Magazines No More

The written word is slowly going,
For the last 20 years it has been slowing,
One by one, the symbolic giants are folding,
Encyclopaedia Britannica, PC Magazine, are falling,
Three hundred sixty seven magazines, in 2009,
Have gone under or will only be online,
This week we were officially notified,
Newsweek too – the print version nullified,
Starting November or December 2012,
The printed version will be a memory about to fade,
So if you are a collector grab a copy,
In 300 years, it will bring a bounty,
Do you remember the old days in the Wild West?
Where magazines were cut to squares, I do not jest,
To be used as toilet paper is used today,
I tell no tales that was the way,
I just can’t imagine someone today wipe their behind,
With an Ipad, a laptop or a tablet never you mind,


So here I am, watching the “Wizard of Oz”
For the 600 time, don’t ask why? Just because,
These logical issues seem to bother me a bit,
The lion wanted courage, tin man heart, scarecrow wit,
Dorothy was not in Kansas anymore, which is obvious,
The wizard was just a crook not from Oz not even Cyprus,
The evil witch of the west died from a little water,
You do understand she never washed herself in cold or hotter,
Or she would have died long before Dorothy did her in,
She must have smelled as old cheese mixed with dead sardine,
Yet the kids should love this masterpiece it is funny,
Next generations will watch it too it is smart and canny,
There is always room for a stupid scarecrow, a coward lion,
A romantic tin man that needs a heart, looking for action,
And a witch that gets her just deserve,
So make some tea, recline on your seat and observe,


A young couple in a picture so innocently hopeful,
Reality, cynicism, uselessness, the futility of it all,
They have dreams, aspirations, hopes, yearning,
Their witches are not yet at the stake burning,
Then as the years go by realities sink in,
This is a game with only losers you can’t win,
Expect only disappointment, betrayal, deception,
There is no out, no deviation and no exception,
No odds in your favor, no odds no bets,
Helps not if you are sorry and full of regrets,
The end is known, has been known since genesis,
All the way down – to the endless abyss

Hurricane Season

The sky is grey, dark, ashen, overcast,
Ominous, ready to pour going to blast,
Streets are empty, cold, pre-storm stillness,
The air is crispy cold, not moving, windless,
Its hurricane season everyday another is born,
Over the islands the east coast Boca Raton,
Palm trees waving crazy arms in the gale,
Waves running to shore as big as a whale,
Every year during hurricane season without fail,
Only thing to do, stay home with a pint of ale,

George Burns

I love George Burns humour – witty and smart,
I remember when he was a young man starting up,
He used to say when he started out long time ago,
Everything was less stressful things were going slow,
The “Dead Sea” was only sick,  under the weather,
To write you did not use a pen but used a feather,
He said it’s ok to be getting older, but don’t get old,
You can hear all, but don’t believe all you are told,
It is strange that all the political experts seem to be,
Cutting hair at the barber shop or drive a taxi


Today on PBS there was a documentary shown,
About the human brain – the last of the unknown,
How far can we push our brain, our memory short and long,
Do we fit in the street or in the zoo we belong?
What makes us click, what makes us tick and why?
It makes us laugh and cry, bold or shy, low or high,
Some have bigger brains some have small some have none,
Some are fresh some ripe some are overdone,
You don’t measure the quality by the weight or size,
But how well it goes on the plate with ketchup and fries


Today’s news was very interesting back to back,
A 38 years old surfer bitten and killed by a shark,
Does it matter how old was the victim, really?
Had he been 44, 52, or 26 would it be less chilly?
Why is it we need to know every detail every fact?
This peeping Tom behaviour this invasive act,
The need to dig in; uncover little dirt something kinky,
Look for the story, the unusual, something stinky,
It is also unfair, notably unjust, large question mark,
Nobody asked nor cared how old was the shark?


CNN has been researching this election’s undecided,
And a long list of profiles was dully provided,
First, the undecided is a she, nineteen to twenty nine,
Employed and has no college education, which is fine,
I am sure if we dig a little deeper, we will find:
An imbecile that for some reason cannot make up her mind,
What does it take to make a decision; you have all the info,
You have all you need to make up your mind you know,
There are two people running – count them – one – two,
Flip a coin, pick a card, heads or tails, and for God’s sake choose,
One is a democrat the other one republican,
One already proved he can’t the other says he can,
If it was up to me I would chose the other one,
With both we will strike out neither is a home run

A Dudele

Today they played “A Dudele” – a song,
On 96.3, melancholy, longing, Jewish, glum,
It brought up so many memories, childhood,
Mother and father, family, warmth all that is good,
There is a sense of sorrow, melancholy and pain,
In all traditional Jewish music, feels like cutting a vein,
We celebrate sorrow, misery and depression,
Jewish prayer is an argument with God, we question,
We demand answers we want explanations,
Between him and us, it is a funny sort of relations,
Even Lot was haggling with God re Sodom and Gomorra,
It says so in the good book, just read the Torah,
We never let the poor guy win we are a stubborn nation,
It is a fact we have been doing it since creation

Summer And Winter

Friday afternoon mid–October,
It is a little crazy looking at the weather,
One day is cold next warm next even hot,
Making plans with this weather – I do not,
Has nothing to do with our warming planet,
Melting glaciers, the middle-east or the national debt,
When it comes to do with the weather in our vast land,
We could be freezing in Nova Scotia, and –
Sun tanning in British Columbia, on Vancouver Island,
So don’t fight it be philosophical, relax,
Summer in Canada is fun but winter really sucks

A Shot In The Evening

I had a shot of scotch tonight
I seldom have a drink but tonight seemed right,
So I had a shot of “Johnny Walker- double black”
It tasted good and I saw no noticeable set back,
It rolled nicely around the tongue for a minute or two,
Before it continued its way slowly down where it was due,
It is a nice way to follow dinner with a shot of good Scotch,
It enhances the senses takes it up a notch,
Mind you, I do not suggest drinking more than a shot,
More than one will be overkill and will miss the spot,
So count me in for one drink at the end of the day,
You do that and from extra shots stay away,
You will enjoy your evening as I did today


Today I had “Linguini Ai Fruti Di Mare” at Marcello,
An appetizer of fried Calamari was the start of the show,
Accompanied by a glass of merlot,
After the Espresso and Tiramisu a glass of Bordeaux,
Sometimes I like to spoil myself – I deserve spoiling,
After a week of hard work and much toiling,
I think I will spoil myself more often nowadays,
I don’t think spoiling myself should be out of place,
I also like sushi, sashimi and middle-eastern food,
A good steak makes sense and I ‘m always in the mood,
Bordeaux may be replaced by a glass of draft beer,
And a good cigar is something I hold dear,
Yes life is good and should be much appreciated,
I intend to take my time and deeply investigate it

The Healthy Grocer

In one of my very long walks that I take,
Along the old narrow alleyways near the lake,
I encountered a sign over a grocery store that said:
“The Healthy Grocer” – in huge letters it read,
Now I ask you in all sincerity, integrity and candour,
Who cares how healthy is the derided gardener,
I care how healthy are the carrots and the coriander,
When I go to buy my groceries, veggies and meat,
I don’t need to know how well the butchers heart can beat,
I need to know if it is clean of salmonella and Listeria,
Will I be healthy or will I die eating his bacteria,
I don’t care if the butcher or grocers are well,
I want a piece of meat that does not smell,
I want to know that what I put into me at breakfast,
Will not turn out to be my last

Omelette With Dry Feta Cheese

Many years ago when I was a distinguished late teen,
(That’s over twelve and no more than nineteen,)
My late uncle the only one I ever had,
Took me for an early breakfast for I was a good lad,
It was in the old country in an old city Haifa, on a mountain,
Overlooking the bay, the ships, the Baha’i fountain,
In the old Arab market with freshly baked Pita scent,
The herbs and spices – where old veggies ferment,
We sat in a small restaurant to a small square table,
Ordered an omelette with extra dry feta –
Olives on the side from a tin without a label,
With it came a few tomatoes right off the vine,
Homemade yogurt, lemonade, pickles in brine,
Fresh hot pitas steaming direct from the oven,
Cilantro, parsley and dill are mandatory not an option,
Then came the omelette, thin and fried to perfection,
With dry feta cheese sprinkled all over each section,
Green olive oil thick and bitter on the side dripping,
This is for the hot pita in sesame seeds for the dipping,
These simple breakfasts in the old city market narrow streets,
They were not  fancy meals but sure were good eats

No Reason

Sometimes things happen for no reason,
Has nothing to do with politics, conditions or season,
It just happens god knows why- (well maybe not),
Sometimes there is a conspiracy maybe a whole plot,
Maybe you just happen to be at that spot,
Sometimes you ought to – sometimes naught,
Who is to judge what was supposed to have been,
Who is to say what to observe or to be seen,
Reasoning or reason, logic or sense – things of the past,
Anything can happen any minute can be your last,
Call it karma call it chance, probability, or prospect,
Equivalent of a lightning bolt from up above–
An accident about to happen one may suspect,
It is a philosophical question – to be or not to be,
Are you the shaggy dog or maybe the little flea?

Pictures In Black And White

When I was a kid, seems like eons ago,
Pictures were taken in black and white you know,
Most people did not have cameras at the time,
Cameras were expensive and cost more than a dime,
There was a profession called photographer,
It was there right next to hunter and gatherer,
They were setting a place in the park with accessories,
With backdrops, hats, recliner, zebra and canaries,
And walkers by would pose for a picture,
Alone, with family members, with or without fixtures,
On a huge three legged tripod stood the machine,
There were screens and reflectors it looked very mean,
The camera was a huge box with a black cloth behind,
The process took minutes if conditions were kind,
You would leave your name and address too,
Make an appointment for the proofing view,
Then you got dressed nice and fancy for the occasion,
The whole family went to choose the best version,
I still have some of the pictures black and white cut,
Me on my tummy with my exposed butt,
Well I must have been three months at that time,
Exposing your butt then was not really a crime,

Like Alfred Newman

Today I visited Liam my grandson – the man,
I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks,
Although I‘m a fan,
He smiled at me with his two teeth, actually just one,
Well make it one and a half,
He has that look about him of one very tough,
Today he started to crawl, wiggling his behind,
He will go anywhere should he make up his mind,
When he looks at me smiling wide,
I fill up with a sense of pride,
That smile rings a bell from years long gone,
Alfred Newman, on Mad Magazine cover always shown,
Well you have to be old enough to remember that,
Before computers, sushi, frozen pizza and Second Cup

A Good Cigar

I have not had a cigar in a quarter of a year,
Matilda, my new SUV still smells new, it is unfair,
I used to light my “Siglo” at the end of the day,
Now at best I chew on a piece of gum and pray-
For the day I can light my Cigar, enjoy the aroma,
Without the fear of prematurely slipping into a coma,
Waiting will make cigars taste so much better, I think,
And with a glass of Cognac I’ll be back in synch,
We have so few and numbered simple joys in our life,
Let it count, cherish it, enjoy, and try to survive,
Cognac, good cigar, a long look into the horizon,
Take a long puff, a hearty sip, you feel like a million,

Winter Almost Here

Chilly, the temperature has dropped to nine,
At night, you can hear the wind whine,
The smell of autumn is in the air,
No longer can you sit at night on the lawn chair,
The trees are fast losing their leaves,
A million colors, you wear long sleeves,
Breathing in the crispy cold air on your walk,
Had it been colder you would have croaked,
Another winter around the corner is waiting,
On TV another season of hockey and skating,
We are after all a northern long winter nation,
As usual I shall be going into my hibernation,

What’s On

I have been checking to see,
What are the free choices you get on TV,
This is a random look on a Saturday afternoon,
Sometime between the months of October and June,
Seems that on everyone’s mind is the subject of leprosy,
There are programs in Hindu, Polish, Romanian and Swahili,
The real-estate channel, World Vision, skin care and news,
Iranian community, shopping channel, infomercial, fishing blues,
Mandarin and Nascar not a lot to choose,
So I do what I do when I do and to music I turn,
Writing and reading and learning and here is a poem,

Devil in the Details

The devil is in the details, as we all know,
You cannot make bread without the dough,
You cannot make an omelet without breaking the eggs,
You cannot have the dark ages without the plagues,
There is no good without the bad,
If you have no children, you are not a dad,
Although it has been proved you can be a father,
Still it means nothing and nothing really matter,
Fall is knocking on our door, another winter soon,
Cats will be gone, still here and there raccoon,
Life goes on, day chases night, lunch then dinner,
In every race many losers but only one winner,
Everything is secondary to tell you the truth,
Cause today I was officially informed,
My grandson Liam – got his first tooth

Stented !!

So now I have been stented, that is right,
It’s not a spelling mistake, it’s spelled alright,
I was put on the table, under the bright lights above,
My chest shaved, my arteries punctured, rubber glove,
A thin line of blood was still going through,
Keeping me alive was this little oxygenated brew,
So in goes the sheath into the wrist,
With a gentle shoving a push and a twist,
Way to that blockage in that artery sitting stubborn,
A blockage aiming to kill me – it must have sworn,
A balloon inflated to open the vessel,
That is trying to close up – my oxygen to wrestle,
Then the stent long legged and sexy slowly inserted,
And a thin line of blood to a life line converted,
Here I am now reborn and alive (for now),
For a great job done by the Sunnybrook doctors I bow,