Fingerprints On My Heartdrive: Marge 4u5g67

Fingerprints On My Heartdrive

Marge

Marge Segal

Copyright © 2012 by Marge Segal.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012920087 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4797-4012-3 Softcover 978-1-4797-4011-6 Ebook 978-1-4797-4013-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

To order additional copies of this book, : Xlibris Corporation 1-888-795-4274 www.Xlibris.com [email protected]

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Contents

Introduction

Fables

Happenings

Politicals

Reflections

Worries

Introduction

TO’ Aaron, Robina, Ross, Juliana, Micki, Ethan Monty, Rosie and any others who happ ALSO TO; Bill, Ronnie, Shelly Audrey, Roy, Bruce

A special thank you to Merrill Rowley, my computer guru. Without him I could never have completed this project. Thank you David for your patience, encouragement and love

FINGERPRINTS ON MY HEARTDRIVE

Following are stories of a lifetime of seeing, doing and reacting to what “is” Sometimes I feel like crying—but most often I am laughing It’s been a pretty good ride and I don’t want to stop the world—I don’t want to get off.

-marge t.k. segal

Fables

CAMILLIA THE CAMEL

This is the story of Camillia the camel Who lived in the suburbs of the city of Hamel Though Camillia was beautiful and had two humps in her back She was very susceptible to personal attacks

Camillia was so sensitive to public criticism (though she was a proud outstanding citizen) She often changed her real identity To fit in with local serenity

Camillia knew, and took the hint She had to be in the umbrella tent So she set out to convince others They were really sisters and brothers

“If you listen to me—and I know I’m correct— You’ll soon agree—in every respect

We’ll care for you from cradle to grave As long as you ire me and know to behave”

Cunning she was—a real control freak She knew she could wait for the right time to leap Camillia soon had her nose under the tent Just waiting for time to increase the rent

Once inside, evil Camillia just knew Time would tell her what to do One cannot make change over night But, a little at a time won’t arouse fright

All will be better off when they know the truth The battle will be won by being aloof So beware the “tar baby” and his omnipotent friends Or you may ossify and surely offend

6/09/10

CLARA THE COW

This is the story of Clara the cow The queen of the pasture owned by Ling Chow She knew how to eat, generating a stream So rich was her milk, so rich in cream

Soon everyone heard of Clara’s gifts They were standing in line to get—just a bit But standing in line wasn’t much fun A few started sneaking ahead of number one

The fighting started and the leader stepped in Everyone expressed guilt and deep chagrin “We’ll each take a little and spread the wealth That’s good for everyone and for good health”

Soon Clara started losing weight She couldn’t handle those who wouldn’t wait She became so lean she was skin and bones

needed more food and extra Isotones

Clara started borrowing milk to disperse And conditions continued but she got worse Clara was seduced into over-producing Then borrowed heavily to keep from reducing

She upped and died because her well dried up Out of business—disheartened—corrupt.

The moral of the story: Don’t eat more than you can digest! Or, don’t destroy the golden cow

(4/1/09)

THE FABLE OF DARYL THE DONKEY

Long ago in the days of the Aesop Lived and ordinary donkey named “Daryl the Cop”

His neck was long and muscular A strong body, big pointed ears, and smooth feet (altogether quite complete)

His tail was full and rough (from all the tails pinned on his butt)

Daryl had a habit of taking credit for whatever the fete Always said “I”—never “we”; he was quite unique

So impressed with himself he was a bore Working with him was quite a chore

He imagined himself a magnificent horse

If you act like a horse, look like a horse you must be a horse

But when duty called, he was unsure— a caricature

Though he resembled a horse, acted much like a horse He did not think like a horse He was part of the zebra family and was still just an ass

Moral of the story: They are not wise who give to themselves the credit due to others

(so says Aesop) -marge segal

MAXWELL THE MOUSE

This is the story of Maxwell the Mouse who lived in a hole—that was his house One day the little mouse crept out of his hole and looked around “Nothing in the sky and nothing on the ground,” said Maxwell, “I think I’ll explore and find a hobby Maybe I’ll even build a partisan lobby”

So he came out and wandered throughout the land Preaching to prove he was “their man” He went to mouse school and was quite prudent Got all A’s—(he was such a good student) Began to gather friends that matter brought them cheese served on a platter

Maxwell soon had numerous followers They elected him to office—they were good “holler(ers)” “Maxwell, Maxwell, be our leader,” they cried

and he tactfully responded, “I’ll give it a try.” Soon the mice began to worry he was getting too big Not acting like a mouse; more like a pig

The city mice decided to hire a pied piper To lead all the followers into the path of a sniper But the piper was a fake—really a clown With bravado and gusto he wore them down The mice followed Maxwell and Maxwell followed the piper They all became victims of the benevolent sniper. Blinded by his words and prose Innocently devoured by following his nose

And that’s what happens when you don’t look and think You end up in the bathroom or the kitchen sink!

-marge segal (2/12/08)

Maxwell the Mouse in WONDERLAND

(The much further adventures of Maxwell)

Everyone thought that Maxwell was long ago dead Not so—he fled to the mountains instead

A “brush up” course in survival Taught him how to outwit his rival Surrounding himself with many contenders His own army he soon engendered

Maxwell managed to get himself elected An image of a lamb he often projected Thoughtful and smart Until he met the Queen of Hearts

When the mice became boisterous—unable to curtail The Queen would shout, “Off with their tails” When challenged by the Queen of Hearts He sent her on a trip to far away parts

Cheshire Mouse became warm and gelidity And Maxwell was in danger of false validity The Angry Mad Hatter took charge of his advisors Refusing to seat them with an unpaid piper

Maxwell had so much to say This was to be his “Come and Get it Day” He was losing control ’cause the water was deep (Just what could happen when following sheep)

So “beware the jabberwocky” good friends The claws and bites encircle the “uffish” end

-marge segal-

LEND ME AN EAR

Listen my children and lend me your ear I’ve so much to tell you and it must be clear Turn off your cell phones and your iPods too Listen carefully and I’ll give you a clue

Maxwell the Mouse has returned and is running for president His VP may be your neighbor—a Grove resident His mind is full of thoughts so blistering That he must be sure you’re carefully listening

While images are powerful and stay in your mind Listening portrays empathy—that you are kind Lean forward, look into his eyes To show you are cognizant, free of lies

“I’m listening—I’m listening, but what is he saying?

I can’t understand what he is conveying” Which direction is the wind blowing? Please help me to seek the “All Knowing”

The future is upon us and soon we will vote More of the same or a pig in a poke So says Maxwell, the mouse of all mice A fragmented story—a throw of the dice

—marge segal



THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MAXWELL THE MOUSE

Everyone thought that Maxwell had perished But Maxwell was clever; his life he cherished Maxwell hung on to life by hiding for awhile (He knew he had taxes he’d forgotten to file)

He stayed afloat in everyone’s good graces No one could call him a coward or racist When friends saw Maxwell they cried “Maxwell, Maxwell, why did you hide?”

“Did you leave us for someone more respectable; another mouse, or perhaps one more acceptable?” (He figured that you never say yes; you never say no Just stay abreast as the wind will blow)

“There is still hope” Maxwell hollered,

“A soaring change is right under the collar” Promise everything regardless of reality Mice soon will forget the blatant banality

Maxwell kept preaching but couldn’t it The cat’s paw had grabbed him, he would not quit And so he continued for year after year preaching that change is needed—never fear.

So fasten your seatbelt and hang on for the ride Thinking and questioning is your very best guide.

-marge

ESTHER, QUEEN OF THE LOT

Long, long ago in a Biblical time Lived a beautiful Jewish woman, Esther Lavine Throughout the kingdom she was known for her charm Men longed for her love, her body, her arm

When the king of Persia, Ahasuerus was his name, Caught a glimpse of Esther; his heart was aflame He couldn’t resist her, this raving beauty No women’s lib, no choice, ’twas her duty.

And so he just took her to be his bride Not knowing she was Jewish; had something to hide. Mordecai, her uncle, gave Esther his profound advice, “If he doesn’t ask—don’t tell—just be nice.”

All went well until Esther learned of a secret plot by Haman, (Ahasuerus’s side-kick) a notorious jock He concocted a plan to kill and be rid of all Jews

Esther was mortified when she heard the news.

After cleansing and fasting she went to Ahasuerus pleading, “these are my people, please try to spare us.” The king was so angry he had the traitor Haman executed, declaring that “Jews no longer would be persecuted.”

Mordechai was honored and became prime minister The kingdom was free of tyrants and things sinister. Purim comes from the Hebrew word “pur” meaning “lot.” We inherited this from Esther—that’s what we got

Thus, we give to others to celebrate our survival With love and merriment—so says the Bible.

—1/12/04

GERRY THE JELLYFISH

Long ago in prehistoric times Lived a fish who had no spine His name was Geriandrio (Gerry for short) He was oblivious of his handicap; just a good sport

Gerry had been floating for millions of years Without bones, eyes, brain or even ears Gerry’s tentacles were 95% water But he learned all the things he ought(er)

Gerry was sexual and asexual (so I’m told) And always defeated enemies by being bold His tentacles were sensitive and he could feel Anything near him and he would reel

Until he got tired of all the fights Tired of protecting all their rights His mother called him a spineless delicacy

His ego hurt; he refused to become someone’s ecstasy

So he spent millions of years just floating around He became a wuss—scared to hold ground All the other fish knew he ended up in a Caribbean aquarium Paradise Island: a fish’s sanitarium.

Moral of the story: Keep swimmingcontribute nothing—accomplish nothing

(1/18/11)

LILITH

(the real first feminist)

Legend has it that Adam had another wife (the beginning of all marital strife) Her name was Lilith, ascending from the earth As an equal and demanding her worth

Now Adam was a controlling freak Knowing which nerves he had to tweak He insisted he always had to be on top Lilith disagreed and insisted he stop

Her insolent behavior he couldn’t bear Soon led to tearing out all his hair But Lilith decided to jump ship And left Adam in a furious fit

Flying away into the night

The rebuttal left Adam in frenzied fright (the first divorce)

Lilith became a demon to men With loss of power of “where and when” She personified licentiousness and lust Adam wanted someone he could trust

Everyone knows the rest of the story So says the Bible in all its glory That’s how it happened—it’s the exaggerated truth ed on to me by my crazy Aunt Ruth

-marge segal (7/4/10)

MYRTLE THE TURTLE

Myrtle the turtle is a reptile of sorts Doesn’t look like others but she is a good sport She loves her shell though it slows her down Nothing could match it anywhere in town She can hide her head when on land or sea Slow she is as anyone can see

When Myrtle is frightened she hides in her shell Unaware of danger, she’s secure as well Steadiness has been her survival key A survival trait for others and thee Lasted for 220 million years (No wonder she has no fears)

She comes back on land to lay her eggs, Doesn’t want light—for that she begs When born, the babies crawl to the water

Doing all the things that turtles ought(er) Babies are now on their own Nanny knows when she is outgrown

Being a turtle is an honorable endeavor Being a slow turtle is very clever Thought: There is a time to hold on—and a time to let go

Aesop’s fable says that in a race, the turtle beat the rabbit ’Cause slow and steady was a better habit

P.S. If Myrtle comes out of her shell, is she homeless? Or is she naked?

OCTOES

This is the story of Octoes the octopus Another spineless creature Occupying the ocean house (Captured with my mouse)

Born with 2 eyes and 4 pair of arms (handy, but could cause alarm) Within 6 months an orphan he became Didn’t even have a chance to learn his name

Octoes learned quickly without his parents that he could become transparent He has long fingers to gather food Catching fish would brighten his mood The more he caught, the greater his need Soon he was overcome by vestigial greed

Octoes’ fingers grew to 14 feet in length

Never satisfied, but adding strength His fingers found their way into everything He began to think he was a mollusk king “Feed me, feed me,” he cried, “I want more fish, whole, not fried”

No one seemed to answer his call So he borrowed on margin not wanting to fall Borrowing heavily he was soon in debt Others watched and soon began to fret He was about to land over the cliff When he upped and died—an immobilized stiff.

Moral of the story: Appetite comes with the meal

-marge segal

(7/29/11)

OLAYE

(Ollie the Ostrich’s Wife)

This is the story of Olaye, Ollie the Ostrich’s wife She lived in his shadow most of her life Whatever Ollie said, she felt she must do (She hopped at his call, like an Australian kangaroo)

One day she buried her head beside his Sighing, “this is my life,—what is—is” Olaye suffered deeply—afraid of everything in sight Hurting an ostrich’s feelings gave her such fright She even cried when she saw her own shadow A tall skinny creature, like Rachel Maddow

Suddenly Ollie complained he felt ill Poor Olaye had a heartfelt chill What would she do without her mate? Something she just couldn’t tolerate

Olaye soon began to shake with fright Their symbiotic relationship held them tight bound so rigid neither one could breathe Ollie fell to the ground—a picturesque frieze

Olaye didn’t know if she could survive She must think of a way to stay alive So she ed a gym to flex her knees Strengthen her muscles and gather speed

With no one to advise her she took off on her own Landed in Florida, far from home Determined she was that she could stand tall Secure and happy and would not fall

Moral: Your own legs are made to stand on

-marge segal (6/24/11)

OLLIE THE OSTRICH

Ollie the Ostrich lived outside his town With fast, long legs nothing could bring him down

Just because he was beautiful and tall He always thought “I’m above it all”

One day Ollie was visibly disturbed He couldn’t stand arguments—nor any harsh words

So he buried his head to avoid a fight Not saying a word; he knew he was right

Ollie forgot to cover his butt And that’s how he ended in such a rut

A lion came after him and spun him around

Leaving him twisted and mostly underground

Poor, poor Ollie, forgot about his rear Forgot about back-stabbers envying his career

Which goes to prove that just because you can outrun a rabbit It’s better to look before you make it a habit.

Moral of the story: CYA

PORKY THE PORCUPINE

It was during the coldest winter ever That a group of porcupines were so clever In order to survive they had grouped as brothers But alas, their quills wounded one, and then another

Led by brother Porky they decided to live alone Didn’t take long for them to moan “We’ve made a big mistake” they cried and cried “We’re so cold—we want to go back” they sighed

Our lives can’t be determined by the weather Even the youngest decided to go back—live together “We’ll live with our wounds in order to receive heat” A lesson learned—not to repeat

Which proves: the best relationship does not bring Together perfect people Learning to live with flaws of others is just fine

Accepting what is—is no crime Learning to ire their imperfections Negates the need for constant corrections

As the story says: Learn to live with the pricks

-mage segal 5/1/12

QUEEN VASHTI—QUEEN ESTHER

Now it came to in the days of the Bible That a queen was in a position where roots were tribal Queen Vashti was her name A beauty she was of well-known fame

She was the proud possession of Ahasuerus—the king Who reigned over all his local beings Vashti was a feminist—the first of her kind She was stubborn and way ahead of her time

When the king demanded she entertain his friends (Wearing only her royal crown) she could not offend Vashti was insulted at this harlot situation Knowing he was drunk she refused this humiliation

The king was wroth with anger because she disobeyed Men could not control wives who were not afraid So, for the good of men she had to be banished

To protect their rights she had to vanish

And so it was that she was never again seen ESTHER took her place as the new beautiful queen So it says we owe Vashti a special place She started it all when she objected to bad taste

Vashti died (it’s said she was “put” away) ESTHER was taken by the king to fill his day She became queen and saved the Jews Because ESTHER had chutzpah and knew what to do

-marge segal

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF OLLIE THE OSTRICH

Ollie woke up one morning and discovered he was getting old (that’s a good thing) He was sure of it because he couldn’t things he had been told (that’s a bad thing)

He forgot if he ate his breakfast, lunch or even dinner He forgot where his food was buried and now his legs were looking thinner

So Ollie ran off into the woods to bury his head WORRY—WORRY—WORRY All he found was trouble instead Ollie was nervous because he thought life was beautiful

He had been a perfect partner—so dutiful

While Ollie was busy avoiding the worst His wife became lonely—she thought she would burst Along came Orville, a new competitor, who sent her a beautiful Ostrich letter Mesmerized by his charm and wit She gave in to him—just a bit(?)

She upped and ran away with her flamboyant lover Much about life they both would discover

Moral: Another man’s morsel may taste sweet Fix your problems before you repeat -marge

Happenings

A CHARMING ELDERLY COUPLE

A charming elderly couple Had a penchant for finding trouble (And trouble usually finds you Especially when you have things to do)

They encountered a situation they couldn’t mend While trying to help a very dear friend They entered their house by using a key and a code Doing everything right—just as they were told

Wrong

They didn’t mean harm But they set off the alarms The code was obsolete and they were caught Two elderly people who were quite distraught

First came sirens and a car from Brinks

(Such a commotion caused quite a stink)

Squad cars followed with sirens blazing Ready to flatten them with laser tasering “Here are my wrists I give up,” she cried, “I’m caught—fried”

“I wasn’t looking for gold Just checking for Florida mold”

Look what happens when you do a good deed This was for a friend—not greed Your rights can be taken—you won’t be free You’ll end up in trouble—just like little ole me

-Marge Segal (7/21/09)

CHIPS

My week was filled with an abundance of chips Chocolate chips, poker chips, potato chips and computer chips. I chipped a glass—chipped at my food Neither did anything to chip at my mood. I chipped at my stone—didn’t make a dent I chipped away time—though it’s not for rent.

The worst chip I encountered was a chip on the shoulder Waiting to be knocked off—challenging the beholder. So many people seem to covet this pet Like the monkey on your back—nerves are upset.

Why can’t they move the chip somewhere else? Like in the closet—or on a shelf? (Of course, if in the closet it would eventually come “out” and say, “love me as I am—I’m here—I’m about”).

So probably it’s best to hide under the bed No confrontation, no problem—nothing to be said. Like a parasite it consumes me from my head to my toe And I’m left with a stranger whom I’ll never know.

-marge segal (4/15/01)

FIRST LOVE

More than himself he loved me More than myself I loved him. Watching, watching helpless. Life disintegrates leaving us behind wondering why empty in pain, unbearable loss I loved him more than myself.

dearest Robin

(4/8/04)

MASK/MASQUE

I tape a mask around my windows as I prepare them for a paint I drill with a mask around my mouth so dust won’t cause a faint

I put a masque on every morning as I prepare my wrinkled face Cover the lines and brown spots—not leaving one to trace

I put a masque around my feelings so I can face the day For without it I would be a drag—unable to work or play

I even put a masque around my heart; won’t allow it to be broken Just a little preparation—just a little token

For who can open up his soul and let the whole world see Inside this little old body—is just a little old me!

marge-6/11/01

ELVIS

Television enthusiastically celebrated Elvis’ birthday in January. Audiences couldn’t get enough—though he’s been gone 32 years—even “Momma Loved Elvis”

Momma loved Elvis and I always wondered why Just another gyrating singer, not an unusual guy He walked into their store, in Memphis his hometown Had to have a fancy suit—something very special— black or white—not brown

Momma fell in love with him, it was instant ecstasy “He’s such a handsome southern boy—not the least bit uppity Polite, respectful to his elders—says ma’am and sir with ease.” “What can we do for you my son? We always wish to please.” Elvis needed clothes; for an audition is what he said Would they grant him credit—he’ll soon be out of the red

Momma loved Elvis as sure as night and day

“He won’t skip his obligation—he won’t forget to pay” And so they took a chance on him and clothed him to the hilt Never would they look back again and have a sense of guilt We know he reached his peak—then fell into the abyss How could we know he was so special—someone we would miss?

Traumatized by his death, momma mourned for weeks on end She cried and cried with flooding tears; she would not comprehend “He’s not gone—I know he’s here—I feel his very presence He’s in my heart, in my mind—his voice has taken residence.”

It must be true—I know I’ve seen him more than once. In Memphis? Vegas? He’s out there momma—it’s just a hunch I even saw him jump from the sky, landing in our midst That’s a mighty feat for a man with such a sensuous twist. Momma always played his music until her dying day “He came into our store—he always came to pay.”

Surely, momma loved Elvis.

-Marge Segal

MY CLOSET

I open my closet, it’s an embarrassing mess Clothes in different sizes—just look at that dress. Shoes I can’t walk in, shoes that don’t fit Pants that are large and pants that are split. So many secrets in the closet and hiding No patents on style, no need for abiding Why stay in the closet with clothes out of style Get out in the air and smile for awhile.

What does it matter how you live your life It’s not my business—that should suffice. Stop all the noise then people won’t care It’s not Halloween, not the World’s Fair.

What’s in the closet is now old hat. What counts is who you are—that’s where it’s at.

-marge segal c 5/13/01

PUSHERS

I pushed my way into the subway door Pushed again as they closed the door Tried to push away food at the table As I picked and picked ’til my stomach disabled.

My opinion was pushed in a serious debate Not enough love—too much hate Met a few people who were pushy as hell No class at all—that was easy to tell.

Pushers come in many varieties, even Beautiful people in any given society Food pushers, sex pushers, street pushers galore Even pedal pushers from Bloomingdale’s store.

Considering the pushing my lifetime has seen I should not have been surprised aboard the Caribbean Queen. engers were corralled like buddies at camp

Pushing and shoving as they climbed up the ramp.

Meals were attacked like a locust infestation (Such ferocity was beyond my imagination) Bagels and lox were devoured by the ton, ’cause adding to the waist is part of the fun.

Equal disappeared with the prunes in the morning A shell game they played without any warning Playing cards vanished in the middle of the night 350 decks—quite a haul—quite a strike.

I wonder what need causes piggish behavior? Can’t be a call from a personal savior. One by one we all ascend to the front And the being above holds the ultimate trump.

RENTALS

I’ve rented a house when I couldn’t afford to buy I’ve rented a car during travels world wide I’ve rented films and CD’s a-plenty Some were good—others empty.

I’ve rented furniture for babies—chairs for a party Even rented space in a gallery so arty. Once rented a van when I moved to Florida followed it south down the eastern corrid(a)

But only in America—the end of all ends Would you find a place to rent-a-friend. Of all the rentals I’ve ever found “Rent-a-friend” is perhaps the most profound.

You don’t own it—don’t fix it—you just turn it in You might even keep it—perhaps on a whim The rarest rentals can offer a surprise

If you open your heart, your mind and eyes

Stop and think—analyze and pause A rented friend is my Sanity Claus.

REPLACEMENT

I dropped a glass and had to replace it Lost my keys and was embarrassed to face it. Replaced a light bulb, and a few lost friends, but Replacing my knee has been the end of all ends.

I approached my surgery innocent and nervous Awakened from blackness—my body being serviced My knee in motion on a Rube Goldberg contraption As I pressed a button to control the action

Up, down, stretch and back (Wish I could do this to be rid of the fat). My leg was wrapped like an Egyptian mummy While pain relief dripped right into the tummy.

The nurse came in with a leering grin Demanding I stand on my poor little limb. “Can’t do it,” I cried, “it’s been replaced and is lost,

I’m bound to this machine for whatever the cost.”

“Oh no,” she said, “Get off the bed You’re alive and well, the machine can be shed. You’re going to walk and then walk some more Until you can walk right out of this door.”

That’s what happens when replacing a body part, A painful experience but a medical art. I’m hoping I won’t need any further repair Finished my knees and have no others to spare.

Politicals

525,600 MINUTES*— ANOTHER YEAR

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes since last New Year

Six years ago we wished for peace to appear It didn’t happen—wrong gear The fighting has slowed but wish it would stop Who made us the “world’s cop”?

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred chances for sickness to be cured Touched, tolerated and endured Unrest is growing—getting worse The entire planet seems perverse

The world is rushing toward peaceful negotiations

Hoping no eruptions will cause depopulation Days fly by with memories a treasure Stored in our “heartdrive” for history and pleasure

So hang on for the ride and hope for the best We’re being put to a very strange test

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes ’til another year Here’s to a better, happy and healthy one with true peace next year -marge segal (12/3/11)

*borrowed from RENT

525,600 MINUTES*

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes since last New Year

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred chances for peace to appear

It didn’t

The fighting goes on—the blood keeps flowing G-d only knows where this is going Women are now the fodder (besides being mother) Everyone’s a target, including each other

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred chances for world sickness to be cured It wasn’t done—it was tolerated and endured

Not a single word for all the confusion

Day after day—another execution Can’t give up hope—can’t turn your back Never know when an insurgent will attack

So hang on for the ride and hope for the best We’re all being put to a very strange test

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes ’til another year Here’s to a better, happy & healthy one with peace and good cheer.

*(Borrowed from RENT)

(2005-06)

525,600 MINUTES x 5 or 2,628,000 MINUTES SINCE OUR WORLD CHANGED

9/11/01

I’ll never forget where I was that morning when we were attacked without any warning We’d all like to forget it and go on with our lives Terrorists don’t ask us; hiding in civilian disguise

The shock, disbelief, should have awakened our resolve We were quick to forget—thinking all would dissolve Life will never again be the way we knew it As we wonder when or how we blew it.

Get your head out of your shopping bag and your feet out of sand Alice is caught in jihad land Five years didn’t bring much peace or quiet Not like staying at the Ritz or Hyatt

We’re on a long day’s journey into the night Entangled with jihads from the left and the right Where is the enemy—where will he attack? (Probably just stab us—right in the back)

How can one write words beautiful and esoteric In a world so ugly and barbaric These are real war games and I’d rather not play But I can’t sleep on this 9/11 day

There is still tomorrow—hope abounds

9/11/06

BE GONE TWO THOUSAND FOUR

Be gone two thousand four, you were worse than 0—three We asked for love—a better world we didn’t see We grasp for peace but it doesn’t occur More terror, more body-parts, everything’s a blur

How do we defeat hate and universal dissension? Oh heavy heart, I shudder with apprehension G-d must be sleeping or fallen down on the job HIS children are squabbling; their lives being robbed.

Is it too much to beg for a little hope Something to sustain us—teach us to cope? Wake up, wake up, the blood gets deeper This first run story is no longer a sleeper.

Where are you world? Where are we going? Can’t get an answer from the All-Knowing.

With baited breath we welcome two thousand five Keep us peaceful—keep us alive!

(12/7/04)

BLAME, SOMEONE HAS TO BE BLAMED

The wrath of G-d was upon them and they didn’t understand Just stood in disarray, unable to command No one to think—no one to lead— For help they had to plead

Who is to blame? Someone is to blame.

First responders didn’t hear They too were driven by fear No one showed up—did anyone care? Chaos erupted, it was everywhere

We’ll ride it out—in disbelief And so they stayed on Bourbon Street One more drink and we’re saved by time But the wind had changed its fickle mind

The levee began to leak—water, water everywhere

Higher and higher ’til there was no air

Who is to blame? Someone has to be blamed

As the levee gave way, water kept rising People crying—people fighting People looting—people shooting No where to go—floating bodies— Trapped in attics—forgotten and shoddy

Point a finger at Big Easy but the thought is lame From the bottom up or the top down, someone is to blame.

Maybe we all are to blame.

9/20/05 New Orleans

1st GRANDCHILD—1980

We were at the airport in West Palm Beach Hugging goodbye, though no one could speak Zayda held the tiny hand and kissed the little finger He thought for a moment—“he’s just like me—a dead ringer.”

Tears welled in Zayda’s hazel eyes, He choked—unprepared for this goodbye “I will never see this young man grow And how many others will I never know”?

DÉJÀ VU (2004)

I was at the airport in West Palm Beach I’ve been here before—memories not always so sweet This tiny baby is now a wholesome young man Ready for his journey; his life’s plan.

Twenty—three years have ed; again I say goodbye To my 1st grandchild—the apple of my eye “I’m ing the air force” he said, “I leave in the spring” Chilling words, in my ears this did ring

Chasing a cloud to explore his dream However dangerous to me it would seen With pride and determination he said, “I need to fly To learn, to serve—at least I must try”

I shuddered again and my heart skipped a beat (Don’t let this be a 1944 repeat) Come back courageous little one—fly home again Safe from these contiguous wars that never end

Will mankind ever stop killing one another? So there would be no more goodbyes to mothers and lovers?

(2/12/04)

FEBRUARY

February is the month we honor our presidents Lincoln and Washington, our early White House residents We inherited the government they founded so diligently Through revolution and civil war fought so brilliantly

With all our warts, no place is better in war or peace And hopefully sometime, fighting will cease.

Will all good men come to the aid of their country?

February is also the month for lovers Time to send valentines and chocolates to others Time to express our love and feelings In spite of this world which leaves us reeling

With much love and sweetness to all my friends Have a happy chocolate day—the end of all ends. —(2/14/07)

GODS ON A RAMPAGE

(Another day of infamy and innocence lost) September 11, 2001 9-11

The Gods must be on a rampage and have let the devil loose It’s not a class B movie—’tis reality we didn’t choose. What kind of God would condone such mass killing? They have to be devils, evil and willing.

Innocence is lost, buried in the Twin Tower rubble Our resolve to prevail has been put on the double. We mourn for New Yorkers and all humanity, Oh, wake me from this surrealistic Dali insanity.

Torrential rain is falling and we’re sequestered in our home G-d is shedding tears—can’t get Him on the phone.

HOW FREE IS FREE?

July and August are months to be free We go to the countryside or maybe overseas

How free can we be without considering others? Might be chaotic for our mothers and brothers

Can we program whatever we wish And not affect the entire satellite dish?

July 4th of 1776, freedom was self-invented When immigrants vowed not to be tormented

And so it was written They would be free of Great Britain

The battle they won, but were they free? Look around, you will see,

Thanks to our ancestors we are free— as free as free can be

Tied together by laws and rules Invented by freedoms created with few tools

Holidays come and we love to celebrate Fireworks in the sky and burgers on the grate

We live in this land of the free only because of the brave

* * *

Note: July is followed by the dog days of August Why are they dog days? Hot and muggy is the result of the earth’s tilt when The dog star, Sirius, is in conjunction with the sun,

Have a happy summer and good dog days!

-marge segal 6/11/08

INTRIGUE

This is the story of conspiracy and intrigue So confusing it’s hard to believe Awakened before my morning coffee by an anxious call Clever it was and of such gall

Seems my credit card had been compromised By sinister characters who might be spies They charged three one-way flights from Jordan to Egypt Plus 3 million insurance, in case they should need it

Now isn’t that scary that I’m involved living here in the states Charged for 3 flights I couldn’t possibly take Three Arab names were to be on that flight A situation suspiciously not right

So I cancelled my credit card quickly Things were sounding very prickly

Notified the FBI—was told to call the police Surely they thought I was a demented freak They wanted my name, phone and size my weight, the color of my hair and eyes I’ll go through screenings and even take off my shoes But when it comes to weight—I just refuse (Now, isn’t that too much to ask of a lady?)

The local police missed the boat; we weren’t jerks Just two good citizens being alert Before departing, the Arabs were removed from the flight A process that could have ended not right

Advice: Don’t underestimate ole grandmas! (Case closed) This is a New Year and I’m telling this tale So you’ll be on the alert and don’t land in jail.

-marge segal

MY THOUGHTS ABOUT ELECTIONS

The time is near and vote we must Into whose hands do we place our trust? The politicians are back—they’re at the gate They need your vote in every state.

Vote for me they harp—I’m not a sinner Vote for ME—I’m not a beginner Give me your vote—no cause for alarm I just want a finger—not the whole arm.

Vote for me—I feel your pain Insure yourselves—you’ve much to gain Medicare and social security Must be saved for yuppie maturity.

VOTE FOR ME—VOTE FOR ME

Republicans, Democrats, Independents, beware They’re here again—’tis the country’s Fair.

SCRATCHING FOR VOTES

I’ve scratched my head and scratched my nose I’ve scratched my back, even scratched my toes I’ve scratched my fingers while digging in the dirt Just kept digging even though I hurt.

I’ve scratched through the paper, hoping to find A Republican or Democrat of solid mind. I’ve tried to soothe a scratch in my throat But I can’t stop politicians from scratching for votes!

PIGS Look at those pigs lined up at the trough Can’t get their fill—what is enough? More pork in the barrel than I can comprehend I see the beginning, but where does it end? How many pigs are entitled to the bloat?

Just you the next time you vote!

NOTHING IS FREE

The young warrior called to share his news He’s finished his training and has new challenges to do “Time has come for me to give back Experience to lead is what I lack I’m being assigned somewhere overseas a duty I accept with ease”

He tried to tell me with such pride “I’ll be the youngest lieutenant to command such a post” “Only 23,” he said, as a slight boast

There was excitement in his voice as he tried to reassure me He was being groomed for a position of grave responsibility Far beyond his present ability

Unable to hide my thoughts and tears Danger, bombing and fighting reappear Again, I must say “goodbye and g-d be with you” This is a war he didn’t choose

Come back my young warrior, we’ve seen this before The world is full of good men fighting good and bad wars

Bring them home!

(Will men ever stop killing each other and learn to live peacefully beside one another?) -marge segal (2/19/11)

T.G.I.F.

(Thank G-D It’s Finished)

For weeks on end, listening to TV commercials Venom spewed forth—rehearsal after rehearsal On and on went the radio and TV Vote for me—Vote for me Spread the lies—it doesn’t matter Just a collection of worthless chatter

My head was in spill-over Not knowing the truth Who do I believe?—Where’s the proof? The election is over; we’re free for two years Hope to control my sanity/fear

T’was quite a year; so many catastrophic events So many messages, would not relent Hurricanes, tsunamis, and tropical storms

Oil, oil everywhere; a fractious leak was born Suffocating birds, fish and the marshes Entwining itself in lifeless arches

Abstract images covered in black The Gulf was crying—under attack 33 miners were excavated from the mine Indeed, man’s humanity was not blind

Now what? Thought! The only thing to fear is sanity itself On to the next!

THAT TIME AGAIN

We just entered March and April is here already March was so comfortable, we were going steady

Can’t imagine where March went—it disappeared so quickly So I went looking for a clue—the trail was rather sticky

Seems March was having fun while April fooled asunder Caught us by surprise—a tax—waiting for the plunder

Taxes aren’t so bad, if cautiously they’re spent Too often wasted on projects of questionable intent.

Do we need a road to nowhere in the midst of the Arctic? (A rather expensive and remote cathartic)

Or do we need to know about the sex life of the ant? When everyone knows you can or you can’t.

And who wants to vacation on Saturn or Mars? The distance in light years seems rather bizarre

So reluctantly we pay our tithe to the I.R.S. Free for a year—hopefully a refund to invest.

4/06

THE BIGGEST AND THE BEST

Day 1 Abstract forms float Clouds shape and reshape again. billowy marshmallow transcends into burnt gray, climaxing as threatening black.

Why is black so threatening? Will the storm unleashed become the biggest and best cloud ever seen? Please just let it rain

Day 2 Menacing clouds continue hovering over the earth. Ever closer flames light up the sky thunderous bursts spew death.

Kill! Hell besieges us.

Day 11 Surrealistic images interrupt my thoughts I am mesmerized—death and destruction envelops my screen. Bombing, frenzied blood-letting, body parts piled upon one another. The biggest and the best story of the century.

Turn off the television This movie doesn’t end.

119

THE IDES OF MARCH

The Ides of March are upon us, so beware So says the soothsayer; trouble is looming out there

There’s trouble in K-Mart and Circuit City Runnin out of money—now ain’t that a pity

Thought everything was up-to-date in Kansas City Guess they’ve gone about as far as they can go

Time to get accustomed to a market that is sagging When I thought I was the only one nagging and sagging

So much looms on the horizon Feels like being trapped with a lion

The world is out of money and needs our cash Maybe we’ll get credits for buying “junk” to stash

So what does one do when the economy tanks? Just stand there and holler at the banks?

Hold your breath and pray for the best Can’t stop the world or get off, I guess

Social distributions and reorganizations We’re worried about the next generations

Et tu Brutus

Reflections

A DUSTY ROAD

Walking down a dusty crooked road I came upon a giant spotted toad I bent over to look, for he seemed to need help Stepped on his leg; he gave a piercing yelp He looked healthy and appeared very strong I told him he was okay (but I could be wrong)

He cried to me, “I am so heartbroken I have nothing left not even a token I am old and have no other tools Was it worth it to live and play by the rules? I can’t jump, catch food or take care of myself Maybe I should go out to pasture, or be put on a shelf.”

“Oh dear,” I said

“You’re wasting your energy on a pity party Better to laugh—do something arty.

Give thanks on this holiday month” I told him “Livin is better than dyin You’re just stressed, stretched and over-taxed We’ve all been rescued—just relax”

A road always gathers dust, so

“Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start All over again”

A HOLE IN MY POCKET

(Merry Holidays to one and all)

I have a hole in my pocket Turns up every holiday Just a little loose thread I tried to patch together Doesn’t matter how it looks just so it holds whatever

Why is a hole such a bother? Reminiscing of mother and father? Joyful holidays expose the holes Rough edges tear at heart and soul Memories of some other time Family happenings for which I pine?

Must look ahead and hope for peace Love of mankind; “hate” to cease

There’s a hole in my pocket which keeps unraveling So many holes I’m unable to repair Loose threads hang—I care

Not all threads can be woven into life’s tapestry Too often it’s a mystery

11/4/07

ALONE W/THOUGHTS

Alone with my thoughts on this beautiful Florida day Not unhappy—but not gay Missing—Missing—Missing

Memories of youth keep floating in my mind Life’s experiences—a moment in time

I know I cannot retrieve that which is wasted Even if I try to cut and paste it

I know I cannot change the direction of the wind But I can tack a course to reach the end (better to zigzag than just wag)

I can dream of being five foot eight In case I get a chance to incarnate

Perhaps I’ll dream of counting pelicans

Wishing my head could absorb as much as my belly can

Maybe I’ll eat the right food and die healthy and slim Or accept the condition as the condition I’m in.

(9/9/06)

ANGER DANGERS

Anger is a condition where the tongue works faster than the mind Why are we Americans so agitated, so rude, so blind?

You don’t have to be poor to be crude A rich man is just as accomplished—just a flashier dude

It is said we are a culture of people unable to feel Heads are full of anger and images surreal

Is it that we don’t want to see—or don’t hear Or is it that we want everything, before it disappears

Are heads so smothered with bellicosities? Overwhelmed with war and hellish atrocities?

There is anger from the left and anger from the right Each with a chip on its shoulder, anxious to fight

Anger can be dangerous—can start a war as in 1776 Anger can start a fire, an argument or a family rift

We should be having fun, but we’re always running In the twilight of life we face a world so cunning.

Where are we going—what happens on the last page? Need to consult with a cultural sage

Don’t need the psychotherapists telling us how to cope Tolerance and mores have always kept us with hope

The danger in anger is when it explodes It injures all the others but also implodes.

2/15/07

Thoughts about THE GAMES WE PLAY

When I played a game as a little child There were rules to follow; they were sealed not a trial

Again we played games as awkward teens Party games, dating games; innocent, not mean

World athletes play in Olympic games competing for glory, honor, possibly fame

Adults play games and the stakes are high You win, or you’re blasted high in the sky

Should I stop the game if I can’t win Even as my opponent is hitting my shin?

Should I stand there like a potted plant

Or be stepped on; a helpless ant?

Why play games with tyrants who have no rules? Hands tied behind your back; a game for fools?

Appease the beast and he will be fed or control him before you’re bloodied and dead.

(6/6/04)

DISAPPEARANCE

My youth has disappeared, it’s nowhere to be found Can’t find any clues, it must be underground.

Looked in every corner in the closet and garage Thought I saw it lurking ’twas just a fool’s mirage.

So I looked inside myself for a trace of little me And something told me it was there— if only I could see.

The child inside that body is alive and well in Florida Retired and having fun—along

the eastern corrid(a).

DREAMS

I dreamed I was on a journey, not knowing where I was headed I started out from nowhere, with fears I often dreaded

An endless tunnel stretched before me Unknown—the curves I could not see

A wizard beckoned me to come—trust my inner-self No promises of anything—riches, poverty or health “Take a step, take a chance and just keep on going East or west, no matter how the wind is blowing.”

“I’m afraid” I said, “I don’t know how it ends” “Do not fear” he answered, “the tunnel is a friend Move on, the route is there, no guarantee to last You only take into the future, your experience from the past”.

Waiting here is where you are and where you’ll be tomorrow Going nowhere leads to nothing Just grief, regrets and sorrow.

I woke next morning and landed on my feet Alive and well in Florida—what a relief!

(8/18/04)

DREAMS, STUFF AND MY MAGIC QUILT

I dreamed a dream the other night And woke, shivering in fright I wrapped myself in my quilt and lay down on my bed With my magic quilt, of yellow and green and red

I dreamed a dream that left my heart pounding I dreamed of all my STUFF, in this surrounding Was piled too high, and about to fly Right into nowhere and I didn’t know why

My “STUFF” had burst right through the ceiling I was scared with this morbid feeling To my quilt I scream “What does this mean? There has to be a reason, or is this terror or treason”

My quilt replied, “the STUFF you hoard Is only STUFF—mooching for room and board

The only STUFF one can leave Is love from the heart to all the bereaved”

For a worthwhile quest, just build a nest Of love and warmth for all the rest

All the STUFF becomes just that Memories discarded or ed to some cool cat

-marge segal

(Many thanks to Andrew Lloyd Webber’s” “Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”)

EMPTY SPACES

Hardly any space on my computer hard-drive It’s filled with fingerprints; memories kept alive. Empty spaces ed in my heart. Always there fingerprints left by those who depart. I cannot change an imprint I cannot even duplicate Gone are the icons; in my heart, a trace

FALL IS UPON US

The air is feeling cooler as it drifts across my skin I shiver as I think of the troubles within So I went looking on my desk top for aid to my mental health For life can hit you like a bomber, perhaps a B-2 stealth Thoroughly searched Google—even browsed a Botox ad Nothing seemed to sooth me, it just made me mad

These are times to swim as Olympians Straight ahead, aware of the status we’re in The tide goes out and the tide comes back Just as stocks go up and down; a risky fact No panic—keep on course and steady Whatever happens we must be ready

Much to look forward to, as we plunge into the season Puppets, tied to a string in this world of unreason.

—(10.1/08)

FENCES/BOUNDARIES

I have a fence around my community and a fence around my house I have a fence around my belongings, but never around my spouse. I’ve occasionally taken offense with a neighbor’s point of view But he’s entitled to be wrong—I’ve learned I cannot sue.

I try to put a fence around my feelings; keeps the hurt from showing Then I’m locked inside myself—thoughts are coming and going It takes years to learn the boundaries of our life when to open up the door—when to close it tight.

If I try to hide behind a fence, not draw a line in the sand Then I’ve lost a little more of me, my persona will be bland. I’ve tried to mend a few fences—defaulted and broken Others were beyond repair—just left them soak-in.

Can’t let myself be manipulated by a so-called friend or neighbor The garbage piles too high—nothing you want to savor.

The moral of the story: If you don’t fight for yourself, you lose!

FREE???

Jocko stuck his head out of his door and looked around. He appeared to be impressed with himself—and why not? He was quite accomplished—clever, reasonably attractive and quite personable for a birdbrain. “My what a beautiful house” he thought, eyeing its 25 foot ceilings, numerous perches and tall windows which allowed the sunshine to explode throughout the interior.

Jocko was quite smart for a 13-year old blue front Amazon parrot. Year after year he had watched his food being delivered through a small opening in his cage, figuring he might be free if only he could get rid of that feeder. “Some day I will fly—fly away to unknown destinations. Do I dare?”

On this special day, with a visitor alone in the house and his caregiver at work, Jocko decided to make a run for it.

With unusual dexterity he managed to push his feed tray to the floor, then squeeze his body through the tiny opening of his cage. Jocko stood there for a moment, shook the silky blue feathers of his body, flapped his beautiful green wings, and exposed the patches of vibrant yellow beneath. Free at last!

With that Jocko took off like a “bird out of his cage” and went looking for Gonzo. Gonzo, a double yellow-head, thick-neck Mexican parrot was his friend. They often communicated with one another as Gonzo had a substantial vocabulary, which he knew how to use. Finding Gonzo he swooshed around and around, causing Gonzo to screech back at him, again and again. All hell was breaking loose. Jocko was quite a show-off and Gonzo was excessively agitated.

All this noise frightened Marmalade, the cat, who disappeared at the first sight of Jocko out of his cage.

Jocko soon tired of this, deciding to explore elsewhere. Brashly he walked into the kitchen as though he owned it, screaming nite—nite” using his limited vocabulary which he repeated nightly to his master and “caregiver.” “Not a crumb in here,” he thought, taking off for the staircase.

Marmalade the cat, hiding on the second level, took off again, screaming like an Alley cat instead of the demure Siamese royalty she was, scrambled under the bed with the speed of a salamander being chased by a housewife with a broom.

Jocko continued to explore every nook and cranny from the 25 foot ceiling to the fireplace in the living room; up, down, again and again until finally, somewhat exhausted, perched himself on top of his cage—“FREE.” With that he flipped his tail, turned around and walked back into his home.

Now this is unbelievable I thought as I came out from under the bed,

drenched, shaking—with Marmalade the cat in my arms.

(11/20/02)

HOLIDAYS AGAIN— BAH HUMBUG

Now is the time for holidays before the year’s end How do we handle what has always been? Whether Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza or some other The best part is happiness shared with another

Holidays reflect about G-d with ethereal chatter And, if we don’t have a G-d, what does it matter? Seems there is space for everyone’s view It’s not an avian bird virus of Christians and Jews

Spoiled we are, expecting, wanting so much Days go on in such a rush Accustomed to everything, just a click of a finger Still, much remains—peace still lingers

Little was accomplished, the year distractible Always looking, always abstractable

Tired we are of sadness from around the world Life can be beautiful, glisten like a pearl

And so we go on—enjoy what is near Peace will emerge—maybe next year!

(11/11/11)

HONEST/HONESTY

Momma always told me, “be honest and tell the truth” So why did she slap me when I told her, “we were on the roof”

Momma always told me to be honest and upright So why did she slap me when I told her “I was in a fight”

Webster says that honesty is fairness, open and frank Guess that’s why we keep our money in the bank

If your friend is in love with whatever Should we deprive him of his pleasure?

That’s a white lie. Is a white lie a lie? Is a white lie honest?

A white lie is better than a black one I’ve been told But a white lie could be deceitful, flattering or bold

Black or white it still is a lie Steals reality—a thief in disguise

Dig a hole 10 ft deep It gets bigger as you repeat

Diogenes, born in 412 B.C Went looking for a honest man to see

His life long journey brought him naught Could not find a man who couldn’t be bought

Moral: Don’t get caught in a 10 ft. hole

-marge (8/16/10)

I USTA

I usta ice skate—I’d never be professional I usta roller skate—nothing special I usta play tennis—maybe a minus B I usta dance—when I had a “he” I usta ride a bike—until I fell off Hurt my knee—and couldn’t play golf

I usta play handball; I usta create sculptures ’til I rotated my shoulder—an unfortunate rupture I usta swim, like a fish I was told I usta, usta, usta—but now I’m too old

I usta think of my future endeavors Thought of all things especially clever Even thought my future was bright Looked forward with childish delight

When I think of all the things I usta do

Lumped together it makes me blue But I can read and I can write The grass is verdant—the moon is bright I can drive and I can park Even drive after dark

I look around and what do I see The future ain’t what it usta be

Oy vey

-marge segal (9/1/07)

IF I COULD

If I could live my life again Would I make the same mistakes? I know I wouldn’t waste my time Not for anyone’s sake

I’d find a way to say “I love you” over and over again Never let it slip away ’cause words can be mistaken

I’d hug my kids more often and let the dishes wait Cleaning up is always there too soon the kids are out the gate

No doubt I’d choose the same companion— not knowing it wasn’t forever Lucky to have had a good life

I guess I was really clever

When I look at all the troubles, I’d keep my own in place So much was really amusing when it wasn’t in my face

If I could Would I live my life over? You bet! -marge segal (6/4/07)

PROCRASTINATION I’M GONNA DO IT—MAYBE

A rough white stone sits on a worktable in my garage Encapsulated is a sensuous lady—she’s not a mirage Thought about her year after year She cries, “please release me”—I try not to hear

She continues to fester in the interior of my mind I see her—a hazy vision of beauty I will find All polished, caught in a web of procrastination Trapped—a subject of deep fascination

Figuratively she is there; I am unable to set her free Exposed to the world for everyone to see

I’m gonna do it—I know I am gonna do it

When and if I finally let her escape captivity

Opening her soft curves to other’s tizzy Will she become my Pinocchio in disguise Or will she bring kudos from gals and guys

Will she boldly stand there in all her glory Or will the nudeness tell another story My hair may turn white—having by-ed gray And I’ll have no more to create and nothing to say

Maybe I’m gonna do it, maybe not

—marge (10/25/07)

IS ANYONE LISTENING?

Welcome 2008

Last year’s wishes didn’t evolve No one was listening—too enormous to solve So this year I won’t wish for anything No peace, no wars, no dictators no kings Maybe I’ve been a big pest or “nuudge” And that’s why I was misunderstood

2007 was just another bad year Best I can say, “we’re still here” Santa is too fat, his reindeer abused Politically correct, but not my views Sectarians don’t like displays or candles Everything is just too tough to handle

Decorations are dangerous—harms our diversity So say the professors in our universities

Teachers tell children not to hug one another Get out of line and they’ll call your mother Can’t change it, can’t move it, what is—“is” Best to mind my own “biz”

Bring it on 2008

We’ll deal and face it whatever our fate There’s always a light if you have patience to wait

-marge

12/07

SWIRLING LEAVES

leaves swirl floating to their destined resting place no pain—no agony. dropping, disintegrating mulch within the earth surrendered, awaiting rebirth in the spring.

man, destined to drop cell by cell, a wretched process, agonizing, humiliating watching waiting.

no rebirth only memories

live!

LOOKING FOR HAPPINESS

The air is feeling cooler as it drifts across my skin I shiver as I think of all the troubles we’re in The sun is shining; not a cloud in the sky Nothing seems to soothe me, so why?

Look for happiness, be positive I was told So where shall I look? All around me seems old I went to my computer and searched the Web Nothing could I find; nothing to be read

I went to the library to search for a clue ’Cause someone will ask me and I won’t know what to do Found many books; none made me smile I think I’ll go home and think for a while

Things could be worse; I could be a

turkey, waiting for the inevitable A reluctant dinner with a stuffed belly Succulently cooked and soft as jelly

The happiest thought I have for November— “Be glad you’re not a turkey—dinner for family ”

LESSON: There is much to look forward to, as we plunge into the season Puppets, tied to a string in this world of unreason

Have a Happy Thanksgiving! -marge segal (10/14/11)

LOVE “IS”

Is what? Love is a ½ page in Webster’s dictionary Teaches one to be cautionary Love is affection, devotion, infatuation, ion and a little desire Having your body and heart on fire Love is a tender thing Bells will ring; hearts will zing a-ling

Love is a verb, an adjective, and a noun Could also be a pronoun? There’s a love seat, a love boat and a love child (The result of being wild)

There are love birds and puppy lovers Some lost their love and can’t recover Some are lucky and tied with a lover’s knot Some people are lovable, others are not

One can be love sick—can’t rebound quickly Remembrance is too prickly The worst of the worst is being loveless (Perhaps a little feckless)

In tennis you can score love/forty A point can win or lose—rather sporty You can love your father or mother Your country, your siblings or have a lover You can have a love affair All depends on how, why or where

Cupid and Eros were the gods of love Sent to us mysteriously from up above Love doesn’t make the world go ’round But it makes it worthwhile Love and being loved “is” “Is” is what you make of it

My fondest wishes for a lifetime together filled with good health and happiness. Love,

MOMMA AND POPPA

or Nisht du und Nisht dorten

Momma ruled our house and we never thought to question The rights and rules subject to her absolute discretion We shared the chores and never demanded payment Glad to have a mom and dad and a radio for entertainment.

Mom was always there when we came home from school Five hungry kids—a humongous job for any fool. Poppa always worked and came home late at night Always asked if we were good or got into a fight

Hugs and kisses, dinner, then tales about the day Each of us had our chance and each had much to say A simple life in simple times so many years ago The greatest generation, I had the privilege to know.

May and June we celebrate and are reminded once again To love our mom and dad, our source, our closest friend For without them we’d be drifting, somewhere out in space A lonely egg, not here not there; a plight I couldn’t face.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY—HAPPY FATHERS DAY

(4/21/05)

PLENTY OF BLAME TO GO AROUND

My head feels like I have a giant contusion bursting for air and causing confusion All the way back to the day we were born trouble finds trouble and life’s like a thorn How can one be happy when the cow’s out of milk? The farmer keeps squeezing; but the cow gets bilked

Who is to blame?

There is always someone who will tackle the hurdle, that’s held into place like an ill-fitting girdle

Who do we blame when life isn’t fun? Like a game of chess when the pawns become one

Someone must be to blame!

We can look backwards; turn over every stone examine it, study it, and still be alone

Must be someone I can blame

Maybe I’m to blame because of my blue eyes and white skin

Perhaps our leaders will learn from Einstein who said “we can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them”

Now what do I do about the boat I’m in Drop anchor? Or learn to swim?

Thought: KEEP ROWING

PRESIDENTS IN FEBRUARY

February is the month we honor presidents Two of our most honorable wartime residents

Lincoln—born on the 12th—in 1809 Shot by an actor who was out of his mind Washington our founder—born in 1732 Warrior, leader, gentleman, on Feb. 22

Another year has slipped by quickly What would our founders say of a world so prickly? Would they look at us in bewilderment and awe Proud of the achievements or disheartened by what they saw

Would they understand our feckless societies Extremists dictating their own proprieties? How would they react to our endless elections? Probably not happy about their resurrection

Better to think of February as the month for lovers Valentines and chocolates for mates and others Time to say life is beautiful—as good as it gets So place your money—make your bets.

With love and happiness to seek Have a happy chocolate week.

THE BEST IS YET TO COME?

I thought I had lived a good full life with not many complaints, troubles or strife Thought I had innumerable treasures plus love, sex and things you cannot measure

But my guru has told me that isn’t so There is something more I need to know Whatever I had, it’s not the best“the best is yet to come”

Excitedly I started looking for what is “yet to come” Searched and searched; I was as dedicated as a nun Looked into my closets, thought of coming out Looked up and down the streets, everywhere about Looked in the refrigerator and in the freezer bin, only thing I found was a box of chocolate sin

Even looked over my shoulder

so “the best” wouldn’t me by It might be money, jewels, peace, or maybe just a guy Went to the library to find a little clue nothing there looked better—now what should I do?

“Can’t find the future while hanging onto the past” So says the Guru, our guardian, the dispatcher of our path So whatever is the “best to come” had better “Fast Access” I may be cognizant today, but tomorrow is anyone’s guess.

—marge segal

THE IDE(A)S OF MARCH

The Ides of March So says the soothsayer, so why the fuss Every March the threat is upon us Could the “ides” be a warning of things to come? Things that are waiting to be fixed and done

We’re running out of money, we shout “Our credit card is maxed out” Can’t just sit still and accept anything Plan for the future—plan for the spring What should one do when the economy tanks Stand and holler at the banks?

The “ides” may be the “ideas” to wake up Get rid of politicians who are corrupt Prepare for your taxes—they are due tomorrow Maybe a refund—maybe a need to borrow

Look around—we owe the world gazillions What do we leave to our children?—a debt? You bet!

Et tu Brutus

-marge segal (2/1/12)

THE STORY OF THANKSGIVING

or (My favorite holiday)

The Pilgrims sailed to the New World in 1620 Crossed the ocean with troubles a-plenty

Pitched camp in Plymouth, way off course Like the Trojans they brought a horse Curiously greeted with innocent hospitality Unaware they would be forced to share the locality

They were the guests who stayed for dinner Surviving America’s most brutal winter The Indians were neighborly, taught them new skills Planting corn, raising turkey, their coffers to fill

(Poor little gobbler couldn’t worry about thanks He was to be a meal of his breast or his shanks

He was dinner with his feet tied and stuffed belly Succulently cooked and soft as jelly)

The pilgrims decided they wouldn’t go home This was more beautiful than London or Rome So they called all their relatives inviting them to come Pushing the Indians west—they were on the run

In spite of it all I give thanks to my forebears Who fearlessly fought for this land they would share (?) (that’s another story) I am grateful to reflect on this Thanksgiving day How lucky I am to be here today

Thousands of others have come and will not go home Though the door is wide open—they’re free to roam

And that’s how it happened—I swear it’s the truth It’s right from the mouth of my favorite Aunt Ruth.

THOUGHTS ABOUT LIVING, LOVING, SURVIVING

WAITING I always s seem to be waiting in an endless line Controlling my patience—wasting all my time I have to wait for breakfast before I eat my lunch Then I wait for dinner—and the clean-up bedtime crunch

I wait again for a taxi cab, or maybe a Palm Tram bus Lining up like Xian soldiers, and no one makes a fuss I wait again for kids to grow; cry when they’ve left the nest It’s over before it’s over and I’m waiting for a rest.

No second chance to seize whatever we have wasted Life is every moment and can’t be cut and pasted.

LOVE My husband loves his hat—it’s never out of place Always on his head—covering bald space Only in Africa would you find such a hat

Search the world over—but that’s where it’s AT.

The smartest pith helmet Zimbabwe has to offer Tops his head like a huge flying saucer Wherever he goes strangers stop to say, “I like your hat and have a good day.”

He accepts the attention with charm and all-knowing For he’s made a new friend and conversation is flowing It may be pithy or it may be a long stretch But everyone knows he cannot kvetch.

No one else would wear such a hat Except in Zimbabwe by another cool cat!

SLIDING

Too many peers are sliding on the slippery slope Not sure how to balance—how they’ll manage to cope Perhaps a body shop could repair parts so rusted and worn (Can’t stand hospitals—except when you’re born.)

Some people get by with a walker or cane Others slide around now knowing what to blame Most folks smile and try to face the day For time is slipping by and they still want to play.

Many brave seniors never make noise Won’t impose on family—their girls or little boys So glad to have climbed to the top of the mountain But they didn’t find youth—only the fountain.

TIME GOES

Once upon a time I thought I had all the time in the world Of course, I was only ten—a very little girl Momma always said, “time is valuable, you can’t replace it even if you do double time, so take time to give time.”

You can buy time, sell time, have quiet time, fun time, time-in or time-out,

You can find time to laugh and time to cry, time to say hello and time to say goodbye. You can use it, lose it, abuse it, waste it or covet it When you have it, savor it, love it.

Sometimes I think I’m ahead of my time Other times I’m behind—too slow I’ve had to learn how to make time so I would be on time. Where does time go?

There is a first time for love and a first time to kiss, a right time and a wrong time—something we might miss You can be in the right place at the wrong time through good times and bad times

Time waits for no one so don’t squander it. Time drags or flies depending on how you ponder it Doing time is bad—not good for your health Won’t add to your psyche or increase your wealth

Time and again I’ve accepted there is a time to live and a time to die. Time marches on; now is the time, don’t ask why Could be the last time.

—marge segal (6/10/03)

TWO ELDERLY PEOPLE

Two elderly people ages 91 and 92 Went on a date And didn’t know what to do Said he to she, “I think I might Has something to do with love and gender

If you hold my hand we’ll wait for a happening This is so silly and somewhat baffling”

So she held his hand until it slid On to her leg—that’s what he did Said she to he, “If this is a joke Look no further, here’s the remote”

Waiting for the happening to occur They fell asleep just as they were Holding hands very tight Dreams of yesterday, today and tonight

—marge segal

7/16/07

VAL N TINE

February 14th, forever

Long ago near the beginning of time Lived many creatures who got along fine ’Til one day, in a setting far from home (A perfect lesson—why one shouldn’t roam)

A lad named Val met a girl named Tine The prettiest thing that you ever could find Val loved chocolate with all his heart But together they were still miles apart

“Oh no, oh no” she shouts “Whatcha gonna do when the chocolate gives out?” Both engaged in a discourse they would never forget Soon they loved but Tine was upset

Val sent Tine a huge chocolate heart

Saying he loved her and would never part Tine loved Val but she was very shy Though she found him a loving nice guy

Soon they married with all the trimmings And off they went into new beginnings That’s how we came to celebrate this day A day for lovers to have a say

WEIGHT

My greatest weight is the weight on my body It’s a lot to handle and it’s not my hobby.

The weight on my shoulders is too much to bear And the weight on my hips makes me look like a pear

But the weight that I carry from uncontrollable worry Is wasted, unappreciated; thoughts become blurry.

Can’t put it aside or play hide and seek I keep looking back—

taking a peek.

—marge segal

WHAT IS OLD?

Researched extensively and what did I find Old is just a state of mind One can be old when only twenty Life could be full or could be empty

Every day we get a little older Allows one privilege to act bolder Old is filled with memories in one’s cart These are investments to warm the heart You take them out when in need Use them later for a few good deeds

Old must be when no one stands in front of me And I’m in charge for all to see How does one grow old with grace when there are so many obstacles to face? Does one have to absorb a little faith? pray that all will eventually fall in place?

Getting old we can endure Being old is the problem for sure

When an antique becomes a classic That’s old!

I’m aiming for classic!

-marge segal (4/6/10)

WHAT IS RESPECT ?

Does the word “respect” send you a clue? Do you deserve it, just because you’re you? Some people demand it and elusive it may be For they haven’t earned it—they can’t see

Others may deserve respect because of their talent A musician, an artist or a soldier so gallant We may not agree on all facets and gripe But respect for the talent is honest and right.

Some people “think” they have respect but reality will prove what others reject. Respect is an asset—it’s needed for sure. Most people learn as they grow and mature.

Respect adults, the office of presidency, parents and teachers your friends, the law, your Rabbi or Preachers Sometimes I find difficulty respecting politicians

Perhaps a problem of cynical decisions.

It seems to me that respect is “mutual” recognition We all deserve it regardless of our mission Without it you’re running on a one-way street And one way leads to a dead-end beat.

WHAT WOMEN WANT

How can we know what women want when we don’t walk in their shoes From your place on the ladder— is where you get your cues.

Without a job or a table of food women need more than a handsome dude Women want a baby to make life complete, but a baby can’t promise a lasting retreat.

Women want knowledge and someone to love Someone to touch—a little help from above They’ll stand alone but hope to share life with a special one—someone who cares.

Some women want material things money and diamonds, beautiful rings. Others want publicity—to be ired

Some just lust to be desired.

It is soothing to receive instant pleasure Life is strange—too much to measure What do women want? Anything and everything!

5/30/04

Worries

2007

HAPPY NEW YEAR—PEACE, HEALTH AND GOOD WILL

The kindest thing to say about last year is “goodbye” Wasn’t the best year, although we tried

Months of distraction, disruption, destruction and death Left me in need of therapy—confused and bereft

Another 525,600 minutes ed—we’re alive That’s one good thing—we will survive

A few leaves have fallen and floated out to sea Somewhere they’re watching us I believe

Can’t stop the world—it just keeps turning

Can’t get off—but it’s for peace I’m yearning

Keep hanging on and wish for the best We’re still being judged in a difficult test

-marge segal 1/01/07

ABANDONED IN J.F.K.

Listen my children to what I say about my misadventure at J.F.K. I’ve said it before and I know it’s true Don’t look for trouble ’cause it always finds you

I thought I had a good heart (I give to noble causes, the veterans and the needy Life was rather friendly—not the least bit greedy

When out of the blue came a sock in my jaw Felt like Aesop’s fable “The Cats Paw” Couldn’t get loose—my heart was pounding Was someone calling me—was life impounding?

What started as a little jolt? Ended up at 2000 volts So off to the hospital was my fate They may have to calm me; maybe operate

Next thing I find—my blood is no good Not flowing the way it should They hooked me to a macabre machine While a vampire siphoned blood from me

My blood’s too thin; that’s where it’s at (But how could it be, with all this fat?) I need more blood to thicken me up (I think these people need a kick in the butt)

I lost the battle and the task was performed Went down fighting from chloroform Hurry up—hurry up—hurry up Waiting—waiting—waiting

Finally told me my test was okay Now get me out of here—I won’t stay Easy to get in here but they won’t let you out I’m here somebody—don’t make me shout

waiting—waiting—waiting

Please someone let me loose from tubes and wires I must get out of here before I expire

Where are the aides, nurses and doctors? I need an MD, not a proctor

Abandoned in JFK—there’s no one in sight Cannot face another night

Woe is me! (8/24/10)

DEALS/DEALING

We are dealt a card when we enter life With portions of good, and a modicum of strife Sometimes fate deals an unjustified blow And you question yourself, “what did I sow?”

I can make a deal with someone whose mind I can read How do you deal with one seething with greed? I financed a deal when buying my car And dealing for a house gave me quite a jar Some deals are there—right in the open Others are made—only to be broken

I’ve seen dirty deals, double deals and deals under cover Deals above board and deals with so-called lovers Sometimes I feel I’ve been dealt a full house Happy as a lark with kids and a spouse Then the world flares up with deals to be brokered Like a house of cards or 5-card poker

I fall from my ecstasy to the depths of despair As the world tumbles down and my soul is bare How do you deal with the unknown and obsessed? Are there any answers? Can you guess? Someone dealt by sleight of hand A new kind of game I don’t understand

-marge

DON’T MESS WITH MY BABY

I have a closet full of black belts Usta wear them when I was svelte I have white belts, red belts, green belts, and brown I even have bejeweled belts for nights on the town

One day expansionism crept into my waist (Not at all agreeable to my taste) How it got there I’m unaware Belts no longer had any flair

So you can imagine the shock I received, When my “baby” called to tell me what she had achieved

“I’m a full fledged black belt mom, aren’t you proud?” “A what? I said aloud, Oh my goodness—my poor little hen

Where do you wear it, and when?”

“Mom, you don’t understand—it’s martial arts, I’m at the top No one is out there that I can’t stop” “You’re an artist now,” I questioned “No, I don’t paint—I defend my space

I can flip you over ’til you cry “enough” I can even get rough and tough

After a half-hour lecture about martial arts— I am happy—MAYBE—just in case DON’T ANYONE MESS WITH MY BABY!

EPIDEMIC OF DROPPING

One by one my friends are dropping Lost so many; the epidemic just isn’t stopping No one teaches you how to grow old I’m supposed to be graceful, so I am told

How do I learn to exude elderly charm “Don’t see it around me” I thought with alarm So I went to the library to search for a clue Cause my turn may come and I won’t know what to do.

Couldn’t find a book on preparing to drop “This search seems futile; I think I should stop.” Went home again, checked out Amazon and Borders Lots of titles but not one to order

I think I’ll write a book on “How to Drop of Sight” No clumsiness for me, no troubles, no fight As sweet as I can be until that very day

Don’t tell me when, cause I still have much to say.

EXPELLED

I once flunked a driver’s test Flunked twice, though I did my best But now I drive, even at night Haven’t caused too much fright

I flunked a math test when in middle school Chastised by momma for being a fool Flunked a blind date when I was young Not the right crowd to be among

But never in all my years of being a flunkie Have I ever experienced being such a junkie Entered a rehab to gain a stronger heart And found I’m a failure—just not smart

I was sent to a rehab by a well known doctor He had all the answers—didn’t need a proctor So I started to work when my body was attacked

Peddling back and forth, going nowhere fast

Wired and monitored throughout the endeavor The nurses sat amused—they were so clever Up and up went the beat and the pressure ’Til it flew out the window—too high to measure

I took refuge in a chance to sleep Slid off the bike not making a beep I did that once—then I did it twice Said the shocked nurse, “You’ll pay the price,

You’re outta here miss, you’re being expelled Don’t come back until ice freezes hell” Just imagine what that does to one’s psyche A successful graduation seems most unlikely

Alas, there must be a way to restore my sanity, For no other reason than personal vanity. -marge segal

10/31/08

FINGERPRINTS ON MY HEARTDRIVE

(Grandma’s lament)

HERE COME THE KIDS

The children arrived with their toys and clutter We’ll need tons of vegetables, meat, bread and butter Sheets, towels, toys for the ocean Chairs, umbrellas, and lots of sun lotion

So much excitement, so many places to go Museums, zoo, gardens, movies, a show We ran around like deranged grandparents Laughing, having fun until exhaustion was apparent

All of a sudden the madness was over They were packing their bags for a flight to Dover They went as they came like a tornado in action Unaware of the mess and our graceful reaction

So happy when they come and do love them dearly But a relief when they go and we can think clearly What’s this on my window? Something left behind? FINGERPRINTS? NOT MINE?

HOT ROD GRANNY

Hot Rod Granny, a weekend Nanny Had her grandchild visiting from school They went for a ride Lost—but soon were spied Cruising down Interstate 95

Granny was oblivious to signs As she cruised right on through a line The next thing we know sirens abound Causing moments of alarm and frowns

Poor, poor granny a weekend nanny Trying to be sweet For her grandchild’s retreat While she spent her time on her fanny

“Officer” she declared, “Why are you chasing me I’ve done no harm—what’s the alarm?”

“All that other traffic is going the wrong way” —marge segal

Resolution for 2010: Stay out of trouble & HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

HOW DID MY CHILDREN BECOME SO OLD?

WHERE HAVE MY LITTLE ONES GONE?

Who are those visitors arriving in a van?

Filled with grown-ups laughing as they can

I recognize the jovial voices and laughter

Is this real or some other chapter?

Who are those people with salty hair

who rush to greet me as I stare?

WHERE DID MY LITTLE ONES GO?

When did they manage to grow so tall?

When only yesterday they were playing ball

I must be a recipient of eroding senility

I’m trying to think with all my ability

Someone stole my children away

They were here yesterday, but gone today!

—Marge Segal

MOMMA TOLD ME

Momma told me when I was a little girl Listen to her wisdom—her pearls Momma told me she knows wrong or right She’s been there a plenty, many a night

Six children and endless work No time for college, just go bezerk No chance to write or play the violin Just get married—can’t live in sin

Momma told me and she must be right

Momma told me I’d have children like bananas They’d come in bunches just like Aunt Anna’s

Momma told me sex is not nice, but Having bananas is curious advice!

-marge

MORAL DILEMMAS

A moral dilemma is IF’s, AND’s, and BUT’s. It can tear you apart—open your guts. “If” I had a direct line to the power above I wouldn’t have a dilemma—I’d give the Devil a shove.

(On the other hand—there is always a “but”)

One that we sit on—do nothing about “And” one that we act on—without any doubt. You’ve heard it before, “but mother, but dad everyone’s doing it—it’s not so bad.”

“If” a 14-year old throws her baby in the trash Is she a child or adult without cash? What about her environment and mental capacity For this child’s crime of losing her chastity?

Should we kill a fetus—or wait ’til it’s born?

Whichever decision—your heart is torn. Should we kill killers so they won’t kill again? Give them one more time? Or maybe ten? What are the limits of public endurance? How many prisons needed for insurance?

Should we be killing Iraqi’s or have left them to Hussein? Action—or inaction—it still causes pain Should we love our enemies when they stab us in the back? Or face them in the front—preemptively attack

“And” who cares about Africa—they don’t look like us. Should we let them starve or make a bigger fuss? Can we drill in Alaska and keep the environment clean? Or should we let the Arabs squeeze us ’til we scream?

Can you give baksheesh to win public favor? Is this still bribery or just questionable behavior? Need we change the world into our ideal? Or can we let others find their own way to deal?

So many dilemmas need the wisdom of Job Help me someone—my head will explode! —marge segal (10/03)

MOTHERS & FATHERS #3

Many thoughts circle in my head I need a faster keyboard—not fingers of lead May is for mothers and June is for fathers The days are to remind us of parents and others

Mothers come right from the earth Without them there would be no birth Fathers are needed for daughters as well as sons For strength and security is how a family becomes one Fathers are needed to strengthen the glue Of a family developing you and you

The 5th Commandment tells us in carved emotion To honor thy mother and father with love and devotion May and June remind us again To love our source, our closest friends For without them we’d be drifting in outer space A lonely egg, not here not there; a plight I couldn’t face

Too soon parents are fingerprints on someone’s heart Their words and love missed once they depart

MOVE

I made a move in a game of chess Lost my king—a dumb move I guess. I had to move when daddy died Times were lean and I cried and cried Moved 12 times in that many years Gathered anxieties, neuroses and fears.

Sometimes I can’t seem to move at all Overcome with emotion from a painting on the wall. Moved to tears by the beauty of ballet, Lost in fantasies with my feet of clay. One can move a tall tale, setting in motion A Kafkaesque story—start an explosion.

Failing to move leaves one in place Another day cloned—what a waste!

Move on—move on!

Marge Segal

(2/13/04)

MY GYM

I ed a gym to get in better shape Little did I know what would be my fate? As I looked around I immediately found Many others in the same strait

An odd Rube Goldberg contraption Was just waiting for my reaction This torture was to stretch my neck and arms (That alone should have raised alarm) Flab was supposed to be firmed where it appeared It just transferred elsewhere—didn’t disappear

Hazards abound and can swallow you up Didn’t take long to attack my butt I know for sure ’cause I was captured My leg was gobbled and caused a fracture

Pulleys landed me on the ceiling

My arms and hands lost their feeling The trainer came running and gathered the pieces All battered and bruised—my face and other creases Poor me— With all that stretching I didn’t grow an inch

P.S. “I exercised with women so thin that buzzards followed them”

-marge segal

(1/11/10)

SEDUCTION/MADNESS

I read about seduction in romantic magazines A teenager in love with love, fantasies and dreams. I first love with acceptance and delight Innocence lost without a fight.

I’ve been seduced by chocolate and food aromatic (a weakness for sure or something symptomatic) Jails are filled with those seduced by alcohol and drugs Yet, there are others seduced by kisses and hugs.

Eve seduced Adam in Biblical times— Delilah seduced Sampson—his weakness she would find Who seduced whom when Lolita gave in? Normalcy? Lust? Or was it a sin?

I’m seduced by the press, on the left and the right And seduced by television, every day, every night. The most worrisome seduction I’ve ever known

Is our war on terrorists—its outcome unknown.

Who seduced God and sent women with explosives to blow themselves up—their ion so corrosive? Has religion been seduced in the name of God? Or could God have been seduced—fallen down on His job?

Has the devil incarnate seduced all mankind and we’re standing here mesmerized—helpless—blind?

STRETCHING THE GUILT

Momma told me “I was guilty” from the moment I was born So I began to worry ’til my heart was so forlorn

Guilt was everywhere, but I never found a clue I spent my life worrying “what should I do?”

Momma finally told me—she was scarred for life And I cried profusely for my father’s beloved wife

Guilt overwhelmed me—so intense I couldn’t talk Momma was unhappy—it was all my fault

She had stretch marks on her belly—couldn’t show her skin So I was given guilt for her original sin.

Did I ask for any favors? Did I insist she must give birth? Was I the cause of increasing her ungainly rotund girth?

Momma always said, “eat—they’re starving everywhere” So I ate my food, put on weight, but I didn’t really care

Momma was so happy when she put the blame on me And I was young and innocent, unable to think or see

The guilt was on my shoulder ’cause I accepted all the pain Until I finally said—“No more, I’m really not to blame.

No longer will I accept the hazards to my health Send it back to momma—or put it on the shelf.”

(10/20/04)

Thoughts about THE GAMES WE PLAY

When I played a game as a little child There were rules to follow; they were sealed not a trial

Again we played games as awkward teens Party games, dating games; innocent, not mean

World athletes play in Olympic games competing for glory, honor, possibly fame

Adults play games and the stakes are high You win, or you’re blasted high in the sky

Should I stop the game if I can’t win Even as my opponent is hitting my shin?

Should I stand there like a potted plant

Or be stepped on; a helpless ant?

Why play games with tyrants who have no rules? Hands tied behind your back; a game for fools?

Appease the beast and he will be fed or control him before you’re bloodied and dead.

—marge segal (6/6/04)

THE LAST ISRAELI

A stubborn soldier died this morning Quiet is the world—we’re mourning A musician, scientist, poet, physicist philosopher, writer—no longer exists

Gone—knowledge, the wealth of all mankind Why was he killed—why destroy such a mind? Wandered the earth from time immortal Footprints, carried from portal to portal

A senseless tragedy triggered by a mind so warped Here lie the remains—the last Israeli corpse We know how it happened but don’t know why He was just like you or any other guy.

He came upon another and asked, “You there, who are you—are you my brother?” With his rifle poised, the young man replied,

“My name is Ishmael, all others have died.

Descendant of Abraham and Hagar my mother The last Palestinian, your half-brother

Just shoot me!”

“Oh no” said the soldier, “that’s not our teaching I’m the last Israeli—for your heart I’m reaching

We should make peace.”

With that the soldier extended his arm to shake his half-brother’s hand The Palestinian reached out and blew up the man

All body parts were in smithereens Some were found—others never to be seen. A tragedy happened and the world just looks on Will they happen upon us next—we too will be gone?

We’re mourning!

-marge segal (2003)

WAITING BY THE DOCTOR

Sitting by the doctor and waiting for a report Done this time and time again—not a good sport Everyone waiting is anxious and silent Staring into space, trying to be reliant.

What piercing words will he tell me this time? Maybe it’s nothing—maybe he’s fine. My nerves are crawling like tics on my body “Hurry up”—can’t stand this cold lobby!

Waiting—waiting—waiting

—marge segal 12/16/01

WHAT KIND OF WORLD IS THIS?

Air bristles foreboding winds encircle blowing—pushing waiting for the next tragedy Someone we know?

Tanks rolling, good-by’s, tears, bombers searching unleashing hell

What kind of world is this? STOP I’m too old to play

-marge segal

(9/11/003)

WHAT MATTERS?

What does it matter if I’m bedecked with jewels? They’re just trimmings—tools for fools! (Of course, I could be foolish and collect a few perks— keeping something doesn’t make you a jerk)

What does it matter if you’re loaded with money and there is no one around to call you honey? What does it matter if I flaunt insufferable wealth? It won’t mean a thing if I don’t have my health

How many TV’s or computers can I use at one time— How many cars, boats and houses needed to be mine? How much do I need to accept who I am when I discovered it all according to life’s plan ?

What matters most as I reflect in this chapter Is living for now—not thinking of hereafter It matters that I see the sunlight and hear the rain

It matters that I smell the roses and feel the world’s pain

It matters that I’m free to write what I think without being harassed or thrown in the clink. If life has some burdens, they must be handled Too often we are beset by a flickering candle

Some days are good and others are better It matters most that we’re still together If I can love and be loved by family and friends That’s what really matters—the ultimate end of all ends.

WHERE HAVE MORALS GONE?

Where have morals gone? Disappeared over right or wrong We are living in a time where anything goes But where does it go? How far? Who knows?

When I was young, behavior was regulated Schools could have you ex-communicated So I went out to look for where the morals are Looked in my neighborhood and looked afar

I went to look in a church and a synagogue (Everyone thought I was such a demagogue) Went to Google and even looked under stones Nowhere could I find morals—all postponed

Diogenes born in Greece, 412 B.C A pupil of Socrates—lived in abject poverty Carried a lamp as he went out to find

An honest man of a sound mind (women didn’t count)

Spent his life living in a large tub Towns—folk found him easy to snub Died at age 90 and never met a man so moral The cynic of all time—always so oral

I gave up my search, returned to my computer 2300 years has left me neutered

-marge segal (8/17/09)

LOST

Lost my way on a trip to Miami Found it hours later, about three Lost while shopping in Publix Difficulty in reaching the exit Lost in turmoil with conflicting thoughts Bought more groceries than I ought

Lost my keys and where’s my purse? So many problems, so immersed Lost in the beauty shop Beautician didn’t know when to stop Lost in the hospital; finally let out All is well I can finally shout

Lost my vote in a recent election Another year, perhaps a correction Lost the last cookie in the cookie jar Rumpelstiltskin ate it from afar

Sometimes I think I’ve lost my mind Age is getting to me; must be in decline

Lost in the beauty of a ballet Lost in a museum and lost in a play But I have NOT lost my sense of humor My confidence or determination Being alive in this exciting time is a fabulous situation!

-Marge