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Poems

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind.  The wind.
I alone can contend against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here.  Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your ******* smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Bob B  Jun 2019
Opposing Views
Bob B Jun 2019
(An experiment, this poem can be sung to the tune of "America" from "West Side Story.")

(Fans)
Donald Trump, oh,
You fearless leader.
Of praise you are so deserving.
Never liking what critics say…
And always hoping they'll go away.

(Critics)
Donald Trump, oh,
You nasty leader--
One who’s so blind and self-serving.
Only caring about the rich.
Your biggest concerns: your sales pitch,
And the people who snitch,
And the money you earn,
And the people you burn….
When will they ever learn
How you're destroying this nation?
And still you expect admiration!

(Fans)
We all agree we like Donald Trump.
We want to be more like Donald Trump.
Our cup of tea: it is Donald Trump.

(Critics)
Lying is key when you're Donald Trump.

(Fans)
We want to visit his tower.

(Critics)
Watch him accumulate power!

(Fans)
We think he rules us with finesse.

(Critics)
Though he's an autocrat, too. Yes?

(Fans)
Drilling off shore: that's with Donald Trump.
He'll never bore you--not Donald Trump.
Job growth will soar with our Donald Trump.

(Critics)
Tariffs galore with your Donald Trump!

(Fans)
We're going to vote for him next year!

(Critics)
It's hard to believe you are sincere.

(Fans)
The man is great; don't forget it.

(Critics)
Sorry, you're going to regret it.

Immigrants fear Mr. Donald Trump.
They won't go near Mr. Donald Trump.
One thing is clear about Donald Trump:
A racketeer he is--Donald Trump!

(Fans)
He says we all should do all right.

(Critics)
If you are rich and if you’re white!

(Fans)
Four more years will be a blessing.

(Critics)
Four more years would be distressing!

(Fans)
Well, don't you know that with Donald Trump
Stocks will all grow, yes, with Donald Trump?
You'll make more dough, yes, with Donald Trump.

(Critics)
With quid pro quo, yes, with Donald Trump.

(Fans)
If he wins, we're gonna be glad.

(Critics)
If he wins, we’re gonna be sad.

(Fans)
Certainly, no one can beat him.

(Critics)
Anyone, you must defeat him!

(All)
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…¡Olé!

-by Bob B (6-19-19)
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
‘Twas the start of March Madness,
And all through the land,
People sat by the TV
With pencils in hand.

The committee had chosen the teams with great care
And everyone hoped their Alma Mater was there.
The teams were selected and placed into regions
With top seeds rewarded for having good seasons.

Badger fans from Wisconsin were
All dressed in Red
With Final Four visions
Dancing  ‘round in their heads.

Kentucky fans claimed
(As they most always do)
The Championship would go
To their Wildcats in blue.

The Blue Devils from Durham
Were also quite hot
And the Duke fans were certain
They would win the top spot.

‘Nova fans were excited; their hopes are alive!
Remember the upset?  1985
An 8-seed back then, this year they're a One!
Villanova Wildcat fans are sure to have fun! xxxxxxx already done.

Now the ‘play-ins’ are over.
But I’m not sure who won
Doesn't matter, the winner
Will be trounced by a One.

I, with cold beer and my bracket,
Settle down in a chair
I’ve picked all the games
Now I’ll see how they fare.

Now Badgers, Now Boilers,
Now Hawkeyes and Bucks,
On Hoosiers, On Hoyas,
On Shockers, and Ducks
Go Flyers, Go Sooners, Come On Musketeers!
Go Cardinals, Go Cowboys….   Gonna need some more beers.

Then all of a sudden arose such a clatter
On the tube Sir Charles was starting to chatter.
“I’m the Round Mound of Rebound, - there’s no one like me!”
“Watch all my commercials, NCAA on TV!”

From Thursday through Sunday
On to Sweet Sixteen,
Elite Eight, Final Four and
All the games in between.
The nation is watching from East Coast to West
Which of the 60+ teams will be best.
With OTs and upsets and a blowout or two,
I am glued to the TV and
I’ll bet so are you.

I closed my eyes for a second, and then fell asleep

But was quickly awakened by my doorbell's loud beep,

And what, to my wondering eyes should appear?

But Sir Charles himself;
 And he asks for a beer!

"I'm not a role model, I just like to dunk.

I took a look at your bracket, and
Most all your picks stunk!"
I turned to ask him to fix it,
But he'd disappeared.
Yes, Sir Charles was gone,

And so was my beer!

Now my bracket is busted,
I’m all out of beer
Merry Madness to all,
I will see you next year!

"A Visit from St. Nicholas", also known as "The Night Before Christmas" and " ' Twas the Night Before Christmas" from its first line, is a poem first published anonymously in 1823, and later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore, who acknowledged authorship in 1837.   from Wikipedia.

Unfortunately, Mr. Moore never had the chance to experience March Madness.  :-)
Just for the record, my daughter graduated from University of Wisconsin, need I say more?