Who is this person named Tony Baloney?
Why is his facial expression so stony?
Is he really a cop, or is he a phony?
Does he ride a police horse, or is it a pony?
Who is this person named Tony Baloney?

What do we know about Tony Baloney?
He’s not all that fat, but he’s not all that bony.
Is his TV a Samsung, or maybe a Sony?
Does he like a plain hot dog, or favor a Coney?
What do we know about Tony Baloney?

Is he religious, this Tony Baloney?
Is he thrifty and tending towards parsimony?
Does he view each arrest with extreme sanctimony?
Is the air in his office a little brimstony?
What kind of a cop is this Tony Baloney?

Why does he like Mace so much, Tony Baloney?
Does he put pepper spray on his mom’s macaroni?
Does he drink lots of soup? Is it beef minestrone?
Does he only like pizza if it has pepperoni?
Why does he use Mace so much, Tony Baloney?

What’s he got against women, this Tony Baloney?
Has he dated Madonna Louise Ciccone?
Did she laugh when he kneeled and proposed matrimony?
Does his nightstick still throb at the thought of her yoni?
Does he like women, this Tony Baloney?

Will the NYPD fire Tony Baloney?
Will his career end in great acrimony?
Will the Chief of Police keep him on as a crony?
Or will he retire after some ceremony,
to work at the ice rink and drive the Zamboni?
Oh, when will they fire that Tony Baloney?

2011-10-04

(poem for Eric Whitacre)

Whose words they are I think I know.
His poem’s copyrighted though,
With words you’re not allowed to hear
About the dark woods in the snow.

The man would maybe think it queer;
His family dead for many a year,
No heirs in need of royalties,
Yet companies still profiteer.

Ignoring other artists’ pleas
The publisher alone decrees:
None can set Frost’s words to music,
None can share words such as these.

The poem’s lovely, all agree,
But pay up if you want to see,
And years will pass before it’s free,
And years will pass before it’s free.

2011-04-22

Inspiration

The Taliban of Swat

(with apologies to Edward Lear)

Who, or why, or which, or what, are the Taliban of Swat?
How did they get where they are today?
Were they funded and trained by the CIA, or NOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Do they issue demands? Do they boast to the press?
Are their writings in Urdu, or Arabic, or POLYGLOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Are they slow to recruit? Are there entrance exams?
Or will they accept any brainwashed religious CRACKPOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Is the Pakistan weather a pleasure to them,
Or do their black turbans result in their heads getting HOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

After the bombs that they make detonate,
Do they bury their victims, cremate them, or leave them to ROT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Do they pay for their murderous terror campaign
By trafficking heroin, crack cocaine, or POT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Do they hate and fear the USA?
Are they hostile to Disney? Do they long to burn down EPCOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Is Al Qaeda’s jihad one which they also back?
Did they aid the attack on the Islamabad MARRIOTT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Will the picturesque northwest of Pakistan
Ever again become a vacation SPOT,
     for the Taliban of Swat?

there is too much
everything

filling our lives
like a barricade against the door

behind which stands
the simplicity we fear the most

In the Boston Public Gardens
there’s a row of metal ducks
They live off iron filings
that they peck from passing trucks.

They never need to preen themselves
as other ducklings must
but once a month
with wire wool
they polish off the rust.

They never waddle to the pond
to stop and take a drink.
It’s just as well
’cause if they did
they might fall in and sink.

[1999]

He wore an overall carelessly
She wore a hat with abandon
He accepted the money with a smile
and handed her a hot dog with relish

just to touch
to hold you close
to feel your breathing
your warmth
is all I want
or ask
for in those moments
I feel
that I am human

1996-02-??

a young man of expressive frame
within a box and dressed in black
without a chance to be the same
the wheels turn no turning back

conceding to feel warmth once more
approach reluctantly unfair
beyond the safety of the door
pretending they no longer care

in loss oblique and force dramatic
acting until pain is drowned
repeating now on automatic
silence lost nobody found

ends now looping to beginning
the blade is twisted and withdrawn
to restart with no hope of winning
chance regained despair reborn

1993-09-16

Bored with TV
My uncle bought a video
And placed it in the living room

Its flashing 12:00
12:00
12:00
Gave testimony to his inability
To get the times to move with him.

He bought a new remote control
To set the video for him
But he couldn’t work out
How to insert the batteries.

Feeling discouraged
My uncle bought a microwave
Reasoning that even if the programmes were boring
At least he’d be able to eat them afterwards.

My uncle has a special remote control
To program the microwave for him
Now all he has to do
Is push a button marked “frozen pizzaâ€
And remember to put in a tape
To record dinner while he is out.

1992-07-21

1

It’s much less fuss to go by bus
but it’s the wait I really hate

2

In the days of bus conductors
Buses moved to scheduled pace
They were big and slow and noisy
But they had a certain grace

These days things are rather different
Bus conductors have all gone
Timetables are long forgotten
But the buses trundle on

3

isn’t that just
typical
you wait ages for a poem about buses
and then three come along