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
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
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
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
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
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"
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"
Monday, July 19, 2010
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
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
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
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
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
Sunday, July 11, 2010
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
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
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?
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
“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
“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
Mysterious Ways
“Got Jesus” sticker on her van
Along with three bald tires
“Got NRA” sticker on his truck
Draggin’ baling wire
They collided at an intersection
Called “Love at first sight”
Weren’t married for a day or more
Before they had a fight
NRA went out that day
And came home with his kill
Got Jesus watched him clean his prey
Then proclaimed she’d had her fill
Now NRA has gone away
To hunt near fields and rubble
Got Jesus told him Adios
With three new tires for her trouble
Along with three bald tires
“Got NRA” sticker on his truck
Draggin’ baling wire
They collided at an intersection
Called “Love at first sight”
Weren’t married for a day or more
Before they had a fight
NRA went out that day
And came home with his kill
Got Jesus watched him clean his prey
Then proclaimed she’d had her fill
Now NRA has gone away
To hunt near fields and rubble
Got Jesus told him Adios
With three new tires for her trouble
The Beholder Folder
Beauty…lost…crushed
Deregulated
A tree stump…Amputated
Amorphous…and yet
There! Hardy…a tiny twig
Stretchhhhes…. for the sun
Beauty!
A Pelican…Befouled
Begrimed…and yet
There! Gallantly, as it…
Stretchhhhes….Oil tipped wings
Beauty!
A child…Abused
Abandoned…and yet
There!....Bravely, as it…
Stretchhhhes….Lilliputian fingers
Beauty!
A conflict…Brutal
Backstabbing…and yet
There!....Concession, as he
Stretchhhhes….A hand to the enemy
Beauty!
Beauty!
A spider…a smile
A good ol’ country mile
A hilltop…A rain cloud
An act that makes you feel proud
Beauty!
Beauty!
We must seek as we grow older
To remain adept beholders
And forever banish wretchedness
With eyes and hands and stretchhhhedness
In our ceaseless search…for
Beauty!
Deregulated
A tree stump…Amputated
Amorphous…and yet
There! Hardy…a tiny twig
Stretchhhhes…. for the sun
Beauty!
A Pelican…Befouled
Begrimed…and yet
There! Gallantly, as it…
Stretchhhhes….Oil tipped wings
Beauty!
A child…Abused
Abandoned…and yet
There!....Bravely, as it…
Stretchhhhes….Lilliputian fingers
Beauty!
A conflict…Brutal
Backstabbing…and yet
There!....Concession, as he
Stretchhhhes….A hand to the enemy
Beauty!
Beauty!
A spider…a smile
A good ol’ country mile
A hilltop…A rain cloud
An act that makes you feel proud
Beauty!
Beauty!
We must seek as we grow older
To remain adept beholders
And forever banish wretchedness
With eyes and hands and stretchhhhedness
In our ceaseless search…for
Beauty!
Habitual Ritual
Their presence felt…from Bible Belt
To both American shores
They come to praise
On most Sundays
Like drunks… through swinging doors
The week’s been long…and now its time
For feet’s to hit the floor
To cleanse themselves of “cultural grime”
On most Sundays evermore
Just try… not to be poor
They clamor in and jockey ‘round
Because the Lord they do adore
The Preacher roar’s, his fist doth pound
On most Sundays evermore
To beggars… close the doors
The sermon comes from up above
With rock music, lights and more
A dispatch of success, not love
On most Sundays evermore
Wealth is… now God’s lore
Concern for the penurious has now taken a switch
For God’s help they once did implore
The new motivation is how to get rich
On most Sundays evermore
It’s avaricious… right down to its core
Now they flock to the Megachurch in SUV’s and mini-vans
Not to end things once deplored
But the “washing” of cupidic hands
On most Sundays evermore
Is God…nothing more than bankroll whore?
To both American shores
They come to praise
On most Sundays
Like drunks… through swinging doors
The week’s been long…and now its time
For feet’s to hit the floor
To cleanse themselves of “cultural grime”
On most Sundays evermore
Just try… not to be poor
They clamor in and jockey ‘round
Because the Lord they do adore
The Preacher roar’s, his fist doth pound
On most Sundays evermore
To beggars… close the doors
The sermon comes from up above
With rock music, lights and more
A dispatch of success, not love
On most Sundays evermore
Wealth is… now God’s lore
Concern for the penurious has now taken a switch
For God’s help they once did implore
The new motivation is how to get rich
On most Sundays evermore
It’s avaricious… right down to its core
Now they flock to the Megachurch in SUV’s and mini-vans
Not to end things once deplored
But the “washing” of cupidic hands
On most Sundays evermore
Is God…nothing more than bankroll whore?
Ever Never Land
Ever thought about the term, the “United States?”
Ever wondered what unites us besides license plates?
Ever seen a total stranger and thought “a fellow citizen”?
Ever gone out of your way to help someone beside your kin?
Ever handed out some change to a poor soul down and out?
Ever wished that you were filthy rich with enormous clout?
Ever been so damn depressed that you wished that you would die?
Ever told someone that "I’m ok,” knowing it’s a lie?
Ever seen a lost dog or stray cat and up and took it home?
Ever bought a brand new car and polished up its chrome?
Ever imagined what it must be like to go fight in a war?
Ever got mad at those that had not been there before?
Ever considered as a man the perspective of a woman?
Ever looked upon some men as something not quite human?
Ever pondered how it would be if you lived in Spain or France?
Ever marveled how some guys can walk with thigh high pants?
Ever studied the effects of watching too much TV?
Ever watched the stars at night wishing you were free?
Ever been standing in line when somebody crowded in front?
Ever had the discomfiture of dealing with someone blunt?
Ever voted for someone when you knew that it was wrong?
Ever sang in your car the words to your favorite song?
Ever gone to sleep at night with no food your stomach growling?
Ever huddled in starkest fear for outside someone was prowling?
Ever walked with head held high after landing a great job?
Ever slumped on a park bench feeling hopeless and a slob?
Ever looked down your nose at those that you deemed strange?
Ever wished this crazy world would somehow up and change?
Ever got so tired you thought you simply can’t sustain?
Ever hurt so goddamned bad you screamed in mortal pain?
Ever lost someone you loved that crushed your entire world?
Ever fell in love so deep it seemed you’d found a pearl?
Ever been so lonely that you longed to hear a voice?
Ever mused upon the fact that it just might be your choice?
Ever sat up late at night and questioned acts of God?
Ever thought by doing so Satan might applaud?
Ever realized people are much the same where’er you go?
Ever so deluded yourself you know all you need to know?
Ever watched a homeless person push around a shopping cart?
Ever felt that couldn’t happen to me because I’m much too smart?
Ever expressed astonishment at the immensity of a city?
Ever visualized the land before and lamented “what a pity”?
Ever used the N-word when describing someone Black?
Ever brooded that all Whites reside in pillow sacks?
Ever felt your country’s military is always in the right?
Ever tried, even once, to examine our “enemies” plight?
Ever watched your kids grow up and felt a searing loss?
Ever looked out at the world and obsessed on what we’ve lost?
If you’ve ever thought about these things and many, many others
You’re just like people everywhere Earth bound sisters, brothers
We’re just one country with a lot of problems on our plate
And it takes more than winning war to make a country great
Ever wondered what unites us besides license plates?
Ever seen a total stranger and thought “a fellow citizen”?
Ever gone out of your way to help someone beside your kin?
Ever handed out some change to a poor soul down and out?
Ever wished that you were filthy rich with enormous clout?
Ever been so damn depressed that you wished that you would die?
Ever told someone that "I’m ok,” knowing it’s a lie?
Ever seen a lost dog or stray cat and up and took it home?
Ever bought a brand new car and polished up its chrome?
Ever imagined what it must be like to go fight in a war?
Ever got mad at those that had not been there before?
Ever considered as a man the perspective of a woman?
Ever looked upon some men as something not quite human?
Ever pondered how it would be if you lived in Spain or France?
Ever marveled how some guys can walk with thigh high pants?
Ever studied the effects of watching too much TV?
Ever watched the stars at night wishing you were free?
Ever been standing in line when somebody crowded in front?
Ever had the discomfiture of dealing with someone blunt?
Ever voted for someone when you knew that it was wrong?
Ever sang in your car the words to your favorite song?
Ever gone to sleep at night with no food your stomach growling?
Ever huddled in starkest fear for outside someone was prowling?
Ever walked with head held high after landing a great job?
Ever slumped on a park bench feeling hopeless and a slob?
Ever looked down your nose at those that you deemed strange?
Ever wished this crazy world would somehow up and change?
Ever got so tired you thought you simply can’t sustain?
Ever hurt so goddamned bad you screamed in mortal pain?
Ever lost someone you loved that crushed your entire world?
Ever fell in love so deep it seemed you’d found a pearl?
Ever been so lonely that you longed to hear a voice?
Ever mused upon the fact that it just might be your choice?
Ever sat up late at night and questioned acts of God?
Ever thought by doing so Satan might applaud?
Ever realized people are much the same where’er you go?
Ever so deluded yourself you know all you need to know?
Ever watched a homeless person push around a shopping cart?
Ever felt that couldn’t happen to me because I’m much too smart?
Ever expressed astonishment at the immensity of a city?
Ever visualized the land before and lamented “what a pity”?
Ever used the N-word when describing someone Black?
Ever brooded that all Whites reside in pillow sacks?
Ever felt your country’s military is always in the right?
Ever tried, even once, to examine our “enemies” plight?
Ever watched your kids grow up and felt a searing loss?
Ever looked out at the world and obsessed on what we’ve lost?
If you’ve ever thought about these things and many, many others
You’re just like people everywhere Earth bound sisters, brothers
We’re just one country with a lot of problems on our plate
And it takes more than winning war to make a country great
Stripe Gripe
The PU’s came once again
To dine last night
Wearing standard… upside down
Tuxedos, resplendent
In Black and White
Charmingly… they perused the menu
And oh! What to do?
Shall it be PU Porridge?
Or the always tasty
PU Stew?
They lingered oh so long
‘Tis not often that they tarry
Dining and dancing
On both front and back lawn
I believe one asked my cat
To marry
Still I must confess
Relief from reek we seek
Will they once again be guests?
The Odoriferous … PU’s
To dine last night
Wearing standard… upside down
Tuxedos, resplendent
In Black and White
Charmingly… they perused the menu
And oh! What to do?
Shall it be PU Porridge?
Or the always tasty
PU Stew?
They lingered oh so long
‘Tis not often that they tarry
Dining and dancing
On both front and back lawn
I believe one asked my cat
To marry
Still I must confess
Relief from reek we seek
Will they once again be guests?
The Odoriferous … PU’s
Eaves Drop
This, is a lengthy, and sad sort of rhyme
That starts, with a spider, the size of a dime
One day he began, a most dangerous ascension
To build a web, up high, was his modest intention
Beginning, at the base, of a three story wall
He weighed the chances, of failure, on four strong legs all
On the other, four limbs he soon, correctly surmised
His goal would be attained, for he was “spider wise”
Crawling and resting the whole afternoon
He dreamt how his “new” home, would be closer to moon
About halfway up, he eluded a fellow spider
And warily, passed the egg sack, she guarded beside her
His father and his father, had not ever been dreamers
They’d lived near the ground, and been complacent schemers
Yet something in him, implored “reach for the stars”
Live on the high, where at night, you can almost touch Mars
As the sun dipped out West, he achieved his destination
Higher than any, of his family’s generation
The view was magnificent he could scarce believe his eyes
And with humble beneficence, his spider eyes cried
Through the whole of that first night, he crafted his web
A home fit for a king, like a spider celeb
As the sun rose once more, bringing warmth from the East
Our spider king waited, for what he knew would be feast
No ordinary spider, our web glider, astute and assuredly wise
He was soon inundated, his belly pregnated, by dozens of corpulent flies
Compactly wrapping and cocooning then cocooning and neatly wrapping
By nine he was gorged and by eleven he was napping
But unknown to the king, in his most regal splendor
A plan was afoot, that could be a life-ender
On the roof of a house, not some thirty feet away
Sat, a blue scraggly bird, some folks call, a scrub jay
This old bird’s eyesight, was quick to confirm
A much easier lunch, than the hunt for a worm
So as he prepared, to depart and take flight
The spider king napped content, his eyes were closed tight
With a rush and a swoop, the old jay descended
And in a manner of seconds, the spider’s life had ended
One glorious morning he had lived out his dream
Then died with closed eyes ‘fore a squawking jay bird’s scream
The old bird was pleased, with his now accomplished task
He’d fly out to the country, and in sunlight he would bask
Old eight legs had been fat, succulent and tasty
The old bird never thought, that perhaps he’d been hasty
As the jay made his way, to the country for a rest
Two young men walked with shotguns, and had shells in their vests
The hunting had been slow, nary a bird had been spotted
They’d shot the hell out of beer cans, now only one shell was left allotted
One finally said to the other, “Let’s call it a day”
When there appeared in the distance, an old scraggly scrub jay
The young men then briefly argued and drew a quick lot
Then the winner emerged, he’d get the last shot
Unbeknownst to the happy, and soaring old jay
Death, lay below, a scant forty yards away
As the sun warmed his old feathers, the jay heard a sound
Then plummeted headfirst, to soon strike the ground
The young men were ebullient, they had at last made a kill
And they laughed and they joked, overcome with the thrill
The old jay had delayed, their departure from the field
And that delay, on this day, three men’s lives would soon yield
Johnny Jones at that precise moment, finished up his one beer
Told the bartender, “The wife’s having a baby, I’m out of here”
He then fumbled through his pockets and handed out cigars
A happier man never lived, as he headed to his car
As the hunters still laughed and joked, then rounded a sharp curve
They met up with Johnny Jones, and it was much too late to swerve
Folks for years ‘round these parts, talked about that collision
Three men died, many cried, and some spoke of fate’s mission
Now on a day, as the mighty sun, rises in the East
Another spider king, sits on his throne, awaiting the day’s feast
And perhaps, three men somewhere, look down upon this day
Warily watching out, for an old scraggly jay
That starts, with a spider, the size of a dime
One day he began, a most dangerous ascension
To build a web, up high, was his modest intention
Beginning, at the base, of a three story wall
He weighed the chances, of failure, on four strong legs all
On the other, four limbs he soon, correctly surmised
His goal would be attained, for he was “spider wise”
Crawling and resting the whole afternoon
He dreamt how his “new” home, would be closer to moon
About halfway up, he eluded a fellow spider
And warily, passed the egg sack, she guarded beside her
His father and his father, had not ever been dreamers
They’d lived near the ground, and been complacent schemers
Yet something in him, implored “reach for the stars”
Live on the high, where at night, you can almost touch Mars
As the sun dipped out West, he achieved his destination
Higher than any, of his family’s generation
The view was magnificent he could scarce believe his eyes
And with humble beneficence, his spider eyes cried
Through the whole of that first night, he crafted his web
A home fit for a king, like a spider celeb
As the sun rose once more, bringing warmth from the East
Our spider king waited, for what he knew would be feast
No ordinary spider, our web glider, astute and assuredly wise
He was soon inundated, his belly pregnated, by dozens of corpulent flies
Compactly wrapping and cocooning then cocooning and neatly wrapping
By nine he was gorged and by eleven he was napping
But unknown to the king, in his most regal splendor
A plan was afoot, that could be a life-ender
On the roof of a house, not some thirty feet away
Sat, a blue scraggly bird, some folks call, a scrub jay
This old bird’s eyesight, was quick to confirm
A much easier lunch, than the hunt for a worm
So as he prepared, to depart and take flight
The spider king napped content, his eyes were closed tight
With a rush and a swoop, the old jay descended
And in a manner of seconds, the spider’s life had ended
One glorious morning he had lived out his dream
Then died with closed eyes ‘fore a squawking jay bird’s scream
The old bird was pleased, with his now accomplished task
He’d fly out to the country, and in sunlight he would bask
Old eight legs had been fat, succulent and tasty
The old bird never thought, that perhaps he’d been hasty
As the jay made his way, to the country for a rest
Two young men walked with shotguns, and had shells in their vests
The hunting had been slow, nary a bird had been spotted
They’d shot the hell out of beer cans, now only one shell was left allotted
One finally said to the other, “Let’s call it a day”
When there appeared in the distance, an old scraggly scrub jay
The young men then briefly argued and drew a quick lot
Then the winner emerged, he’d get the last shot
Unbeknownst to the happy, and soaring old jay
Death, lay below, a scant forty yards away
As the sun warmed his old feathers, the jay heard a sound
Then plummeted headfirst, to soon strike the ground
The young men were ebullient, they had at last made a kill
And they laughed and they joked, overcome with the thrill
The old jay had delayed, their departure from the field
And that delay, on this day, three men’s lives would soon yield
Johnny Jones at that precise moment, finished up his one beer
Told the bartender, “The wife’s having a baby, I’m out of here”
He then fumbled through his pockets and handed out cigars
A happier man never lived, as he headed to his car
As the hunters still laughed and joked, then rounded a sharp curve
They met up with Johnny Jones, and it was much too late to swerve
Folks for years ‘round these parts, talked about that collision
Three men died, many cried, and some spoke of fate’s mission
Now on a day, as the mighty sun, rises in the East
Another spider king, sits on his throne, awaiting the day’s feast
And perhaps, three men somewhere, look down upon this day
Warily watching out, for an old scraggly jay
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