Quite frankly, Obama needs to be "hung out to dry." He has decided that swimming with the "sharks" is easier than rescuing their victims. No modern President was given a better chance to expose GOP hypocrisy than Obama with the tax issue. He "stuck his toes in" and tested the waters with financial reform and his "choice" of advisers. He "waded" into the same waters when cutting backroom health care deals with the likes of Ben Nelson and Bart Stupak. Now, he's finally taken the "plunge." The really sad part is that he truly could have become the "Lincoln" of his time and "emancipated" the poor and middle class from the jaws of avarice. In a couple of years he'll be an ex-President with plenty of time on his hands. Maybe he'll take the time to pen a new book: "Hope Doesn't Float"

Pink Blossoms

Fervor and friction oft' share the same bed
Cooing, catting, an ambivalent pair
Adulation, regret, from the same head
Love taps, verbal raps, it never seems fair
On two stairways we've waved as lovers do
Like tigers we circle... tremulous night
As spoons we curl up so, just me and you
There's never victor, whenever we fight
Un-kissed lips pause dry, they need their kiss-mates
I've bought dance tickets to stroll with your soul
Deep down inside we're linked by common fate
Our last fight...last night...too heavy a toll
Pink blossoms lie dormant when we're apart
Then swirl in mine eyes, with you in my heart

The beauty of old rock stars, old movie stars, etc., is that they remain eternally young; as long as someone like us doesn't get too old to remember them, and to love them, and to remember the many memories that seeing or hearing them bring back. Shakespeare has been dead for nearly 400 years. Yet millions around the world are entertained by his words. Our deeds and accomplishments surely outlive the mortal body. And sometimes, when I hear Elvis doing "Shake, Rattle and Roll", or Jimmy Cagney taking out a "copper," or Alvin Lee blazin' away "Going Home," I know I haven't "really" gotten old and that when I do, those guys are going home with me.

Being a Liberal used to a badge of honor until a 2nd rate actor cum 3rd rate politician somehow convinced lost in the woods Americans that wealth and greed equaled happiness and salvation. This whole process hasn't been good for me. My wife of 31 years, who I adore, is showing strains of my constant forays into the debauched politics we're witnessing. I need, we need, to step onto a beach somewhere, or a hilltop, hold hands and look into one another's middle aged eyes and remember there ARE more important things than wading through the sewers of politics. But I can't refrain completely from wanting to somehow contribute something positive in this negatively charged world we live in.

Flying Solo is a Drag

Rock ‘n’ Roll without drugs?
Zappa without Zig?
Zep minus Zag?
Hey Joe…Jimi blows in the snow
Psychedelic Shack...Temptations…smack
Reaper Fear… Blue Oyster beer
Bottle of wine…Mashed potato time
Stones Bleed... you flushed the weed?
Came a day when the ears said…rest
Was a day…”yesterday”…the artist knew best

Smote Vote

Liberalism…was shot last night
Ballot Box Bullets…on a cool autumn night
Drilled, Riddled…Dollar sized holes
Fired by angry…Imbecilic Trolls
He clenched in bleeding, dying hands
His two greatest treasures…his two gifts for man
Altruism and Compassion clenched between fingers
Now only Intolerance and Avarice linger
Why was he murdered?...What was his crime?
A man on a cross once…could answer that line
Now he lays on a slab…dreams oh so shattered
His body defiled…his legacy battered
Whilst up on the hill…in mansions of Gold
They scoff at his death…with insolence most bold
So, once more we’re turned over…to conniver, to schemer
Men of conscience oft’ die young…the fate of the dreamer
Conservativism…the rapacious twin…the bitter pill
Has once again bent… the fool to his will
Where it all ends…only God has in sight
Ballot Box Bullets…on a cool autumn night

Hindsignt Heaven

Man, this ain’t America
People crying, dying on the streets
Thousands maybe…millions
Was crazy…nightmare leaking out my ears
Whoa! A human anthill… A freakin’ suburban picnic
Crazy massive muscle tussle
Blew past doing ‘bout 95
Sign said “RALLOD FO HCRUHC”
Huh? Wait a minute! I was home!
Everything backward…in a rearview mirror

Cheerful Chattel

I have ten fingers...and count with two
have ten toes…five per shoe
have two legs…perfect for walking
have one mouth…for eating and talking
have two ears…they hear one sound
have two feet…on the ground
have two eyes…one heart, that’s true
And all of me…belongs to you

Mista-Boehner (A Pre-Christmas Tale)

Twas a night in November, and all through the House
John Boehner spent drinking,and got soused as a louse
As the votes trickled in, he chuckled and grinned
“Dumb sonsabitches, they’ll never know how we’ve sinned
The lobbyists were all partying it would be just as they said
As delusions of grandeur entered Boehner’s pickled head
And Mama in spandex and I in old shorts
Sat down gloomily awaiting the election reports

When there on my TV I saw not Brutus nor young Cassius
But a red tidal wave spreading hate weaving Fascist
The sight was so sickening I wished I could chuck it
Then proceeded to do so in a rusting waste bucket
The moon was a crescent, just a sliver of hope
Yet results streaming in favored the party of nope
As I looked back at the screen through dismay and cold fear
I saw the besotted Congressman all choked up with tears
He was a cagey K-Street driver with devices so slick
I knew in a moment he’d be up to old tricks
A well seasoned veteran well versed in the game
And as tears issued forth he called us by name
“Now Americans one, now Americans all
Your voice has been heard, let the Democrats fall
In your grandiose mansions to the Country Club hall
Stash away, stash away, stash the cash away all”

Then with reverent voice and a trembling chin
He basked in the moment in Coppertoned skin
As he stood at the podium denying existence of blue
He proclaimed virtues of red and the Tea Party too

And with no lack of conceit he now spoke for the nation
A plutocratic voice feigning faux lamentation
So I settled back in and turned up the sound
As “the voice of America” began to expound
He exclaimed that the country had been returned to the people
And spoke of his faith as if standing ‘neath steeple
He was dressed in the requisite Armani suit
With patent leather shoes… and a red schnazzola to boot
Along side him was resting an invisible sack
Stuffed full of corporate favors he’d have to pay back
His eyes were quite misty concealing a shrouded wrath
As he recalled his early days and his arduous path
With quivering mouth slurring words fast and slow
And by the moment’s conclusion, he’d put on quite a show

He held no smoking pipe between tax payer teeth
And his government health club kept his figure most sleek
I must admit now that his speech was quite smelly
But he laughed at the end shaking like jelly
He gave the impression of sincere, half baked loaf
But only yesterday’s fool is duped by corporate owned oaf
Then, as he dabbed at both eyes and upheld his head
I could see in that face we had something to dread
He strolled off the stage to thunderous claps
As my wife and I sat pondering fellow American saps
Before leaving the room he shook many hands
Nodding and winking to his monetized bands
And then in a flash something less than a wink
He was gone, presumably, to imbibe one more drink
Now, I still hear his voice and this be no jest
The elite can sleep tight…and to hell with the rest

Infirmity

Bones crackle, eyes strain, ears ring, daily pain
My image gray before the glass…time past
The race is ending and never the twain
Shall meet, as old supplants young much to fast
Time invites sorrow for tomorrow flies
Uninvited to distort once smooth skin
Under Crow’s Feet marching ‘cross squinting eyes
Talking ‘bout the good “old” days way back in …
Gray stubble holds sway on my chin, words I say
Spilling forth from acidic, twisted tongue
Forgotten how to laugh…not fade away
Aging man trapped…with the soul of the young
Like the vampire I will remove all mirrors
And end my days in invisible fears

Sarahndupity

The last Polar Bear and the last Wolf
Atrophied icons of the Arctic
Stepped aboard the Midnight Ice Floe Express
Heading South… towards eternity
The unrelenting Sun burning holes
In sparse and matted fur
They lay side by side, their breathing belabored
And saw, as they perished in unison
An elderly woman, her spectacles reflecting
The dawning of a new day
Ooh’s and ah’s of her entourage
Echoing upon now dead ears
As she offered paying customers
A glimpse of the future
From the fortress-like Isle … of Ubetcha

Sanctuary

Oh! to dwell in castle
High upon a hill
No phone or internet
No… Prescription pills
Taking my old movies
All my vinyl too
Dogs and cats
But most of all…
Darling, I need you
Visits from my grown kids
Every blessed week
And high atop a battlement
With white flag
Free… I shall speak

Perennial Partners

When time began…he had a friend
He traveled with…he called him wind
They swept across the universe
And witnessed both…best and worse
Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock…a chiming bell
A babe asleep…and all is well
An urban blast…a ghetto flutter
Human beings…in a gutter
The tinkling of a hanging chime
With each tinkle…a chunk of time
Ceaseless laps ‘round cosmic glory
And every breath adds to the story
Solar winds blow hot in space
Time draws lines upon a face
Autumn’s leaves blow to and fro
Then soon it is the time for snow
They work together hand in hand
A Tempest or Timex wristband
In ancient times they used the sun
Shadows told when day was done
When warm spring breezes from the North
Thawed frigid hands…brought summer forth
With eyes and ears both wind and time
Have witnessed grandeur…and inane crime
Tick-Tock, that old clock and then a knock upon the door
Dread-Walk, the tears drop, a handkerchief sop, cold draft’s of war
Sometimes a blustery gale or just a gentle breeze
And bells are tolling somewhere…as pretty as you please
A destructive, deadly hurricane…a soothing brush across your face
One ages very quickly…one at a slower pace
Round and Round they circle the eternal spinning globe
Their beginning or their end?…a question no one knows
Every silence broken…every word so said
In dusky times so spoken…encompassing the dead
Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock…Time for me… soon will stop
Take me ageless friend…spread my soul…upon your wind

Progress Report

They loved caffeine…lots were fat
Talking war…they stand pat
Slot machine handles…remote controls
I-Phones and I-Pods…part-time souls
Rap vs. Country…A love of big trucks
If you’re down on your luck…many don’t give a ….
Bibles and Burgers…Junk food and beer
America died…in the year…20..?

A Flag Casts a Long Shadow

The “New” flag was unfurled today
It was a “Revolutionary” concept in “Standard” design
In keeping with the duality of our psyche
This “State of the State” symbol of National Efficiency
And Endowment, was a two-sided banner
Side A was dominated by a glittering, gold
Dollar sign…resplendent in a field of “Currency Green”
Our “Neoteric” symbol of wealth and power
Was flanked on the left by a representation
Of the “Top Hatted” banker from the game “Monopoly”
Numerous cards fell, floating from omnivorous hands
All inscribed with……… “Get out of jail free”
On the right of the dollar sign was an oil tanker
Plowing through grayish, inanimate seas
Immense…Intrepid…Intimidating
Banker…Tanker…Canker…together…on “souled” out satin
The “back” side of our “Pennant of Purity”
Consisted of an expanse of “Unsoiled White Filaments”
Exploding outward from a golden and radiant sun
Held aloft by an antediluvian, hoary hand
Whilst down below…reaching…stretching from…below
Were long, emaciated, arching…fingers
Twisted, curled, dirtied, broken……..bloodied
Cast in hues of Black and Brown and Red and Yellow
Reaching, forever reaching…forever drowning
In a pallid sea of alabaster anachronisms

And across America, a new breed of school children
Ashen, hollow eyed, culturally bereft
Proclaimed fealty…….to the “New Order”
“I pledge allegiance to the flag
Of the divided states of America
And to the Oligarchy for which it stands
One nation, One God, Discriminating Indiscriminately
With Liberty and Justice…for the privileged few”

Pin Cushion

Skipped the tequila…didn’t try
Squeezed the lime…juiced my eye
Social Darwinism…all the rage
Senile seniors…lost their page
Tea brewing…in the pot
The safety net... left to rot
Fascist doctrine…coming soon
Feast or Famine…Dueling spoons
Bad, bad news…everyday
Brings to my lips…hear me say
Et tu, Brutus?

Bereaving a Cleaver

Somewhere… out there
Wally’s chasing the Beav
Ward’s buttoning up the Cardigan
Lumpy is pouting
Phyllis Schafly delivered a beautiful eulogy
The lemonade pitcher’s half full
The house, as always, looks beautiful
June Cleaver is dead
But the omnipresent pearls…still tastefully arrayed
Adorn her neck
And for once
Eddie Haskell, has nothing to say

A Leaf's Last Rites

Winter at last! Blessed relief
Autumn’s heat stifling, many a day
Blazing sun descends upon red/gold leaf
Now, o’ernight blue skies change to mourning gray

In the wink of the hawk’s eye
He’ll soar chilled skies until Spring
Then float on updrafts that come with July
But for now the leaves fall, it’s a marvelous thing

A lumbering tallish tree that stands nearby
Begins to quickly shed its coat
As I watch behind glass with an appreciative eye
Pirouetting drops of life shouldn’t make a grown man gloat

And the leaves fell en masse, a most profound effusion
Oh! the limbs, in the fierce winds did so quiver and so shake
The whole scene was one of a flurry of winter’s confusion
With the defiant tree withstanding forces much akin to an earthquake

Inside the house where I’d lived for so ever long
The death raining outside the walls sounded much like song
Pitter patter, spitter spatter, soon the deluge of rains came
Clitter clatter, what’s the matter? Death is merely an old game

Limb’s children, with sap filled veins, fell in torrents
Their bodies spread across the frigid, frosty lawn
I might suppose that this depiction may sound rather abhorrent
Yet, for months I pined for winter and the day the leaves were gone

Then one day I stepped outside to survey my leafless tree
The fog of my breath brought on a euphoric exhilaration
When I heard a tiny voice that was calling out to me
And it came from the tree! What was the explanation?

Way up high, near the top, was a lone and chilled survivor
Its skin was yellowed, its body shriveled, and its “family” all were dead
Then with Lilliputian sounds it proceeded with a reminder
And I stood there, numb and listening, to every word it said

“I’m the last of my kind on this the passing year
The struggle to survive immense and I grow weak I fear
If I should fall and you should see please gather my remains
Leave me not to gutter rot or to drown in pouring rain

And as he spoke he lost his grasp and silently fell down
I caught him in my trembling hands before he hit the ground
When self-pity comes calling and I’m consumed with grief
I open up a treasured box and touch a withered leaf

Doutbting Thomas

The Jefferson Memorial was just torn down today
A last vestige of a founder had now been swept away
His name already removed from the pages of text books
They even went door to door and the nickels all got took
Piggy banks were confiscated to weed out poison pills
They even found old granny Smith’s beloved…two dollar bill
Monticello leveled; A Mega-Church now praised a wraith
And diamond studded preachers were covetous with faith
No Mosques, no Synagogues, no Buddhist temples were to be permitted
We’d all adhere to the word for which we were befitted
Freedom of Religion was blasphemy in a God fearing nation
Freedom from Religion was the pipe dream of a lost generation
With Dynamite and jack-hammers they blew his visage off Rushmore
And rock strewn remnants of wisdom lay strewn about the valley floor
It’s now claimed to be official, a Christian nation we shall be
As so proclaimed, by the conceptually blind, in the land of Liberty

No Cyber-Stalking Here

Old buddies….dying, drifting away
Hewed down…corn stalks in fading
Harvest Moonlight
A survivor… “Join Facebook, dude”
I hesitate….procrastinate…acquiesce
Instant friends….millionssssss…..
Soon I…………………….
Run afoul of… Murphy’s Law
Autumn’s façade… red overlaid gold
Bleeds upon Black clouds…Naked limbs
Frozen winds strafe my grave
And three corn stalks cling to earth

Only the Roaches Survive

The “New World Order” had been implemented
And it spread like micro-waved margarine from the folks it complimented
A crimson torrent from the Heartland reaching and grasping
Until it expanded its Type-A tentacles hauling in all the gasping
They stood on the verandas of their mega estates
Martinis in one hand and caviar on their plates
They watched titillated as the wagons rolled by perched on chic, padded seats
And spoke of taxes they’d now save, the Collection of the dead, the near dead, the deadbeat

“A fire wiped out the Joneses today”
The elite shook their heads saying “Why didn’t they pay?”
“Because this America, and its pay as you go
Jonesey should’ve thought of that, and we’ve privatized woe”

The wagons moved on rolling West, then North, South and East
The driver waved to the most, and scooped up the least

“Remember the Hudsons? They used to belong to the club
But then when Big Steve got sick we had to give them the snub,
Because this is America and its pay as you go,
We don’t tolerate loafers, and we’ve privatized woe”

The wagons rolled on through our towns and our cities
Predator drones now re-booted to collect without pity

“Look, isn’t that Bill, and, oh shit, his hottie wife, Ann”
“Just mix the martini baby, with your sweet little hand
Because this is America and its pay as you go
Bill took a wrong turn and we’ve privatized woe”

The wagons gathered luxury cars, fur coats, big screens did they pluck
If you was down on your ass you were shit out of luck

“There goes Bob and Nancy, she had a beautiful boob job
They had such a gorgeous home, then Bob got laid off, the poor slob
Because this is America, and its pay as you go
Bob got dealt a bad hand and we’ve privatized woe”

Now the wagons made a pile of all the nation’s “crap”
A mountain of hubris and then they made a final lap

“They're comin’ for us, for Earl, Jewel and Jim. Already got Lisa. Already snagged Kim.
What the fuck were we hurtin’ back here in this lot, our lives are the only thing left that we got
Because this is America, and its pay as you go
We'll be dead in a few minutes and we’ve privatized woe

The wagons filled up with starving dogs and stray cats
Shopping carts, sleeping bags, old coats and faded hats
The recycling centers all closed up, just wasn’t the need
Only folks that was left, only recycled greed
The New World Order in America was a custom ordered place
A survival of the fittest with a total lack of grace
Now the elite are replete with their own unique brand of sinner
And they’ll soon kill each other off, who the hell’s gonna cook dinner?

Beck-o-ning

Shadow replaces light
slowly for some
more rapidly for others.
Each breath taken
contains floating fragments
of hate and hypocrisy
embedding in the lungs
of those too mentally
and spiritually weak
to expunge their noxious effects.
Altruism and Egalitarianism
twin brothers
under attack
by "pious patriots"
dig in ever deepening
pits of sand
with shriveling fingers
the flayed skins
on their collective backs,
pocketed by charlatans
consumed in their
eventual burial.
Mass Media sings along
to the jingle, jangle
of "chump" change
as we bleed out
into an amorphous glob
of witless consumers
texting "wuz up"
as the shadows
make their inexorable march
across our collective psyches.
'Tis the "dark ages"
renewed for mass
customer appeal.
Flags flap "faithfully"
ethnic wedges are
strategically placed
by experts
and a "cancer"
known as avarice
infects and disables
what we we once
proudly pointed to
as "humanity."
Climb to a mountain top,
stand atop a rocky knoll
near an ocean
and breathe in
a last gasp of fresh air.

Hope Eclipsed

Central California…foul bowl
Stagnant…fevered…deadly
I burn my soles
On ice cold souls
Mockingbirds moan
Wing tips singed
A spider clasps eight hands
Sirens pass over a graveyard
I hear a train’s midnight sonorous blast
Heading somewhere…anywhere
And I look up…terrified…relieved
As the sun burns a hole
Through the moon

One Way Trip

Dead cat laying on the side of the road
Trucker speedin’ crazy with an unsafe load
Sometime feel like I’m gonna explode
Oh, I need a vacation

Pain about drivin’ me outta my brain
One a these days might go insane
Pissin’ and moanin’ doin’ nothin’ but complain
Oh, I need a vacation

Racing popsicle sticks down the gutter yesterday
Yesterday now’s forty something years away
Don’t give a shit what other people say
Oh, I need a vacation

Politicians sayin’ they about to fix all
If they’s one thing they got, they got a lot of gall
I’d like to staple gun a Senator to a dart board wall
Oh, I need a vacation

How come when yer young ya got everything ya need
Flowers burstin' forth from a little bitty seed
By the time yer in your fifties yer just happy that ya peed
Oh, I need a vacation

When we was all kids had fun a-building forts
Got a little older and loved to take a couple snorts
Now I’m just waitin’ for my colonoscopy report
Oh, I need a vacation

Got a great little wife and kids I love a lot
And I know I should be grateful for the things that I got
Just can’t help feelin’ that I’m wallowin' in snot
Oh, I need a vacation

Self-pity and regret ain’t my idea of friends
They don’t ever let up even when ya try to make amends
If I went scuba diving I’d surely bubble up with bends
Oh, I need a vacation

Lookin’ down the tunnel and it looks mighty dark
And a one of these days I’ll decide to embark
The way things are goin’ I won’t find a place to park
Thinking about…a vacation

Morgue-age

They found a cure for cancer today
The only question now, was just who could pay?
News traveled fast, lives would be saved
Calculators hummed, for the monetary depraved

Lung cancer patients studied the scale
An arm and a leg for the cure was on sale
Colo-rectal cancer was billed as a bargain
Lawyer’s fees were immense to decipher the jargon

For the women who are listening we won’t forsake thee
We understand that the ovaries are a target of “C”
And to breast cancer patients we want you to relax
“Cause even if we cleave ‘em, we’ll install a new rack

Testicular cancer makes a guy feel like a dork
But you’ll be hanging like new with sacks filled with cork
And whilst Penis cancer is rare we realize it’s demanding
With our backdoor cashier we exhibit… understanding

Leukemia patients lined up for miles
Triage estimators managed to banish the smiles
Melanoma sufferers drug themselves to the din
“We accept MasterCard to make whole the skin”

Pancreatic cancer, a death sentence heretofore
Alleviated by eighty payments of five thousand dollars or more
Brain cancer, Liver cancer, cancer of the bone
Dial 1-800-Beat-The-C, on your cellular phone

Our operators are knowledgeable, and know how you feel
Their all former clients, who got in first on the deal
So no matter the loved one, say a wife or a child
You’ll have taken the first step, the moment you’ve dialed

Our services may sound costly that’s just meant to be
It takes a lot of greenback to beat back the "C"
Yet were not without compassion so we’d like to correct
For Misunderstandings press seven and ask… for Cancer Collect

Sonnet 6

A painful memory locked up I keep
Although sometimes I do misplace the key
Where long fingers can’t reach and eyes can’t peep
A place of which “nobody visits but me”
By light of the moon when I’m fast asleep
Betrayal!… nocturnal duplicity
The box unlocked…I unconsciously weep
Dreaming where “nobody visits but me”
People I loved residing six feet deep
Still others, well, I know not where they be
I locked this damn box yet, still I must sleep
Torment… tears, where “nobody visits but me”
Endless barricades, forging mental locks
Yet death… if I should lose grasp of that box

Sonnet 5

Carried aloft on smooth silvery wings
Where angels fly and rest on nimbus bed
I stand and watch my true love soar away
Replaying, my love, the last words you said
Life is not a thing to take for granted
Each day is labeled with uncertainty
Love is but a seed that once is planted
Will grow or fade like Neptune’s breath at sea
Each time, my darling, you sail off through clouds
I doth realize that we had no choice
And when you’re gone I walk through strident crowds
My heart hears nothing but your tender voice
Come back, oh dearest, lay down by my side
We’ll dry the tears in your absence…I cried

Sonnet 4

Promoted with honor, labeled with pride
Mother packs, a “going away” basket
Both sides so lay claim to “God’s on “our” side?”
Live boys soon dead men in Flag draped caskets
Thy very first weapons… rocks, spears and arrows
Achievement’s of glory? Blood on thy hands
Mankind “advanced” … blasting bone from marrow
Conflict’s the fingers…of evil’s cruel hand
Ten thousand years of “civilization”
Built upon bones of those who came before
Hath savage clash spared one generation?
Do the rich, die in numbers, like the poor?
I sing this thing that men call war…then sigh
How many more, I wonder, have to die

Sonnet 3

A rose, red, cut, bled… stem within a vase
Taken aback thorns shout…. Amputation!
The rose arm, debased, now lives without face
I recoil from my crass permutation
Why is Beauty fair… often worshiped first?
Modest stands alone like a simple weed
Beauty doth bear a unique, deadly curse
Ugly lurks in shadow…a browbeat creed
Some say “silly”… bemoaning one flower
Do roses shed tears at the end of the day?
‘Twas I cut the rose… shear cutting power
Bud and stem severed? To that I say nay!
Crimson red roses or dull, yellowed weed
‘Tis Nature’s decree, they both come from seed

Sonnet 2

‘Twas a place for rest, of lace for killing
Built of silken filaments strong like steel
As Fall nights approached the air felt chilling
My friend the spider, the cold would soon feel
A tireless worker her home oft razed
Yet she rebuilt over and over, then
One day she did fight with hornet unfazed
Repairing damage in stiff blowing winds
Why I ponder our base fear of spiders
Is it eight legs… the cocooning of prey?
But unlike Miss Muffett, sit beside her
‘Tis the spider, not you, shying away
Chill Autumn nights will soon cause her to die
I pay my respects ‘neath late summer sky

Sonnet 1

In a fair and just world, we’d have two lives
One for foolish deeds, one we could atone
Roving eyed rogue… husband with loving wife
A chance for true love… doomed to stay alone
To those crying foul, you’ve still much to learn
One look at the world, reminds it’s not fair
If justice ‘twas lady, with torch to burn
Suitors would be many, safe in her lair
Mirrors of the past are a baited trap
Filled with promises… stark futility
As to my blunders, I’ll take on the rap
But dwelling on hell exacts a huge fee
A self-reflective speech, sound to mine ear
No wonder the vampire dislikes…mirrors

Bugle Call

When thou search for an earthly beast
And comb each avenue of thought one takes
‘Tis man you’ll find at the cupidic feast
That turns back the clock of the progress he makes
With avaricious cunning and cold calculation
He bares his soul for the blind to see
Feathering his nest with debauched machinations
With pious proclamations and stirring odes to the free
We now cast an eye on a desecrated planet
Forests barren surrounded by vast polluted oceans
How could man with God’s hands lay waste to solid granite?
When talk of Earth’s redemption is just going through the motions
A mere pebble in the universe too corrupt now to save
A terra firma wasteland, a mass human grave

Bump-kins

Speed bumps have replaced our cops
Speed bumps cause us much more stops
Speed bumps make us drive less fast
Speed bumps use up extra gas
Will speed bumps stop a pistol shot?
Will speed bumps assist a rapist caught?
Will speed bumps file a crime report?
Will speed bumps testify in court?
Bumpy…………………………Ride

Bwana Obama

He was, he is, the “Charlatan in Loincloth”
The “Lord of the Jungle” sans sun block
Self-appointed tree-top emperor
Vine swinger extraordinaire
Master of all that he surveys
Fighting for truth and justice
White Man style…in deepest, darkest Africa
And when he bellows the ground rumbles
As hordes of elephants stampede per his command
Now, in a strange twist of fate
Irony in the visage of Ebony
Another man reigns as “Lord of the Jungle”
Towering trees are replaced by K-street vistas
A conciliator extraordinaire
Implicated master of all he surveys
Fighting for truth and justice
Black Man style…in deepest, whitest America
Yet the true paradox is that when he speaks
Hordes of “Elephants” still stampede

Treaties

Is there anything so sadly farcical
As The Treaty
Crafted of stone tablets
Papyrus, parchment and paper
Chiseled, painted, signed and delivered
Blood inscribed duplicitous documents
Futile forgeries of ignoble intent
If they could be stacked
One, on top of another, then another, then another
Until they reached the stratosphere
Where the echo of mens' lies
Only drift on solar winds
And we, you and I
Could be magically transported to the top
There, we could fill our lungs
Not with the rank air of man’s deceit
But with the dark matter… of truth

Honorable Discharge

He was lying on his back his legs twisted in a “V” position
Staring up directly into the hot, noonday sun, no sunglasses
Didn’t matter, dude was dead. His next to final resting place
Was a litter strewn patch of pissed on asphalt between two dumpsters
His dog, a mixed breed, much like his owner, sat patiently waiting
Two cops, with buffed arms and buzzed heads, approached the scene
The dog, defensive of his master, challenged the interlopers with teeth bared
Man’s best friend was rewarded with a 357 Magnum slug that entered just above his left ear
The world’s most recent canine casualty did a ¾ flip and landed, paws extended, across his ex-owners waist
“Peace” officer number one commented that things were probably better this way
“Peace” officer number two, using his foot, kicked the dog off the dead body
Grabbing the corpse by the sleeve of his ragged and ruined old army jacket he essentially pulled a “bag of skin” housing some bones away from the dumpsters
The dead man’s “mobile home” was located directly in back of where he’d been lying
It was a sharp, four wheeled model with thoughtfully provided storage space on the lower level
And, adding to its allure, it bore the distinctive logo of a company of, well, distinction. Wal-Mart
The dude’s “residence” contained an old, dirty sleeping bag, a garbage sack with a couple of plastic bottles, and another cloth bag housing the deceased’s “treasure’s”
Sergeant “Dog Shooter” opened up the smelly, woven bag gingerly with two well manicured fingers
And there, under the hot noonday sun, a man’s world was unceremoniously dumped
Between two dumpsters as two sets of dead eyes looked on
A dog eared copy of Huxley’s “Brave New World” was first to hit the piss soaked blacktop
Followed by a rib bone wrapped in plastic and a manila folder that had “Portfolio” written on it
Two of the departments finest smiled as they inquisitively opened the folder
It contained an “Honorable Discharge” from the U.S. Army, a decoration of valor of some sort,
An old photograph of a smiling couple with a freckled faced kid in between them, a newspaper copy of the Republican party’s “Pledge with America” and a neatly
folded napkin. The Napkin looked like it had never been used.

High and Tight

The kid at the plate had big saucer eyes
I was toying with him
His back foot reaching, helplessly, for the corner of the batter’s box
With an 0-2 count I’d torment him
I figured I’d throw one up and in just for the hell of it
Then, out of the corner of my eye
I saw him….My Dad
He was half-drunk…half-walking, half-staggering up to the stands
About fifteen minutes late for the game… rare for him
Now it was time for my eyes to get saucer big
Sporting a bloodied bandage around his right arm
He shouted out to me on the pitcher’s mound
Matter of fact like….”Your goddamn Mom shot me”
Taking a seat at one bleacher’s end, the other parents shall we say…
Migrated
I ran over to the fence, scared, shaking.
“Are you all right Dad?” “Yeah, she only winged me.”
I didn’t know what to do. I glanced quickly at my coach.
He didn’t know what to do either.
Before any of us could decide…Dad spoke up
“Get the hell out there and pitch…whaddya think I’m here for?”
Coach met me on the mound. “You ok?” he asked, his hand on my shoulder.
“I guess…I guess so.” The kid with the bat moved closer to the plate.
I threw him a fat two-seamer down the pipe. He roped it into left-center.
As he stood defiantly on 2nd base I looked over at Dad.
He was just shaking his head. I had to regain my composure.
I stepped off the mound in the direction of 2nd base.
The little bastard was happier than a two-dicked dog.
I grabbed the resin bag and looked him square in the eye.
“Next time…you little fucker, I’m gonna put one right between your eyes.”
His eyes got….saucer big. I looked up in the stands.
And as a thin trail of blood oozed between Camel stained fingers,
Dad was smiling.
Mom’s car just pulled into the parking lot.

Truth

Truth is like fire that sometimes burns the skin
Truth is like water that innocence bathes in
Truth comes in many forms both bold and aloof
Truth was born with burden, some call it proof
Truth often goes AWOL when a nation goes to war
Truth is swept beneath the rug on a bureaucratic floor
Truth is the shadow of its brother we call lie
Truth has a father, you can see him in your eye
Truth is elusive yet it exists throughout our history
Truth is at the bottom of a well full of mystery
Truth is like conscience, one either lives it or they don’t
Truth is a two way mirror, some people look, some people won’t
Truth once lived in every heart, before it got defiled
Truth departs from the body of those who falsely smile
Truth sometimes is the only thing a man can call his own
Truth is a barometer that should be in every home
Truth, someone once said, will set your soul free
Truth is, you must have a soul, for God to help thee

Excuse Me, I Already Ate

Sittin’ here tryin’ to contemplate
A nation and a people consumed with ****
Some around the world say we deserve our ****
Others just wishing that we had a clean *****
Joblessness, wars, xenophobia all on our *****
Bodies shipped home in a flag covered *****
Folks deciding for others how to choose a ****
Exacerbating crime that is hard to ********
Pernicious parsimony you just can’t *******
Religious intolerance that we all must *****
A red and blue color code that defines our *****
Charlatan pundits always quick to ********

Some people read Orwell…and say, Oh Well.
I read Orwell…and say, Oh Hell!
A visionary mind in ’49 did create
The reality of today… called the Two Minute Hate

(Answer Key)
A. Hate
B. Fate
C. Slate
D. Plate
E. Crate
F. Mate
G. Tolerate
H. Satiate
I. Abate
J. State
K. Bloviate

Dish Wish

A Stem cell in a Petri dish
Cannot speak, have one wish
Humanity, oh, let me please
Try to help, and cure disease
From Immune systems to Diabetes
Listen to…my entreaties
Research done, might save lives
Ravaged souls and paralyzed
Would God object to the microscopic?
Saving someone’s life…isn’t that perverted logic?

Honored Company

Many men and women
Writers…Poets
Shackled with that, which they
Can’t Escape
A Conscience…Earthly principles
The burden of suffering humanity
Fetters attached to the heart
Woe to poor Poe
As the flinty, flickering-eyed raven
Raps and Taps him
Towards despair, dipsomania and deliverance
Shelley, whose young eyes found in nature
The beauty, the placidity, missing in man
Orwell, who looked in, and through, a mirror
And saw the future…black, foreboding… imminent
Zinn, who exposed the hypocrisy of Oligarchy
With brilliant insight…and their own time “honored” words
Wordsmiths working in yellowish candlelight
Or the incandescent glare of Edison’s invention
With quill pen or typewriter…on note pads and matchbook covers
Ideas and Inspirations…Trenchant streams of Consciousness
Conceived amidst fears…Tear stained parchment
Sometimes written…in a blood fever
Voicing the quintessence of communal mankind
With trembling lips and steady hands
Literary lions …Valiant voices in urban wilderness
They now and forever…Rest in Peace
Or do they?
For if a conscience is not a soul
Then what is it?

Tennashoes

I retrace steps taken as a boy
A black asphalt “lawn” sprouts buildings
Painted lines and rounded curbs direct traffic
Once fertile Central California soil
Grows, not rows of tomatoes, or onions, perhaps corn
But row upon row of strip malls which do not attract bees
Or Monarch butterflies. I reach down grabbing a handful of that soil
A small oasis of earth surrounding an exhaust-ed urban tree
Particles slowly running through my fingers as I Imagine
With moist eyes, it’s the same dirt I once ran joyfully through
P.F. Flyers attached to sockless and surefooted feet
Free of pain, free of worry, free like the hot summer breeze
On a day long, long ago, when a wise old crow
Gray bearded, using a walking stick for assistance
Squawked, then said, “I told you so”

Execrable Epidemic

Mary Christian had it written on a note
When she got to the booth she’d know how to vote
She felt good going in but not enough yet to gloat
Wearing red, with white and blue and a tea bag laden hat
Signed her name in the register with a pen whose ink was black
Said a prayer then threw her vote note in a star spangled tote

Old John Sergeant saluted his flag smartly that early morn
‘Twas voting day and he had an obligation that must now be borne
He’d been a union man but his devotion had of late been wholly torn
Drank his coffee whilst listening to Rush on the waves
Damn liberals and their health care sending old folks to the grave
Put his Legion hat on and walked proudly out the house with a scorn

Jason Callow met the day with a searing, screaming pain
Done three tours of duty in Iraq coming back with an injured brain
But smiling Army doctors assured his parents that he was quite sane
Took his hunting knife and deepened the carved swastika on his arm
Time to vote today he remembered looking out across the farm
Got in the pick-up, tuned into Savage, and headed out into the rain

Lisa Bigotte sat and watched the “President” speak on TV
She chewed her nails and clenched her fists pissed at how it came to be
That a “foreign” man with African tan was elected in the land of the free
Then she walked in the bedroom, and slapped her daughter for listenin’ to rap
Told her three year old son she’d slap him too if didn’t clean up his crap
And grabbed her handy voting guide, a “special gift” from Sean Hannity

Dennis Moroni awoke with a half drank beer can in his hand
He slammed down the rest wonderin’ what the hell had happened to this land
Cranked up some death metal on the stereo from his favorite band
At the age of thirty six for the first time he’d go vote
Had a Ninth grade education and wore a camouflaged torn up coat
The guy on Fox said it was time for “real folks” to make a stand

George Fuming had seen and heard enough bleeding hearts in his day
And it was time to vote and get the sons’a’bitches out of the way
The country had gone to hell because of lack of work and too much play
So he put on his ball cap that said “Freedom’s not Free” and moved spryly
Got into his Nissan hatchback and switched on the morning O’Reilly
He’d stop at the bank and cash his social security check on the way

One year later having gone through spring and summer swelter
Mary, John and Jason spent a chilly Night at the local homeless shelter
With George and Dennis, Lisa was there, John often whispered that he smelt her
Mary complained “it just wasn’t fair” that she’d lost her home when she lost Medicare
John said he’d worked “his whole life”, his social security taken by a reckless budget knife
The other four stared at the floor, Lisa had a black eye where her ex- husband had pelt her

They’d taken Jason’s carving tool, the swastika was healing but not his mind
Dennis was quickly hurting bad, he needed a drink and a job he wouldn’t find
George lived in a odious hole, hated “them” on the dole, for on his back… they dined
But Lisa reminded all of them, they had “their country back” and that was great
As they filed, mumbling incoherently, to view Glen Beck’s Two Minutes Hate
And they pined and so whined for the good old days they had left behind

Desperate people, sick and starving now packed in under the lee
The country was battered and their lives shattered without even a cup of tea
Then slowly, so ever slowly, they saw the lies, of Plutocracy
And the yachting class indulged themselves and kept up the old class war
They told the people to succeed you simply had to work much more
Then on 9/11, a rousing anniversary, televised for all to see, they strung up a innocent
Muslim man…To a weeping… willow tree

Two Hearts, One Voice

We met at the dance, it was only by chance
And I was bewitched from the start
She moved with such grace, and that angelic face
Quickly had captured my heart

Twas a night to remember, that temperate September
And I so dreaded the hour it was through
Alone on the veranda, I stammered to tell “Miranda”
That which I failed to do, namely I …. …

Heart pounding I watched her gown, enter her carriage then off to town
As I stood there feeling ever so the fool
Would I ever see her again? And if so, oh God, when?
And I tossed a “lucky” coin into a pool

Had been three weeks I thought I’d die, when from the corner of my eye
I saw her strolling with a friend across the town square
Whilst the sunshine caressed her head, I prayed that I would not drop dead
If I approached and tried to speak to she so fair

Nervously I blocked her path, praying I incurred no wrath
Her friend but giggled and bid a hasty, and most welcome, adieu
It was now I’d make my stand, and so gently took her hand
But my nerve fled once again, and I choked on “I ….”

Two more weeks had now gone past and my dreams were fading fast
When I fated to climb a rocky knoll to think
Upon arriving I gulped fresh air, then looked around and sitting there
Was my love resplendent, in a dress of pale pink

I was so happy I nearly cried, as I sat down by her side
And stared most deeply into her comely eyes of blue
She said, “My darling be not glum, if thy words they will not come
Let me say them, now and forever, I Love You”

Die ..... Laughing

They snickered and guffawed
Some chortled and chuckled
One cracked up so bad
He broke his belt buckle
Many howled in the aisles
Others broadly grinned
And at that precise moment
I understood my sin
That seems a harsh way
To explain a foolish gaff
How I’ll carry on
Since I’ve forgotten…how to laugh

Heart and Knoll

Why doth man covet a woman’s breast?
‘Tis it not nothing but an inflated chest?
Is it a pillow for a Knight’s head to rest?
Or ‘tis it a trophy to which success will attest?

When a fair sprightly wench doth cause a male ripple
‘Tis it the stare that’s so fair or the cast of her nipple?
‘Twas a man ever born who at once would not chuckle
If doth given the chance to woo and too suckle?

Yet,
Hath not man learned the perils of enticing cleavage
Been led astray by the bosom and fell prey to bereavege
Doth not man understand that ‘tis been from the start
Not the heft of the chest, but the size of the heart

Midnight Music

Replaced by droning freeway roar
The Cricket song plays no more
He’s packed his traveling violin case
And set out for another place
But once upon a dewy lawn
The schoolyard stretched my yard beyond
Slabs of asphalt, leveled concrete
Laid summer clover and winter sleet
A Cricket’s song is what I miss
Played on the bow of a starlight’s kiss

Perifirma

There once was an Earth that had no borders
No fences, no boundaries, no marching orders
Its waters were pristine, its mountains unscathed
And in shimmering pools, nature did bathe
Forests were mighty and commanded great awe
The Wolf and the Deer had no need for a saw
Oceans were teeming with life far and wide
Meadows sprouted flowers with bees buzzing inside
Flora and Fauna had made an arrangement
They’d stay married forever, an eternal engagement
For millions of years things proceeded as planned
Until one shadowy day when Earth first met man
Humanity took tentative steps seeking food, needing water
Yet in a blink of time’s eye was consumed with mass slaughter
Demarcations were established and great walls were erected
Unblemished rivers were fouled, forests no longer protected
The Tiger and the Rhino sought safer, hunting ground
Many species went extinct and no longer can be found
The Homing Pigeon and the Dodo, just two on a long list
Spectral shapes on a mountain side, obscured in murky mist
And then on a blustery night, torrid winds stirred stale, defiled air
As Flora and Fauna stood together, before kneeling, a solemn weeping pair
Renewing vows made long ago before their home was plundered
They spoke to owl and to redwood proclaiming man had blundered
And winds upon the oceans waves brought news as snow caps glistened
Then plant and animal, insect and fish craned an ear to listen
“Flora and Fauna, true masters of the planet, do hereby so decree
That the madness and the pillaging will no longer fall on thee
From this day, this very hour, we’ll join in common task
And the sanity of nature’s symmetry will once again so bask

A False Flag Casts a Deadly Shadow

An anniversary approaches
a day in September
A tragic calamity called 9/11
you’ll remember

But let’s travel back in time
before crashing, burning towers
Before graveyards had an influx
of nearly three thousand groups of flowers

Four planes took on passengers
‘twas a change of venue that they sought
They’d driven, or been bussed, perhaps taxied
to use the tickets they had bought

On one plane a young girl
clutched her mothers loving hand
While on another a blossoming couple
ran fingers over their wedding bands

An aged pair, together many years
with flecks of gray in hair and eye
Lamented nervously how neither of them
had ever really liked to fly

There were a number of business people
boarding with leather brief case
It was the price to pay for getting
caught up in the eternal rat race

A little boy, barely a toddler
started crying on Flight 11, section two
The man who sat behind him
just rolled his eyes; what else could he do?

They came in all shapes and many colors
and they moved in different sizes
There were some on money making trips
others brought home summer prizes

Comprised humanity often looks the same
if you’ve ever been on a plane
But the people on these four “flights”
would never set foot on Earth again

No one seemed to notice that the aircraft
were of an altered configuration
Why, should that be a concern
in a free and trusting nation?

As they lifted off on their respective flights
seatbelts fastened, knuckles whitened
For on two planes the crew and passengers soon
had reason to be frightened

They’d been hijacked and now terrified
they knew not what lay ahead
And couldn’t know that in so short a time
they would all be very dead

Flights 11 and seven-seven would soon
crash through glass and steel
I’ve sometimes wondered when you’re vaporized
just what you actually feel

Hitting high on girded towers that seemed
almost to reach to heaven
And within hours they came crashing down
joined by a building known as 7

News flashes sped ‘cross America
and we were put on heightened alert
As the networks all scrambled
to find all and any terrorism experts

We were told that Flight 175 had also
slammed into the Pentagon
But by the time investigators arrived
they just saw a hole and a scorched lawn

Then we soon heard of bravery
a stirring tale that is told
How a group of our courageous countrymen
made a stand and said “Let’s roll”

This is Flight 93 that will soon
expire in a Pennsylvania field
Yet like the Pentagon, those who first arrive
find no wreckage a crash would yield

No giant aircraft pierced the Pentagon
that’s a judgment only a fool could not see
And whatever struck that farmers field
merely left something akin to “missile debris”

The evidence is so overwhelming
if we could just get more to look
This was a “false flag” operation
to get our country on the war hook

The towers that came screaming down
were clearly a “planned demolition”
View the testimony, be a “true patriot”
and then decide by your own volition

The men who planned this crime,
and have done no time,
still walk among us today

And from the looks of things,
there won’t come a day
when they ever have to pay

Nationalism, which renders blindness
and has worked its charms before
Has allowed the guilty to walk free
and drag our nation into war

Now at a site they call “ground zero”
Islamic hatred is becoming frantic
And I speculate if two planes with “human cargo”
lie at the bottom of the Atlantic

"Beck"oning

Shadow replaces light
slowly for some
more rapidly for others.
Each breath taken
contains floating fragments
of hate and hypocrisy
embedding in the lungs
of those too mentally
and spiritually weak
to expunge their noxious effects.
Altruism and Egalitarianism
twin brothers
under attack
by "pious patriots"
dig in ever deepening
pits of sand
with shriveling fingers
the flayed skins
on their collective backs,
pocketed by charlatans
consumed in their
eventual burial.
Mass Media sings along
to the jingle, jangle
of "chump" change
as we bleed out
into an amorphous glob
of witless consumers
texting "wuz up"
as the shadows
make their inexorable march
across our collective psyches.
'Tis the "dark ages"
renewed for mass
customer appeal.
Flags flap "faithfully"
ethnic wedges are
strategically placed
by experts
and a "cancer"
known as avarice
infects and disables
what we we once
proudly pointed to
as "humanity."
Climb to a mountain top,
stand atop a rocky knoll
near an ocean
and breathe in
a last gasp of fresh air.

Shower Saver

Fourteen dead oaks
stood at splintered attention.
Overlooking
A dry, twisting creek bed
Home to 37
Insect varieties
None palatable
to human tongues.
In the nearby town of Trid
(Dirt spelled backwards
Across the rear-view mirror
Of a 2022 Electric Chevy)
Frank Spangler licked his lips,
Astonished, he’d die
His body consisting of
93%....water

Parking Lot Blot

Eleven cotton mouthed, emaciated Crows
Their bulging eyes blinking
Blanking, in bone dry sockets
Perused the days accumulated litter
On Stockton’s latest testaments
To historical preservation
Bricks had been banished
Asphalt had replaced Architecture
Weeds had replaced windows
And horizontal white lines
Clearly delineated the contempt
Man had, both for his past
And his future

Peopleution

“More stars up in the heavens than there are
Grains of sand upon every beach on Earth.”

I heard that once and I’ve never forgot
An image in my head, a permanent spot
I tried to comprehend the enormity, the implications
As I watch in dismay the collapse of our nation

It all boils down to an insignificant piece of sand
Adrift in the cosmos surrounded by dark matter
Go out to a beach and hold that tiny granule in your hand
Then contemplate the former before turning to the latter

A grain of sand can get stuck on the underside of shoe
Or can be part of a castle with a moat full of water
That infinitesimal particle is cast adrift carrying you
And I suspect the experiment’s failed and we’re merely cosmic fodder

Could it be that such a dot, call it a speck on the horizon
Has been overtly “overlooked” for an eternity or two
If it hasn’t and we’ve been watched then truly the surprise then
Is why we still exist, after all, our comeuppance is long overdue

It’s not the flora or the fauna or the Earth itself I blame
They existed long before man debauched his only home
And it’s my guess that their duress will abet when man’s aflame
For the rise and fall of man will encompass all not just Rome

What had been a chain of balance succinctly plotted, implemented
Turned to chaos when intervened a biped being bred on ambition
Early on with cunning skill they learned to swindle and then to kill
And then the art of the faux pas was covered with crafty contrition

Evolution, we’ve been taught, is the evolvement of the species
Yet the process would seem to be in a permanent stagnation
For we often consider others of our kind in terms of feces
A malodorous reminder of the shame of generations

Sit down, some afternoon with a good book on world history
And re-trace the violent steps of oft cupidic humanity
It won’t take long to understand that there really is no mystery
People, from the beginning, truly define insanity

Does a wolf or a bear, kill and maim for sake of malice?
Has a sparrow or a cardinal conspired to commit acts of war?
Will a rodent or a dog enslave his brethren in the bowels of his palace?
When examining the Earth’s destruction who but man has done more?

Without man’s presence, that sense of balance and symmetry will return
And the Earth will start to heal from her massive, invasive wounds
Yet, before that day arrives, millions will die and bodies burn
Leaving a planet, on cusp of re-birth, a monumental encasing tomb

Then slowly, oh so slowly, forests will spring up and species rebound
Water’s polluted and once fouled now once again will run pure
The magic and chemistry that was so special will be re-found
For without man and his machines the Earth indeed can now be cured

And so I sit on crowded beach and examine one grain of sand
When a smile makes its way across the chapped lips on my face
That pebble glows and the future is exposed in my right hand
A future filled with many wonders and with beauty sans human race

Are there more stars in space than grains of sand on every beach?
The answer may lie between a visionary fingers reach.

Hung Out To Dry

Eight hours of blue neon reflecting off empty whiskey bottle
Seven days of hell, the heebie-jeebies come calling
Six days of “thirsting”, gin mill hooch fantasies
Five days counting cigarette burns on table
Four days reading one days newspaper
Three days planning necktie party
Two days acquiring nerve
One day, noosed
Sober……………………………………………...Slabbed

Airtime

Always within reach
A fingertips touch
Never… alone?
Electronic crutch
Fast becoming apoplectic?
Texting, Facebook, always hectic?
Drive some night
Step from car
Chuck that I-Phone
Real Far
Gaze at moon, feet on sod
Stomp the bejeezus
Out of your I-Pod
Head on home
Do not grieve
Just lie back
Hear yourself…breathe

Zero Plus Zero

“Ground Zero” they call it
Yet, what does that mean?
Can “zero” be felt?
Can “zero” be seen?
Throngs say its “hallowed ground”
Where many lives were lost
When towers crashed down
I remember that day
The images…the sounds
But can someone tell me
Where on this earth
Blood can’t be found?
Where is this spot
So pure and so clean
Where men acted nobly
Never killed or demeaned
It’s surely not America
This much I say
Hatred and intolerance
Surf amber waves of grain
Between purple mountains
And their majesty
Lie greed and deception
With systemic bigotry
America the beautiful
America the brave
Once home to separate drinking fountains
Once built on backs of slaves
Where kind people are mocked
And others fiddle like Nero
Where the compassionate are shocked
To see the avaricious…our national hero
Now, in a gesture of hope and uniting
A Mosque, although of peace
Is branded evil…guilty of fighting
On Hallowed Ground…at Ground Zero
Those of good will are in the lurch
For a Mosque, in repugnant minds
Will never ever…be a Church
At Ground Zero an apt name
A sum summation of the cost
Where many died…and many never
Will understand…what they lost

Experiment #1

A harmonica played
Notes carried on sulfurous
Winds of despair
A dog chewed his tether
Of leather and lace
Edged curtains hung
Down across musty
Windows of mourning
Comes early to those
On the gray edges
Of the dulled razor blade
Cutting across soft skins
Adorned to pasty practitioners
Lost amidst Flags
Flapping in flames

Cloud Thirst

Watched an old movie last night
Young lovers, star crossed, yet determined
Rowed a canoe across a lake, under shimmering moonlight
The camera panned skyward exposing one luminous
Yet somehow disturbing, white billowing cloud
I pushed pause on the tape player and stepped outside
Hanging, seemingly within the reach of my arm
Was a cloud, glowing white, it looked suspiciously….familiar
I ran back inside now standing before yesteryear’s images
The black and white luminosity reflecting off my face
I was sure of it….it was the same cloud, the same cloud…
That now, at this very instant, hung over my home
I retreated once again outside and reached up with trembling fingers
Take me with you I begged; don’t leave me in this cyber infected
Techno-madness that now seems to seems to engulf my very soul
Absorb my earthly body and transport me back…back

To a time when floorboards creaked and barrooms “speaked”
When pajamas were worn to bed, not to go shopping instead
I want to “spoon” in a rumble seat… with the “cat’s meow”
Oh! What a treat. Where hard boiled tough guys wore fedora hats
And gangsters rode in Packards wearing suspendered, tethered spats
When Cagney pushed grapefruits and Coop’ stood so lanky
The dames dolled up spiffy and hotels were swanky
And as I stretched out for that cloud, I heard many voices
Others were clamoring for alternate choices. My eyelids flickered, my fingers too
The voices were a chorus…take me, take me, take me… with you
As I regained my full eyesight, and looked up into that mystical night
I touched the sky, then touched my face, and wiped the tears
Then said with grace, Oh God on the day that I die
Please find a particular cloud in sky, then deposit me there
So I can be, for the first time in my life… truly happy

Dream Hand

I run…he chases
I see…old faces
I go…familiar places
I follow…dream paces
I tie…worn laces
I ponder…last traces
I touch…all bases
I open…cold cases
I create…a fracas
I conjure…dark spaces
I scream…breaking vases
I submit…good graces
I pray…take us
My play… Aces

Poe-sitive Advice

Whilst I was soundly napping
I heard a gentle tapping
Rapping on my bedroom door
Dickinson wore a bonnet
Shakespeare spoke a sonnet
Wordsworth wrote upon it
A scrap of paper four by four
It spoke of love and woe
And was voiced by he called Poe
He said, “‘Tis not the time
For dreary, nor somber, sad
and teary. Sleep on tired soul
in your humble home. For beauty
doth lie in the joy…of a poem."

Inscrutamutable

The Struggle…friends…has ended
Depravity… wooed, sequestered
proliferating. Has triumphed.
The boorish voice of the injudicious
The shadow of the gullible
Sweeps the land, of truth and compassion
Leaving shredded remnants of civility
And emaciated fingers of altruism… clinging
To the withered, vanishing vines
That once…oh so briefly
Bore the flower…of Humanity

Kal-Kannonfodder

Saw Gumby in Times Square
Pink, like a worn out eraser
“Where’s Pokey, dude?”
He held a dog food can
“Bummer”…”Yeah,” he said
There was ticking in his backpack
Mentioned something ‘bout losing his green card
I was already running
He exploded into 647 pieces
They quickly congealed
Ain’t buying can dog food again

The Girl Can't Help It

Bumped into Mamie Van Doren
On the Strip
She talked twenty, looked sixty
Drooled eighty
“It’s cool, it’s crazy, it’s fantabulous”
“Dennis Hopper’s dead,” I deadpanned
She looked down
“Seen Dick Clark?”
“He’s splitsville” doll
“What year is this, sweetie?”
She was…sincere
“The last one baby”
“Bye Honey, call me sometime?”
“Sure…Baby, sure.”

Backyard Buddy

He was raised in a backyard
And that’s where he stayed
Through scorching summer heat
Wet and freezing days
About forty feet by forty feet
Is what I would guess
He ate there and slept there
In perpetuity so “blessed”
Although “quarters” were provided
His bed stayed unlaid
He dug holes in the winter
In summer sought out shade
For seven years and odd days
I entered his “realm”
To find one wagging tail
And love overwhelmed
I fed and set out water
Then provided that which he lacked
As we contemplated a cruel world
Through gentle grunts and scratched back
On two separate occasions he took very ill
With love and with stew meat
He recuperated stronger still
This dog stuck in exile
Had a huge barrel chest
And when he died I realized
It was I who was blessed
We were friends in a world
Where true friendship is rare
And a piece of my heart’s in that backyard
Wishing he was still there
Now my twice a week visits
Are no longer required
But a pall hangs above me
And in mourning I am mired
Like a man beaten down
Who still has to get up
I must rise yet once again
But this time without…Pup

Midnight Crossing

Her white, aged, sun spotted hands were shaking
His black, young, ring laden fingers were baking
She had stopped to get gas and the clock had struck midnight
He had stopped to get gas and was headed to “set things right”
She tried not to make eye contact as he walked by holding up his pants
He smiled and thought about the 38 he’d use to “bring some music to the dance”
She did her best to ignore the thunderous beat, the vile lyrics emanating from his car
He didn’t know, as he walked on by her, that they both shared horrendous scars
Her father had been an alcoholic, a sadistic bastard who beat her and her mother
His Mother had been a junkie whore whose boyfriends stubbed cigarettes on him and his brother
She shot that Bastard long, long ago, yet she still remembered well
He decided not so long ago just how he’d deal with his past hell
One, knowing nothing of the other, under moonless midnight, rushed to take flight
Two, separated by time and circumstance, embraced a bullet to cure a barbarous plight
She only put in half a tank, jumped in her car and caught her breath
He only put in half a tank, then checked his gun before his rendezvous with death
Her hands had stopped shaking in the fifteen minutes that it took to reach her drive
His fingers had stopped baking in the fifteen minutes for the simple reason he was no longer alive
Her white, aged, sun spotted hands were slightly shaking with the morning paper read
His black, young, ring laden fingers were no longer baking as he lay on a slab, eight hours dead
In a world inhabited by over six billion souls, their paths had crossed on a single night
She’d lived, though old, to see the sunrise…He’d died, though young, just after midnight

Keyed-Up

He was a two-bit piano player
Who called himself Rock Moninoff
He ate granola bars, was a novice sooth-sayer
And drank enormous amounts of Smirnoff
They found him one day at the bench
Where he often sat in semi-stuporous pride
Dead as a doornail with a suicide note
Lying on the stool by his side
It read; I never was a religious man
So God I won’t belittle
But why do the big keys have to be White
and the Black ones always little?

Hope Eclipsed

Central California…foul bowl
Stagnant…fevered…deadly
I burn my soles
On ice cold souls
Mockingbirds moan
Wing tips singed
A spider clasps eight hands
Sirens pass over a graveyard
I hear a train’s midnight sonorous blast
Heading somewhere…anywhere
And I look up…terrified…relieved
As the sun burns a hole
Through the moon

Betcha Can't Eat Just One

At the end…the very end
Humanity, on raw knees,
Layers of corpulent
Skin dragging in the desecrated dust
Discovered… at long last
the answer. The antediluvian
Question concerning the
Innate desire…To embrace vice.
It was… so simple
The cookie jar
Someone, long, long ago
Forgot to put the lid
Back… on the Cookie Jar

Hosfatality

In a coma, at a secret lab, since ‘47
But now he was sitting and wide awake
And for the first time in over sixty years
He was shaking the cobwebs and taking a break
Bid some tearful goodbyes and a final farewell
Then packed up his satchel and trekked off to Arizona
It didn’t take him long to discover after he left Roswell
To figure out he’d pulled a monumental boner
Folks pointed fingers, he had anti-grav boots on
They said he surely was a sight to be seen
And on the day when he up and landed in Tucson
They couldn’t help noticin’ the little feller was green
An illegal alien that’s what they said
And his big saucer eyes got moistened with fear
“Either send him back breathing or send him back dead
It’s the white folks that’s indigenous to these parts around here”
Why would they do this, what had he done?
Besides make the folks back in Roswell a pot full of loot
Now he’d been cast out from the land of the sun
Exploited for decades and now given the boot
His former friends back at Roswell had once named him Comet
On account of his skin the likes they never had seen
But he was so scared now that he thought he might vomit
And when a Martian does that it ain’t colored green!
So they put him on an old bus with some folks shaded brown
Then warned him to never come back to this land
But he escaped in the hot desert one hundred miles from a town
And then waited till midnight and held up his hand
His fingertips glowed and so did his eyes
When there came from the sky a deafening crack
And as he disappeared into that blackened split sky
He whispered, “ To the people of the earth, with my friends
I’ll be back”

Prop 8 Date

Love just won a battle
But there’s many more to come
Hate is re-mobilizing its forces
With vows it won’t be overcome
Love has always had a brother
A sadistic evil twin
Hate has always had a brother
Who he hated to see win
Love is a cool cup of water
To a parched and lonely soul
Hate is sharpened box of thumbtacks
Embedded in the sole
Love has always been the stronger
It’s a basic human need
Hate has a chip on his shoulder
He likes to see things bleed
If Love is to win the final battle
Then Hate will rue the day
A judge who lived in California
Sent a rose to those who are gay

Tug-of-War

Optimism…Pessimism
They sleep in the same bed
One greets the new day smiling
The other just nods a head
The Optimist he sees the
Brighter side of life
The Pessimist she warns
Of suffering and strife
I wake up in the morning
Optimism’s in the lead
I go to bed in mourning
Pessimism’s an addictive creed
The world has many roses
Yet roses do have thorns
Humanity consists of sheep
And legion have sharp horns
Optimism…Pessimism
Conflicting and what’s more
Doesn’t it seem quite fitting?
To call it Tug-of-…War

Fractionalwhacktional

These “United” States…..
False Front Federacy
Deceptive Divided Districts
Pyrite “Golden” arches
Save the whales…unfurl the “sales”
“Birthers”… Self-Worthers
Pious Pilferer’s, Rap Crap…Thugwump
Viagra for the hard…
Up yours…buddy!
Faux News…Pasty Pews
We hold these truths to be
Self-evident…All men are created…
Red vs. Blue….Black all over

Star Power, Wilted Flower

Watched a Silent Movie
Made in Nineteen Twenty-Five
Not a single solitary face
In that Movie’s now alive
They laughed and joked
For they were young
And drank and smoked
Then so begun
The inexorable trip
Of their celluloid death
Up the lush carpeted aisle
A black and white breath
Embracing… faded immortality

Hereafter Next

What is Heaven?
The eternal quest, the search for bliss
In the Preacher’s sermons, or a dying kiss
Will the blind suddenly! Obtain the gift of sight
The beauty of a sunrise, a star clustered velvet night?
Will the mute, at last, be allowed the right to speak?
The gesturing resigned, now a voice for what they seek
What of the man whose legs exist no more?
Is he to now have “shoes” and dance across the floor?
And what of the deaf who’ve lost the joy of sound
Will violins and nightingales regale when they’re around?
If heaven-bound souls passed where the sun does smolder
Are sweat inducing days to be replaced by air that’s colder?
Is it to be expected that the old will stay that way
Or will the flower of youth replace the aged, wobbly sway?
And what of adolescent, the infant and the child
At what age will their existence be so forever dialed?
Might we expect lions and tigers to roar in afterlife?
Or what about the roar of a pious, nagging wife?
What of the fellow whose Nirvana is to drink?
Does a corner barstool wait, in a room where glasses clink?
Can we expect the hungry will get enough to eat?
Will starved, protruding bellies get a dinner table seat?
What about a slave who expired at the cotton gin?
Have his dreams of glory been “rewarded” with a new white skin?
Will the KKK racist who at long last embraced Christ
Now join his hands with Black man in afterworld splice?
Will spiders be in heaven, with webs of every size?
Some folks don’t like spiders, but some folks don’t like flies
On a cool and blustery morning in the happy hunting ground
Will native tribes be hard at work and the white man not yet found?
It’s Valhalla to the Nordic and Zion to the Jew
And countless visions from countless souls who stretch from them to you
But most of all is justice hereby practiced in this place
Equality for tortured souls and broken backs no matter creed or race?
And will the perpetrators of suffering connive to pass the gate?
Or does the tally and intent of one’s deeds decide their final fate?
What is heaven, we pondered, at the beginning of the poem
For some it’s escape, for others, illusion, and for some it’s just called…
Home

No Worries

On a hot summer day,they laid waiting to "morally" beat us
My guileless,waifish host and I an unnamed fetus
Organs undeveloped, a still forming heart
This is my tale, here is where we start
Instead of the vacuum of eternity’s tranquil tomb
On this blistering day, I lay unaware, in the womb
The young girl who conceived me, had just been persuaded
That the life now inside her, had been “God created”
She’d come, that searing day, to unload a burden
“I can’t have this baby, of that much I’m certain.”
Frightened and alone, she had made the decision
But arrived that fateful day, to face hostility,derision
Stepping from the bus, she walked three blocks to the clinic
And was approached outside the door, by a reproductive cynic
He held in sweaty palms many pamphlets, notes and papers
One even said, as he read “there’s a place for kin of rapers”
Another man soon would join him, and he toted a large sign
It depicted a bloody fetus, and said “Abortion is a crime”
I, of course knew nothing, for you see I had no brain
But the men, on sweltering pavement, were convincing “I’d feel pain”
My young host, with hands now trembling, spoke thru flooding, burning tears
“Please stand aside, I’m not able, to deal with this for eighteen years!”
The men were forceful and persuasive, in their steadfast need to prod
Saying “You must always understand that you’ll have the help of God”
Sensing, a reluctance, they pressed ahead with well-laid plans
Telling my host, that one day, she’d be glad she took this stand
The teenage girl I was inside, implored the men, “ My Dad will beat me”
But the men, soaked in sweat, warned anew “Satan would greet thee”
Defeated and now sobbing, my young host now turned around
Proclamations of, “You won’t regret this,” she took the bus, back to town
The men shook hands in exultation, another life had just been saved
Then went on home and ate a pizza, spoke of success, perdition waved
My little host, soon turned to drugs, for the friend that she so lacked
Her secret hope, was that I’d die, if she could stay perpetually whacked
It didn’t work and I was born, gasping for breath, my lungs like peas
And now my “Mother” got down and prayed, on skinny legs and bony knees
Begging forgiveness, but also angry, imploring God to hear her voice
She spoke impassioned, impugned of justice and of her kind to have “choice”
“We are girls, and we are women, surely this you’ve always known
And our bodies, belong to no one, save ourselves, they are our own
If God is mercy, if God sees all, then take the time and see in me
My own dreams, my own fears, my own desires and my right to be free
We’re not machines or incubators but living beings traveling many paths to light
Oh please, dearest God, judge not harshly, and understand our eon’s plight”
In a room with plastic trays and feeding tubes sick babies cried
I, with lungs like peas, and tortured breath, this night I died
And my Mother, fifteen years old, would soon be charged and so indicted
Her doom and mine, eight months ago, in scorching sun, had been decided
And so she now, as before, stands alone to meet her fate
Whilst "two friends," never forgotten , prepare for battle feeling great
Armed with pamphlets, notes and papers, dead fetus signs in parking lot
Blissfully ignorant,of a girl,her life shattered,and one "forgotten" now dead tot

Sista Hedonista

If Palin can "refudiate"
Perhaps we need some "expleening"
It’s not creation she champions
But devastation she is leaning
This woman simply is a member
Of a sect that never "ceasta"
To amaze with gluttony
And politicize “Starve the beasta”
Along with Beck and Rush and Co.
They constitute a cabal of "creepstas"
Indulgent hacks with axe to grind
Upon the necks of the "leasta"
They take the cash and spread their rash
Scurrilous mass media "peepstas"
And so deserve, the title of
Terrorists….The "Hedonistas"

Crawlers

Tea Baggers at the Malls
Deficit Philosophers in Legislative Halls
Immigration Nativists advocating Walls
Racist propaganda hyped by Flacks
Socialist Hysteria inked on Plaques
Second Amendment “Militiamen” Gun Whacks
The fires still burn, Dr. King, they simply can’t be doused
It’s frightening what crawls from the cracks
With a Black Flag over the White House

Sinking Feeling

I stand on the deck… white knuckled hands
Grasping the rail
I hold on as we submerge
My lungs should have exploded
As the lights of civilization
Streetlights, neon signs and dimly seen stars
Fade into inky blackness
Along with gurgling, echoing screams
Of my fellow countrymen
Calloused hands and Manicured hands
Interlock and Pirouette towards
Their watery grave
It seems an eternity before we hit…bottom
A moonless, leaden world
Devoid of hope and sight
Yet I can still “see”
A life preserver snaps its tether
And jets past me
U.S.S. America emblazoned across it
Our ship of state… has sunk
The “debris” field is enormous
Humanity, Compassion, Dignity
Ignorance, Hubris, Avarice
Gasping guppies
Grasping yuppies
I-pods and Monetary Gods
X-Box Games and Faux Fox Shame
Assume a new, permanent address
Along with one white, sightless, befuddled snail
Who finds a new home: A Starbucks cup
On the night of April 14/15, 1912
The mighty Titanic
Her gleaming decks awash in ambition and wealth
Pursued a course of reckless abandon
Of glory…”Rushing” headlong into disaster
The “lower” classes proud…yet still groveling
Trapped below… behind doors of inequality
Now I, and I alone witness
The cyclical nature of history
Watching, two miles under the sea
As the The America
Nearly one hundred years later
Halved, shattered, splintered
Hatred, Bigotry and Injustice having
Worm-holed her “unsinkable” hull
Arrives at the destination
She seems so inexorably destined to achieve
The Titanic, victim of man’s greed and folly
Now has “a soul mate” in her fateful, frigid tomb
Eighty years passed
Before the Titanic was found
Euphemistic dreams of “raising” her
Dashed… like a champagne bottle
Once did, long ago… across her sturdy, imperious bow
How long, I ruminate
Before the America “is found”
Before hopes of “raising” her
Are forever extinguished
By the cold, icy grip of reality, Mother Earth
And eternity…my fingers quickly shred to bone
And the flesh rips soundlessly from my body
My eyes explode outward from my head
One floating up…and looking down
One sinking down…and looking up
Forever…looking up

Heaven on the High Seas

Promenade Deck
Ile De France
September 1929
What Depression?
Hobeken Docks, New Jersey
Streamers from the Main Mast
Midnight sailing
I’m a Sheik
Searching for a Sheba
Up ahead
On the port bow
Swell Gams!
Matching glasses
Of Giggle Water
Two destinies
Wrapped in one starry night
Dipping in a wide blue ocean
Take Me

Boomerang

Good News comes like honey
That tastes so ever sweet
Bad News comes like sour milk
The flavor “can” be beat
Good News comes on a lucky bet
The product of your hunches
Bad News comes from someplace blue
It usually comes in bunches
Good News often makes your day
And ends it with a smile
Bad News tends to make amends
You’re miserable awhile
Good News may be good fortune
Some attribute faith
Bad News may indicate snake bit
Or the workings of a wraith
Good News comes so seldom
Except to the fortunate few
Bad News is like a lingering guest
Who stays to torment you
So if you’re plagued by Bad News
And seem hopelessly ill-fated
Just remember this of Good News
It’s frequently overrated
As Bad News descends upon us
Sometimes its difficult to see
We’re often just the victims
Of self-fulfilling prophecy

Homeless

Homeless
But he got a shopping cart
Homeless
Stole it from Wal-Mart
Homeless
To survive you must ad lib
Homeless
He now push around his crib
Homeless

Homeless
She leads a rugged type a life
Homeless
Used to be a happy wife
Homeless
Street people say her name is Beth
Homeless
She owns a monkey some call Meth
Homeless

Homeless
They ain’t nothin’ more than kids
Homeless
Much too young to hit the skids
Homeless
Do you begin to catch the drift?
Homeless
At night they dumpster dive and sift
Homeless

Full House
The dude is flush with cash
Full House
He say the homeless are a rash
Full House
“Man, these taxes are the shits”
Full House
His lady bought a giant set of tits
Full House

Full House
Won’t part with no spare change
Full House
He say the government’s to blame
Full House
Cat ain’t got no apathy
Full House
Now his favorite drink is Tea
Full House

One Night
While sitting by the freeway ramp
One Night
With a sign and called a tramp
One Night
Homeless gets a vision in his head
One Night
Someone will end up dead
One Night

One Night
After finishing his eighth drink
One Night
Then puking in the kitchen sink
One Night
Something snaps in Full House head
One Night
Someone will end up dead
One Night

Next Day
Police find Homeless crushed and dead
Next Day
Run over, by a car that’s painted red
Next Day
Cops ask people what they’ve seen
Next Day
Just two kids were at the scene
Next Day

Next Day
Police trace car to one “Full House”
Next Day
The dude begin to bitch and grouse
Next Day
Full House say “He was nothin’ but a bum”
Next Day
“I just rid the world of scum”
Next Day

That Night
Under stars that twinkled bright
That Night
The kids and Beth all lit a light
That Night
They remembered Homeless was a man
That Night
In the shadows they held hands
That Night

That Night
In a crowded jail cell
That Night
Full House thought he was in hell
That Night
The lady with the giant tits
That Night
Packed her bags and did the splits
That Night

Now if
You’re out there living on the street
Now if
You think that taxes are a cheat
Now if
You get the message of this poem
Now if
You’re just glad you got a home
Now if….

Remember Homeless

Explanetation

Fifty-five million kilometers from my home
On a gray lifeless mass stands a small block of stone
Perfectly symmetrical from skilled “hands” was it honed?
Residing, perhaps for centuries, on the Red Planet

I first heard of this news via the telephone
My daughter, bright and inquisitive, was breathless as she intoned
That an unmanned expedition had made the finding near a zone
Where scientists first, thought they’d found, a mound of granite

Soon the world was awash with fevered speculation
Opinions flowed and angst was sowed in nearly every single nation
Some leaders calmed whilst others spoke with wild gesticulation
And some took fires, of molten fear and promptly fanned it

The stone was found, on leaden ground, by a U.S. Martian rover
On a cold, barren plateau devoid of air, bankrupt of clover
Just standing there, a four foot square, and soon the Earth shouted moreover
We want an answer, by whose hand? We demand it!

America, announced the finding, was historic and life altering
Its enemies, around the globe, implied Uncle Sam was merely paltering
They claimed a ruse, was being enacted, by an empire clearly faltering
‘Twas no “accident”, this revelation, someone had “planned” it

Many Christians, claimed this was, not a find of science
Merely an attempt, to force them into, a new “enlightenment compliance”
It was God’s work, this they spoke, in outraged, open defiance
Blasphemous was the term they used to brand it

The Jews in Galilee, were somewhat more reserved
Was it God’s hand, or man’s, where the honor was deserved?
And the Muslim he cried out “more chicanery to preserve
Allah’s gift, for the usurper, who will reprimand it"

Across Tibet, and mighty China, and in India lived the Buddhist
The fury of the reaction they affirmed surely does elude us
Does not the master, say that which, exists but yet, so precludes us
Should be ignored? - and once reviewed they merely banned it

Let it be known, to the reader, before which we learn more
It is a year, of great strife, known as Twenty sixty-four
The Four Horsemen have brought Famine and with it Plague and Death and War
Until humanity, cries to the heavens, we just can’t stand it

Low and behold upon this stone is uncovered an inscription
And the Russians and the Chinese and all the rest request description
Then the Americans so bemoan its most arduous encryption
With all citing, prolonged entreaties to understand it

As it turned out all the aggrieved needn’t harbored any fear
The inscription, was decoded, by BP short of one year
For it said, in crimson red and words that bled, PLEASE DRILL HERE
And news rang out, “Let’s head to Mars, so we can scam it”

So now I sit, with telescope, watching Mars so all alone
They say that war is imminent, and I desire it be known
I wish that no one, from this Earth, had ever found that block of stone
That “Gulf” of space, the human race, should not have spanned it

As to whom we have to “thank” for the block that is a mystery
Like so many, of the enigmas, handed down to us thru history
Thru my lens, I tell my friends, a tranquil world, has now turned blistery
May someone, somewhere, know peace, for God commands it

The Ink Bleeds

They started with rocks then went to war
Throwing and smashing and killing galore
And when it was over they so did implore
Their ancestors promise to extol those acts of yore
And men of peace marked on walls the final score

Soon they advanced to more lethal things
Like lance and bows, sharpened spears and taut slings
Wars were just dances tribal periodic social flings
And they gathered round campfires and of glories they so sing
And men of peace recorded carnage that was transpiring

Twas’ not very long before the clever human race
Had sharpened the broad sword and learned to swing mace
And before many a battle he would bow and then say grace
Then ride off on his mount to hack off a young man’s face
And men of peace were left to transcribe the mortal waste

Soon these antiquated weapons could not get the job done
So foolish clutching men invented deadly little guns
And they died in heaps and droves beneath moon and under sun
The losers crying, the victors sighing, on this day, “We have so won!”
And men of peace, authored of what, we must abandon

Modern warfare brought the cannon, bomb and plane
Now man did kill, mass bloody spill, until the whole thing seemed insane
He slaughtered on such a scale in many eyes it was profane
Then repeated the whole damn process that which he could not refrain
And men of peace, spoke of war, as mankind’s bane

Around the world, statues stand of men with weapons in their hands
We cluster round them, and revere them, in both small and mighty bands
This phenomena is universal involving every type of man
With all concerned, claiming their God resolutely backs their stand
And men of peace compose their grief in every language, in every land

I am a man of peace and of course we war again
I guess the same could be said for as long, as there’s been men
We praise the dead and deify with our own brand of Amen
Leaving the question written down by so many yet once again
Will we ever, build a statue, honoring, men of peace…Bearers of pen?

Shocked and Unloaded

“No guns” was the firm, and final ruling
“No guns” brought angry cries, “this is wrong he must be fooling”
“No guns” the verdict’s in, and so went, the divine schooling
The Lord said we can’t have, no guns

In China, where the sky, is hanging low and very hazy
On the Nile, where the summer’s, water flow is nice and lazy
Around Chicago, where it seems, that they’ve all gone starkly crazy
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

Down in Rio, the word is issued, and it starts a violent riot
In Leningrad, old army hands, shake and stand strangely quiet
An Italian fisherman, says “What the hell, why should, we not try it?”
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

In Appalachia, on Russian steppes, comes universal outraged critique
Up in Norway, and on the sweltering, coast of picturesque Mozambique
And on the narrow streets of Belize, passions boil and people speak
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

In deepest Congo, turquoise Greece, barren bloody forlorn Sudan
A warlord shouts, a plea to Allah, in always troubled Pakistan
Six London pubs, swear this is war, all to a single standing man
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

At Smith and Wesson, the machinery, has up and gone awry
The makers of, Holland and Holland, throw up their hands and merely sigh
And in the Ruhr, at Zeigenhan, they now speak of treacherous lies
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

In Wisconsin, a brutish man, sharpens a bowie knife
And in Chile, an outraged cop, strangles his panicked wife
While in Perth, a lifetime hunter, shouts that his “guns are life!”
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

Around the world, the crazed reaction, is sounding much the same
Accusations, and finger pointing, searching for someone to blame
Itchy fingers, squeeze air triggers, in a futile senseless game
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

But nowhere, is the uproar, quite like in the states
Does not the Lord, know the Gun, is what made the country great
If not for bullets, and cannon fire, who knows the white man’s fate
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

‘Round the world, the mechanisms, for making guns, are torn and shattered
Factories of death, their doors are locked, their windows barred and curtains tattered
And grief pours forth, as if guns, were the only things that mattered
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

Then on a dark, and foreboding cloudy day
One million cold, and empty hands, convene the NRA
Just who the hell, is this God, who took our guns away?
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

Now makers of knife, and sword work, daily round the clock
“If the Lord, thinks killing’s done, we’ll just replace our treasured Glock
For in America, we got our freedoms, and this ban’s a holy crock
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

Now the Lord, watches mayhem, and sadly shakes his head
It’s seems for some, their only pleasure, is making something dead
And after all, the endless centuries, on varied soil’s where life has bled
The Lord says we can’t have, no guns

So mankind does, profess of, an inherent need to fill
No lack of guns, will impede, the blood that we must spill
And we’ll defend, to the last man, our basic right to kill
If the Lord says we can’t have, no guns

Perhaps the Lord, will turn his back on the human race
Or continue, in his search, to look upon those with grace
But he’ll remember, forever after, the horror upon the face
The day the Lord said we can’t have, no guns

Two Feet Under

The sign on the restaurant read
“All you can eat”
They had pork chops and ribs
And tacos chuck full of meat
So the big boy walked on in
It took two chairs to make his seat
Knocking over in the process
The little hostess he forgot to greet

The boy had eaten here before
“And they sure put on a spread”
He’d known lotsa folks who'd eaten here
But now most of ‘em, were now dead
There was Big Al and Hamhock
And some old dude they just called Fred
Then just sittin’ there reminiscing
He grabbed the menu and he read

“We’ve got a killer deal
That we think is great
For the crazy price of ten bucks
Ya’ll can load up your plate
You can stuff your old gizzard
Till your lips turn blue and foam
Just remember, no doggie bags
You ain’t a takin’ nothin’ home

The big boy said “shucks” and smiled
For the price you can’t compete
And he ordered everything
That he done figured he could eat
And one year to the day
He up and died out on the street
Never knowing what it felt like
To look down and see his feet