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