A Message from the Next Dalai Lama.


I’ve had this funny feeling lately that reincarnation

Will make me Dalai Lama for the coming generation.

The current Dalai Lama’s getting on in years, you know;

 When he kicks the bucket I believe I’ll get his glow.


No need for monks to go to sacred lakes or dream their dreams;

I’m the boy they’re looking for, without undue extremes.

I’m the 15th guru, and to Zhu Weiqun I’m stating

I’ll wear the yellow hat without your frivolous debating.


My reign will be a peaceful one, with colored sand design.

Prayer wheels will keep rolling inside ev’ry Buddhist shrine.

The Communists can rant and rave about my blessed state;

I’ll simply smile upon them as I start to levitate.   

(Inspired by an article in the New York Times)

Jihadi John


(Inspired by an article by Steven Erlanger)

My mother read to me from Lewis Carrol’s lovely book

The story of a queen who would behead you, like a crook.

That story gave me strength to act, upon which I have drawn

When I moved to Syria – to be Jihadi John.


My face wrapped in a blackened shawl, my snickersnee quite sharp;

I help the infidels into the world of cloud and harp.

The media have speculated why I’m such a brute;

The truth is I am drawn to it by hope of blood and loot.


Religion plays but little part in all my gory deeds.

I just like cutting people down as if they were rank weeds.

Darth Vader is my role model, and Genghis Khan my star;

Before I slice your ears off I will play on my guitar.


St. Paul archdiocese declares bankruptcy in response to abuse lawsuits



(From a story by Brittny Mejia.)

In Rome the prelates scratch their heads and wonder in alarm

What will keep their parish priests away from the poor farm.

For archbishops are filing for clean default by the score,

Afraid of many creditors come knocking on their door.


Now rich in rents and property, the universal creed

Might be left with nothing but a single used prayer bead.

All because they covered up with ambiguity

Their padres nasty habit of rude unchastity.


But why should pontiffs worry of the court’s undoubted vox,

When they can so easily make use of their poor box?

After all, the Savior said in Mathew twenty-six

That the poor would persevere, common as clay bricks.



Matzo and Leverpostei.


Growing up benighted in a Norskie neighborhood,

I never knew that matzo tasted plain but very good.

We didn’t have a neighbor with mezuzot on their doors;

No one wore a yarmulke or shopped at kosher stores.


But when I left my little hytte, upon the world to snoop,

I discovered wonders such as matzo balls in soup.

Gefilte fish I sampled and the latke I adored,

And so I learned that noshing is its tasty own reward.


I still am eating matzo; I enjoy it with sardines,

Or spread some leverpostei on it with fresh salad greens.

I may get indigestion, but you cannot indict me

For prejudice when I am on a gourmandizing spree.

Ode to the Bowling Alley.


Bowling is a fading memory to many folk;

The younger generation looks upon it as a joke.

The sound of pins cascading and the smell of bowling shoes

Is now the stuff of reverie and melancholy views.


When a bowling alley closes up for once and all,

There never is a poet to give praise to bowling ball.

As the Big Lebowski said in L.A. long ago:

“Bowling is a sport that puts most joy into escrow.”


I think of William Bendix as the archetype of bowlers;

Grinning at a strike until we almost see his molars.

That artless entertainment that was once a bowling lane

We seek now on the Internet, and seek it all in vain.

The Secular American.


When secular Americans believe their rights ignored

They gnash their teeth and curse aloud and wield a mighty sword;

For they are on a holy quest to quash religious foes

Who blithely legislate the rules that step upon their toes!


Religious tests must be wiped out; all language that implies

An atheist can’t be elected must meet with excise.

A person can be anything to hold an office here;

Pious, profane, rake or loon – addicted to spruce beer.


It’s universal knowledge that a politician ain’t

Never gonna make it to the status of a saint.

So why not let the freethinkers among us take their chance

And seek elective office (with a juicy PAC finance.)

A Palestinian Homeland?


How many countries can you find

In the Mideast war-torn grind?

There’s Lebanon and Egypt, see;

Turkey, Kuwait, U.A.E.

Jordan, Bahrain, Oman, natch;

Turkey’s gonna start from scratch.

Arabia, of course, and then

The playground that is called Yemen.

Iraq and Iran are twins

When it comes to loony bins.

Now let me see . . . my count is fine;

Except where is poor Palestine?

It’s not on Google maps as yet,

But it will pop up soon I bet.

(The way some people think of Jews,

Israel is just a ruse.)