WHERE HAVE ALL OUR HEROES GONE?

Where have all our heroes gone?

Randolf Scott, Liberace, Rock Hudson, and

the epitome of perfection, Cary Grant¾

all seem to be made of different clay.

Is it coincidence that woman’s most romantic fantasies,

those who we have long adored from afar

are not women‑lovers at all, but are gay?

What does that tell us?  That we can never

surmount the barriers against us?

          That we shouldn’t care?

How many of us make that same mistake in life?

Falling in love with a need that consumes us.

Only to find it was window dressing

¾created from our own fantasy world, like the

elegant body on an emaciated mannequin.

Do we cling stubbornly to our ideals,

like moths throwing fragile bodies against the window,

wanting so badly to be let inside without knowing why.

Do we instill more deceptions into our psyches, with the

bittersweet taste of ashes on our tongues

each time we swallow another lie?

How is it men and women are supposed to fit together

when there is such discrepancy

between what is real and what is ideal

and what we each have to work with?

As mothers, when are we going to teach our daughters

that dreams can never measure up to reality

and more important, teach our sons that

reality must be enhanced by dreams.

And yet we hope, we dream.  Some of us give up,

some of us settle, some of us win.

Some are able to show our partners that when we win,

          so do they.

When that happens we may be able to exist

in a world without heroes

POLITICALLY  CORRECT

I bought a leather jacket, couldn’t afford one new.

It was Salvation Army’s finest‑fit like a good shoe.

The first time I wore the thing, it caused a helluva stir

       Around the collar, everyone saw F‑U‑R, fur.

It was politically incorrect, they told me to my face,

for killing innocent animals, I was in disgrace.

I tried to scream above the shouts, dodged eggs too slow

       Whoever killed the animals‑did it 20 years ago!

Blame it on the system, where do they find the words?

To dump the guilt on everyone is really quite absurd.

Could it be a cover‑up for greedy politicians?

       We rattle pots and pans and they burn down the kitchen.

I voted every year I could, most times the pickings lean.

But it never seemed to change a thing¾politics are mean.

If you don’t vote, for shame, that’s politically incorrect.

       No matter the measly choices, you must show respect.

Do your patriotic duty, to further their careers.

Show political correctness though you land upon your rear.

Tho Social Security and Medicare need massive resurrection

       Fight their wars and don’t protest because that’s political incorrection.

Blame it on the system, where do they find the words?

To dump the guilt on everyone is really quite absurd.

Could it be a cover‑up for selfish politicians?

       While we rattle pots and pans, they’re burning down the kitchen.

HOW MANY RAINBOWS WILL I SEE?

Tell me, how many rainbows will I see

 And how many sunsets am I pledged?

 Will the rivers still flow on without me

 And birds continue nesting in flowered hedge?

 How many roads will miss my passing by?

 Will the stars shine as bright without my wish?

 Will long ago lovers still hear my cry

 And share my loss, and pain, my loneliness?

 Will the roses bloom well without my touch

 And children remember my happy smile?

 Will friends give a thought to my passing much

 And recall our laughter, our special style?

 Is this to be my immortality?

 Tell me, how many rainbows will I see?