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Bob Bergman Poem
The Mirror
I met myself today, not that many years away.
A most arresting sight; it filled me full of fright:
My mind in disarray, all my senses, gone astray.
Every hour come what may, planning meals for the day.
Checking locks. Are they tight? Checking clocks. Are they right?
I watched myself today. not so many years away.
Only driving in the day. After dark I lose my way.
Hardly hearing, blurry sight, nothing seems to taste quite right.
All my senses gone astray, and my mind’s ... in disarray.
Searching for each word to say. Can’t remember yesterday.
Bathroom visits through the night, cursing til I find the light.
I heard myself today not that many years away.
Talk about childhood days, no matter what you had to say.
Both my knees rusted tight, can’t get up with out a fight.
Bent and frail, drawn and gray, everything’s in disarray.
Do I need this P.O.A. Deeds and wills seem OK
What about a funeral site? Who will give my last rite?
I asked myself today: “just how many years away?”
While visiting my Dad this past Father’s Day.
Copyright © Bob Bergman | Year Posted 2015
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Bob Bergman Poem
I used to garden naturally,
but now I'm guard'in chemically.
I've traded in my life bucolic
for one much more diabolic.
I'd rather play in the dirt chem-free
where weeding is great therapy:
tending herbs and building beds,
watering and dead-ing heads.
I'd welcome help to germinate
wiggling worms to cultivate,
and frequent flyers to pollinate.
But no! I'm forced to fumigate.
My homeland's been invaded!
All my plots are being raided
by countless uninvited guests
and some most annoying pests:
those snakes and snails and slugs,
wasps and spiders, moths and bugs,
herds of deer, rabbits and moles
a local raccoon and several voles.
Despite the natural tools I've tried
my garden still is occupied.
So I feel completely justified
to spray more potent pesticides.
To keep my enemies at bay,
I have to fight most every day
with coyote smells and critter baits
copper tapes and underground grates,
then netting plus a six-foot fence--
all apart of my homeland defense.
Yes, I admit I'm a fearful zealot
always seeking that magic pellet
or some ultra-noxious smell
which will cast its might spell
to desist, to deter, to repel,
or extend that final farewell.
So when you need that knockout drop
here's the place you ought to shop.
Skip the nursery, and fill your cart
from all the shelves at My-Pest-Mart
Copyright © Bob Bergman | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Bob Bergman Poem
The Impostor
I, Strelitzia come to surprise
by turning your sightings up-side-down
with my vibrant costume and disguise.
Fiery plumage forms my crested crown
with feathery tips of indigo.
My boat-shaped beak is a mossy brown.
You’ll stop and stare at my bloomin’ show
of regal garb that always deceives—
a subject fitting for a Van Gogh.
Amid long blue-gray leathery leaves,
I can perch, I can pose, unafraid,
protected from would-be floral thieves.
It’s all a part of my masquerade.
Hummingbird visits—just part of the game,
though they’re not fooled by my sly charade.
I’m in the Imposter’s Hall of Fame
because everyone has to look twice.
Time to unmask and reveal my name:
It’s me! It’s me! Bird of Paradise.
Copyright © Bob Bergman | Year Posted 2015
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