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To Bits

5/31/2019

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by Bob Dougherty

​
a bit is a coin
worth twelve and one-half cents — WOW
a two-bit haiku

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Choice

5/29/2019

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by Bob Dougherty
 
pick up a precious coin
it bears a head with pride
yet every bit integrally
it has another side

flip a coin in the air
chance knows how it lands
you can spend life flipping coins
​
or think and choose your stands
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When Your Heart Stops

5/23/2019

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by Bob Dougherty
 
I was on my back   shirt ripped open   
people standing around murmuring  
a worried smile kneeling over me    
paramedics rushed in   I didn’t know why  
it was like fog — but it wasn’t fog
in the ambulance there were voices
maybe to the ER
male   early forties   overweight
possible cardiac arrest  
then more voices  
yeah   he flat lined   at least two minutes    
slowly I realized they were talking about me 
 
          my heart was fragile
          diagnosis — elusive 
          life became eggshells 
 
now   years later   my condition
still with me   is controlled    
yet   I know I went through a door
many times and somehow came back
     
people ask what it’s like  
and I can only tell them — It isn’t   
then they almost always ask    
you mean there’s nothing? 
and I tell them I didn’t say nothing
I know I would have experienced nothing  
and I didn’t experience
 
          time starts with your heart
     experience flows with its beat
          time stops with your heart

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Song of a Clever Man

5/13/2019

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by Bob Dougherty  
​
 
I write a song of a clever man
who wrote with skill and flare,
conceiving a saga of every man’s
sense of life, love and despair.
He wrote through the eyes of an everyman 
who lived his life in his poems;
yet, he thought, “I don’t like my everyman
bearing a fictitious name;
I’ll be my very Everyman
and write as I were the same.” 
 

So, our clever man became his Everyman.  
And his Everyman, clever man’s dream.  
Our writer and his character
became more than just a theme.  
Then every man bought clever man’s books
and Everyman wore the fame.  
Everyman’s persona became
larger than life, as the twain
became selfsame.  
 

Success grew great for our clever man,
but he greyed, inking Everyman’s life.  
In time, an aged clever man,
pen in hand chasing his name,
lost his self to his Everyman;
a slave to his self-made fame.  
 

Without all consuming passion
great works never rise.  
The price of greatness is always great;
the artist for the prize.

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a moment

5/8/2019

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by Bob Dougherty
 
a moment will come
and it is arriving   now
​    do you remember?
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    Writer
    Bob Dougherty is a poet and writer living in Tiburon, CA 

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