When children go hungry;
And even water is scarce,
When they have no shoes
And no country leader cares.
When school is too expensive
And illness goes unchecked,
Whose cause advances
As the economy is wrecked?

Greed is often the reason
If you ask yourself why.
Neglect and starvation
Makes the angels cry.

When parents neglect children
And seem to easily forget
That animals are not children
And children are not pets.
Everyone needs love and care
And a feeling they belong.
Any other treatment of them
In every culture is wrong.

Power can be made evil
For those who live by a lie.
People used as chattel
Makes the angels cry.

Some of us feel so lost
Overrun by a busy crowd
Seem to find our days are
Covered by a dark cloud.
Our old ones suffer alone
In tiny rooms of shame.
Our goal-oriented society
Seems to forget their name.

So, there is your answer,
You need not ask why.
Yes is the answer.
Indeed, angels do cry.

They chose to call it The Freedom Tree
Because in their ultimate wisdom
They felt it represented all of mankind
And their famous bid for freedom.
But all the while they didn’t really intend
For all the people to enjoy it.
They meant the right people in their laws
And selectively chose to employ it.

It stood in the center where battles were
And where some patriots had died
And from the beginning they ignored many
And abused them far and wide.
They argued that they were not really people
These of color or unaccepted belief
Then subjected them to the very horror they
Themselves had come here for relief.

So this was The Freedom Tree so named
By some kind of patriotism that chooses
Who gets to live, and love and prosper
And in the end, decide who loses.
Maybe they should have chosen a name
That said what they thought was right;
Maybe the name should have been
The Tree of Freedom For Everyone White.

It’s New Year’s Eve!
Let’s get knee-walking plastered.
Don’t eat anything today,
It gets to your bloodstream faster.

It’s Saint Patty’s Day!
Let’s get ******* on green beer.
I’m Irish, so I am entitled, you see
And I won’t be again until next year.

It’s my birthday!
Let’s get plowed out of our minds.
Let’s drink everything in sight
And ***** every ***** we can find.

It’s Saturday night now!
Let’s do a bunch of beer bongs!
Anything that’s okay with my gang
It’s all good. It can’t be wrong.

It’s Fourth of July today!
Let’s have a picnic so we can drink.
But not fancy cocktails for me.
I don’t care for throwing up pink.

It’s Labor Day today!
Let’s do a chugalug contest today.
We’ll laugh at nothing at all
And drink the whole day away.

It’s a sporting event tailgate party!
Let’s get drunk together in a parking lot
And act like the teenagers we think
That we are when we really are not.

It’s Happy Hour! Hooray!
Let’s eat buffalo wings and imbibe
And hope the cop that stops us
Is okay with drunks or accepts a bribe.

It’s a bachelor party right now!
You don’t want to offend the host. Drink!
Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow
Well, it will be more sober than you think.

I wish we had a president
That cared about the populace
Instead of one who's wants the law
To bankrupt almost all of us.
The one we have cares about
Only the super rich and the white.
He’s a ditzy mouthy narcissist
And  for sure that is not right!

It really wasn’t long ago
We went through this kind of fear
And now we are feeling sick
That terror is once again here.
This time we’re not afraid
Of people from another land.
Our country may be dying
But, again it’s by it’s own hand.

Part of it is stupidity and sloth
And part is just evil mindedness,
That either makes us look away
Or make others hate kindness.
Some of our parents trained us
To be big bullies and whiney brats.
And others ******* progress
By dissolving into brainless spats.

I wish we had a president
Like we have had in times gone by
Instead of one who is so happy
To pat his own back, cheat and lie.
It would give us all a chance
To avoid waging another war.
I wish we had a president
That knew what that job was for.

He, the rumpled bumbler,
Stumbled, mumbling, bungling
Through his self-made jungle
No mote of humility, his abilities
Were not inclusive of subtlety.
He settled for a public identity
Of propriety and normality,
Obvious hospitality but falsity
Like the nose on his face, exposed.

What a verbose, but artificial
Government official he was.
His cause was never for us
It was for that he was notorious;
How laboriously he dissembled.
But he resembled his opposition
Then took a position of submission
Until his mission was complete
Then he beat his feet in retreat
To those he knew could beat
The highest price and that was nice.

Twice as nice for rental cars
And pretty movie stars
Who weren’t too humble
To stumble the red carpet
With the rumpled bumbler,
Mumbling, no longer bungling
Through his self-made jungle.
Still no humility, a perfect facility
To take from the poor, give to the rich
And not care who calls him sonofabitch.

I don’t always want
To hit a home run
But I always want
To be in the game.
I don’t always need
To be the big star
But it’s nice if they all
Remember your name.

You can’t make a touchdown
Every time you play the game.
But, suit up and show up
You’ll be glad you came.

I know I have blown it
More than once before
But that is the reason
We have for keeping score.
We add up the averages
And when I do the math
I find trying my best
Is taking the right path.

It does no good to give up
Without even the one try.
You prove to yourself
You’re a ‘go for it’ guy!

If you think this is rah-rah
You are absolutely right.
What good is getting beaten
Without even a fight?
If you think this is a metaphor
You are correct once again.
How can you win the race
If you never even begin?

You can’t make a touchdown
Every time you play the game.
But, suit up and show up
You’ll be glad you came.
It does no good to give up
Without even the one try.
You prove to yourself
You’re a ‘go for it’ guy!

While sleeping in my bed
Rhymes escape my head.
I maunder them around
Then write them down
And publish them instead.

That is, those worth keeping
That I write while sleeping
That often turn out to be
Happily approved by me.
A poetic parrot peeping.

An internal rhyming thing.
Almost an eternal ping
That runs through my brain
There to sometimes remain
And bubble back upon rising.

Sometimes it wakes me up
And I brew myself a quick cup
Because at that time
In search of a rhyme
That goes with boxer pup or buttercup.

I haven’t made a dime from this
My middle-of-the-night muse’s kiss.
I just gleefully scribble
And sometimes I giggle
No matter it’s a hit or a miss.

Far be it from me to complain.
For so many poems remain
That turn out terrific
That I’m labelled prolific.
Either that, or poetically insane.

One-hour love
The kind of love nobody talks about.
Get-to-it love
Makes you want to howl and shout.
Not buying the cow
Just going go ahead and try it out.
One-hour love
The kind I can’t really do without.

Just an hour
That’s all it takes.
Anything less
You are no great shakes.
Just sixty minutes
And your world gets rocked.
Like changing your oil
On your engine block.

Not talking marriage
Nothing about forever and ever.
Straight up front truth
Just two people loving together.
No ring or anything
No possessivity, no never.
Just monkey love
Working ourselves into a lather.

One-hour love
It really shouldn’t take too long.
Hop-to-it love
Quit before anything goes wrong.
Impromptu love
Often the hottest you ever saw.
Shout hallelujah love
Never end up with a mother in law.

Just an hour
And you’re ready to run.
So little time
But so very much fun.
Just sixty minutes
And life is worthwhile.
Just the kind of exercise
Could make a statue smile.


Two-hippies love
Free love and all of that stuff.
Afternoon love
Without all the romantic guff.
Truck-driver love
Hard-driving without any fluff.
Sledgehammer love
Proving you both are tough.

Just an hour
That’s all it takes.
Anything less
You are no great shakes.
Just sixty minutes
And your world gets rocked.
Like changing your oil
On your engine block.

It’s your own book
But you don’t toe the line!
You ignore your own religion
But demand to control mine!
You deserve no credit
As far as I can see
Except that you excel
In blatant hypocrisy!

You wave your flags
And lionize the Old South
With things Jesus never said
Coming out of your mouth.
It’s almost like your mind
Is now permanently delirious,
Though you still demand that we
Should all take you serious.

Just like a guy in the local park
That seemed to suffer a mental pox,
The difference is, unlike that man
You don’t stand on any soapbox.
But both of you babble constantly
With precisely the same vanity
That the madness you spew
Should be accepted as sanity.

Neither of you care to understand
That spreading untruths can destroy
The wisdom of experience we have.
It blinds people to the precious joy
Of sharing love for love’s own sake;
Accepting people as blessed as you,
And as deserving of your good wishes,
Hoping their best dreams come true.

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.

We are allowed to be unkind
To the sick, the deaf and the blind.
We gladly toss them into a ditch.
They don't matter; They are not rich.
We giggle and count what we’ve got
Laugh uproariously at those who have not.
We call our poor neighbors our inferiors
Because having money makes one superior.

It also works the same with every race.
Supremacy is about the color of your face.
It starts there and moves to include nationality.
Only Caucasian Americans match our reality.
Sure non-whites can pick our cotton for us
But, as for equality, the concept will bore us.
It says in the Bible you have to be from here
And white and Protestant, those words are clear.

And this stuff about **** and lesbians too
Not one word of that civil rights stuff is true.
My preacher told me gay people are abomination.
That’s why us Republicans support segregation.
That's some of what is wrong with our schools
Somebody has been listening to communist fools.
We need to get back to the good way things were
Before all this equality stuff was allowed to occur.

I tell you the truth, this stuff totally makes me burn.
I mean, these college-warped hippies need to learn
That this country is a Christian one, since beginning
So, we don’t want this equality stuff you’re selling.
Just shine our shoes and park our expensive cars
And we’ll tip you a little bit and there you are;
Right there in the place all of you ought to be;
Freedom is for us rich whites, it’s American history.

He left home for a very good reason
But no one ever asked him why.
Nobody questioned the bruises
Nobody ever even tried.
The neighbors ignored the noises
Of a child screaming in agony.
The urban equivalent of caring
Is universally applied apathy.

Shut up kid, the adults are talking;
You’re to be seen and never heard.
Keep you complaints to yourself.
Don’t say another word.

The teachers saw the marks
And noticed the change in mood.
They brought it up to the school
But they didn’t want to be sued.
Why didn’t the teacher call
And tell this to the police?
Because the school said, out front
If the teacher would face release.

Whenever there is a conflict between
A child’s welfare and peace
The school district will always choose
To make their employee cease
And desist making waves at work
And subjecting the board to scorn.
It isn’t their fault that so many
Bad kids go get themselves born.

Shut up kid, the adults are talking;
You’re to be seen and never heard.
Keep you complaints to yourself.
Don’t say another word.

Later everyone will have to pretend
That they never knew a thing.
That they thought the kid was wrong
Or that the kid was simply lying.
After all, the kids don’t matter much
They cost a lot and do not vote.
So every complaint they ever make
Is treated like as a sour note.

I want to be rich
I want to have power
I want my every thought
To blossom and flower
Into a new religion
Like a room full of roses.
I want to become
A brand new Moses.

I would write such tales
Of exciting breadth and scope
That any non-believer would
Have to be a brainless dope.
I would invent angels, too
That appear to save us all
And appear and offer words
That back up the worship call.

I will find someplace
Where I could build a church;
Leave all the naysayers
In a theological lurch.
I want to write new rules
Maybe on tablets of gold
And peddle my concept
Until thousands are sold.

Then we can get stronger
And create our own thing
Where hand chosen leaders
Can carry on like kings.
Once they are chosen
Their persons will be sacred.
They will have God’s mandate,
So no human can take it.

Of course we’ll do good things
Like a religion really should.
We’ll do charity and preaching
And do a great amount of good.
But what is most important
And will really make us great
Is to teach our people clearly
Just who they have to hate.

If we don’t approve of them
Heaven will simply be denied;
Just like the Court of Gentiles.
They’ll have to stay outside.
Because I want a religion
Where what I say will be fact
And all of the true believers
Will know exactly how to act.

There is an ancient woman
In the market near my home
Who walks the timeless amble
Of a battered soul alone.
Her pasted orange tresses
A marmalade cascade
Fall so stiffly down to where
Her hand is always laid
Clutching her treasure bag
She goes her way careless
Ignoring chiding glances
At her faded evening dress.

Her story hides in rumors
Whispered by those who work
In the shops and restaurants
Here near McArthur Park.
They say she was a movie queen
Or an extra in the silent days
And an accident at the studio
Made her bald unto this day.
She refused to remove the wig
She ran out crying, in costume
And now she is still wearing it
Hoping he will find her soon.

The woman at the pharmacy
Said her hair caught on fire
At a movie in the twenties
Her boss calls her a liar;
Says the leading man did it
In a fit of rage and jealousy
When she wouldn't marry him
He set fire to the scenery.
Others heard that she was fired,
But she wouldn't leave the set
So deep inside her mind
She really hasn't left it yet.

Some have tried to talk to her
But she never speaks that much
Except inquiring prices and colors
Of the goods she chances to touch.
To direct questions and advances
She turns sadly away and leaves.
You can tell she is sensitive
You can tell by her face she grieves.
It is easy to see she is living
In some world that is not ours
Her world seems a place of gloom
Of thunderstorms and showers.

She caresses with her fingertips
Along the banisters she passes
And she seldom lets her gaze linger
Behind her smoked sunglasses.
Her satin dress has faded,
Like the color of her hair.
She still lingers in each moment
When she walks down the stair.
She never seems to notice those
Who stop and goggle at her
And they are many, these gawkers
But they just don’t' seem to matter.

She seems to have accepted
What her life has now become.
She has been coming to the park
For decades more than some.
This may be a playground
For popeyed urban gnomes.
But this is where she shops
This decaying place her home.
This park is very much like her
Many ages past its prime.
The vestiges of past glory
Have not been erased by time.

Feeling sorry for myself.
Feeling sorry by myself.
Waiting and watching and pining away
Wasting what’s left of a miserable day.
Humming the sad songs
I hear in my head.
I can do nothing but
Lie in my bed
Feeling sorry, just feeling sorry
For myself.

I sit in the dark wondering
What I did wrong
Or asking myself what I
Left so undone.
It has to be my fault
So I take the blame.
I doubt that I could be
More tired of this game.

Feeling sorry for myself.
Feeling sorry by myself.
Waiting and watching and pining away
Wasting what’s left of a miserable day.
Humming the sad songs
I hear in my head.
I can do nothing but
Lie in my bed
Feeling sorry, just feeling sorry
For myself.

Why do the rules have to be
So stinking unfair?
Is there a referee
Hiding somewhere?
One who can come rule
On how this has gone?
I m stuck with the clues
I just stumble upon.

Feeling sorry for myself.
Feeling sorry by myself.
Waiting and watching and pining away
Wasting what’s left of a miserable day.
Humming the sad songs
I hear in my head.
I can do nothing but
Lie in my bed
Feeling sorry, just feeling sorry
For myself.

Dear Donald, wait. strike that.
You cattle rustler in a black hat,
You cheated and you lied to us
On just about a daily basis.
You made a list of promises
Of what you would do for us
But you did the exact opposite
Meaning not a single word of it.

Half of us settled on you to be
The man with enough responsibility
To make our country great but yet
There wasn’t much wrong with it.
We can’t say that today, can we?
You and your cabinet detest reality.
You make claims and even worse
Most of what you say is in reverse.

Now you’re off kidnapping kids
With no shame for what you did.
You steal babies and fly them away
And charge voters a thousand a day!
And if that wasn’t far enough off track
You charge parents to get them back.
Then you insist someone else is to blame.
Ugly man, why no sense of shame?

You have taken our country down.
You went from an political clown
To an arch criminal like we’ve never seen.
For decades you smiled in glossy magazines.
Now you’re applauding dictators and
Your cabinet is a robber baron’s band.
You deserve to be put into a prison
If any of our lawmakers had wisdom.

So, this is your Dear Donald letter
Bad motor scooter, and a worse go-getter,
Telling you a ferocious goodbye.
Take it as a fact, and don’t lie.
If there is a bit of integrity remaining,
We’ll **** on you and tell you it’s raining.

His head and his body were
Bald as an egg for all to see.
His parents named him Harry
But he did not turn out to be.
As an antonymic masterpiece
His name is rife with humor
But in poor Harry’s opinion
It was taken as a social tumor.

Every joke that would be said,
No matter how crass was made
At work, at play by everyone
Beginning in the seventh grade
When his baby fine blond hair
Began to hide on back of head.
It hurt his feelings to frequently hear
The things his peers all said.

By the time he reached maturity
He learned to accept his fate;
Everyday friends could not resist
Making light of his name and pate!
While it’s human nature all of this
It’s a constantly rather bitter pill,
And though he learned to smile
It kind of hurts his feelings still.

Bare Harry, bald as a shaved baby.
Plenty of tacky hairless jokes to spare
Shouldn’t we cut him some slack maybe
And focus on something besides his hair
Or the obvious lack thereof on his head
And point out his forgiving personality?
But sadly, that is just not the way
Of the reality of the world’s humanity.

Brent Kincaid
4/29/2019

You’re doing it again
So get yourself prepared.
You’re moving into the future
So, do not be scared.
You’ll be a year older so
We’ll get out the old jokes.
You can take it because
It’s love from great folks.

We’ll sing the usual songs
And by all means have a cake.
Bring on your birthday cheer.
Let’s do whatever it takes.
Maybe go out dancing
And have a lot of smiles
Like it’s not the age the tires
It’s all about the miles.

And of course quips
About being over the hill.
Somebody always makes one
And it seems they always will.
But others will remind you
That you don’t look that old
As they check you for wrinkles,
And gray hair and mould.

Let’s have great good fun
And all at your expense
Because it’s traditional
And only makes good sense
We always make those jokes
When others had a birthday
So now it’s your turn as you’re
Having another birthday today.

Prince Charming farts!
It’s a little known fact.
He’s a human after all,
No matter how he acts.
His poise may be excellent
His skin as smooth as gossamer
He will retain his calm
Even if he views a massacre.

Image, to the prince, is everything
He really doesn’t care for truth.
He has refined every gesture
Every moment since his youth.

Prince Charming belches!
But he’s careful with his breath.
To be seen as rude or low class
He feels is worse than death.
You must live up to his standards
Not be déclassé or dense
If you with to enjoy the company
Of the oh so charming prince.

Image, to the prince, is everything
He knows just who to please.
Even whiffs of pepper will not
Make Prince Charming sneeze.

But of course the troubles
Of those not in his class,
No matter how much they cry,
He’ll give them a royal pass.
Because his time is valuable
Where lesser souls are not.
You got to spend time with him.
Be glad for what you’ve got.

Prince Charming is a paragon
As everyone can plainly see.
All must bask in his magnificence
And of course, so does he.

An old man’s eyes
So much they have seen.
Actors and extras
In some memorable scenes.
Dim with time, perhaps
Yet they’re working still.
Seeing all the landscapes
But, from over the hill.

Happy young children
Playing with jackstraws,
Sliding down hills and
Riding on seesaws.
Growing up quickly
And thinking about cars
Becoming too busy
For looking up at stars.

An old man’s eyes
Saw the ages go by
Learning the lessons;
By unsuccessful tries.
Trying so hard to be
Just one of the guys
Growing old gracefully
And hopefully wise.

Singing songs of sixpence
Not knowing what it was
Echoing parent’s politics
Not understanding the cause.
Hearing about god-fearing
Never reading the book.
Not retaining a word said
In the courses we took.

An old man’s eyes
Can be fooled at times.
It doesn’t work out like
In old nursery rhymes.
The wolf gets the grandma
The houses blow down.
And beneath the old eyes
There was often a frown.

Going into the military, then
Looking but not really seeing,
Ignoring people without my luck
Selectively blind way of being.
Told there were people who were
Not part of the world we live.
Gathering mulberries while I could
Not having extra I could give.

An old man’s eyes
So much they have seen.
Actors and extras
In some memorable scenes.
Dimming with time, perhaps
But they are working still.
Seeing all the landscapes
But, from over the hill.

Soowee, soowee. Top of our lungs
That’s how we used to call the hogs
And every time they would come,
Running just like well trained dogs,
Because they knew it meant food
Even though that food was just slop,
Those pigs have nothing like taste.
But nothing could make them stop.

Lately I have noticed human beings
Who seem to behave the same way.
They gobble the media slop they hear
Every day after mind-numbing day.
They too seem to have no taste
And smell something they really dig;
Nothing any sensible creature eats
But it seems to be ambrosia to a pig.

Squee, squee, squee they snort
And salivate, squeal and chow down
On the unpalatable pap served up
By the greedy media super-clowns.
It’s almost like they would pass up
A meal of honest, unvarnished truth
To gorge themselves to a stupor
On the crap they loved as a youth.

I’m always surprised that these folks,
This metaphoric, too human swine
Don’t go out in public in pajamas
Like worn by young neighbors of mine
With cartoon mice and supermen
Instead of the clothes of an adult.
They go vote like uninformed fools.
And current Congress is the result.

I knew you before you became such a major ****.
Back in the days before your morals ceased to work.
I knew you as a loud-mouthed ****** spoiled little boy
Who always acted as if he had never experienced joy.
Your posture always seemed to rotate back to whining
Like none of your black clouds had amy silver linings.

You gather around you sycophants
Who tell you that you are right
And any sanity you might have had
Goes down without a fight.

Your sense of entitlement seemed to be boundless
And truth be told it now borders on pure madness.
You try hard to convince us that what you say is real
And any words to the contrary is just what we feel
But not related to reality as you say it has to be.
Thus statements you make have turned into villainy.

You promised to make America great again
When it already was the home of free men.
Now you plan to end all that by simply selling out
To those that pay you well and prove yourself a lout.
There seems to be nobody much inside that lumpy suit.
All you seem to have is a cheap tin horn to toot.

You gather around you sycophants
Who tell you that you are right
And any sanity you might have had
Goes down without a fight.

Flippy Hippie, what the heck is your trip?
We get things going fine and then you flip.
Your political lips are criminally zipped.
Because you are obviously losing your grip.
Tripping hipster, what were you thinking?
The ship of state is so obviously sinking.
Are you diddling with your own erections?
And too good to vote in our elections?

Hippy dippy, Flippy Hippie, you’re mental.
Apparently your adulthood is experimental.
You’re just tourists in your own realities
Blathering a lot of brainless banalities.
You make excuses not to use your brains.
You’re making choices you can’t explain.
To you all politics is just a boring game.
When we ask, you say they’re all the same.

Flippy Hippie, you make not much sense at all.
You’ll die too when they stand us to a wall.
We know you quit thinking in elementary school
And that explains why you’re such a big fool.
We understand the reason you are so dim
You don’t see it’s us or them. You’re not them.
Later, if they get their way and the US is dead
Just remember a lot is because you stayed in bed.

However am I expected,
When a criminal is elected,
Not to be depressed?
I’m certainly not impressed.
We began to make strides
To set ignorance aside
Then along came the jerks
To destroy all our works,
To protect the weak and sick,
With lies and political tricks.

By the time those fools awake
The crooks will surely take
Our country to the brink
And watch it slowly sink
Then they’ll blame it on us
Who didn’t raise enough fuss
To keep their twisted games
And their feet to the flames.
Instead we’ll watch defeat
Throw us all into the street.

Why can’t people understand
That by not helping our land
And the people that live here
And giving into bogus fears
We are putting big money in
To the pockets of those who win.
By denying any help and aid
To those who actually paid
Will make the rich much richer
And then they’ll break the pitcher?

The pitcher of milk and honey
Has become nothing but money
Because the poor suffering
Makes them trust the muttering
Of those who prefer to blame
Than investigate the game
That is played on us all
And that causes the fall
When wealth takes control
And digs us further into a hole.

We marched because
They told us we couldn’t march.
We loved because
They told us we couldn’t love.
We married because
They told us we couldn’t marry.
We ran for office because
They told us we couldn’t run.

Freedom is for everyone
Not just for the few.
If any group is left out
The word is not true.

We applied for jobs
When they said we could not
We applied for loans
But they tore up the applications.
We manned picket lines
When they said they’d **** us.
We put in for promotions
When they told us we wouldn't win.

Freedom being for everyone
Should not be a dream.
We should not have to explain
Why things aren’t as they seem.

We heard the words
That said Land of the free,
We heard the carols
Peace on earth to all men.
We read the Constitution
That we all of us were equal.
We remembered our schoolwork
That, segregated, taught these words.

Freedom is for everyone
Not just for the few.
If any group is left out
The word is not true.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

I was the person meant to grow up
Finding these neighbors disgusting.
That was before all the questions I had
Of the vengeful God I was trusting.

But, I came to know that people
Must be more than what Sunday
And all the  hypocritical singing
Would claim them to be someday.

So I started learning what people
Do when they act and walk
Then tried to match those actions up
With how people behave and talk.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

Let The plastic hippies pretend
How mellow and tolerant they are
In their designer Levi cutoff shorts
And their carefully chosen used cars.

And expensive ****** and slinky pimps
Turn out to be much the same thing
They do what they do, get what they get
And all of it to please some great king.

Is that any different than praying in church
To invisible God they don't know?
Sneer if you wish and call it a sin
But I don't think that's how it should go.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

I remember your final goodbye
On that very last painful day
I immediately got started
Throwing all you gave me away.
I remember thinking that we were
Never what I thought we were,
Otherwise something like this
Would never have occurred.

There was no argument or fight
You just came home a changed person
And I am sure you thought you were
Letting yourself out of prison.
No more pained looks on my face
When you came home too late.
No more suffering through life
You felt was second or third rate.

No more sneaking around on me
To have ****** dates on the side.
No more inventing lies about
The many times you have lied.
Now you never have to worry
I will see the guilt in your eyes.
No more worrying that you will
Slip up and I will get wise.

Part of this is my fault, it’s true.
I should have gotten to know
The person I thought so much of
So blindly, not so very long ago.
I thought I could make you love me
And fix all your character defects.
I ended up with more of my own.
One-sided love affairs wreck.

I’m crying now, but maybe soon
I will take this all as a lesson;
Start taking people for who they are
And no more second-guessing.
I chose you based on how you look
So others would think I have got
Something going on over here
That means I am special, and hot.

Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Dancing by age of three.
Dancing for the feel of joy,
What a happy sight to see.
Jigging, jogging, boogywoog
Like folks six times his age.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
He became the local rage.

As soon as music played
His feet began to move
The rest of his tiny body
Bounced with the groove.
He’d get that happy look, then
He’d slip and slide and wiggle
And anyone around him would
Smile and then begin to giggle.

He was so young to do it
To have a style this cool
But nobody ever argued
They’d be a purentee fool.
The Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Was cool and smooth and clean.
He was the dude, the man;
The pint-sized dancing machine.

Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Dancing by age of three.
Dancing for the feel of joy,
What a happy sight to see.
Jigging, jogging, boogywoog
Like folks six times his age.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Becoming all the rage.

Let’s play Name That Goon.
How many can you get right?
Someone you see every day
In the news, in plain sight.

The first one looks very much
Like a troll doll but larger.
He brags about how much
Money he has in his larder.
But, his blather does not
Include many discernable facts.
He’s about half of the man
He stands on stage and acts.

The second one is a talker
In a very vaunted arena.
He seems as incapable of truth
As a citizen named Fiorina.
He’s been faking his credentials
And his skin has darkened.
He’s orange, so one wonders
If the old KKK has harkened.

The third one was a big cheese
And he was a big deal once
Until his mouth and behavior
Proved him to be a dunce.
But not before his crew
And his ineptitude managed
To leave the country *******
And semi-permanently damaged.

The fourth was the third’s pal
In all those dastardly deeds
That any tale well scripted
Or any tragedy needs.
He made a bundle for him
And all of his colluding pals.
Maybe he thought that might
Make him attractive to the gals.

The next one is the queen
Of the Washington crazies.
She might make a bigger fool
Of herself, but she’s too lazy
And as stupid as a box of lint.
She opens mouth and convinces.
Every time she speechifies
The entire country winces.

So, now we have done it
We have played Name That Goon.
If this glib poet doesn’t choke
We can have more real soon.
So, you all play nice and have fun
At your next political gathering.
And keep track of who is who
And what they are all blathering.

Are you still beating your babies?
Are you still punching your kid?
Are you still calling it discipline;
Not the worst thing you ever did?
Is it always a case of deserving
The punishment you mete out?
Where you teach them what is what;
Call them disgusting names and shout?

Break out the heavy leather belt
Go cut me a big switch
You kids are ******* me off
You’re giving me a big itch.
Bend yourself over here
Don’t run and make me catch you.
Remember this is all your fault.
You’re making me do this to you.

When you get in the mood to punish
Do dress in a special costume?
Does it have to take place in a woodshed
Or in some special kind of room?
Do you double up your fist and hit
Or do you have special equipment?
Does the physical treatment you hand out
Contribute to your fulfillment?

Break out the heavy leather belt
Go cut me a big switch
You kids are ******* me off
You’re giving me a big itch.
Bend yourself over here
Don't run and make me catch you.
Remember this is all your fault.
You’re making me do this to you.

In a world of deserving irony
You’d have to wear a disguise
So neighbors would know about you
And authorities could be made wise.
Then someone could call in specialists
To give some of what you give
And teach you eye-for-an-eye truth
About the way you live.

Break out the heavy leather belt
Go cut me a big switch
You kids are ******* me off
You’re giving me a big itch.
Bend yourself over here
Don't run and make me catch you.
Remember this is all your fault.
You’re making me do this to you.

He lives in a world
Of never and always
Even though there is
No such land.
You could explain
All the facts to him
But he would fail to
Grasp them or understand.

It’s all about opinion
And how he feels
And the way he thinks
About what he sees.
Nothing fazes him
Nothing teaches him
And no hint of reality
Brings him to his knees.

He only cares about
What he wants to have
Or what he wants
To make you believe.
He doesn’t love anyone
He hates almost everyone
He only gets upset
But he never grieves.

He looks into the mirror
And only sees himself
Because in his universe
There is nobody else.
You are just something
That is here to be used.
If he badly wants to do it
He is allowed to abuse.

After all, sun and moon
Revolve, rise and set on him.
In his solar system one star shines
Everything else is very dim.
Since he is rich, and can afford it
He keeps paid companions close.
He can stand free thinkers
Only by the miniature dose.

This time it’s me, leaving.
Not begging you to stay.
Not sitting alone, grieving.
This time, I’m the one
Who is going away.

I’m not fooling myself
That you even care.
We lost who we were
Along the way somewhere.
It used to be about love
Now it’s just paying rent.
I had a lot of love, but,
I don’t know where it went.

It’s an old love story
I never wanted it to end
But now it’s too hard
To continue to pretend.
I see in your eyes that
You don’t care anymore.
So what is this last bit
Of playacting even for?

This time it’s me, leaving.
Not begging you to stay.
Not sitting alone, grieving.
This time, I’m the one
Who is going away.
This time, I’m the one
Who is going away.

Frozen fire
Never said a word
Muted choir
Always seen and never heard.
Don’t react
The control is not subliminal.
Trained in guilt
And treated like a criminal.

If your children are prisoners
And raised to have no voice
They grow up untutored
In how to make a choice.
If questioning is not allowed
How will they ever learn?
This is how we teach them
That frozen fire can burn.

Frozen fire
Never said a word
Muted choir
Always seen and never heard.

If saying no is tantamount
To picking up a weapon
Then sooner or later
Their rebellion will deafen.
The children cannot exist
In a world that makes them whole
If they are raised and treated
As if they had no soul.

Don’t react
The control is not subliminal.
Trained in guilt
And treated like a criminal.

So ask yourself some questions
About what you were taught.
Some family traditions are
Better abandoned and fought.
Is there any act a child can do
That needs a slap across the face?
If not then there may be
No hope for love in our race.

Frozen fire
Never said a word
Muted choir
Always seen and never heard.
Don’t react
The control is not subliminal.
Trained in guilt
And treated like a criminal.

I was once capable
Of talking without rhyme.
I could carry conversations,
And I did it all the time.
I could discuss the weather
And even a bit about sports.
I had anecdotes on things like
Political crooks and cohorts.

I could discuss the stars
And the people they dated.
I could reflect on the news
And my words never grated.
I talked about history, too
And how it might affect us.
I marched in protest parades
And didn’t let them deflect us.

But something powerful
In that which makes me
Urges the words I utter
To come out in poetry.
I used to question this
But I no longer chose to.
I don’t hide my poetry
From the world like I used to.

I hear common speech and
I hear cadences and rhyming
In step with what I am doing
And pace my walk to the timing
Of words I’ve heard and talk
That makes a marching beat
That is syncopated to my walk.

So, I no longer apologize
When I am rolling on a stanza.
I look upon it as gifts from the muse,
A positively literary bonanza.
I am my words; my words are me
And if you don’t care for poetry
Listen for a while and maybe see
What truths I write within my poesy.

What does Santa have to do with Jesus
Or an egg-laying rabbit for that matter.
People who think this crap up must be
As mad as Lewis Caroll’s Mad Hatter.
I mean, these same store owners
Got those stories from somewhere.
Then put them out generously for
Gullible parents so freely to share
With kids grown greedy by the lack
Of parental care and nurturing
Not to mention pablum, for real
As the family thing was rupturing.

Where did that rabbit come from?
It never made sense at all to me.
How did those ******* up genetics
Get dragged into the nursery?
It defies belief that anyone over eight
Ever bought in to the silly tale.
It was always so obvious to me
That it was all to make a sale.
So, first there was fat man and sleigh
Flying at blinding electronic speed.
With ungainly flying reindeer as
What passes for valiant steeds.

Next we have a bunny who hides
Millions of gaudy hard boiled eggs
Then apparently hops right off
On some very confused short legs.
Did I leave out the Tooth Fairy?
Now, that is a real piece of work.
I really believed that pillow thing.
My god was I ever a young ****!
There might be someone else besides
Fecund rabbit, fat men and a fairy.
If they hadn’t brainwashed us so early
This whole mishagas would be scary.

I have a list of stuff
I want badly to fix
But I don’t really mean it.
I have in mind
A perfect world
I’ll know it when I’ve seen it.

It’s going to take
A while for me
To deal with all my issues.
It will be quite
A lot of work
And lots of boxes of tissues.

It’s rather like a
Treadmill thing
That only I can see.
It may not be
So visible but
It looks like work to me.

Sometimes I feel
Like Sisyfus
Pushing boulder up a hill.
It’s never ending
And each time
I think I’ve had my fill.

Then something comes
Along to show
The light shining up ahead
And I remember
Much of what
I’m fighting is in my head.

So, I complain
And ***** inside
But I should never doubt it
Because I know
I’m the only one
Who can do something about it.

Once I loved my country
Was filled up with pride
That was before my country
Suddenly fell over and died.
It didn’t die spontaneously,
My country was assassinated.
Murdered by people who
Lied, cheated and hated.

The accomplices were folks
Who stayed home and blamed
And insisted that both parties
Were essentially the same.
Those people refused to verify
What was fact from propaganda.
Now half the citizens are facing
A destructive national agenda.

There were thousands of jokes
About the unqualified guy who won.
Some were funny, made us laugh,
But what happened was not fun.
The person who was trained lost.
Now we have a bigot and a racist
Who is eyeing the Constution
And badly wants to replace it.

The people on both sides now
Have no idea what is coming.
They thought they elected a good guy
But he’s a rich kid who was slumming.
They thought he would help to bring
A national hoped-for change.
They will be shocked to death
To discover that man is so strange.

For him it’s about the ***-kissers
He keeps as his personal posse.
Be prepared, this next four years
Will be anything but glossy.
We will witness blood and death
And a crash of our economy
Because Trump and his cohorts
Believe in nothing but autonomy.

We all could have equal rights
If the world would only grant them.
We could all sing a brand-new
A truly joyous national anthem.
We could sing about at last
The words of the Constitution
Finally will match with reality
Without another revolution.

This is the tale of the autocrats
And how they got badly out of hand.
They decided they knew more about
Things they could never understand.
They decided they knew better than
The people with proper education.
So they elected their supporters to
Lay waste to their own fine nation.

This is a morality tale about greed
And what it can do to men’s minds;
That turns them to skulduggery
And makes them act as if they’re blind
To reason, decency and even honor
Taking advantage of the weakest
Who then grow weaker by the hour.

As many times in history, they promise
A shopping list of impossible dreams
And the weak think they’ll come true,
Say reality is not quite what it seems.
They think by listening to carpetbaggers
They will all get rich and supported
By each elected lying *******.
But those dreams are soon aborted.

For a while they believe the woes
Are made by their predecessors.
They’l blame the losers, the gays
The blacks and finally the electors.
They won’t question themselves
About the choices they all made.
By then the path of doom and death
Will be almost permanently laid.

Donald, what is wrong with you?
You’re really acting strange.
It’s like your mind has measles
Or bubonic plague or mange.
Something sick is going on
Down deep inside your mind.
It seems to make you stupid
As well as deaf to facts and blind.

Maybe sometime decades back
You might have made some sense
But we have watched a long time now
And it hasn’t happened since.
You don’t seem to be able to
Tell the facts from the lies.
You are getting stranger daily
We can see it in your eyes.

You always were a reprobate
A fact you couldn’t really hide.
Your responses were so obvious
We saw the truth you kept inside.
You looked down on women,
Looked at them as just toys.
You carefully referred to gays
As naughty twisted boys.

You never had much use for blacks
Except for menial kinds of labor.
You certainly didn’t want any of them
To end up as your neighbor.
And now you want control of
The Presidential nuclear codes.
Do you want to sell them off
To buy stuff to put up your nose?

No, Donald, you are sick as hell
And we’ll be glad when you are gone.
The rest of us have had enough
And think you should move on.
Maybe you can get a job
Playing high stakes liar’s poker.
That might fit a guy like you:
A dangerous and unfunny joker.

Randolf the bluenosed bigot
Much preferred to tell a lie;
Even if truth fit better
But he never quite knew why.
It was the way he grew up
Telling tales instead of truth.
It was the way his folks were
Ever since his very youth.

Lists of people are no good;
Black and yellow are the worst.
There is a list of who's okay.
White Republicans come first.
And if the truth is told here
Rights belong just to the white.
Granting rights to gals and gays
Never can be truly right.

Randolf thinks God's on his side.;
Made some of the people best.
Being Caucasian and Christian
Puts him ahead of all the rest.
Randolf thinks we all should do
What his religion says to do.
All of that crap about equality,
Randolf doesn't think it's true.

The Easter Bunny is a friend of mine
He used to lay his eggs in my back yard
But once I moved, it got to be too hard.
We’ve been buddies a long, long time.
It’s all my fault he visits me no more
He had to make it from Kansas to Nome.
That is far too long a trip for him
But, that is where I bought my home.

He was a pretty good old boy, indeed
For all his reproductive strangeness.
He was sort of like a football player
In a long lavender red carpet dress.
Harder to me, to accept whole cloth
Was what he had to do with Jesus.
But as a magic rabbit, for sure
He could lay eggs as he pleases.

So, every year during springtime
Here came my friend the bunny.
He’d **** out colored eggs, he did,
And nobody thought it’s a bit funny.
That he’s six feet tall, like Harvey,
Cusses like a sailor makes me laugh.
But that he is a Christian symbol is
Not really reasonable by about half.

Still, who am I to quibble about tradition?
It is fun for everyone at this time of year.
Along comes this unscientific miracle
And the kids smile from ear to ear.
They run around collect these eggs
That to me often looked rather scary
And do not question the bunny tale
Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.

Lift up your eyes and see
You are correct to deeply fear.
Worse than all history
It’s gonna be a bad year.

The GOP has changed DC,
Now it stands for Demented Congressmen.
Federal Secretaries can barely spell!
It will take decades to fix this again.

Hide in your house and pray
Ignoring all the threatening signs.
Pay no attention to the news,
Everything will turn out just fine.

Who needs their civil rights?
Just pay your taxes and be quiet.
No one in Washington
Hears your opinion, they don’t buy it.

The whole show is bribes, so
If you’re a multi billionaire
And pay the right people,
Some one in Congress will care.

Remember the actual rules,
The important thing in politics
Is  stay in office for life
Even if they have to use tricks.

Being a statesman today
Doesn’t mean a thing any more
Because the voters
Don’t really care to keep score.

They raise lots of handy cash
And buy the most successful publicist
Then they have the people
Crushed in their grubby little fists.

You’re just a voice on the phone
Flickering lights on a screen.
I don’t mean to be mean
But you’ve seen how upset
And how lonely I get
From missing you
When you do that smile,
That twist of your lip
And I slip into wishing
Pushing reality aside
And wanting to reach
Each time, greedily
Into the phone
And no longer be alone
Missing you.

And now, with Skype
A new type of missing
Has appeared in my world.
Now the curl of your hair
Is also down there
Where I can see it and
It’s grand to lust after it;
To get to sit and dream
Though it seems naughty
Somehow ******
Since it is you
What else can I do?
It feels better than crying
And trying to pretend
That on this end
Everything is fine.
I don’t mean to whine.

On the lonely road, a crow was picking
At the fresh remains of a dead chicken.
It’s the circle of life, as far as I can see.
Everything is food; both you and me.
It’s all circle and cycles, you see.
Running away and then back again.
Life the enemy in our old age
That started out to be our friend.

It’s all ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Even solid steel is a victim of rust.
We can pretend might makes right
But that doesn’t stop the fall of night.
Water is necessary for us,
But without air, there is death.
We can live but a few moments
If we do not have our breath.

Without food, we will get weak.
And stone can break our bones.
Fire can consume us it is sure
But fire needs air, it is well known.
The crow pecks bones without joy
It is what it must to do survive.
The crow does not worry or frown.
It does what it does to stay alive.

The people that use that road
For the old crow’s grisly feast
Do not care for god or books
Or superstition in the least.
Congregations of god surely will
Hire mourners to wail their grief
About the loss of a pious soul.
No more honest than a thief.

I’ve been losing sleep,
The pain runs too deep.
Wind whistles through the trees
And it blows right through me.
It’s like I am human sieve
Who has given all he can give.
I surrendered my physicality
And am battered by reality.

I’m over playing silly games
Of guessing people’s names
And hoping they really are
Who they claim they are.
Now I prefer to stay alone
Not waiting here for the phone
Or visitors at my front door.
I’m not into that any more.

Feeling I am invisible
Can become invincible
A force that slams the gate
On any successful fate
Making a hash of all tomorrows;
A progression of personal sorrows.
I need to do something different.
I need to stop being indifferent.

I’ll stop playing supporting roles
In matters that can heal my soul.
I will say yes to a future me
That can exist without tragedy,
Self-ridicule and poisonous doubt.
I’m not sure how, but I will find out
And make for myself a new way
To fill the empty space every day.

I don’t want to play in your yard
I don’t want you to play in mine.
I know this is going to make you angry
For me that will work out just fine.
You don’t know how to play with others
And don’t know how to have any fun.
If ever there was a big doody brain
Look in a mirror because you are one.

If we don’t play the game so you win
You want to pout and whine to us all.
Too many times you have thrown big tantrums
And when you left you tried to take the ball.
Or you threw it so far away we had to run
To get it and bring it back to the game.
Every time we tried to give you a chance
Everything turned out exactly the same.

You don’t know how to play with others
And don’t know how to have any fun.
If ever there was a big doody brain
Look in a mirror because you are one.

We all believe your parents are the reason
You can’t handle the way life really is.
You’re fine as long as you are winning
You crow and brag you’re an amazing ****.
That’s not what happens in the real world;
Things do not always go your way.
So, now you have to deal with the facts.
None of us care to ask you to play.

I don’t want to play in your yard
I don’t want you to play in mine.
I know this is going to make you angry
For me that will work out fine.

Here sits the poet
The scribe of the times
Rendering the wordless
Into heart-rending rhymes.
Listen to the poet
Who says what most do not.
Pay attention closely
And see what the poet has got.

Sometimes you listen,
Then must listen once more,
Because hidden inside
Might be the words to a score.
Only you don’t yet hear
The music it is playing
Because you are still listening
To the words they are saying.

And, sometimes you must
While reading the second time
Be careful not to penalize
Because the words don’t rhyme.
It is often about the cadence,
The way the words dance along,
That turns the words from prose
To the beginnings of a song.

The poet’s job is to treat you
With a bit more than just language
To give you all the artistry
That the spoken word can manage.
So we use things like spacing
And often joyous syncopation
To achieve your attention
And catch your imagination.

Whether in a limerick
Or in a soothing lullaby
We do our best to slip things
Like satisfaction past your eyes.
We are, after all, artists
Who take what you have heard
And use that to entice you
To fall in love with the spoken word.

Onward Christian soldiers
Off to ****** more.
With the cross of Jesus
Adding up the score.
**** as many as you can
In the name of Him
He, the guy who taught you love
Whose light is going dim.

Take the words that Jesus said
Twist them up your way.
Make the talk of prejudice
Throw the book away.
If someone is different
Make a joke of them.
Make up lies to publicize
In the name of Him.

Call the Christian soldiers
To put down the poor
If they dare to congregate
At the nation’s door.
Teach them only Christians
Get to share the loot.
And they have to be the right
Kind of church to boot.

Bless you Christian soldiers
God is on our side.
Fight against those other folks
Please keep back the tide.
Good people are like us;
Stand behind the cause.
Christian white and Protestant
Just like Jesus was.

I was thinking love,
You were thinking leaving.
You were moving on
And I was still believing.

Life is ever changing
No matter how it starts;
Some of it is wonderful,
Some can break our hearts.
We start out like a storybook
Two souls that meld as one
Everything we choose to do
Becomes our special fun.

Going out and staying in
Are legendary loving things.
Today it’s easy to ignore
Tomorrow waiting in the wings.
So, I paid very little mind to
That you chose not to talk
And never quite got around to
Holding hands when we walk.

I was thinking love,
You were thinking leaving.
You were moving on
And I was still believing.

At first even in wintertime
My heart was warm as toast.
Sitting by the fireside snuggled
That was what liked most.
I was storing up memories
Of every single loving day.
You were figuring how you could
Quickly go your own way.

I was thinking love,
You were thinking leaving.
You were moving on
And I was still believing.

He was just fourteen
When he ran away
He couldn’t take it
For even one more day.
His mom just ignored him
Dad watched football games.
They talked behind his back
About who they should blame.

You gotta be the way
We think you should be.
Never be like you
Always be like me.
Butch it up in public
Change the way you walk.
If you can’t do that
Just shut up, don’t talk.

He was teased about his name
And teased about his size.
He had a kind of stutter.
They didn’t think him wise.
He was kind and polite and
Had a soft pleasant voice
So, the jerks in the crowd said
He was one of the gay boys.

The problem was he wasn’t
What any of them thought.
He was straight and he was shy
But what his manner brought
Was constant stereotyping
Based on bad parenting
Both at home and at school
Never quite relenting.

You gotta be the way
We think you should be.
Never be like you
Always be like me.
Butch it up in public
Change the way you walk.
If you can’t do that
Just shut up, don’t talk.

So Rodney ran away
And lived out on the street
Taking charity from those
Runaways always meet.
Now Rodney’s in jail
In the hospital ward.
His leap for freedom
Had some bad rewards.

You gotta be the way
We think you should be.
Never be like you
Always be like me.
Butch it up in public
Change the way you walk.
If you can’t do that
Just shut up, don’t talk.