It makes me angry
To see how many people
Don’t act like they are good
Outside the church and steeple.
It’s like someone is keeping book
On how often they appear there
And saying they love Jesus
Is all anyone should care.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

It’s pretty scary
To watch what is happening here
When speeches like Goebbells
And the Nazis is what we hear.
When not speaking the party line
And regular people are demonized
Walk hand-in-hand with rich dreams
And high class crooks are lionized.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

The first thing the Nazis did
Was take over the popular press
Then made the party philosophy
A religion and that started the mess.
Helping the poor, friending too
Was outlawed for those they hate.
They were made to look like criminals
And unpatriotic outlaws of the state.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

And all was done under the banner,
The blessing of the Christian flag.
They murdered every single
Jew, Communist and those called ***.
They created new chants and songs
And verses so people could sing along
And raise a salute to the elite.
And soon there was nobody to defeat.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

I was her mean motor scooter
Until a big hunky Harley came along.
I took her out putt-putting
There didn’t seem to be anything wrong
But for a just a little bit more torque
I was left behind ******* in smoke.
When she saw his big old motor
My Cushman eagle looked like a joke.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

I asked her to a picture show
She smiled and said that would be fine.
Come the day we meant to go
She made and excuse that felt like a line.
She said she had an ailing aunt
But later I saw her get off of his hog.
Now, I feel just like scooter trash,
An unsightly little bump on a log.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

Don’t get me wrong about her
I don’t really mean to put her down,
She just wanted a bigger deal
With which to tool around the town.
When she sat rode behind me
I really should have guessed you see
She made a kind of vrooming sound
Like I was going ninety three.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

If you are advocating
The eliminating of humans
Assuming they are less
Than the mess you are, then
You are, by far, among the worst,
The first level of devils living
And I am giving you the name
And the blame for the horror
And am all the sorer that you
Insist I must take it silently
While you slice them, bleeding,
Leading them into the jail
Wailing, calling them names
Then maiming, beating and killing
Even when willing, and agree
To cooperate in your travesty.
In your majesty, you feel you
Are the one true and decent
And as they are your victims
Inherit all the ills that go with them;
Your prisoners that you call *******
And beat their insoles and bare feet,
Drag them off the streets for being poor,
Call the women ****** and trash,
Smash them around and then you
Say they fell down, and your boss agrees
When the prisoner’s knees are broken.
Just another token of how awful
And how stinking terrible they are
Those without cars, or jobs, or houses.
Just human louses in stained blouses
And raggedy clothes. Break their nose.
Nobody cares about them.
You are real men, they are not.
They get what they deserve.
“To protect and serve.”

Dinking too much whiskey,
Behaving sort of risky,
Telling lying stories,
Tall tales of former glories,
Laughing between the tokes,
At outrageously bad jokes;
We thought we were outlaws,
But were tamer than in-laws.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Honking horns at passing cars
Toking doobies under the stars,
Letting no cuties pass us by
Without whistling, my oh my.
We were certain we were cool
Too ****** to know we were fools.
Escapees from the workaday,
We ten-mile perimeter ruanways.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Out at night, no three-piece suits,
Sandals instead of fruit boots
Pegged jeans and rolled up sleeves
No fancy stuff with fancy weaves.
Prepared for whatever comes
Serenaded by engine hum
We told each other that we were hot.
Even though we knew we were not.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Jammin’ with Mammon.
Hyped to the max.
Finding those loopholes
Paying no tax.
Slammin’ for Mammon.
Foreclosing on life.
You died too soon?
We’ll tax your wife.

Jammin’ with Mammon
The world by the tail.
Lie cheat and swindle
Don’t worry about bail.
Swimmin' like salmon
Against the stream.
Dealing from the bottom;
Living the dream.

Slammin’ for Mammon;
Trample the rest.
Get first and last from
The community chest.
No famine for Mammon;
Let the poor starve.
**** the fatted calf and
Get ready to carve.

Jammin’ with Mammon
As good as it gets.
No room for conscience
Or squishy regrets.
Slammin’ for Mammon
Means money is king.
Don’t count the victims,
Just get the brass ring.

You and I shared childhood
When dreams seemed real
And life spun on a wheel
Of fun in our neighborhood.
We stayed out as late as can
Before our mothers called
And needed not much at all
We made fun with two tin cans.

Rolling down hills together
Like sledding without a care
And snowfall everywhere.
Our fun didn’t need weather.
We made up our own games
With just rocks and sticks
Forts we built for kicks
And we gave them clever names.

We took our time for granted
Like tomorrow was never
We’d go on and on forever
Like two human trees planted.
But looking back we can see
We were but a lovely hour
Wilting like a lovely flower
And had no true immortality.

Still the memories are pleasant
And speak softly over years
About having fun without fear
And learning from life lessons.
We need to savor every gift
And take them all to heart.
Remember those and start
To let our aging spirits lift.

(For my cousin, Louise Stacer Alexander)

Come and let me tell you
Tales of distant wizards
In far off foreign lands.
The speak in words of poetry
And magic incantations
Even they don’t understand.

They tell of arcane stories
Of dragons and the caves
Of gemstones where they hid.
They tell of verve and derring-do
And swashbuckling heroism
In legendary acts they never did.

They chant, these ancient shamans
To deities and gods of ancient name
Who they know well are fakers.
They foretell and portend wonders
And riches for those who rule, and
Call themselves movers and shakers.

These magic-minded soothsayers
Drape themselves in auras of mystery
And tell the believers they can heal.
And if the congregation fails to look
Closely enough at their performances
They believe the mythological is real.

And time can coat the stores in paint
That looks like the patina of the ages
So it passes the inspection of he willing.
No true believer looks for cracks
In the walls around the real facts
Or questions the truth they are killing.