Mom at My 11th Perhaps.jpg


Oh, that cake looks good,
Chocolate, double chocolate, and more,
Candles burning, waiting for a wish,
So I’ll make it now, fifty years on

I wish you were back here, just for that day,
Any day really,
So we could talk,
Just talk

I could tell you how I miss you,
Not waste time wondering if you were proud,
You were,
And in need of the same from me,
I am

I will always think of you,
Pray you had joy rising over pain,

And now only joy,
That we meet again,
Such is my wish, late perhaps
But with candles still aflame.


I went to a benefit for the fallen
Fine-clothed men and women in jewels
From thickest stew to cream pastry salute
Recalling the names and their own golden rules
Raising money for honor, money for headstones
Money for the children, money for the wives
Money for weapons, for tomorrow’s battle plans
Money for all the lost and found lives

At the end of a night that never ends
There was one more mother in an angel’s white dress
Lost her son just last month
To another don’t go near the mirror mess
The media circled, stuck a microphone in her beautiful sad face
We’re looking for comments on the stepped-up bomb-drop campaign
Thank you, thank your son for his service
She looked through the glass at the never-ending rain

And this is all she said

Drop flowers, drop candies
Drop clothing and books
Drop pills, drop flutes,
Drop fish and drop hooks

Drop money, drop teachers
Drop plans, drop tools
Drop parties, drop bridges
Drop help and drop schools

Drop hope for a future that’s coming so fast
Drop letters of love from the not distant past
Drop maps to all the beauty for all now to see
Drop words of inspiration to be truly free


first published in the Be First Media Group

I’ve had enough of the white stuff \ Frigid, miserable bite stuff \ Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rudolph light fluff
If I wanted frozen hands and eyes \ If I wanted aching shovel backs \ If I wanted weather weather everywhere
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first published in the Be First Media Group

Back at the table to negotiate \Warm blue sky running few weeks late \ One groundhog dropped |Another one dead
Give me one reason to get out of this bed \ Thin blood, thin patience \ Crazy texting drivers on all that black ice
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first published in the Be First Media Group

Went to the Woolworth Building
Downtown Manhattan
To return some do-hickey
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Thank you, thank you, thank you
For this week's dollar
And a half
You do know how to show a girl
A good time

Let them tweet and retweet
Those spoiled elites
Your trillion dollar tax cut
Pays my Costco year
Say it loud, say it proud
No satire from you, dear Paul

Free samples for members
Turkey, pork, coconut water
Salsa and corn chips so blue
And when I'm feeling particularly bold
I'll invent a husband
And eat for two

Oh Paul, dear Paul
You get me and I get you
Thank you, thank you, thank you
For all the trickle down you do


All I ever wanted was freedom
To be me, at home with my family
On my farm, on my ranch, in my mine, on my couch
But you came calling, making it hard
I had the television on
And there were so many foes
I couldn’t hardly name them
Just knew they were there
But I had my long rifle
And hunt’s old reliable
Handgun in my waist
I was ready, always ready

Trust me, I meant well

But when the bullets came raining down from on high
From a place God should have been
Thousands of shells, automatic
For minutes, for hours, for the eternity we allowed
We just ran, we had no choice
And you looked the other way
For the next time
For the thousands of next times
Don’t blame you, not at all, I’m past that now

A well regulated Militia
Being necessary
To the security of a free State
The right of the people to keep and bear Arms
Shall not be infringed

I am not Militia, I am not secure, these are not Arms
Infringe me now

Millions of moments of silence
That’s all we’ve had
And I’ve been silent past one moment
To the next, and far too long
Because all I ever wanted was freedom
What the hell when we live in hell?
I give up my gun and demand yours for the flames
This is not freedom
Burn them all, I will find my freedom in the fire

All Rights Reserved © Peter Brav 2017