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Loch David Crane Poem
Barbie
from Loch
March 5, 1990
I fell in love in a biker bar
with a girl in chocolate hair.
It swept around her like a smoky fire
and woke up the beast in my lair.
Her bright eyes twinkled like brilliant stars
at the end of the moonless road--
they called to me like a siren song
to lay down my heavy load.
Tall she was like a square rigged ship
like a mast shrouded in clouds;
and she could dance like a foamy wave,
making Neptune cry out loud.
But the path of a ship is a bubble
and suddenly she was gone--
her chocolate hair and vanilla neck
are moments in my sad song.
This siren's memory seizes me
like cinnamon schnapps and a grin
which warm the body from the inside out
and settle a smile on your chin.
Her dancing hair drove my clouds away
and opened an azure sky;
and all I asked was a tall, thin ship
and two stars to steer me by.
Among all the women I've danced with
none are remembered so fair
as a girl who walked like a tall ship,
and had waves of chocolate hair.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
The Cyber Nymph
Loch David Crane
August 18, 1997
Lie back--expose your belly ring
up unto the sky. . .
I just hope when I get down close
it won't put out my eye!
That summer I was 48
and she pert 25;
I left Prozac in the cupboard
and Reality went Live.
I shoulda taken time to stop
and used the vorpal rubber
But 48 he couldn't wait
to find another lover.
So while the Sun was merciless
to sand and skin and sea
"If she swells I'm sure she'll tell,
returning then to me."
I must admit I got her drunk--
I used her just for sex:
Blue and blond with freckles,
suntanned buns and pecs.
But she revealed computer skills
That took away my breath.
Her dancing cyber fingers sang;
I soon saw who was best.
Ol' 48 could bare compute
"Not very fast" she said;
"I've practiced years not to be fast"
gasped I, collapsed in bed.
Then the Sun warmed up the honey--
it dripped twice more in a row.
Ulysses' "rosy-fingered dawn"
beheld her frown, dress, and go.
That freshly-flossed feeling
reverberates my spine
A smile wells up from deep inside
and stays there all the time.
At play I watched this cyber nymph
on Netscape and E-mail;
Her eyes flashed, fingers flying,
shaking golden ponytail.
"You're kinda slow," she grumbled,
terrifying 48;
"But I like that in a man," she grinned,
making me feel great.
My old 12 color monitor
was not enough for her;
More movies, GIFs, and videos
flew by me in a blur.
But 48 he had a trick:
while she stared at the screen
I spoke in her ear, nibbled her neck,
and adored her like a Queen.
I kissed and bit and licked and squirmed
'til wrists and spine went quiet--
The way a mouse's legs go still
when python's on his diet.
And then the honey dripped once more,
the Sun was past its rise.
I felt its rosy hug and knew
that love was in my eyes.
I asked her for her address,
she wrote with @ in code;
I said "I'm too old fashioned"
and asked for her telephone.
So when you dream, sweet 25,
tall cyber nymph of mine,
remember please old 48
who isn't past his prime.
And as the honey of the Sun
drips down into the sea
I'll recall my Cyber Nymph
and she will undelete me.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
Patriot Guard funeral Escort
Loch David Crane
August, 2008
Today is sunny: with three dozen bikes,
some decorated cars, a pair of trikes,
two dozen Marines: all of the family
and toddlers to set their Daddy free
into the Great Beyond beyond the sky
where loved ones send their veterans who die.
Below our feet the stones give way to grass
where they are neatly trimmed; and as we pass
the names of strangers stare into the air
and we look back, wondering who lies there.
I won't step on a grave--I'll walk around
so not to insult those within the ground.
We ride at funerals honoring those vets,
brave men and women we have never met.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
America is not a Free Buffet
Loch David Crane, M. Ed.
Border Patrol Auxiliary
22 September 2008
America is not a free buffet
for benefit of those from far away.
We have our borders, customs, laws, and rules
securing our posterity from fools,
criminals, diseased people, and those
who mean us harm and carry bombs.
Malaria and leprosy are brought
by the undocumented who aren't caught.
The dumb, the desperate, or the diseased,
those lacking skills and schooling from "back home,"
all feel entitled through our fence to roam.
They break in here, and that's why we're displeased.
But those who choose to come here legally
have done it right, deserving to be free.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
The Christmas Rapper
Loch David Crane
December 7, 1989
Hello there Virginia,
and welcome too--
here's an answer to the question
posed by you.
You ask "who's Santa Claus?"
here he is--there!
The question is
not WHO but WHERE.
Santa's not found
in the beard or the hair;
the place you find Santa
is in your heart--there.
You've got to see Santa's
symbolic side--
of his charitable visits,
of his midnight ride.
He's hospitality
and traveller's aid--
and he's the fulfillment
of wishes made.
Santa is the symbol
of a child you see--
the child in you,
the child in me.
The light of curiosity
in children's eyes
brightens into pleasure
at each gift or prize.
Santa Claus lives
in a puppy's wet nose,
in a coveted toy,
in the right sized clothes,
In the love of a parent,
in the eyes of a child,
in the empty boxes
and wrappings wild.
He's not in a cash gift
or a plastic card –
but you hear him a'caroling
in someone's front yard.
Santa Claus is
a place in your heart –
he's a state of mind,
he’s a form of Art.
He's the spirit of joy,
he’s the spirit of giving,
he’s the spirit of Love
we should all be living.
You'll discover when Santa
you set out to find –
he's not here on Earth:
he resides in your mind.
And now comes the echo
of Santa's World flight:
"Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night!"
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
Santa’s Responsibility Rap
Loch David Crane
July 2, 2006
Santa's jolly all year long
he’s such a happy soul;
but if ya ever cross him
he’ll put you in a hole.
Santa’s very red and white
he knows who's good and bad.
His character assessment
shows us what a life you’ve had.
So obey your Mums and Daddies
and the helpful officers too
then we can jail the bad guys
and help each other through.
We write laws to protect us all,
both powerful and least;
treat others as you treat yourself,
respecting all, is best.
But if you sass your Daddy,
or the officer ignore,
expect a swat upon your rump
or SWAT outside your door.
Ol' Santa reads the crime reports
on a computer he refused
to deliver to a bad boy
whose trust had been abused.
He's read your blog on Facebook
and he knows what's in your heart:
so "you better be good for goodness’ sake"
or your gifts will all depart.
Santa doesn't like bad boys
or messes on the floor.
He doesn't have to forgive you
and he doesn't have to bring more.
For Santa reflects what you give to others
and whom you choose to be;
because only a pleasant person
gets dreams beneath his tree.
A loud, or stubborn, or spoiled child
sees an empty cactus tree;
a helpful, cheerful, giving kid
is a joy that Santa sees.
You must think as much of others
as you do just for yourself
if you want to see those goodies
coming towards you off the shelf.
'Cause Santa isn't Jesus,
that's why he keeps a list
of happy little readers
and those in whom he's disappointed.
Santa doesn't love you all
or listen when you pray--
just good behavior is the key
for toys on Xmas day.
"What's the X in Xmas?"
trembling little voices cry.
X is an unknown value
until you steal or lie.
For Santa isn't Jesus,
he's an atheist you see –
he dispenses voluntary gifts
underneath his pagan tree.
He doesn't owe you anything,
his gifts are from the heart..
He judges your behavior
and each year is a new start.
As you behave, so shall you be
rewarded by St. Nick;
but if you're bad the year before
then coal will be his trick.
What goes around comes back around
and what was old is new;
When you give respect to others
it returns increased to you.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
Breaking in to America on a Snowy Evening
Loch David Crane
Minuteman Civil Defense Corps member
May 2, 2006
Whose land this is I think I know–
America, where all things glow.
They will not see me stopping here
because response time is so slow.
My coyote (who hopes I’m queer)
returns for more throughout the year.
We won’t fix up old Mexico,
we’ll steal it all from folks up here.
Help Mexico? Don’t give me grief.
That takes some effort—I’m a thief!
I won’t vote or help my town,
I’d rather sign up for relief.
Entitlement is what I feel:
now that I’m here, I want to steal
free welfare benefits, emergency health care, in-state school tuition, and a drivers’ license
denied me by my birthplace deal.
Your lifestyle here is what I’ll take—
I think that I deserve a break!
We stole this land from Indians
and later sold it to the States.
We won’t learn to speak or write
English–which compounds our plight.
We all believe Aztlan will rise,
assimilation isn’t right.
Americans are really dumb
to leave an open door for bums.
Full amnesty is our desire
that’s why eleven million run.
The night is lovely, dark and deep;
at the North star I love to peep.
My booties aid my midnight creep. . .
I’ll shuffle miles while all you sleep!
(booties are carpet overshoes which leave a poor trail)
(AND your FORMS do not include POLITICAL or SATIRE...why not?)
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
Three Atheist limericks
for April Fools' Day 2006
Dear Mrs. Schiavo: Goodbye.
Dear Mrs. Schiavo: Goodbye.
Fifteen years was a long time to die.
Your husband was brave
To withstand the wave
Of inedible pie in the sky.
Why San Diegans remove Crosses from public Land
The SD City Council must hold strong:
Those mountaintop Christians are wrong.
Crucifixion's the sign
Of insensitive minds
Not the Native Americans' song.
Unrequited Faith
Dear Judeo-Christian God:
Your behavior's exceedingly odd.
You let Hitler misbehave
Then killed thousands with waves
And can't keep your priests' hands off kids' bods!
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
Bike to Work day: escorting the funeral of Marine Albrak Omar
Loch David Crane
Patriot Guard Riders
September 2009
No more classes now that I've been fired!
Patriotism is my job: I’m retired.
The Patriot Guard rides almost every day
to bring a flapping flag line on display.
We ride to work with combustion and chrome
to bring the bodies of our brave troops home.
In a strange twist for love of our country
This Arab Albrak was a volunteer
who gave America his youthful years
to make Iraqui people finally free.
He gave his life: I give my afternoon
remembering our heroes at high noon.
Packed in ice, he came home to his Mom;
his body was prepared by an Imam.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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Loch David Crane Poem
My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun
Loch David Crane,
Border Patrol Auxiliary
26 January 2010
We track illegal aliens in the snow.
It's easy to see where their booties go.
But "huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
should wait in line and come here legally.
Your thievery dishonors those who came
here legally, but have Latino names.
If you, like others, waited patiently
we'd welcome you "from sea to shining sea."
"Observe, report, direct" and document:
these lawful practices are our intent.
On nights like this, lit brightly by the Moon,
I monitor the freqs from our comms room.
My heart beats faster when I touch my gun:
it's in the holster empty, safety on.
(freqs are frequencies on the radio in the Communications center.)
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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