It becomes more clear than ever
to those who follow Christian faith-
Those who know the storyline
But are still waiting for the cast
To be announced and pictured.

There are horses in the stable
Warriors with coats of different colors
Snorting as they kick the doors
That strive to keep them safe inside
While waiting for their riders.

Their riders are donning uniforms
And making preparations
To mount their waiting steeds
And thunder out across the world
To prove the Holy Book is true.

These are the Horsemen Of The Apocalypse -
Stuff of legend and religious lore,
Baring names that generate fear:
Names that now are listed here:
Netanyahu, Xi and Kim, Putin
And his aide de camp named Donald
Who tends the horse but does not ride.

Who will be astride which colored horse?
Putin rides the white one known as Conquest.
Netanyahu rides the red;  
It’s brand spells out the word for War.
Xi rides the Black horse, Pestilence -
Unleashed upon the recent world.
The pale horse symbolizing Death for all
Is ridden by Kim the Rocket Man who sits beside
His Doomsday Toys, waiting for the light to change.

The light cannot stay red much longer.
             ljm

Like a pack of yowling feral cats
Fighting in a ghetto alley
We snarl and hiss and arch our backs
Baring claws at one another.

We wound our spirits and our souls
In endless rounds of recrimination
That swings like a giant pendulum
But never moves the clock hands.

There’d be catnip enough for everyone
If the fat cats didn’t hoard it.
There’d be beds for all of us to sleep in
If the slumlords didn’t lock them up.

Maybe we need to band together,
The Tabbies and the Calicos,
The Tomcats and the *******
And see if we can find a way
To build a world we all can live in.
ljm

Groups casting aspersions
Are a spiteful diversion
That borders on *******
And invites incursion
By the cops -  and dispersion.
ljm

He struggled into an impeccable new tuxedo in order to make an impeccable impression on the judges as he attends the banquet that will award him a check and a gold medal for his impeccable manners at the etiquette Olympics
ljm

I heard your trees both screaming
          As your cack-handed garden workers
    Fired up their vicious, howling saws
                  To start a massacre that no tree could survive.

      I saw the shards of leaves and wood
  Flying off in all directions
               As the lifeblood of the trees
                               Oozed into the gravel just below

                 And before long it grew very silent -
   Only whispered echoes of the screams
           Floated high above the barren wasteland
That is now a yard with nothing in it green.
                    ljm