not a drop you’ll waste.
He also brought us other things,
  Ubiquitous they are;
Coffee-Mate among the ones
  You find within a jar.

My favorite Rich’s frozen treat
  Are Chocolate Eclairs;
A low-fat freak or just a geek?
  No one really cares.

Many decades pleasin’us,
  En-Riching tongue and gum;
Frozen treats we’ll long enjoy
  Beyond his requiem.
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School Days

When I was in school
The classes would bore;
Reading and writing
Mathematics and more.

Drafting and gym class,
Wood shop, the arts;
Science and history
The civics and charts.

But I think there’s a change
In the classes they teach
In the rooms at the schools
For the pupils they reach.

I’ve been watching the news
That appears every day,
It’s sharp shooting classes
And bullets at play.

Now every backpack
That’s carried to school,
Is packin’ a pistol
With pencil and rule.

To think that my days
Were wasted away,
With rubber band wars
And children at play.

I think I’ll go back,
All my shopping is done;
I bought me some shirts
And a lunchbox and gun.
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