the pot of gold

she stuck a stick in my nose
i sucked her toes
she played me for a fool
i tossed her into the backyard pool
she wore a pout
i watched her fancy twist and shout
i drove a VW bug
she grabbed my sleeve and gave a tug
and though it seemed
we were sometimes mean
she combed my messy hair
i gave her her fair share
and when we fell
it was always hard to tell
who would get up first
who was the best and who was the worst?
we stopped at nothing to enjoy the ride
upside down uncertain side by side
when the grass was green
she was smart and i was keen
and in the cold
i was timid and she was bold
young or old
always looking for the pot of gold
never feeling bought and sold
hunting for bargains in every convenience store
taking turns to open the door
sometimes running and sometimes slow
never knowing exactly which way to go
fun and games without pretense
we searched for love and some good sense:
she'd read her favorite book;
i'd take a glance but wouldn't look,
we gave it everything it took.

you were almost ten

so long ago
and yet it seems just like yesterday;
i can't recall everything
but i remember what you had to say
about the time we kissed under the bright moon light!
How could it be wrong when it felt so right?
we both laughed with childish delight!
you told me you were almost ten
while i was going on to the big great eight.
we didn't exchange autographs
and we didn't stay out too late.
there was a chill in the autumn air
as we acted like kids without a single small town care.
imagine that, we laughed, while rolling on the hard ground.
all the forest animals stayed quiet:
we were the only ones making any sound.
you said i was pretty and i said your were neat!
ice cream would never again be our favorite treat.
there was a tingle and a blush;
we knew somehow there was no reason to rush.
and the next day
you told me again you were almost ten
and could we please do it all over again?
so long ago
and yet it seems just like yesterday;
i can't recall everything
but i remember what you had to say
about the time we kissed under the bright moon light!
How could it be wrong when it felt so right?
we both laughed with childish delight!

but without you

i laid down to cry
and now i know why
through the darkest night
you moved out of sight!
i felt this heavy weight
keep me from opening the gate
and you waving goodbye
from the other side of my dream
i'm no longer what i want to be or seem
without you,
without you
there's an arrow through my heart
knifing me
tearing me apart;
i can feel your sweet breath
but without you,
without you
my life is a lonely death
and where have you gone?
i can hear your sighs;
i can almost see your shining eyes
and hear your soft voice.
why do we have to make this choice?
no one has to tell me how it might have been
but without you,
without you
there's an arrow through my heart
knifing me
tearing me apart;
i can feel your sweet breath
but without you,
without you
my life is a lonely death.
i laid down to cry
and now i know why.

Roger Stone

i saw the shadow of Roger Stone
digging deeply it seemed
into the dark world of Nixon dirty tricks
sucking a pixie bone
dripping with the gay fat
of Roy Cohn,
the famous anti-communist lawyer
who in early 1954
swept the dusty Senate floor
along with his good buddy Joseph McCarthy,
searching for total access and power.
Stone
spit out the bone
on the top floor
of Trump Tower,
before all the phone lines went dead,
or so the FBI said,
when he
crawled from behind a borrowed desk,
no jury or open trials
would remember hearing this:
the soon-to-be President speaks
about what he hopes WikiLeaks
will spill.
i still see the shadow of Roger Stone.

A couple of ounces

A couple of ounces ruled your life!
no loyal dog or faithful wife,
sometimes the brutal Siberian air
was the only thing there;
a few white lies
could make it hard to categorize
all the frozen finger tips,
the stiff upper lips,
and shuffling feet
plodding over an forlorn prison yard street:
a vast expanse of squeaking snow and ice.
no four-legged rats or healthy field mice;
hardly anything of substance to eat or drink;
no time to truly think
while being strip-searched like a lonely feral child,
punished for being alive and running wild.
A couple of ounces ruled your life!
a small piece of thin bread without the knife.