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Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
Look down.
Is your money slipping away
As if it never was?
And can you not figure out
What is the basic cause?
Look down.
Are you hands not quite beige
And are there calluses there?
Then your Trump Republicans
In Congress don’t really care.

Look down.
Are you a pregnant woman
Who has no sacks of gold?
Are you sick and poor now?
Are you broke and old?
Look down.
Do you have a few million
You can donate to the GOP
Then likely you are *******
And have suffered silently.

If you sit and let them do evil
And don’t stand and resist.
They’ll use your sacred words
To prove your rights don’t exist.

Look down.
Do you watch the television
And believe all you see?
Does the Christian right dictate
How your existence should be?
Look down.
Are you sick of war and hate
And can’t see it ever ending?
Just realize it’s Congressional villains
That our country is befriending.

Look down.
Are you living up to the goals
You set for yourself in life?
Or is your government killing us all
And handing you the knife?
Look down.
There is hope if we all act
And pull these criminals down.
It’s our fault they are even there.
They run the circus, don’t be a clown.

If you sit and let them do evil
And don’t stand and resist.
They’ll use your sacred words
To prove your rights don’t exist.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
I understand your feeling;
That nothing ever works,
That all of those who run
Are just a bunch of jerks
That nothing ever gets fixed.
It’s all a money game,
The rich keep getting richer
And no one take the blame.

So, people get elected
And promises are made
Then the other side starts whining
And throwing lots of shade.
Then the media gets in there,
They only care about the ratings.
They focus on who is famous
And who someone is dating.

The issues are complicated
So much is at stake.
It’s not just a simple matter
Of who is on the take.
It’s more like ****** if I do
And cursed if I do not.
What’s the use of voting
When look what we have got?

So, you let them all go on
And you just wait and see.
After all, it’s just a game.
So how bad can it be?
Maybe an outsider now
Who doesn’t follow rules.
Maybe they can get inside
And make them look like fools.

One side says the numbers lie
The other calls them cheats.
One side says trust me folks.
The other lists defeats.
Either way, after ward they
Both will sing he blues.
Should you look at successes
Or vote the evening news?

The best advice is to watch
Who walks their own talk,
And who wants all the money
All the marbles and the chalk.
Who cares to improve the fate
Of those who really need?
And who is driven just by lust
And barefaced naked greed?
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
I got off the bus
At Eighteenth and Vine
Everything in the window
I wanted to be mine
Beautiful shirts there,
Suits, shoes and hats.
But I couldn’t buy them
No, I couldn’t do that.

I was the wrong color
For Matlaw’s, He said.
That place was for coloreds
And rich pimps instead
Not a tow-headed white boy
What hasn’t got much sense.
I went there that one time
And, I haven’t been since.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.

The bus went by there
Every day I passed it by.
To this day, I grieve
And never understood why
A Caucasian market
Like I represented
Might go there inside there
And be soundly resented.

It wasn’t a good thing
It’s just how it was then
Before the civil rights thing
Would finally begin.
Yes, I never knew colors
They way others did.
But, what did I know?
I was just a young kid.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
Pretty girl,
Started out a fellow
All alone there
Hiding in her cellar
Went to the church
The priest said to confess
The scummy man
Then asked her if she dressed.

He said to her
It it was her holy duty
Then he called her ****
And grabbed her by the *****.
Pretty girl
****** now and confused.
It never occurred
That she had been abused.

But she had
A friend living next door.
That was me
And I knew she was not a *****.
Just a kid
Who in those times
Was reviled
Her gifts from God called a crime.

I took her out
Rollerskating and to dances,
As a girl.
I believed in second chances.
She left school
And started life as a fashion model.
No longer did she
Hide her soul inside a bottle.

A lovely tale
One that could have been so sad;
She stood up
From then on life was not so bad.
Pretty girl
Started her life out as a guy
But much of her
Was too wonderful to deny.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
They’s times when I
Jess cain’t say it good
And times when I am
Jess plain amazing;
Then teachers and snobs
Seem to all agree and
Subject whut I say to
Harsh degrees of hazing.

It seems like they ain’t never
Said the wrong word before
Whatever, they jess don’t
Seem to put me on ignore
And move to importanter things
Than grammarical stuff;
As fer me, I’m jess turnin’ them off
‘Cause I have had me enough.

I only had me an education
Up to the eleventh grade or so
A whole buncht of that silly stuff
I got told  but I still don’t know.
My dad and my mom too
They got taught just like me.
And I talk good enough for them.
Change my perfectly acceptable talk?
Really now, the chances are slim.

We say ain’t and cain’t and acrost
And other such acceptable words.
And some of the more ‘proper’ things
Ain’t nothin’ but jess plain absurd.
Like widdershins and tatterdemalion,
Sequipedalian, octogenarian as well.
If I’m expected to talk like that
Y’all can just go straight to hell.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
I have always wanted
A legendary love affair,
But of ever finding one
I fear I was in despair.
I admit I wanted the closeness
And the permanence of it all;
Finding that perfect relationship.
I just never knew what to call.

I hoped for just thinking
Of my lover night and day
And that kind of communication
That time did not take away.
I thought of little glances
And phrases we might create
That sent entire sentences
Back and forth, mate to mate.

But in the larger sense of things
That didn’t come into play.
No looks or code words needed
To say what we have to say
Because when he hurts, I do
And when he suffers I cry.
I used to wonder and question
But now I no longer try.

I just accept that we are
So totally consumed by love
That questioning would be like
Not accepting it was from above;
From some perfect kind of care
That has matched us together.
I simply smile and sincerely hope
We will be this way forever.

If it ever gets in our way, I know
We are strong enough to heal
But something inside me says
This is all so utterly real.
Somehow that old adage of
Two making just the one
Should always make our hearts sing
And be sublimely fun.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
How many are there?
I doubt anyone is aware
At least half the population;
A fact that should really scare
And yet decades go by
And they still don’t awaken
And now our trust in them
Is powerfully and fatally shaken.

It’s the Narcissistic Generation
And it could mean the death
Of freedom and democracy
With one last dying breath
Because like most committees
The members are the kind of jerks
Who want all the goodies
But will not ever do the work.

We have a country of slackers
Who were raised to be spoiled fools
Who want all the structure made
But will not pick up one tool.
So if this country falls apart
And becomes a dream of history
For me and people like myself
It will be no amazing mystery.

The USA will falter silently
And maybe fall over and die
And none of the people responsible
Will admit they’re the reason why.
It will not be done by foreigners
The way warmongers always cried.
Instead it will be by malingerers;
Self-inflicted by the dunces inside.
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