Class clown;
Absolutely guaranteed to
Constantly fool around
Never do what you want him to.
Will astound
With outbursts meant to
Irritate, regale, distract
Take breath away and shock you.

Upside down;
Yes, he’ll stand on his head
He loves to make faces
And use accents like the poorly bred.
Turn around,
And moon from a swiftly passing car.
That gets attention just fine
And that is how his jokes usually are.

Noise abounds.
Songs, that are ***** parodies
Or words and music he made up;
Creating portraits of current company.
Laughs found.
Especially if the joke’s not on you.
Class clown.
Entertaining is the only thing he can do.

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.

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.

Asking the Congress to rewrite laws
That benefit and enrich themselves
Is asking the wolf not to eat the lamb.
The wolf will eat the lamb.
The lamb cannot avoid this fate
By pretending it is not worth eating.

The wealthy are well rewarded
For not caring about the poor.
To make them care the only way
Is to offer them  tributes.

The rich want you to buy
Their trinkets and toys
And leave the lawmaking to them.

As long as we let the rich
Write the laws and control
Enforcement, the law
Will be slanted in their favor.

Nothing fuels fascism like poor people,
So the rich will raise prices and
Thus keep the people poor.

Dishonest people will always
Blame someone else for their crimes.
In government, they will blame
Honest people trying to do the job
They were elected to do.

If a person fails to be outraged
At the actions of criminals,
He is either criminal himself
Or a defense attorney,
And that person may be
Both at the same time.

Among the biggest mistakes
One can ever make
Is believing campaign promises
Where no evidence exists
Of any plan to keep them.

As long as politics are run
Like a beauty contest,
Nothing like democracy
Ever has a chance to succeed.

In a democratic country,
The common people must
Expect to participate
To make it work.
That means they must work
Within the system to ensure
All nefarious people and laws
Be discovered and thrown out.

Undefended rights are only
Privileges grudgingly by government
Dispensed as alms to beggars.

In a representative government,
Everyone must be a representative.

Yesterday is a terrible day
To plan to fix things.
Today and tomorrow
Are the only time we have to do it.

If a representative
Does not walk his talk,
Stop listening to his talk
And watch his walk.

Do not expect industry or military
To protect your rights.
They are both monetary institutions
Addicted to power.

If Congresspeople earn fortunes
By serving the people,
There can be no equity
In representation.
Corruption will rule the land.

Lobbyists should be imprisoned
if they are indistinguishable
From extortionists.

Voting districts need to be
Based on the needs of the people,
Not the needs of the bank accounts
Of our leadership.

Offshore bank accounts should be
As illegal as they are immoral.

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.

When I was just a little kid
Uncle Jeff talked to me
About the things people said
As opposed to what I could see.
He cautioned me to listen
And watch people carefully
He promised me an education,
Just made for little me.

Do they walk their talk
When no one is around?
Do they mean the words they say, or
Is it just a lot of sound?
Do you feel you can trust them
With what you put away
Or do you think they will cheat you
And take it for their rainy day?

There are those who even as children
Prefer what other kids get
They grow up to be criminals
So you must not forget.
Another word for criminals
Is a word called ‘politicians’.
They’re very strong with cheating
But not good at admissions.

Money in their bank account
Is all that’s driving them.
Look for their integrity?
The pickings will be slim.
They look for what they can get
From you in many ways.
The cards are marked, you can depend
And they know all the plays.

Do they walk their talk
When no one is around?
Do they mean the words they say, or
Is it just a lot of sound?
Do you feel you can trust them
With what you put away
Or do you think they will cheat you
And take it for their rainy day?

You and they don’t think alike;
You can’t guess what they think.
But you can bet when they suggest
The idea will highly stink.
Your best protection is to hide
When these creeps are around.
If you have to pack your things
And move to a different town.

I have learned my Uncle Jeff
Was wise beyond his years.
He had a lot of wisdom stored
Securely between his ears.
He shared them with a little child
And I listened to what he said.
I heard his words as clean pure truth
And kept them in my head.

Do they walk their talk
When no one is around?
Do they mean the words they say, or
Is it just a lot of sound?
Do you feel you can trust them
With what you put away?
Or do you think they will cheat you
And take it for their rainy day?

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.

He has little sense of sorrow,
He thinks of fond tomorrows.
He’s a fabulist, a dreamer.
Not quite a true schemer
That would be too hard.
More like a half-awake bard
Making up poetic outcomes
For a reality that never comes.
Mostly he’s a ***.

He’s a moonbeamer,
Sliding down colorless rainbows
That he paints himself daily
Proclaiming about how gaily
The emptiness of his canvas
Has so sadly missed us
And somehow we are to blame
For not managing to be the same
As he is by appreciating
That which is not there.
He has daydreams to spare.

He shares his hopeful possibilities
That are not always practicalities
Made of unborn actualities
And fanciful surrealities
Painted over his shortcomings
Hoping nobody will see them
And talk too badly against them
Ahem-ing and coughing phlegm
When he orates and pontificates
On his latest boilerplate stories
Of his imagined future glories.
Lost in his own thought stream,
He’s a totally hopeless dreamer.

If you are sitting in government
With fattened campaign coffers
And your pockets filled up
With all the bribes and offers
Just be aware that the gifts
You take with each breath
Are the direct cause of decay
And of your constituent’s death.

You’re selling off our birthright
And that never can be made right.
You choose money rather than fight
And you make of it a long night.

While the police ****** people
Who had no guns in their hands
You send tanks to small towns
And claim it’s all very grand,
Because in a police state
You can control our very fates
And slowly disassemble
The future of the United States.

Your kids are killing elephants
Along with rich kids in their band
While ours are shooting innocents
In a war-torn foreign lands.

The decisions are being made
By those who have the wealth
And that way there is less reason
For any kind of political stealth.
You can steal whatever you want
And use both hands at once
Then, laugh and call us names
Like uneducated, fool and dunce.

We’re starving while you fatten
We’ve no hatches left to batten.
From Los Angeles to Manhattan
You make speeches in garble-Latin.

You’re selling off our birthright
And that never can be made right.
You choose money rather than fight
And you make of it a long night.

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.

It’s the Wholly Babble!
Obfuscation for the rabble;
Its plagiarized bunk
Delivered in hunks
And carefully rigged
To put lipstick on the pig
That means, at least,
A good living for priests.

So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.
Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.

In the Wholly Babble!
Godly, revered people
You can search and find
Many murderously unkind.
Despicable tales galore
Talking snakes and gore;
****** and genocide,
Infanticide and fratricide.

So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.

Miracles are plenty there
To believe every word here
To tempt you with their glory
In the convoluted story
Of two people and two kids
Who did the son wed
When one got married?
From where was she carried?

Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.

And the saddest thing is
An ‘us and them’ myth is
The idea used to create
An established cause for hate.
It’s your God against mine
Yours is evil, mine is fine.
Now isn’t that a fright
To keep you up at night?

So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.
Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.

What are we teaching?
Who are we reaching?
What have we taught today?
Buy him a toy gun
Looks like a real one
Who have they fought at play?

Cowboys and Indians
Act like the real ones
At least like we saw on TV.
Cowboys the good guys,
Indians the bad guys.
Perfect authenticity.

White folks meant no harm
Just came there to farm
Four thousand years of land.
They had no papers
Really invaders
Things just got out of hand.

A clash of two cultures
Then food for the vultures
Everyone thought they were right.
But in the long run
Law made decisions
All in favor of the whites.

Words were encouraged
Dignity disparaged
White people called them savage
Due no respecting
And fit for just killing
Then plenty of land they could ravage.

Textbooks got altered,
The ministry faltered;
Heathens deserve what they get.
Jesus cherished the meek
But whites turned no cheek.
They haven’t quite fixed things yet.

What are we teaching?
Who are we reaching?
What have we taught today?
Children play death games,
Who can we all blame?
Are there no other games to play?

Hambone, slam bone
Kick them in the nuts.
Smack them, sack them
No ifs ands or buts.
Tap them, zap them
Punch them in the snouts
Jounce them, bounce them
Throw the ******* out.

Some of what we’re suffering
Has gone on for a century.
Some of it is politics
Most of it’s chicanery.
Some of it is current stuff
Aided by the internet
And some of it is old news
We just haven’t heard it yet.

Hambone, slam bone
Kick them in the nuts.
Smack them, sack them
No ifs ands or buts.
Sic them, nick them
Stick them with the bill.
Beat them, cheat them
Set up for the ****.

It’s a game of who screws who
And who does not get caught.
It has to do with bribery
And which guy can be bought.
They set it up so no one wins
Unless they play the game
And when the public catches wise
They change some of the names.

Tap them, zap them
Punch them in the snouts
Jounce them, bounce them
Throw the ******* out.
Snip them, whip them
Treat them all like dogs.
Crunch them, punch them
Throw them to the hogs.

They depend on all of us
To be lazy to the bone
And when it comes to statesmanship
To leave them all alone
And not make them live up to
What they were elected for.
The blame is on our backs again
If we choose to ignore.

Hambone, slam bone
Kick them in the nuts.
Smack them, sack them
No ifs ands or buts.
Tap them, zap them
Punch them in the snouts
Jounce them, bounce them
Throw the ******* out.

Hot dogs get chili
Burgers get mustard
Porterhouse gets steak sauce
At least the last I heard.
French fries don’t get vinegar
That’s totally absurd
French fries get ketchup
At least the last I heard.

Toilet paper rolls off the top
Toilet seats need to be up.
Tea is iced and in a glass
Coffee should be in a cup.
Tuna casserole is not for men,
We need meat and potatoes.
We only like marinara sauce
Instead of raw sliced tomatoes.

Salads are lettuce and dressing
Especially of the cheesy kind.
Eggplant is all plant and no egg
And tastes like watermelon rind.
Finger sandwiches are a waste
Especially those with watercress.
Cold borsht served in flat bowls
Is not much more than a mess.

Sushi is nothing else but
Some overdressed hunks of bait.
Pork bellies are pudgy bacon
And deserve a better fate.
Sweet breads are neither;
Sweet nor are they bread.
Steak tartar is just raw meat
And should be cooked instead.

Brunch is a truly silly word
One needs make up the mind.
Either have lunch or breakfast.
I don’t mean to be unkind.
We can be a confusing culture;
Combining things so badly.
Give me the basics, nothing more,
And I will go imbibe quite gladly.

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.

Trust me when I say it
There’s no other way to play it
You’re a purentee bigot
There’s no other place to lay it
You might as well admit it.
It’s your shoe and you fit it.
I believe in the point and hit it.
You are a **** ******* bigot.
Now this won’t hurt much, did it?

It was your own tongue and you bit it;
Showed the world and all in it
That you are nearly an idiot
And a race-bating creep along with it.
So, instead of swallowing, you spit it.
You are a callow and traitorous bigot
Who would deny to others in a minute
The rights of citizenship along with it.
The Liberty Bell? You’ll pit it
With the sticks and stones. You did it
Every time you parrot a Fox News tidbit
As there are little but lies within it.
So, there is the door, why not hit it?
Because your illness? No one can mend it.
It’s a blow to your brain, and within it
The lack of anything more than a divot
Where your compassion should be if it
Had even the tiniest solid rivet.
Instead you are a peanut butter widget,
Not much more than stuff found in a privet.
And not much smarter than a piglet.

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.

Scary Larry,
The Margarita Fairy
Could drink anything,
As long as it wasn’t dairy.
Bollocky Pollack
Put up his smock
Covered with paint
On the auction block.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

And Yeaster Bunny
Thinking he was funny
Baked bread dildoes
That sold for bags of money.
Scott Tissue
Said “We’re gonna miss you.
Your bread will sell quicker
If don’t make *** an issue.”

Two three four
What are friends for
If you don’t accept them
Then throw them out the door?
Besides variety
Is much more fun
Than always being alone
With number one

Phony Joanie
Wishes for alimony
But refuses to divorce
Her husband Tony.
Skinny Lenny
First cousin of Kenny
Lives with nobody
But sleeps with many.

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.

I’m wondering and worrying
Am I blundering or wallowing
Do I swallow all my fears
And forget about the years
That came before today
And hope they go away
And never bother me again?
When does that start, when?

Grumbling and mumbling
Stumbling and bumbling
I learn to stifle my tears
And through catatonic years
I forgot how to play
And locked myself away
From the fellowship of friends.
I hope to survive until it ends.

Itching and *******, I switch
To calling people a sunsabitch
Because they don’t guess
Why I’m a big freaking mess
And help me to recover
Maybe come be my lover
Because I don’t know how.
Let that part start right now.

Smoking and toking every day
Won’t make the blues go away.
Huffing and binge drinking
Means I’m not really thinking
And too often these days
That is what I have prayed;
To be blissfully unaware
That I am going nowhere.

Nobody should believe you
You’re a world class liar.
You’re going to burn your ****
‘Cause your pants are on fire!
You’ve always been a liar
Even back in your youth.
The only thing you fear is
Having to tell the truth.

If you shake hands with him
Count your fingers right quick
Be sure you still have them all.
Never trust his sneaky tricks.
He can stand right in front of you
And baldfacedly he can lie
While smiling like and angel
And looking you in the eye.

Olly, olly, oxen hook
This guy is a nasty crook.
Keep track of all he took
Then sentence him, by the book.
Heckley, Jekylly, criminal
He prefers to be subliminal.
But mostly he’s a bad motor scooter
A cutpurse and a poorhouse looter.

He would rob widows and orphans
And claim he was aiding charity
As if he is the only person who
Sees the world with clarity.
He calls it redistribution work
Of the world’s hard-earned wealth.
But he is fooling nobody, really,
Or he wouldn’t need to use stealth.

And when he runs for office, he
Can refine his art of playing *****
By hiding behind closed doors
And stealing from us covertly.
He will join the political machine
That is already firmly in place
And work in his mirror every day
To hone that public smiling face.

Olly, olly, oxen hook
This guy is a nasty crook.
Keep track of all he took
Then sentence him, by the book.
Heckley, Jekylly, criminal
He prefers to be subliminal.
But mostly he’s a bad motor scooter
A cutpurse and a poorhouse looter.

I see other people
And they’re happy two by two
It’s like they all know
Exactly what they should do.
They smile sweetly
They hug and hold hands
TheY talk to each other
And seem to understand.

They look into their eyes
And don’t quickly look away
And seem to be listening
To what the other has to say.
The smiles are frequent
And so is the cheerful laughter.
It seems they are well into
Their happily ever after.

Two minus one
The mathematics of my story.
Plenty of guts
But never that much of glory.
There must be something
I have not learned to do
That makes one plus one
Add to up to a decent two.

Going out to dinner
With couples is quite a trial.
Everyone gets uncomfortable.
I quit doing it after a while.
It hurts to see happiness
When you aren’t getting much.
The reminders are constant
With their every loving touch.

Two minus one
The mathematics of my story.
Plenty of guts
But never that much of glory.
There must be something
I have not learned to do
That makes one plus one
Add to up to a decent two.

The church was started years ago.
My brother was a charter member.
But, he’s been a first class ******
Since as long as I can remember.
At first I thought it was hilarious,
And thought not too much of it.
But, I quickly found it nefarious
And told my brother to shove it.

Their services seemed rediculous,
The chants re-written bible stuff,
An attempt to cover up that they
Are doing something iniquitous.
“He that believeth in us shall prosper
Those who revile us shall not.
Go and suffer not the poorer
For heaven is for those who have got.”

My brother quotes this stuff to me
And gets angry when I question.
I have tried hard to make him see.
He takes it as an imposition.
They work to take over Congress
So their church can get paid money.
The plan is to clean up the DC mess
So religion is the richest industry.

I asked him if the church has plans
To share some of that with them.
He laughed and clapped his hands
And said they were going to pay him.
He would be blessed by their deity
For being a righteous servant.
All he had to do was maintain piety
And be Holy Church rules observant.

They were to vote down everyone
Who had another way of seeing
And to vote for their guys who run
Then, claim the rest are not human beings.
By this time I was no longer listening
Because I thought his intelligence gone.
But a close replay of his rambling
I realized it’s all close to going on.

The people in charge really are
Seeming to be saying all of this.
They’re selling us to the guards
Without even that dreaded kiss.
We are close to those wacko creeps
Controlling all of our land of freedoms
And ripping us all off while we sleep
Then even outlawing any kind of wisdom.

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 worked, all bent
And sweat of brow.
It's how his life went
He remembers it now.
He was told consistently
Since his early childhood
“Hard work earns rewards.”
He believed as a child would.

He believed in the dream
And worked hard most days
Saving whatever he could
Economizing in many ways.
There were no vacations
No brand new automobile.
He was sure in time he'd see
His debts brought to heel.

He bought a modest shack
For his wife and their children.
Nothing fancy, rather tight,
In no way was it modern.
But it was a roof, and safety
A harbor at the end of day.
That sadly came to an end.
The economy took it all away.

He still wants to believe
The dream he believed in
But now he and his family
Have no house to live in.
He feels someone lied to him
And they are doing so still.
Now he is angry at those
Who wrote such awful bills.

There are people somewhere
Almost no one knows about
There are girls and women boys and men
Gone beyond the places people care about
And, no one ever sees them again.
They laugh and love and work and share their daily bread
And, live within the fruits of the soil
Smiling at the treasures only found
In the efforts of the ones who toil.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.

Somewhere smoke is curling from a handmade home
Someone sits adrift in a song
Tapping toes to rhythms of a timeless beat
And sometimes laughing loud and strong.
Someone no one knows about will sleep tonight
Content with what was done today.
Smiling with a face that seems to say
They wouldn’t have it any other way.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.

Middle-school adulthood
Picking on people is cool.
Nothing important is going on
That has anything to do with school.
Glasses make people four-eyed
Not being thin means they’re fat.
Stutters and stammers are funny
And being snotty is where it’s at.

Ding **** bell, being rich is swell
Don’t  be wimpy, not a smidge
Tree-hugging liberals can go to hell.
Revel in your white privilege.
You want to vote for a Democrat?
Have you lost your silly head?
Just check all the GOP boxes
With Daddy’s choice instead.

Now you’re all grow up today
And have a lot of political power
Which grows and grows  stronger
Each hour by Republican hour.
So don’t weaken now, baby
Do what you know is right.
Stick to your supremacist guns.
Because you know white makes might.

So use your sarcasm as a tool
Secretly whisper against the weak.
And those weak-kneed pacifists,
Those flag burning, long haired creeps;
Ignore them all; give their nose a tweak.
Just like the women you dated and married
They need to follow your lead in life.
After all, they don’t count the same as you.
The important thing is they’re just a wife.

Ding **** bell, power is swell
You never suffer, not a smidge
Don’t worry if you can’t spell.
Revel in your white privilege.
Never vote for a Democrat,
Don’t be that kind of stupid head.
Just check every the GOP boxes
Faithfully keep your state red.

I like to rub her righteous
Rubber baby buggy bumpers
While her Sister Susie
Sells seashells by the sea shore.
Susie works in a shoeshine shop,
She sits, and she shines all day long.
She confesses with too many esses
It lispers up her whispered song.

Peter Piper picking peppers
Putting pickled peppers in a ***.
Woodchuck chucked wood,
Chuckling, chucked the wood he got.
Susie’s sister Betty Botter
Bought a pound of bitter butter.
Betty was a bit of a ******.
She said her butter was better bitter.

I thought of a thought, thinking
It was a very difficult thing to occur.
Thinking, busily thinking;
Blinking, and winking, thinking of her
We made a date at a quarter to eight
Said, “I’ll see you at the gate, don’t be late.”
Lucky and plucky, my ducky doo,
It was a heavy date, and a heavy gate.

Leary of a really weary *****
We wandered in our wandering leathers
Wondered if whether wetter
Weather were better to weather together.
We celebrate our late date
We didn’t skate, or deliberate our fate
Suffice is to further elucidate
And cheerily chewed the churros we ate.

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.

Gratitude may have nothing to do with latitude.
It may, but it can pull you out of sad lassitude.
If we are lucky, it results in some kind of beatitude
Felt in welcome happy waves of great amplitude.

Those who repeatedly fail to be grateful
May find their lives unfortunately fateful.
And those whom insist on being disgraceful
May probably end in the mud with a face full.

Many folks exist with morals all eschewed
Not often enough that do so end up *******.
But maybe with their karma thus imbued
They’ll sicken hearing their opinion booed.

While to some it is easy to be disdainful,
Especially those who live without a brain full,
And those to whom greed is the main pull,
Let’s all hope their daily lives are painful .

Now we know how the fools are wooed
We should take steps to not come unglued
And band together when times get rude
And not elect those from a defective brood.

Those who repeatedly fail to be grateful
May find their lives unfortunately fateful.
And those whom insist on being disgraceful
May probably end in the mud with a face full.

A passel of rascals;
The cause of the hassle,
Guilty of the catcalls,
Would normally have pratfalls.
Never suffer from blackballing;
Their ethics are appalling
But greed is calling the shots.
In the end what have we got?

We have a den of thieves
Rolling up their sleeves
To count the loot they stole
Fulfilling their roles of criminals;
Not the least subliminal,
But right out front to be seen
And pictured on magazine covers
With their blow-dried lovers.

Hair and ******* by Mattel
They perpetrate their hell
On all but their rich buddies
And fool the fuddy-duddies
With their rancid ballyhoo.
Yes, they rob some rich too,
But some never knew it;
Rich, not smart, they blew it.

Every generation, this nation
Sires a new batch of vermin
And we have to determine
If this is the new litter or a loner
But instead the fools get a *****
Over some new crook or other
That can afford jet planes to fly
But claims he is a regular guy.

Once the country is a toilet
They’ll keep trying to spoil it
By boiling the bones of the dead
And murdering us in our beds
Because they don’t need us
Except when they want to beat us.
They can just pay each other.
But the country won’t recover.

I am really not passible
Just **** as possible
For a well-worn *****.
And, they call me Missy
Because I don’t think I can
Act like a masculine man
So spare me your hissy fit
Go someplace and get over it.

I can walk well in high heels
Don’t need any training wheels.
My taste in clothes is excellent
Not the slightest bit recalcitrant.
I’m fully into the new club scene
About half way to a drag queen.
One more piece of women’s wear
I’ll be ready to go about anywhere.

My movements are very delicate
And that is, of course, deliberate.
You get more if you advertise
And some assets I can’t disguise.
I’m six feet tall in my stocking feet
As spicy as Red Hots and twice as sweet.
If you don’t like your she-girls tall
Then you don’t know what’s good at all.

You’ll find me in cabarets, everywhere.
We’ll be up at the bar or in a chair
Showing off our legs and swinging
Lip-synching the words the juke is singing.
We’ll appreciate a drink, if you are buying,
We’ll make your day complete without trying.
We’re full of fun and know lots of jokes.
We’re a short vacation for the right blokes.

(And, no. It is not autobiographical.)

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 woke up this morning
That's a success.
I went to the closet
And found stuff to dress
And cover myself well
Against the elements.
I didn't get trampled
By buffalo or elephants.

I ate well and got ready
For whatever comes today.
Whether it be some work
Or some healthy play.
I made the bed and then
Showered myself clean.
I had some great coffee
While I read a new magazine.

I got into my car, which runs
And enjoyed the scenery.
I didn't sleep under a bridge
Or beg food at a beanery.
I went to work and had some
Fulfilling job satisfaction.
And as I went about my day
Guilty of no criminal action.

I was helpful to all, and I
Was detrimental to nobody.
I did the best at my job
And my work was not shoddy.
I sought support whenever
I knew it was badly needed
And smiled as the problems
Mostly quickly receded.

I have given up whining
And envy of my peers.
I no longer allow jealousy
To linger in my ears.
I am a lucky person today
And grateful to say it.
There is no other way
To properly portray it.

The Queen of Qanant
Was a right royal ****;
A ***** of the first water.
And almost as bad
Was the offspring she had,
Her high-class badass daughter.

She looked at folks funny
If they didn’t have money
To her it was all about gifts.
The Queen didn’t share
That her kid pulled her hair
Her stinginess created a rift.

The Queen of Qanant
Had all she could want
Spangles and baubles galore.
She had so much junk
She needed four hunks
To carry it all through the door.

Her land was in a pickle
No downward dollar trickle
With which the poor could pay rent.
She ignored all petitions
To improve the conditions
Thus a civil rebellion could foment.

Her people could starve,
No roast beast to carve;
To her the whole issue was closed.
So her daughter colluded
And the story concluded
When Mommy the Queen was deposed.

So, that’s what’s in store
When you ***** with the poor
And ignore their righteous complaining.
That’s the way things are
You get only so far
To **** on them and tell them it’s raining.

The daughter was no better
She matched mom to the letter
And the whole story started again.
But that’s what people earn
When they never quite learn;
They end up back where they’ve been.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

Some treat me like a criminal
And some are calling me traitor
For doing my patriotic duty
And following my legal orders.
If had done otherwise there
I would have been in prison.
I don’t know what this is about
Or from where it has risen.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

Do people now go to work
And decide what they will do?
And if they want to do nothing
They loaf around? Is that true?
I know they do in Congress now
But has it taken the trickle down
And now following orders is
Above the average working clown?

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

During our tour of duty, we all heard
Some Americans had complained,
Thought we ought to not be there,
Hated us because we remained.
They lost control of our peacetime
Right here on our own home base.
Yet they wanted us to stop the war
No matter that we would be replaced.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

I saw forties newsreels of ticker tape
Falling on huge marching parades
Celebrating our fighting military
And the sacrifices they had made.
Back home now many neighbors
Curse at me and look at me as scary
Instead of a recently returning hero
From their own country’s military.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

And Congress voted down help
For those of us who are wounded.
The V.A. used to take care of us
Before the ‘One Percent’ fine-tuned it.
Now many of my brothers and sisters
Who did their duty suffer defeat
At the hands of their own country
And lay dying in our city streets.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

Dyslexia, mixed messages
Everything so confusing
Susceptible to misusing;
A 'B' becomes a 'D' instantaneously
And screws things up simultaneously.

A short trip from insanity to inanity.
Fiscal confuses with physical
Turning laudable into laughable
So quickly eyes can't disguise
Whether one means the skies
Or perhaps one means this guy's.

If read, confusion and contusion
Seem like quibbling over siblings
But things like read and read
Only different when they're said
Take un-signalled turns in the head
And instead come out backward,
Which should be spelled backword.

Muddling and confuddling resides
Issuing thundering broadsides,
Rendering and sundering any
Blundering inadept ineptitudes
Like some kind of garbled beatitudes.
Some take hostile attitudes.

Wheedling and wheeling away
Beetling and saying it wrong;
Maybe a song can be written
And some tongues can be bitten,
Taken aback by words taken back,
As the Raven said "Never more!"

We learned that freedom of speech is
Is a privilege granted by some
For seeing the abasement of millions
And remaining politically mum.
The violations of human rights today
Are too numerous to record
And the rich perpetrators of the crimes
Grant each other the rewards.

We learned that rich people only care
About the money they make
And the rest of us can congregate
And please go jump in a lake.
If the forests are all sawed down and gone
They don’t give a stinking ****.
If they bees are all dead and we all die
They lie and say ecology is a sham.

We saw that fossil fuels are the biggest game
And they’ll **** to win and get rich
And anyone that gets in their billion dollar way
Will be a sad and sorry *******.
We know that our country is run into a ruin
By the greedy whims of a stinking few
And they care not all that much among them
For the outcome for me or you.

He was a fine broth of a man
And I loved dallying with him
In afternoons of sun and breeze
My lovely one-man harem.
Such a delightful odalisque,
I suspended thoughts of time.
I greedily took up my guitar
And seduced him with rhyme.

As we fed each other sweets
And made coffee by the jug
We laughed and smoked ***
Together naked on the rug.
We told each other stories
Of places we had been
And astounding miracles
Each of us had seen.

We talked of **** dancers
And clever men of magic
And how the loss of innocence
Was not altogether tragic
Because we got to learn
And could use it to grow
And understand the secrets
We recently did not know.

He taught me how to love,
This man of many stories.
I learned to welcome mystery
And search in it for glory.
He showed me how to look
And see people as unique
And not some mass idea.
I grew up from that peek.

That simple time of learning
And laughing with a man
Who had the gift of sharing
The way to understand.
He took me from my childhood
And showed me how to live.
He gave me a gentle heart.
The best thing one can give.

Everything he says
Comes out backward.
Nothing about him
Is really straightforward.
It’s like he came here
From Bizarro World.
Both of the forks
Of his tongue are curled.

He makes our lives
Like a lower rank of hell.
You won’t want to buy
A single thing he sells.
You can figure out
This reptilian guy
Just expect everything
He says to be a lie.

If he says it’s a nice day
Run for your umbrella.
At all possible costs
You should avoid this fella.
And if you know someone
Who tells you he is nice
Run as fast as you can
From them, take my advice.

He has never been honest
He has never even tried.
You’ll quickly lose count
Of the times he has lied.
If you think for a second
That he cares about you
Believe me when I say
It just cannot be true.

Because the only person
This guy loves is himself
And he doesn’t give a ****
About anybody else.
Not his family, nor his wife
Please be a believer.
In truth, he doesn’t really
Love himself either.

His whole world is backward,
What he hates describes him.
He tells about how he is
So handsome and slim.
But actually he’s a tub of lard
And socially quite awkward.
But he doesn’t realize it.
He is, after all, himself:
Mister Backward.

The spirit watched quietly
No hand could it raise.
The spirit listened closely
As the faithful sing of praise.
After the worshipful leave
And go back to their home
The spirit wants to know
And sets itself to roam.

The spirit watches us
And hears us when we talk.
It carefully remembers when
Our words don’t match our walk.
The spirit never wants us
To leave the weak and poor
To starve in ignominy
And crawl across the floor.

The spirit is always there
When the rich pretend to be
The very essence of kindness
And unfettered generosity.
And when those same people
Lie and cheat and even steal
The spirit knows for certain
Their piety is nothing real.

The spirit uses gentle thoughts
Set in all our inner souls
To remind us of who we are
And of our intended roles.
But some prefer to ignore them,
The inner urging of their spirit,
And though they know better
They don’t seem to want to hear it.

I want to wake up when I want
And then slowly get to my feet.
I want to have a breakfast
That is very much like a treat.
I want to dawdle over my coffee
And take lazy, leisurely stock.
And, I want to do all of this
Without waking to a clock.

For I hate that awful buzzing
That it takes to shake me awake.
I find the racket ruins dreams
And is too much for me to take.
I want to sit where late morning
Sends its sweet shine in on me
While I sup and sip and dine
Like a member of royalty.

Oh, I am not so snooty myself
That I don’t prepare this repast
With my own two clever hands
And at that, amazingly fast.
It’s almost like my hands want
To hide from my waking mind
That the meal I am having is not
Not the made by Ritz-Carlton kind.

I want to waken to cognizance
In a particularly decadent way.
I find it totally disgusting to
Rush madly into any given day.
I’d sit in smoking jacket and slippers
If I had such magazine attire.
And if it were chilly upon rising
I would magically manifest a fire.

Of course I don’t have a fireplace
To go right along with plain jammies
So instead of brocade robes and such
I very short of mystical whammies.
I can’t witch up this storybook stuff
Of class A, high-class pomposity.
But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t wish
To have it all appear before me.

He’s a refugee of sorts
From society’s glitter gutter.
His nouveau riche attitude
Show in every word he utters.
That is where he’s from.
He’s nothing but glitter litter.
If he doesn’t get what he wants
He’s ******, obnoxious and bitter.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

His daddy bought him toys
Of the fanciest richest kind.
Dad didn’t care what it did to him.
He must have been blind.
He ruined the boy with money
Buying his way through college
So that when the boy left there
He had style and little knowledge.

Daddy gave him a nice fortune
To start off his spoiled whelp.
Son was never really good at much
But having a few million helped.
The kid liked glitz and glamour
And especially glittery women.
One after the other he used them
And never really got smitten.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

Now a few children later
They have become a bother.
They keep needing things
Like money from their rich father.
He wonders where they got
That sickening greedy habit.
He’s fears if they can get
His gold they'll surely grab it.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

The rich never starve
So they don’t understand
When others do.
They have no earthly idea
What the starving folks
Are going through.

They are being taught
By those that have cash
That poor are lazy trash
And it’s fine to ignore
When they suffer.

If the poor were wise
They would choose another
Better way of living.
They’d surely not starve
But would rather carve
Out some way of  life
That brought wealth to
Their kids and their wife.

It’s got to be something
That the poor has done
To make them into
The neediest ones.
They should even work
For some fast food place
Because being poor is
A huge, social disgrace.

And the women should stay
At home with their kids
The same way our mothers
Of yesterday all did.
It’s shameful the way
The poor make their spouses
Work at jobs all the time
Outside of their houses.

The rich never starve
So they don’t understand
When others suffer.
They fail to accept that
We are their sisters
And their brothers.

His mother was suicidal
His father was patricidal
His siblings all fratricidal
They fractured his parietal.
His acumen was impractical
While his mien was didactical
His morals were retractible
And his religion was heretical.

He longed to be a celebrity
And wished for its celerity
To skip the serendipity
And fork over his luminosity.
But it seems that synchronicity
Paired up with idiosyncrasy
In a natural form of complicity
And waylaid him with complicity.

He moaned that he was qualified
And not the least bit mollified
To be so soundly criticized
That they could not recognize
By those who were so glassy eyed
A plenipotentiary, very wise
Who appears before their very eyes
Who they would gladly plagiarize
Even while they ostracize.

He can’t achieve equanimity
When so many hold their enmity
And treat him so outrageously
In ignoring his magnanimity.
After all, is there anyone living
Who is so astoundingly forgiving
Than he by the simple act of giving
And letting them go on living?

HERE’S TO THE LITTLE PEOPLE

Here’s to the little people
That means you and I.
We create the economy
With the things we buy.
The rich people object;
They say they are the best
By squeezing the lifeblood
Out of all of the rest.

What the rich don’t take directly
They steal by increasing the tax.
Only when we are powerless
Do they really feel they can relax.
And it only serves to help them
If they pass laws that are hazy
In which they can hide graft
Because we are politically lazy.

Yes, here’s to the little people
That is you and that is me.
We’re passing up our chances
And all our hopes for prosperity.
We’ve let the rich people rob us
In congress by nickels and dimes.
While it might not be too late now,
We are just about out of time.

Brent Kincaid
3/18/2015

Here’s my question:
Don’t daughters lope their mules?
However non-existent
They too surely must bend the rules.
Surely it’s not only guys
Who secretly, daily slap their laps.
If so, would you bluenoses
Quickly and firmly shut your yaps?

There are so many things
Boys are not supposed to ever do
Like farting and belching
And all kinds of gods to apologize to.
We have to fold napkins
And keep our elbows off the table.
The list seems to grow.
I’m not sure I will ever really be able.

Adhering to what it takes
In life to keep myself perfectly decent
Seems to involve rules
Both ancient, ecclesiastical and recent.
I must put the lid down
Because, it seems, women can’t do it.
Hold the door open for them
Because, alone, they can’t go through it.

Give your seat up on a bus
Because even if they are younger than I
Women are the weaker ***
And I must be much stronger, I’m a guy.
And there literally hundreds
Of words I can’t say and shouldn’t think.
Now if only the women of the world
Would outlaw me getting near the kitchen sink.

Automobiles and road rage
Alcohol and steering wheels
Texting and driving
The Military and U.S. Steel
Banks and mercy
Fashion and comfort
Priests and Godliness
Trade alliances and imports.

Republicans and The Constitution
Bigots and non-Caucasians
Christians and homosexuals
Unbalanced equations.
Elitists and human flaws
The rich and the poor.
Anger and loaded guns
You and the Jews next door.

They are naturally equal
But they’re exactly opposite
Sometimes they balance
But often there’s no sense to it.

Attorneys and justice
Lobbyists and compassion.
Science and the church
Trust and politicians.
Monsanto and private farms
Pipelines and ecology
Fracking and water rights
Minorities and majorities.

Hope and desperation
Citizen’s rights and Tea Party
Media and integrity
Politics and morality
Free enterprise and monopolies
Censorship and free press
Freedom of expression
And illegal social duress.

They are naturally equal
But they’re exactly opposite
Sometimes they balance
But often there’s no sense to it.

Hyperbole in front of me,
Political effrontery,
Lies dressed up as Scripture,
Treason beyond conjecture.
No hope of restitution
A gutted constitution
Guarded by mercenaries
Who hate blacks and fairies.

A pain to liberal brains
As hope goes down the drain
While major constituencies
Are sold out for SUVs.
Journalists lost their relevance
Kissing the haunches of elephants
In a mad rush every news day
To keep their beloved pay.

Chip-off-the-block jabberwocky;
Son talks his Daddy’s talky.
With no attempt at recompense
The fool makes little sense,
Hiding behind the leverage
He gets from his evil heritage.
There’s no need of morality
Or decency or much formality.

No matter how much criticized,
The wrongly, constantly victimized
Suffer the ignominy yearly
And continue to pay dearly
From our position down on our knees
As they try to rob everyone they see
And we are the casualties of infamy
Because neighbors stand by silently.

Scary Larry,
The Margarita Fairy
Could drink anything,
As long as it wasn’t dairy.
Bollocky Pollack
Hung up his smock
Covered with paint
Put it on the auction block.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

And Yeaster Bunny
Thinking he was funny
Baked bread dildoes
That sold for bags of money.
Scott Tissue
Said “We’re gonna miss you.
Your bread will sell quicker
If don’t make it an issue.”

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

Phony Joanie
Wishes for alimony
But refuses to divorce
Her husband Tony.
Decided she plans
To keep him instead.
Good for ready money
Though he's lousy in bed.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

**** Poncho,
Everybody seems to
Dig his Mayan body
If only for a day or two.
Then he's off to play
With somebody new
Maybe some other day
He'll make it back to you.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.