Observing Anger

Try to observe anger.

See how it arises.

Look at its components

And see what it comprises.

Does it contain the ego's

Selfish insecurity?

If so, a knee-jerk response

Reflects our immaturity.

Watch it from different angles.

Observe its essential lack

Of substance or palpability;

Anger’s a tough nut to crack.

Look at it in the face.

Grasp it before it grasps you.

And yet, there’s nothing to grasp

When its true nature comes through.

It’s natural to witness anger

In varying amounts.

The key is what we do then:

The way we respond is what counts.

If anger’s converted to wisdom,

Then let that wisdom guide us

To act in compassionate ways—

To unite us and not divide us.

(8-31-14) By Bob B

The Attack of the Zombie Fungus

Don’t worry, people;

So far it’s not a threat

To human beings; I mean,

It hasn’t attacked us YET.

So you think that we have problems;

Ants have problems, too.

For us, bacteria and viruses

Seem to come out of the blue.

In Brazil a zombie ant fungus

Affects carpenter ants.

When the hosts are infected,

They climb up nearby plants,

Leaving their homes and colonies.

It’s hard to understand why,

But they clutch onto the leaves

And hang there waiting to die.

After their death a stalk

Grows from their body, and so

Spores from that fungus

Infect the ants down below.

The cycle then continues.

Don’t you wonder whether

The ants could figure it out?—

Put 2 and 2 together?

When ants are hanging from leaves,

The other ones shouldn't neglect them.

Their failure to address the matter

Will fatally affect them.

For all of us creatures on earth,

When everything seems A-OK,

Nature seems to manage

To throw a curve ball our way.

We have our own worries—

Both natural and man-made

Issues that we should confront,

And not ignore or evade.

The problem is that we
Often procrastinate.
Once we address an issue,
It just might be too late.

(8-30-14) By Bob B

Crazy Denial

It seems so utterly baffling

When someone flatly denies

That racism exists in this country.

We should say, “Open your eyes!

“Do you watch responsible news

Instead of that popular trash

That fills people’s heads with nonsense—

Where truth and comments clash?

“Or do you listen to radio

Talk show personalities

Who live for ratings and spew

Nothing but banalities?”

Some may deny the truth

As they sit in their lofty tower,

Isolated yet remarking

From a position of wealth and power.

Or some may ignore the evidence

And choose instead to take aim

At the victims of injustice,

On whom they place the blame.

How easy for people to say

That racism doesn’t exist—

That the issue is overblown

And ought to be dismissed!

Maybe some of the naysayers

Would change their uninformed views

If they walked a number of miles

In someone else’s shoes.

Recognizing the problem

Should be our mission.

And then we’ll seek a solution

That we can bring to fruition.

(8-29-14)

Letting Go of Attachments: An Old Zen Story Retold in Verse

Two monks were traveling

To a town some miles away—

A journey that would take them

A good part of the day.

They stepped mindfully;

Their voices wasted no words.

The only sound they heard

Was the singing of the birds.

Suddenly crossing their path

Rushed a rippling stream—

Its current on the rough side

(Or so it did seem).

Before the flowing current,

A woman stood—waiting—

Assessing the situation—

In her mind debating

Whether to turn around

Or to cross the gurgling water.

Her foot slipped on the moss

And she began to totter.

The older monk caught her,

And so she wouldn’t get wet,

He carried her across

With no hint of regret.

On dry land again,

He carefully set her down.

She thanked him and continued

To the local town.

As the monks continued

On their resolute path,

The younger monk complained—

His words were tinged with wrath:

“How could you pick her up?

That’s against the rules.

You make us look suspicious—

Like lascivious fools.”

On and on he grumbled,

Talking without cease,

Depriving them of calm,

And giving them no peace.

The older monk grew tired

Of the ranting and the raving.

Concerned about the way

His companion was behaving,

He stopped and said, “My friend,

I carried her—I know—

Across the stream and put her

Down LONG ago.

“You don’t like the manner

In which I applied goodwill;

But you, dear friend, are the one

Who carries the woman still.”

They walked on in silence;

Neither felt distraught—

The older monk smiling,

The younger deep in thought.

(8-28-14) By Bob B

How We Loved Lucy!

It wasn’t much fun to be sick as a child.

I’m sure you would agree.

One thing, however, made it worthwhile:

LUCY on TV.

Morning reruns of I LOVE LUCY

Were a daily must.

And if the TV was out of order?

Oh, no! That was a bust!

How many years we watched Lucy,

Well, it’s hard to say.

I watched her up through my high school years;

But I’d even watch her today.

Every summer morning and every

Winter and spring vacation

Meant a daily dose of Lucy.

We watched with utter elation.

So what if we’d seen a particular show

Ten times in the past.

Each time watching I LOVE LUCY

Was just as fun as the last.

To watch Lucy get into a jam

In every episode

Was what we always looked forward to.

Then to watch Ricky explode.

Just the look on Lucy’s face

Was all that it would take

To make us all break out in laughter—

So much that our stomachs would ache.

Lucy and Ethel in the chocolate factory,

Lucy stomping on grapes,
Or Vitameatavegamin...

Lucy was always in scrapes.

It didn’t matter how silly the plot—

How corny, how dumb or inane—

Laughing at Lucy would lighten the heart.

Who needed food for the brain?

If there was a snag, Lucy would find it

And chaos would ensue.

And once the cat was out of the bag,

She had some “splaining” to do.

We knew the plots backwards and forwards;

We knew the dialogue by heart.

But that didn’t matter; we would still laugh

As Lucy’s schemes fell apart.

We owe a lot to Lucy and friends.

There’s a lot to be said

About growing up laughing at Lucy

And Ricky and Ethel and Fred.

(8-27-14) By Bob B

Remembering Michael Brown

Michael Brown, from Ferguson, Missouri,

Yesterday was laid to rest.

The youth’s death has stirred up issues

That definitely must be addressed.

Setting aside the controversies—

The “he saids and she saids,” the bitter disputes—

Let’s find ways to stop injustice,

To face it and pull it up by the roots.

Extremely unfortunate circumstances

Came to pass and Michael was slain.

As he rests in peace, we must move forward

So that his death was not in vain.

The words “liberty and justice for all”

Are in our Pledge of Allegiance, although

In dealing with power, race, and equality,

America still has a long way to go.

By Bob B (8-26-14)

Beware of the Two-Headed Monster

Beware of the two-headed monster

Of incalculable size—

An amorphous, protean shape

That attacks by surprise.

This monster relies on deception

To corner its unwary prey;

You fall into its clutches

Once your endurance gives way.

One of its faces is comely,

Displaying a luring smile

And a look of apparent compassion—

Both of which beguile.

Its mouth forms words of loyalty,

Morality, honor, virtue,

Freedom, pride, and values;

You wonder how that could hurt you.

But what you don’t see directly

While you’re busy being stung

By all the sly, false promises

Is the monster’s disgusting forked tongue.

The other face of the monster

Is hideous beyond belief—

Bearing an insidious smirk

And a mien that fills you with grief.

The mouth on this face spews hatred,

Poison, distrust, hypocrisy,

And duplicitous manipulation—

A threat to any democracy.

It pours out dangerous platitudes

And remedies that mislead.

Underneath its artifice

Runs callousness and greed.

The monster, of course, uses trickery

To let you see only one face;

But it keeps its nefarious tactics

Constantly in place.

With tentacles of far-reaching range,

It reaches out to clasp

Any heedless victim

And hold him or her in its grasp.

So beware of the two-headed monster

And its growing provocation.

Only two things can kill it:

Reason and education.

(8-25-14) By Bob B

On Having a Sweet Tooth

Whether to have dessert

Is not even a question.

Not to indulge in sweets?

Don’t even make that suggestion.

Having no apple pie

Or luscious lemon meringue

Would be a real bummer—

As we say in slang.

Right out of the oven:

Hot cinnamon rolls...

Or donuts right out of the fryer—

With or without holes...

Crepes filled with strawberries,

With a dollop of whipped cream...

When I talk about sweets,

I never run out of steam.

Don’t forget about cakes,

And anything with custard...

Chocolate in every form...

And--I’m getting flustered.

Fresh homemade cookies

Of any delicious kind...

Chocolate fudge or divinity...

Yikes, I’m losing my mind!

Dessert bars, oh, my goodness,

Chewy, crumbly, flaky...

Banana, zucchini, and pumpkin

Bread—soft and cakey...

Cupcakes topped with thick frosting,

And filled with chocolate ganache...

Creamy Crème brûlée...

Boy, aren’t we getting posh!

A sugary German plum cake,

A Danish butter ring,

And Greek galaktoboureko

Give me a reason to sing!

Chocolate frosted brownies...

Lefse with sugar and butter...

My sweet tooth is growing larger

With every word that I utter.

Some people say that these sweets

Might be the cause of my death.

Then let me be holding a cookie

When I take my last breath!

(8-23-14) By Bob B

Why Do You Walk So Softly?

Why do you walk so softly?

Why are you afraid?

Why do you speak in a whisper?

Why do you stay in the shade?

Why do you hide your feelings?

Why do you stand alone?

Why do you sing only solo?

Why do you fear the unknown?

Why are you defensive?

Why do you cover your ears?

Why do you close your mind?

Why do you stifle your tears?

Walk with honor and dignity.

Limit your fears to none.

Speak out loudly and clearly.

Enjoy the warmth of the sun.

Don’t be afraid to feel.

Stand with others in force.

Harmonize with others.

Let hope guide your course.

Be open and confident.

Hear the world’s cries.

See from different perspectives.

Blocking your tears is unwise.

COURAGE, my fellow seeker.

Be GENEROUS, but above all,

TRUST in your inner guidance.

TOGETHER we’ll stand tall.

(8-22-14) By Bob B

Cinderella: The Real Story

Most of us know the tale of Cinderella,

But do you know the original German story?

It’s different from the version that I grew up with.

It’s called “Aschenputtel,” and it’s gory.

Cinderella’s stepmom and two stepsisters

Are nasty, ornery, bossy, bitchy, and mean.

They’re very good at belittling Cinderella;

And the sisters vie for the role of future queen.

Cinderella wants to attend a ball,

But her stepmom gives her some difficult tasks, and so

When some birds help the girl complete them,

The woman STILL refuses to let her go.

Here no fairy godmother comes to help.

Cinderella goes to the grave of her mother

Where she'd planted a branch that grew to a tree,

Which miraculously gives her a gown like no other.

When Cinderella goes to the King’s fancy ball,

She makes a tremendous impression on the prince.

Of course, no one’s able to recognize her,

And the competition makes the stepsisters wince.

For two nights in a row the same thing happens.

Cinderella must be in excellent shape,

For each night the prince attempts to pursue her,

Yet each night she makes a clean escape.

On the THIRD night he has a bright idea:

“Aha!” he says. “Someone, bring me some tar.

If I spread goop all over the steps of the palace,

That gorgeous sneak won’t manage to get very far.”

(Here you have to suspend even more belief.)

As Cinderella hurries to flee from her beaux,

She leaves behind one slipper in the tar.

(WHY more slippers aren’t stuck there, I do not know.)

On finding the slipper, the prince yells, “Piece of cake!

Now I’ll find the owner of this dainty shoe.”

When he arrives at the home of the nasty stepsisters,

The poor guy bites off more than he can chew.

The first sister chops off her obtrusive big toe

So that her foot can fit inside the slipper.

You see, the slipper’s not made of the kind of material

That stretches, and, of course, it has no zipper.

The prince starts to leave with his bride-to-be

But notices that her slipper is filled with blood.

“I don’t think that this is my future wife,”

He says and nips that nightmare in the bud.

In order to make her foot fit in the slipper,

The second stepsister cuts off part of her heel.

Imagine how much blood gushes forth from that.

Shaking his head, the prince says, “This is unreal.”

Finally, Cinderella takes her turn.

And what do you know? The slipper’s a perfect fit!

The prince—eager to exit that crazy scene—

Takes Cinderella and leaves lickety split.

(I hope the prince kept his wits about him.

You’d think he would, for he’s a thoughtful fella.

Certainly, he washed out all the blood

Before giving the slipper to Cinderella!)

Early on I told you about some birds

That helped Cinderella when she was down and out

By completing her tasks and delivering her gown and slippers.

They knew what the stepsisters were all about.

Well, the stepsisters came on the day of the wedding,

To mooch off Cinderella—as you can surmise.

As they ambled along with the wedding couple,

The birds flew down and pecked out both of their eyes.

Such was the fate of the mean and bossy stepsisters,

Who were deceitful and cruel, as you recall.

Call it karma, their just deserts, or comeuppance:

Let it be a lesson for us all.

(8-21-14) By Bob B

In the Moment

Experience the moment.

Breathe it in.

Watch it. Observe it.

Ignore the din

In your surroundings—

The chatter, the clatter.

Just this moment

Is all that should matter.

Let the moment

Fill you completely.

Notice how subtly

And how discreetly

Your body responds

As calm imbues you.

Breathe in and out;

Let it suffuse you.

Thoughts will come

And thoughts will go;

Just don’t hold them;

Go with the flow.

Ideas pass by

Like images on a screen.

Watch them proceed.

Don’t intervene.

If the sensation

Of being bathed in light

Pervades your being,

That’s quite all right.

Past, present,

And future exist

All in this moment;

Life is a mist,

A cloud, a dream,

A river that flows,

A flash, the morning

Dew on a rose.

Observe how everything’s

Interrelated;

Suddenly,

You're liberated!

By Bob B (8-20-14; 12-16-18)

Visits with My Folks

Last night I saw my mom and dad.

We had a lovely chat.

Laughing, joking, carrying on...

We’re always good at that.

Dad, without his oxygen tank,

Had no trouble walking.

He spoke of books and politics

And had no trouble talking.

Mom dashed about her kitchen

Busily preparing

Some delectable treat to serve.

(I even heard her swearing.)

Such visits happen now and then.

Sometimes it even seems

As though they’re real and not occurring

ONLY in my DREAMS.

Why Mom and Dad are in a dream,

I don’t have a clue.

But I love to see them; it's

The best that I can do.

It’s hard to believe that eighteen years

Ago they passed away.

It’s strange: it almost seems as though

It happened yesterday.

Healthy, strong, invincible,

Robust, and never sad,

Philosophizing, loving, caring—

That’s how I see Dad.

No less loving, but more pensive

And never brash or gushy,

Mom expresses love through actions.

She’s kind, but never mushy.

These dreamy reunions I will cherish

Until my memory fades;

Or until life decides

It's time to pull the shades.

(8-19-14) By Bob B

Who Are These Children?

Grade-schooler Tito loved going to school

To learn division and multiplication.

He tried to ignore the violence around him

But lived each day with trepidation.

He crossed his El Salvadorian town

To get to his school—a daily trek.

He constantly met with violent street gangs—

Each frightful day a reality check.

One day Tito failed to come home.

The next morning grimly revealed

The poor school child’s dismembered body

Lying in an abandoned field.

(Refrain)

Who are the children, fleeing their homes—

Fleeing the lands where violence reigns?

Who are these kids whom the world has let down—

Whose hope for escape is all that remains?

Lucas and Marco feared for their lives,

In their small town in El Salvador,

Where violence governed their daily existence

As ruthless street gangs carried out their war.

When the boys’ mother was gunned down before them,

Fearing they’d be next, the brothers thenceforth

Left their home and their few belongings

And started on a long journey north.

Traveling hundreds of miles with no money

To leave a place of chaos and disorder

Would be a daunting task, along with

The added uncertainty at the U.S.A. border.

(Refrain)

The gangs in Honduras recruit young children.

I Guatemala they do so as well.

Some kids as young as eight or nine

Serve as drug runners from what we hear tell.

Two of the Central American gangs

That helped to create this horrible mess

Were not homegrown entities at all

But got their start HERE in the U.S.

How sad it is to see children suffer!

How helpless one feels in solving the matter!

But lip service without any action

Means nothing; it’s worthless. It’s just idle chatter.

(Refrain)

Who are these children, fleeing their homes—

Fleeing the lands where violence reigns?

Who are these kids whom the world has let down—
Whose hope for escape is all that remains?

By Bob B (8-17-14)

Ah, Sixty-five Years Old!

Ah, sixty-five years old!

To me, it is a marvelous age:

No longer a foolish, dreamy-eyed kid,

Yet still not a stuffy old sage;

Not too old to keep on dreaming,
But old enough to know about

The world and how it operates
And how to figure some people out.

Ah, sixty-five years old:

A brand new chapter in a wonderful tome

Called Life, which started years ago

And spans cradle to nursing home.

My high points: my table of contents;

Mental pictures: my illustrations;

All my memories: my glorious chapters;

My comments and poems: added notations.

Ah, sixty-five years old!

Every day’s filled with new adventures.

I’m ready to handle whatever’s to come:

Hip replacements, cataracts, dentures!

So what if there’s an ache or pain

Or two or three or four or five.

Life’s too short to let pain stop me;

I’m happy just to be alive!

Ah, sixty-five years old,

With more gray hair upon my head,

Where the crop is getting quite sparse.

(More hair grows on my ears, instead!)

But life is easy; there’s much less stress.

There’s time to reflect, to garden, to cook.

I don’t have to shave every day

Or give a damn about how I look.

Ah, sixty-five years old,

With a few dents in the bumper guard.

But the motor’s still running in this ol’ car;

It’s not ready for the auto junkyard.

I’ll keep enjoying this incredible journey,

Sailing along in cruise control.

To live every day to the fullest:

That’s my aim, my dream, my goal.

By Bob B (8-15-14)

Deadly Force

And so another unarmed person

Has become a victim of deadly force.

The eruption of violence in Ferguson, Missouri,

Was bound to happen in due course.

Soon after citizens had started to protest,
The peaceful demonstration began to erode.
People can take only so much frustration
Until tempers finally explode.

The police had responded in militant fashion

With canisters of tear gas. Thus, chaos broke out.

There was some vandalism and some looting

From trouble-making thugs, no doubt.

We are seeing a number of situations

Of people dying because of police,

Security guard, or vigilante

Ruthlessness. Such killing must cease.

Renisha McBride, Trayvon Martin,

Jordan Davis, Michael Brown,

And Eric Garner are some of the names

Of victims who have been struck down.

One who died from excessive force

Was Eric Garner, who at the time

Was allegedly selling untaxed cigarettes.

Did his treatment fit the crime?

I’m sure it’s not easy to be a policeman,

And there are two sides to every story.

But there’s a common element here

When we take full inventory:

The five victims listed above

All happened to be black;

And all of the victims were unarmed.

These are five lives we’ll never get back.

A forty-three-year-old father of six
And four "kids" still in their teens
Were all brought down by police or civilians
Unnecessarily—through reckless means.

Whether African American, Asian, or Latino—

Any kind of profiling is wrong.

And the problem of institutionalized racism

Has plagued our country far too long.

We have to stop perpetuating hatred;

A healthy dialogue is a must.

We have to do more to build relationships

And not view others with fear and distrust.

We must use critical thinking skills

To see through the lies that daily bombard us;

We have to take a wider perspective

And deal with the hatefulness that might have scarred us.

Only then can we move forward

And leave inequality in the past;

Only then can we achieve

The greatness we hope for at long last.

By Bob B (8-14-14)

21st Century Nursery Rhymes

So MARY loved a little lamb—

Especially on her plate.

But watch out, Mary: too much lamb

Can make you overweight.

HUMPTY DUMPTY sat on the wall.

Learn from his mistake.

If you are not mindful, you

Could also fall and break.

A TISKET, a TASKET,

Forget about a basket.

Do what you are told

Or your folks will blow a gasket!

JACK SPRAT could eat no fat.

Too much fat could kill him.

But mounds of veggies on his plate

Certainly don't thrill him.

If MRS. SPRAT could eat no lean

And just the fatty parts,

Wasn’t her cholesterol level

Jumping off the charts?

MISTRESS MARY, quite contrary,

Brags about her garden,

Which, she adds, is quite unique.

Damn! Oops, beg your pardon.

Are silver bells and cockle shells

Much to brag about?

I guess they are more practical

When there is a drought.

JACK B. NIMBLE was pretty slick,

Although he was a nut.

Don’t play around with candlesticks,

Or you could burn your butt.

EENY MEENY MINY MOE...

Invest your money and watch it grow.

It’s good to save and not to owe,

EENY MEENY MINY MOE...

GEORGIE PORGIE made the girls cry

Every time he kissed ‘em.

They didn’t like that chauvinist

And the way he dissed ‘em.

Did JACK AND JILL go up the hill

Really to get water?

What kind of H2O

Would make him swerve and totter?

If these days PETER put his wife

In a pumpkin shell,

He wouldn't hear the end of it;

Boy, she’d give him hell!

(8-13-14) By Bob B

Robin Williams: R.I.P.

Light your candle, bow at your altar,

Let tears fall from your eyes,

Say a prayer, stop and reflect,

Hear the world’s cries.

Robin Williams—actor, comedian,

Talent extraordinaire,

A one of a kind entertainer

With gifts beyond compare—

Has made a sudden and early exit;

He’s finished his final show.

His play has ended, the curtain has fallen,

And we are left feeling woe.

Since HAPPY DAYS and MORK AND MINDY,

Williams had warmed our hearts.

His smart, manic comedic brilliance

Was a mastery of the arts.

His success in DEAD POETS SOCIETY

And GOOD WILL HUNTING were factors

That proved that Williams was truly one of

America’s leading actors.

His remarkable range, his comedic timing,

His unpredictability,

Could catch us off guard. He astounded us

With expert acting agility.

GOOD MORNING, VIETNAM; MRS. DOUBTFIRE;

ALADDIN... There were so many!

Think of a role he wasn’t good at;

I can’t think of any.

The play WAITING FOR GODOT led Williams

To successfully engage

In performing the role of Estragon

On the New York stage.

Such a versatile actor he was!

It’s like we’ve lost a friend.

To lose him in such a sudden manner

Is hard to comprehend.

We never know the ghosts that haunt

Another person’s life.

We can’t always know the pain they suffer—

Their inner struggles, their strife.

We tend to think that comedians live

A life of laughter and bliss.

We see the clever and funny side;

We seldom see the abyss.

What a tremendous loss to the world!

What a shining star!

Know that you touched our hearts profoundly,

Robin, wherever you are.

By Bob B (8-12-14)

Sesqui— What?

Do you know SESQUIPEDALIAN words?

They’re words that are a “foot and a half long.”

But you must be careful when you say them

Or they’re likely to come out totally wrong.

Many long words are very manageable,

Like PARSIMONIOUS or PUSILLANIMOUS.

And you probably won’t trip over words

Like XENOPHOBIA or MAGNANIMOUS.

But there are words that are even longer—

Words that you'll seldom find in use.

(Don’t use the words as a pick-up line, guys,

Or the ladies will think you have a screw loose!)

To categorize something as worthless,

A certain word can cause a sensation.

Try, for example, the slick word FLOC-

CINAUCINIHILIPILIFICATION.*

Another word you could use is HIPPO-

POTOMONSTROSESQUIPEDALIAN.**

It also pertains to very long words;

But if you use it, you’ll sound like an alien.

Wow! These words are rather long;

But longer words do exist.

I found the following German word,

And when I saw it, I couldn’t resist:

GRUNDSTÜCKSVERKEHRSGENEHMIGUNGS-

ZUSTÄNDIGKEITSÜBERTRAGUNGSVERORDNUNG

Now THAT’s a long word if I’ve ever seen one!

I know people who'd have a hard time with it.

It’s SO long that I'd find it a challenge

To encounter a word that I could rhyme with it.

So SESQUIPEDALIAN words might be handy
To help you win "Jeopardy" or some other game.
But if you're not careful to use them wisely,
Instead of praise, they might bring you shame.

*(FLAHK-si-NAW-si-NY-hil-i-PIL-i-fi-KAY-shun)

**(HIP-uh-PAH-toh-MAHN-stroh-SES-kwi-pi-DAY-lee-un)

(8-11-14)

The Loud Voice of Money

The voice of money keeps growing louder,

Which gives the rich a cause to rejoice.

In large amounts, money talks:

The more you have, the louder your voice.

The louder the voice, the greater the power—

Power to flaunt or throw around,

And power to affect and to buy elections,

Which seems unethical and highly unsound.

With more power comes more control—

More arrangements with the upper crust

To exert influence into putting through laws

With no concern if they’re fair or just.

We’ve seen that with money comes freedom of speech;

Your freedom increases with the amount you possess.

It’s a horrible thing for a democracy

When money is used to stifle and suppress.

They say that money can’t buy love,

But when you’ve got millions, who really needs it?

The ego becomes much more important;

Watch it grow as money feeds it.

There are other things that money can’t buy:

It can’t buy compassion or a caring heart.

Our nation thrives on ideas and values,

But money plays the largest part.

Songs say love makes the world go round;

It’s money that makes it go round in reality.

Whatever fails to make a profit

Is useless for its lack of practicality.

(8-10-14) By Bob B

Support Where It's Due

The more I read, the more I wonder

If the support that we provide

To the Ukrainian Kiev Regime

Might be going to the wrong side.

The current regime—originally a coup—

Calls the rebels in southeastern Ukraine

“Anti-government terrorists” who

Are a nuisance, a threat, a bane.

Some say that groups of neo-fascists

Exert control on Ukraine’s moderate right.

One group, Svoboda, and the other, Right Sector,

Have helped incite a blood-thirsty fight.

Cities and towns in southeastern Ukraine

Have become war zones, so we can see

That when access to medicine, food, and water

Is cut off, the people are forced to flee.

One right-wing group has glorified Hitler

And a leader has talked of a Ukraine that’s purged

Of the “Moscow-Jewish mafia” along with

“Other scum”; and such talk has surged.

All this talk of ethnic cleansing

By the powerful Ukrainian right is scary.

If we lived in southeastern Ukraine,

I think we’d have a right to be wary.

I often don't agree with Putin,

But if the Ukrainians keep up their crusade

Directed at the ethnic Russians,

Won't Russia feel pressured to come to their aid?

Yes, it would be better for all

To find a diplomatic solution.

Even then we must be watchful

Of ethnic and other persecution.

Our leaders so far have been very quiet

About this huge political morass—

One reason being our relations with Russia,

Which always seem to be at an impasse.

We must explore both sides in this issue.

Supporting wrong-doers would be a crime.

But we’ve made that mistake before,

So this wouldn’t be our very first time.

(8-9-14)

The King of the Strip Club Circuit

Growing up in Torrance—

A suburb of L.A.—

Billy was a SoCal

Dreamer all the way.

He loved sunny beaches

And smooth mountain slopes.

A day without the sunshine

Would always dash his hopes.

Not the greatest student,

He wasn’t good with books.

Luckily he quickly learned

To get by on his looks.

He never went to college;

School was not his style.

Modeling, he thought,

Might be more worthwhile.

Sure, he was good-looking

And knew he could excel.

But like many others,

He didn’t do so well.

Deciding on a path

Requiring looks and charm,

He felt that entertaining ladies

Couldn't cause much harm.

(Chorus)

The king of the strip club circuit—

The lord of the nightclub scene—

In New York and California

And places in between

Will walk into a room

And all the people’s eyes

Look in his direction—

Both the ladies’ and the guys’.

Although he’s buff and handsome,

He tends to put on airs.

Despite the six-pack down below,

There’s not a lot upstairs.

Being a male stripper

Could get mighty old.

Removing all those clothes,

Doesn’t one get cold?

But Billy loved his lifestyle

And took it on the road.

He even tried “escorting”

Whenever business slowed.

All across the country

You’d hear the ladies scream.

When Billy walked out on the stage,

You could feel the steam.

Pumping iron by day

And stripping after dark

To Billy was exciting—

A walk in the park.

It must take some talent

To strip before the lights.

But his knock-out body

Helped him reach the heights.

You wonder, Was he happy?

It’s really hard to tell.

All we know is that for years

He raised a lot of hell.

So what does Billy do now?

Ask at clubs and bars.

Some say he sells insurance;

Others say used cars.

Someone said she saw him

Last month near Chapel Hill,

Sitting on a bar stool

At a bar and grill,

Sweet-talkin’ the ladies

And trying to hold fast

To all the vivid memories

Of his glorious past.

(Chorus)

The king of the strip club circuit—

The lord of the nightclub scene—

In New York and California

And places in between

Will walk into a room

And all the people’s eyes

Look in his direction—

Both the ladies’ and the guys’.

Although he’s buff and handsome,

He tends to put on airs.

Despite the six-pack down below,

There’s not a lot upstairs.

(8-8-14) By Bob B