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Opporturnity

6/6/2017

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By Bob Dougherty
 
A youth sat by a jungle trail bored and needing relief.
Then he heard an astounding sound.  What appeared defied belief.
 
A man with a great elephant came crashing down the trail.
The man smiled and spoke to the youth.  (thus, starts our modest tale…)
 
The youth said, “What a wondrous beast so large and of such height, 
it must be very rare indeed an elephant all white.”
 
The man said, “Yes, it’s very rare a pleasure to behold. 
But alas, I must travel far my treasure must be sold.”
 
The youth said, “If I had the funds I’d buy it for my own”.
The man said, “If you’ll care for it we could work out a loan”.
 
Shaking hands the man danced away.  The youth smiled at his prize,
then strode it to his village home where all stared at its size.
 
Everyone came from leagues around to view the mighty beast.
The youth achieved his instant fame but his pleasure slowly ceased.
 
Elephant care is arduous, with grooming land and hay.
Excitement waned our youth wore out the elephant couldn’t stay.
 
Our youth now grown, his beast in tow, trod down the jungle trail.
Beyond a bend sat a callow youth.  (thus, starts our modest tale…)
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Unseen Steel

6/5/2017

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By Bob Dougherty


hit me hard again and again
hit me square on my head

drive me down blow by blow
until I can no longer move

it’s existence for my kind
we are always beaten down

getting hammered is our lot
and perhaps we're not too sharp

old and bent we still work
whether together or alone

silently in places unseen
things collapse without us


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Silver Slipper

6/3/2017

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By Bob Dougherty

a nice day to walk by the bay
then suddenly in front of a bench
pointing straight at the Golden Gate
a silver slipper and I breathe — Lana
like in the Poem I read last night
stopping staring I can see her
the tingling the caress so surreal
No Lana — I shake my head and turn
to see the Golden Gate Bridge collapse
into silver fog like platinum blond hair
streaming over the Marin Headlands
I look at the silver slipper pointing
it’s just a lost shoe I yell inside
under a warm blue California sky
the tingling the caress start again
No Lana — this isn’t real please don’t
the warm breeze blows the silver fog
slowly back from the land undraping
the Marin Headlands bare for the sun
until the last strands vanish at sea
I turn away then spin to look
the silver slipper isn’t there
the tingling the caress are gone
Oh Lana — I’m sorry please come back

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Recycling Center

6/1/2017

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By Bob Dougherty
 
There’s purpose and order,
every type of thing has an area,
electronics, plumbing, old paint…
people moving stuff all over the place,
yet, for all the activity it’s really quite clean.
What’s striking is the eerie feeling of entropy;
this is the place old junk ends up no one wants.
The efficiency of the end is like Costco in reverse,
people bring their things in   pay   leave with nothing.
A Tyrannosaurus machine devours once treasured items
and spits its splintered spew onto a conveyor to   nowhere.
I push my pile into the pit and move back — feeling faint regret.
 
Was I too hasty?
 
When I go to the recycler I always hope life is much more
than just carrying things from Costco to the recycler.
The average trip for my stuff is maybe ten years.
Strangely, at the recycler,   I always picture
when my junk was new and I younger.
At Costco,   I never picture
purchases — as old
and I older.
 
In some ways,   I guess   I’m a tool of entropy,
I buy goods   use them up   discard junk.
If the trip takes longer, that’s good,
if I get good memories, great,
but someday — I sense
entropy will get even
the memories.
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    Writer
    Bob Dougherty is a poet and writer living in Tiburon, CA 

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