mcclain-jeffrey-moredock
North Port, FL-Oct-May
Retired farmhand, folksinger, chaplain, teacher, coach, headmaster, COO, and governance consultant. Married 52 years to a saint. Two children, four grandchildren, and one cat. Favorite poets...Brautigan, Ferlinghetti, Cummings, and Williams. I write poetry and make satirical political art. In my next life I want to be Ry Cooder
To frack, or not to frack, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the eyes of the world to suffer
The stings and barbs of outrageous corporations
Or to take up pen against a flood of money
And by opposing silence them. To speak, to write
Not heeded; and by a word we say stop
The drilling and the thousand unnatural shocks
That earth is heir to: ‘tis a consummation
Decidedly to be needed. To speak, to write;
To march, perhaps be silent—yes, there’s the challenge
For in that sleep of conscience, what death may come?
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Not tonight, I have my .
It’s all gone, my dog – ate it.
If you _ you lose.
Look, it’s an…of the sun!
I just had my first : oscopy
My sigmoidoscopy was a ; oscopy
I believe Matthew, Luke, and John, but I ?
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
How do I love thee? Let me count the strokes.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My ball can reach when sailing out of sight
For the end of rounds and ideal shots.
I love to the level of every player’s
Most quiet need, by sun and failing light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for greens.
I love thee purely, as they turn from rough.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old clubs, and with my hacker’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my last swing—I love thee with the pars,
Birdies, bogeys of all my life!
And if God choose
I shall but play thee better after death.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
Early mourning clouds
Will hang heavy
Between head and heart
Followed by
Teardrop drizzle causing
Limited visibility and
Topical depression
By mid-day winds of change
And sunshine smile
Will allow gradual clearing
Between head and heart
Followed by a warming trend
Probability of participation 100%
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
Apologies to Dr. Seuss
I am The Donald, The Donald I am
And not like any other man
I’m living large out on the stump
In this house of cards I am the Trump
Little Marco and Big Ted Cruz
Punched me hard to make me lose
They did not know I cannot bruise
I am the Donald, The Donald I am
Withstanding every media pan
The party of Lincoln, the party of Reagan
They’re on their knees and now they’re beggin’
Please, please, Dump the Trump
To them I say harrumph, harrumph
For I am The Donald nobody’s chump
I dish it out lump after lump
And when at last the votes are counted
And protests left and right are mounted
I’ll still be here still standing tall
Because I’m just too big to fall
Be it Crooked Clinton or ****** Bernie
I’m on the phone to my attorney
Cause you all know I’ve got the loot
And Trumps the card that beats a suit
I am Donald, The Donald I am
Known to all as the Flim-Flam-Man
Jeff Moredock…almost the Ides of March
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
Every town has a dump
Some have credentials
Many rooted in old habits
All piled high with the
Detritus of destiny
The old making way for the new
But here in Our Town
We have a Transfer Station
A place where
Pass the trash and
In for a buck is not a game
Just a dollar a pound
Unload the unneeded
The unnecessary, the
Bad and the ugly
Only the good live again
Recycled, reborn, reused
The large scale weighs the
Refuse of our lives and we
Wait while our ticket is punched
Always with the Big Question
Really the only question
Will my end be like this
When I am no longer needed
No longer necessary
Will I be ******* or renewal
Rejected or recycled
For…no matter how
We lead our lives
We all end up at
The Transfer Station
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC