They had it upside down
The called the sky the ground
And tried to make me believe it.
There was nothing to relieve it.
It was unremitting delusion
And they called it illusion
When as hard as I would try
To agree, it was still a lie
And living a lie can ****
As it too often will.

To whom do you turn to trust
When something inside you is busted,
Something that makes you tick
Keeps you from getting sick
And works better than dope
To help you feel hope
Instead of bleak view
That ends with destruction
Of you.

Sweltering and suffocating
Feeling like I’m smothering
Something is deadly wrong
With this kind of mothering,
Fathering, something awry.
Something that should not be
Turning into something else;
Something that is fatal to me

What do you do when they say
What is wrong is right, up is down,
And nothing is funny, so nobody
Is just kind of joking around.
Instead they are serious
And life is mysterious
But not in a good way;
What can you say?

It always makes me wake up when it hits;
When a rivulet of sweat runs between my ****.
I wake up thinking some bug is walking there
Because it tickles my manly bit of chest hair.
Guys are built much different than the rest.
We are not supposed to have issues with our chest.
But here I am trying to get some sleep
Suddenly aware my cleavage is too deep.

Stuff is happening backwards that should not
What we supposed to do with this mess we’ve got?
Something’s got the world all upside down.
God must be a freaky circus clown.
Regardless of some nasty radio rants
I have no problem with women wearing pants.
And in life today as I have always seen
The woman is often the boss, big and mean.

And I have heard, in current affairs and state
That men can even, in time, learn to lactate.
But this one situation in which I have *******
Threatens to unhinge and drive me a bit loopy.
I guess, with time, I will someday get accustomed.
And I know some old ideas need to be jettisoned.
But I never expected that this would be a year
For me to go get fitted for an absorbent brassiere.

Our beloved Aunt Bertha.
She didn’t see pixies and elves
She saw ******* and jerks
With no obvious perqs!
That's the breaks of being someone
That, all by themselves,
Can have arguments and fights
And even though it wasn’t right
That is who she was, unique;
Immune to other people’s pique,
Surrounded by unseen creeps.

But she loved us kids, she did.
And found us when we hid
And cooked cakes and pies.
The love in her eyes spoke clearly
And nearly bowled me over
Because it was not deluded.
Yes, her quirks intruded on us
But we let her cuss and rail
At invisible fools. Those the rules.
She couldn’t help herself a bit
And that was the end of it.

So, we listened covertly
And overtly smiled at her a lot
Knowing what we had got
Was the dotty aunt they put
In the attic in the old days
In less loving times and ways.
But we loved her and wanted
A place not haunted by wardens,
And nasty nurses robbing purses,
Where she could live her life.

She liked to sing and dance
And every time I got the chance
I danced with her, as thin as a zipper
I guided this middled aged aunt
And when she started to pant
We changed the music to slow
And right back she would go.
She sang the tunes from the war
And more from movies and shows.
Can anyone know how great it is
To share with someone impaired
And know the gift you have shared?

Where I came from
It was that time in history
White people who loved
Black guys faced misery.
There was a huge batch
Of ugly names we earned.
And sometime more than
Just crosses were burned.

Where I came from
The Bible was used to beat
To abjure and vilify us
And toss us into the street.
We were demonized for
Bedding animals they said.
I just couldn’t stand that
Kind of hatred in my head.

Where I came from
Hypocrisy and bigotry rule.
They go to church Sundays
And the rest of the time
They act the total fool.
They demand the right
To tell me who to choose.
Demand the same of them
And brother, you lose.

Where I came from
They throw around the words
Of someone called Jesus
As if they had really heard.
But talk to them of the book
They claim is the word of god
And they come up with answers
That can only be called odd.

Where I came from
There are beggars on the street
And children without food
Or shoes on their tiny feet.
And yet they sing songs
Of good will to all men.
But they really don’t mean it
And prove it again and again.

Where I came from
Much is called restricted.
The Golden Rule and peace
Are so totally conflicted.
I grew up seeing goodness
Reinterpreted by the white
That practiced prejudice
And hate and called it right.

Let the poor youth fight and die.
Not my children, don’t even try.
You won’t subject them to ill health
Not as long as I’ve got my wealth.
Let the children of poverty bleed
We rich have the gold we need.
We were the guilty, and all that meant,
WE label poor children as “not innocent”.

Why not cheat and **** the weak and poor?
Isn’t that what the caste system is for?
We are the strong and the righteous ones.
Besides, ripping off people is so much fun.
We get to buy fancy suits and sleek cars.
If these are not meant for us, then what are?
We’re the ones smart enough to write
Sneakily worded laws that favor the right.

And we are bright enough to see right quick
The most of the populace is politically sick.
They vote for whomever we tell them to.
We just label the opposition commies or Jews.
We have convinced them all that we are real
And the liberals? Well, let them squeal.
We just take every thing they say about us
And say it was their doing, and let them cuss.

Half of the country was so incredibly ignorant
They had no idea what our promises meant.
So they let us put into place a crazy faker
Who put wealth in the hands of the takers.
He and his party was sure they could do it;
That the lazy populace would fail to pursue it.
So end the end, they could just stay as dumb
In the ensuing holocaust that was to come.

Hypocritical catastrophe,
Irreverent duplicity,
Luminarial ludiocrity,
Nonsensical impetuosity.

Flippy floppy, slippy sloppy,
Blamey gamey, shame, shame, shame.

Constitutional incongruity,
Jesuitical dictatoriality,
Oxymoronic partiality,
Nepotistic surreality.

Materialistic abnormality,
Monetaristic conviviality ,
Ritualistic mediocrity,
Histrionic philanthropy.

Gotten rotten, misbegotten
Seldom truthful, lie, lie, lie.

Misdirection genuflection,
Malefaction justification,
Incarceration implication,
Resignation profliferation.

Prevarication reiteration,
Damnation indication,
Malefaction direction
Undetected discretion.

Flippy floppy, slippy sloppy,
Blamey gamey, shame, shame, shame.
Gotten rotten, misbegotten
Seldom truthful, lie, lie, lie.

A small platoon of beauty,
Lovely boygirls with tiny *****
Posing like Vogue models
And doing dancing tricks
So, hot. So pretty, but not
In the slightest masculine;
No attempt to be butch,
They revel in being feminine.

They’re better at it than girls
Being more of a success
Than all the ** movie stars
In ten thousand dollar dresses.
Such pretty smooth faces, traces
Of ancestry and cool breeding
For thousands of screaming teens
Wishing they were breeding.

They wish these boys were closer
So they could caress and kiss
Close enough so they could not
Avoid, so the teens could not miss.
They want to carefully tarnish them,
These angels of flashing bright lights,
And cuddle them, snuggle them
If only for one youthful, sensuous night.

Jingle Hell, jingle Hell
What we have today
Is country few cam smile;
Goodwill has gone away.

The jingle comes from coins
Taken from the poor
Then to the coffers of the rich
Just like they did before

Education  isn't cool.
Being wise is not allowed.
Be smart today means you're a fool.
Never buck the crowd.

Jingle Hell, an ugly spell
As if we are bewitched
Rich men win, poor men lose
Our places never switch.

So few can celebrate
When Christmas time is here
Prices raised so very high
Than ever were last year.

But nobody that was rich
Will suffer much these days.
Don’t ask them how it’s done.
The rich folks have their ways.

Jingle Hell, Jingle Hell
What we have today
Is country few can smile;
Goodwill has gone away.

Hinky Jinky, Stinky Pinky
The One Percent will play.
Squirrely Shirley Hurly Burly
In the full light of day.
Hop them, bop them;
You can’t stop them.
They’re never going away.
Crying, trying, always lying,
They count on your ignorance.
Hinky Jinky, Stinky Pinky
Wham bam, thank you man.
Daffy, laffy, slappy happy.
What’s the hap? What’s the plan?

Cooked books, buncha crooks.
Loosie, goosey, where’s the noosey?
Flakey, fakey, jump in the lakey.
Take and take, oil of snake,
How much of this can good people take?
Scream and shout, let it all out
Stick it, we’ll show up and picket
You’ll try to trick it, we’ll buy you a ticket
On a rail, feathered, or off to jail.
Subliminal criminals, sentences too minimal
We’ll feel best if you and the rest must
Sell your houses and cars from behind bars.

Some of us are older
And we remember a time
When being less than rich
Was not considered a crime
And dealt with Congressionally
By huge measures of stealth
Designed to take away rights
And relieve us of any wealth.

Some of us are older
And owning a home was not
Just a memory, and also
Was not just an empty lot
Where a house once stood
Before the owner got behind
And the bank ignored their pleas
As if they were all blind.

Some of us are older
And remember banks as friends
Who helped us with loans
Where good credit could begin.
We recall the days we could
Send our kids to university
And not saddle them with debt
That condemned them to poverty.

Some of us are older
And we remember the beat cop
Did more toward protection than
Murdering people at traffic stops.
We remember being told as kids
If you are in trouble find a cop
And old enough to have seen
The time that all began to stop.

Some of us are older
And we don’t recall seniors freezing,
Eating dog food alone in flats
And sitting in emergency rooms, wheezing
Because they can’t afford insurance
Because premiums were so high
And the insurance companies
Preferred that they just die.

Some of us are older
And we remember a country here
Where Christianity did not mean
Anti-black, anti-poor and anti-queer.
We remember you had to go
Down south to find hateful Christians
And it living life with dignity
Was not out of the question.

I’m all for freedom of speech for everyone
Without pardoning you for things you’ve done.
Here’s something you don’t get to say to me
You don’t get to tell me I may not disagree!
You who plan constant genocide and invasion
Make pacifists like myself rise to the occasion.
We refuse to authorize you buying a warship.
You act as if that word is very like worship!

Too many scary cowards setting precedences.
In your overstuffed, gadget-filled residences.
You’re issuing orders to send youths to die.
Since you’re not going, why bother to ask why?
Some bribe-taking elite snobs in costly suits
Tell you to send kids overseas in combat boots.
If you rebuke them they bring out the dramatics.
Their reason is their bookkeeper’s mathematics.

In the USA, we waged war after disastrous war
And few of us asked why, and what is it for?
We invaded people’s lands and destroyed it
And there never was a reason to deploy it
An international revenue generating machine
****** thousands on both sides, nice and clean.
Then demand we buy coffee, seven bucks a cup,
If we think of objecting, you want us to shut up.

After all, it’s just one more war, wrapped up to go.
What’s a two or three million dead people or so?
The point it, there’s a bottom line to adhere to
So what it affects or kills someone near you?
Don’t be unpatriotic and ***** with fate.
Genocide is lucrative and an  American trait.
Just look what we did to the natives here.
Read that story. What we’re doing is clear.

Miss Agnes Columbus
What are you doing?
What is your calling?
What path are you pursuing?
Your mother wants a teacher
Your father wants you married.
Poor miss Agnes Columbus
Now wonder you are harried.

Miss Agnes Columbus
What are you doing?
What is your calling?
What path are you pursuing?

Unlike famous Christopher
You don’t travel in the world.
You stay home all the time
And set your hair to curl.
You read all the magazines
And know all the styles.
What makes you happy Agnes?
What makes you smile?

Your mother wants a teacher
Your father wants you married.
Poor miss Agnes Columbus
Now wonder you are harried.

You write inside your diary
That nobody ever reads.
Your mother and your father
Doubt where it will lead.
Whoever will hire a poet,
A creator of hidden rhymes?
You are not Emily Dickenson
And this is not olden times.

Miss Agnes Columbus
What are you doing?
What is your calling?
What path are you pursuing?
Your mother wants a teacher
Your father wants you married.
Poor miss Agnes Columbus
Now wonder you you are harried.

I let myself hate some people,
Just this once, without remorse.
It isn’t that they couldn’t be better
But they certainly couldn’t be worse.
When I see someone hurting others
Just because they know they can
I begin to doubt if they really are
Still what we could call a man.

Or a woman, it’s that way too.
I have seen both happening
And their womanhood doesn’t really
Spare them the awful labeling
As monsters no less than seen
In the worst of horror flicks.
You don’t have to watch them long
To recognize that they are sick.

Why would anyone with everything;
House, toys and outrageous food
Find themselves so evil and resentful
To get into a robbing, killing mood?
Yet they do, and spend great energy
Finding ways to steal and maim more
And more of people they don’t know
And then call themselves sweet names.
What does it take to make people be
All hyped up on these kinds of games?

And why do others applaud them
And act like they are something great?
Go ahead, come up with some excuses.
I’ll be patient and sit and just wait.
What could make a person believe
That genocide, embezzlement and theft
Are they only ways they can have fun?
That there is nothing more fulfilling left?

I saw a woman on the bus today
She was scowling for all she was worth.
I found it impossible not to think
She had looked that way since birth.
She was openly starting and frowning at
A young woman less than half her age
Whose manner of appearance and actions
Seemed to set the woman into a rage.

The young lady was with her friends
But she was the happiest of the lot
Yet somehow her expressions of joy in life
Seemed to make the older woman hot.
I could tells he wanted to say something,
A coarse and disapproving kind of remark.
But she appeared to prefer to keep quiet
Even though here thoughts were obviously dark.

I sat next to the older woman and asked her,
“Do you know that girl standing right there?”
She frowned and told me, “Certainly not
I’m sure that type has nothing much to share.
Surely nothing godly or proper or polite.!”
I asked her why she felt that was the truth.
“There can be nothing good to come to her.
She’s obviously a major waste of her youth.

Look how she dresses and flaunts her ***
And don’t disregard how she makes up her face.
She doesn’t care if everyone knows that she
Is an embarrassment to her folks, a disgrace.
It’s disgusting how she wiggles her ****
In front of all of these ***** men to see.
She’s a ******* in the making, it seems.
At least that’s what she looks like to me."

I had so many things I wanted to say to her
To defend a young woman I did not know
But I made an instant decision that I
Would say nothing and let the moment go.
After all, the older woman had no regard
That times and changed and passed her by.
Nothing anybody had told her in life
Had made a difference, so how could I?

Once I believed in Santa
And the north pole was real.
The lights on the Christmas  tree
Could change the way I'd feel.
The standard kind of carols
Still make me reminisce
When everyone got friendly
And cheeks were happily kissed.

Sure, as I got to be older
Most of my gifts were clothes
But there were still lovely things
For eyes, and ears and nose;
The smell of turkey baking
And pecan and pumpkin pie.
Christmas music on the radio
Those Christmases gone by.

And later we went caroling
Some friends of me and mine.
We sang in lovely harmony
We all sounded very fine.
Back at home with egg nog
We often played  Monopoly.
We laughed and told jokes
A happy Yuletide family.

As time went on we changed
And some old traditions fell.
We threw out the silver tree
And tinsel went away as well.
We started to add to our growing
Collection of handmade things.
The colorful lights still twinkled
But the angel no longer had wings.

Times have gotten busier
So tempting to avoid the trip
But it’s only this once a year
So we don’t let this visit slip.
We keep these memories going
And talk about them each year
When the family comes back
For the holidays from far and near.

I love Twinkies,
The sweet food, not the guys.
I love how they taste
And ignore the chubby thighs.
Gedunk.

I really dig pizza,
The kind covered with stuff
I eat it every day.
I just can’t get enough.
Gedunk.

Ice cream is great
I can eat it by the tub
And then I look like one
A human tub, there’s the rub.
Gedunk

It’s a US Navy word
For tasty stuff I like to eat;
Anything high sugar
Low food value and very sweet.
Gedunk.

The kind of stuff I like
When I’m at the movies.
Sweet, greasy or salty.
Sometimes even hyper meaty.
Gedunk.

Food value no need,
Just something to munch.
Nutrition and such
Just leave that for lunch.
Gedunk.

The same with politics
I usually kind of go along.
If the issues are annoying
Well that’s just wrong.
Gedunk.

I want someone who talks
About stuff that’s easy to hear.
Like football, and sports.
Politics doesn’t go with beer.
Gedunk.

I want to hear simple things
Like blaming others for what’s wrong.
See? I just vote my gut
And kind of just go along.
Gedunk.

I was a certifiable ******
With the classic monkey
Riding squarely on my back
But I had no needle tracks.
I was almost undetectable
As my addiction was respectable.
No, I was not a rock musician.
I got my dope from my physician;
An almost never-ending source
Offered up with no remorse
I only had to mildly complain
That I was experiencing pain
And the cornucopia opened wide.
It held my immediate future inside.

I was off to party with friends
To the cabaret that never ends;
That free-wheeling waking dream
That made everything in life seem
As if nothing mattered that day
But that we should all stay and play.
And if something was getting tiring
It was time to retune the wiring
With a few more clever little pills
That cured all my temporary ills.

If I was exhausted or had an ache
It was time to take a little ****** break
Or, maybe not just that dosage alone.
Maybe better to take some Oxycodone.
Then, I can keep on night-club dancing
And backseat, hyper-speed romancing.
And later, needing sleep; a downer
Is good for an out-on-the-towner
Who has needed some rest for days
But the normal drugs and party ways
Wouldn’t quite let me get to sleep.
I felt that above all else, I had to keep
On doing what I was doing: having fun.
There was too much ******* to be done.

But every kind of candle has two ends.
There’s the one where the thing begins
And when I was trashing around a lot
Thinking of the other end was really not
The kind of thought-process I liked.
I wanted to do more of the kind that hiked
My awareness and my stamina to the max
And “injects my existence with what it lacks”.

While today I shudder to remember my words
At that time they were the best I’d heard
Since chocolate cake and butter cream icing.
None of that workaday stuff was to my liking.
It would be nearly twenty nearly deadly years
Before I found myself on a sidewalk in tears
Asking myself where things had gone wrong.
And while I am sure you are sick of this song
At the time it was a sad music to my ears.
Today, it’s the only music I want to hear.

I’m still stuck in the fairy tales
Of magic shoes and handsome prince,
Of servants of my own to boss
And I’m still at wash by hand and rinse.
My dreams of riches and luxury
Are still around and just as strong
But haven’t come true that much.
So I must be doing something wrong.

Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!

I’ve kissed so many **** frogs
My lips have become amphibious
But not one morphed into a prince
So, the solution must be obvious:
I am not holding my mouth right
Or kissing in the wrong phase of moon.
I am not going to be able to hold on
If this wish doesn’t come true soon.

Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!

I’ve bought magic seeds and amulets
To help the process on it’s magic way
But nothing seems to be working for me.
There must be better words to say.
Some kind of abracadabra mantra
That makes the real voodoo begin.
If I ever get this incantation right
II’m going to do it again and again.

Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!

Apple core, Baltimore
Some people know the score
They know very well what
This little verse is for.
I don’t have a clue, you see.
It is totally a cypher to me.
It’s a snappy verse, obviously,
But is nothing more than poesy.

Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.

It’s a kind of little kid rhyme
That lost its meaning over time.
Parsley sage rosemary and thyme
Kept up with the chronological climb.
But the other is one of those things
Like popsicles and onion rings
That living in the USA brings
But leave me standing in the wings.

Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around
Trying to stay on solid ground
Is chancy at best, I have found.
Its reasoning is not that sound.

Olly olly oxen free is another
The invention of someone or other
To help kids call in their brothers
When the game is curtailed by mother,
Or someone decides it’s done,
Or maybe just no longer fun,
And those hiding one by one
Can come in home on the run.

Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.

Pinch you owe me a coke
Is another sadly unfunny joke
Created by some sadistic bloke
That should have got his nose broke
But turned into a game that’s used
Whenever people become amused
By saying the same word the other used.
I don’t like games that leave me contused.

Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.
Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around
Trying to stay on solid ground
Is chancy at best, I have found.
Its reasoning is not that sound.

Things are much better now
Then back in days gone by
When I was always lonely
And love songs made me cry.
I no longer get depressed
When couples pass me by
Seeing two people happy
Made me wonder why.

Was I some kind of loser
Or someone undeserving?
Love just kept avoiding me
I found it most unnerving.
I questioned everything about me
Was I really so unloveable?
I could find no answers then.
I only knew I was miserable.

Friends tried hard to fix me up
But nothing seemed to work.
It was like I was a circus clown
Or some kind of social ****.
I smiled and laughed and I
Was oh so very polite
But somehow everything I tried
Did not seem to work out right.

So after such a long time
I decided to give up trying.
If I said I wasn’t nervous then
I would totally be lying.
Once I gave up self-pitying
I began to enjoy every day.
I guess I looked a bit better;
Things began to go my way.

One day a conversation
Turned into a relationship
And all those safeguards
And fears began to slip.
They dropped off and suddenly
I found it easy to feel love.
This was the kind of feeling
I was hearing so much of.

So, the sad times were gone
They had slipped into the past
And out of the blue, unprepared
I have something that lasts.
I am smart enough to know
I should not ask myself why.
I am just delighted that today
Love songs don’t make me cry.

For you who served
So others might live.
Some of you gave
All you had to give.
We lost some of you
And it broke our hearts
But, live or die you all
Stood up to do your part.

For those of you who served
When some could not go
You overcame obstacles
That we will never know.
But because you stood
And fought against villainy
You have an honored place
In our country’s history.

No stones can be stacked
High enough to balance
The mothers who lost
Their children in battles
And no speeches made
Can ever appropriately say
What your sacrifice has meant
To every one of us today.

I want to sit and eat ice cream
Until I can’t eat any more.
I want wake up late each day
Until I can’t sleep any more.
I want to take people out to eat
At the most expensive places
And watch the joy spread out
All over each of their faces.

I don’t want to seem greedy
So don’t go off in a huff.
I don’t want an excess of things.
Really, I want just enough.
Just enough to buy presents
For the people I really like.
The rest of the salesmen
Can take a royal hike.

I want to go swimming in
A peaceful hidden lake.
I want to ride the bumper cars
And never hit the brake.
I’ll gladly clean up backstage
At a hit Broadway show.
I want to drive a fast car
As quickly as it will go.

I want to be in a big movie;
Have some speaking lines.
Be invited to the Academy awards;
The name on the card mine.
I want to perform at Carnegie Hall
So they hear me in the back row,
When I sing songs that I wrote
And receive a standing ‘O’.

I want some of my own poetry
To be printed in the NY Times
With plaudits and huzzahs
And a 12 point printed byline.
I want to have to sign autographs
When I got out to eat somewhere.
And, have lots of money in the bank.
And still have plenty to share.

As long as I am wishing here
I may as well tell the truth.
After all it would do no good
To wish for good looks and youth.
It’s not all that much different than
Making a list for Santa Claus.
So saying exactly what I want
Won’t give me a moment’s pause.

But if I get my fondest wishes
Everything I’d like the most
I want something huge and fun
And I am not trying to boast.
I wish everybody could get
At least a few of their list.
So, write your own list out today
And make sure nothing is missed.

I am glad when each
Patriot says “impeach”!
It will be perfectly all right
If they also say “Indict!”
Then jail him that night.

Truth returns when he’s gone.
Just goodness from then on.
And then people of all colors
Will re-learn to work together
We can make that last forever.

There’ll be a celebration
Clear across this nation!
Then the Republican side
Will need to run and hide!

We’ll hold our heads up high
And bid him a loud goodbye.
We’ll jail him and his pets
And be sure to never let
Americans ever forget

We’ll take away his pension
And never even mention
His name without spitting.
He’s lucky we’re not hitting
Or kicking where he sits!

There’ll be a celebration
Clear across this nation!
Then the Republican side
Will need to run and hide!

Take his awful brats when he leaves
They did whatever they pleased;
Their morals are so small,
Those ugly acorns didn’t fall
Far from the tree at all,

He’ll sit on his golden throne
Except for ******, him alone
And tweet his ignorant tweets
While the lawyers beat feet
And sound a loud retreat.

There’ll be a celebration
Clear across this nation!
Then the Republican side
Will need to run and hide!

A roster of rotten rogues and rascals
Rapscallions and self-righteous racketeers.
Wrapped themselves in the American Flag,
Like Wicked Witches of the West in drag.
Not a whit of statesmanship in the bunch.
Hearts as black as coal, I have a hunch.
If we go by behavior, the devil is alive;
Queen bees who hate the workers in the hive.


They started with genocide of all those here,
Native Americans before the whites drew near.
They kept it up by importing a million black folks
They owned and ***** and made up ugly jokes.
In time they treated Irish and Italians the same.
Let them come here and then played a sick game.
Promises to those, the non-Europeans, were not kept.
They heaped them with bias while good Christians slept.

It has been going on forever since antiquity.
They make our fine country a den of iniquity;
When not operating from a sense of disdain
They run their show on hatred, death and pain.
They claim they work for the people, but
Most of the people can tell what is really what.
Distressingly disgusting, diabolically divisive
They do their best when citizens are permissive.

In time they decided monopolies were great.
They let those with money put up the gates
And charge those with little to pass through
To get food, water, places to live. Not new.
Old country villainy was given a new face
And soon only a few creeps owned the place.
They cheated and swindled and laughed at those
Who starved, rebelled and fought and died.
Rich children splurged on geegaws far and wide.

Soon the list of enemies grew in the mansions,
They included over half of regular American citizens:
Blacks women and poor people were told shut up.
There was not enough nectar to put into their cups.
Gays, agnostics and atheists were treated as if
They were the living minions of the Christian devil
Liberals and objections to conservatives called evil.
Anyone who had issues to the gathering of massive wealth
Was treated as a criminal who wanted to steal their wealth.

The self-righteous racketeers bought newspapers and lies
All created to be swallowed whole by the lazy and unwise
Who could not see that they bought and sold more crooks
That got into office and wrote evil laws into the books.
This is not a new game, in this computerized info age.
This is an ancient costume covering up the old outrage.
It only takes for most of us to stand by and not protest
When leaders lie, and cheat and steal and call it a jest.

The Monetary Moai
Standing on the shore
Making sure you worship them
Making sure they get more.

More of your offerings
More of your respect
Even if the have to take you
And hang you by the neck.

The Moai are important
With their grant-faced stare.
You may or may not like them
But they don’t have to care.

They are the gods to you,
And you the fools that revere them.
You put them on their pedestals;
Stop others from coming near them.

You, the ones who refuse
To question them and their power
Have made them the gods they are
Right up until their final hour.

It they ever revert to the truth
As just strange hunks of stone
Maybe then you will leave them
Ignored, disintegrating and alone.

But as long as these monoliths
Represent something good to you
There is nothing that the rest of us
Can, by resisting them, can ever do.

We can talk and chant and rant
And tell you that you are all fools
But it was your hands that put them up
Your effort, superstitions and tools.

She sits on the courthouse steps
Playing songs she herself wrote
Every word she sings she means
Her heart there in every note.
She sings of the pain she sees
In the world that passes by.
She sings to you and to me
Her music makes you cry.

(She sings)
We who have so much
Give little to the others.
We let our children starve
And do not help the mothers
And the fathers who work
To make their daily bread
While rich people won’t help
Keep a house over their heads.

She manages to choose chords
That sing of lonely suffering.
Her angelic voice softens up
The accusations she’s uttering.
She tells of squandered glory
In the wasting of our lives
While the overfed rich people
Go home to their gilded wives.

(She sings)
We who have so much
Give little to the others.
We let our children starve
And do not help the mothers
And the fathers who work
To make their daily bread
While rich people won’t help
Keep a house over their heads.

Few listen to the troubadour
Who tells us all our name.
They may drop in a penny
To soften up their shame.
But every day they pass her
And soon they do not hear
The wisdom in her lyrics.
They do not feel the fear.

(She sings)
We who have so much
Give little to the others.
We let our children starve
And do not help the mothers
And the fathers who work
To make their daily bread
While rich people won’t help
Keep a house over their heads.

Brent Kincaid
4/18/2015

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

The echoes sometimes call
From no memory at all.
Nobody ever felt the pain
That caused this refrain;
A sound that startles me
Somehow it shames me.
Often it blames me.

I don’t understand the reason
There can be time without season,
Leaves fall without any tree.
Voices heard but only by me.
Is this only my imagination
Or some kind of hallucination?

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

Is this something the lonely do?
Is this what the solitary go through?
Do all loners dance to a ditty
Dictated and orchestrated by pity?
Is being single a kind of madness
Brought on by descent into sadness
Where one is never told
That they have lost their hold?

The is a kind of sad magic
That makes clowns of the tragic
And paints impressive hues
On the excuses I use
To try to mask the crippling pain;
Of swirling around the drain.
It’s not until the last bubble
That I know I am in trouble.

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

Fools blather about the glory of the fight
And don’t hear the mothers crying at night.
The wives of those marauders on the roam
Cry because their husbands can’t come home.
The children of these battle-addicted men
Go away, eyes ashine, never to return again.
And still the moneyed few, urge on toward
Yet those godlings never pick up a sword.

Mandates from government palaces abound
But not as many as the dead on the ground.
People are expendable to the military,
There are no pensions in the cemetery.
It’s all about honor they tell the press.
Leaving someone else to clean the mess.

Fight for liberty and freedom, they say.
They really mean die for them every day.
It’s all about profit and always was.
It’s that and no more noble cause
When a nation not being attacked
Falsely claims they’re striking back.
Then goes on to leave thousands dead
So they can wear a crown upon their head.

If you see no words of shame in this
Then you have found what is amiss.
These people are not motivated by grace.
They have the look of evil upon their face.
They already own most of what is here
But they keep a running tally all year.
As too much is not enough they crave,
Even if that puts us all in our grave.

Don't call Trump a chimpanzee.
Chimpanzees can't talk.
Don't call him a pile of ****.
A pile of **** can't walk.
Don’t call Trump an Orange
That would be indiscreet.
You see, different from an orange
Trump is in no way sweet.

Don’t call Trump a swindler
Take his fat *** to court
Because when he needs proof
He will always come up short.
Don’t accuse him of bribery
Unless you have the proof.
He’ll just change his residence
To another unlisted roof.

Don’t call him a squanderer.
He’s not if it’s his money.
Trump likes stealing from other people
He finds that hilariously funny.
Don’t accuse him of gross lechery
He feels that is his right.
Don’t appeal to Trump’s conscious.
He doesn’t have one quite.

Don’t expect Trump to speak the truth.
He doesn’t know what that is.
When they were passing out ethics
He was off taking a wizz.
Don’t whine to us about that ****
And how he disappoints.
He’ll claim you heard him wrong
And that is his only point.

Don’t hope everything will work out
In any way in your favor.
Doing what’s right for regular folk
Is not Donald Trump’s flavor.
Don’t look for anyone in authority
To rescue you from the dump.
And, of course, most of all
Don’t call Trump.

I’m the Caucasian black guy
Crying out for equal rights.
I’m the white faced coolie
You murdered in the night
So you didn’t have to pay
His salary on the railroad.
I’m the unrelated relative
Of Faulkner’s Tom Joad.

I’m the underappreciated
The **** of many quips.
I’ve known the well of bitterness
And have taken countless sips.
The names they’ve called me
Seldom amounted to praise.
I’m the one they passed over
When giving out a raise.

I was told to not expect
To advance in any job.
I was told to just agree
And to let my silent head bob.
I knew all the best was there
For a man who had a wife.
Otherwise I must do without
The rewards in everyday life.

But we must sleep and eat
And have a roof over our heads.
So we cut up and act the fool
And eat the cheapest breads.
We act like the jokes don’t hurt
While we bleed inside our souls.
We make the best of what we have
And compromise our own goals.

Yes, we’re the modern house slaves
Regardless of the color of our skin.
We’re expected to be satisfied because
They think God has made us from sin.
It’s one of those shameful moments
That blot the history of our planet.
We’re dealt with as if we were ****
And told we simply must stand it.

I made you love me
With treacle, tricks and tonsure.
I was so sure of myself
I could dissuade you from anyone else
And elves would come
In the night to bewitch you more deeply.
Sleepy, sleeping, not seeing
You would fall under my loving spell.

And well would I use you
Truly dragging you along unaware
Of my witchery, jiggery-pokery
Jokingly, or seductively
Instructively guiding you to please
Easing you into your role;
Solely in charge of the play
Saying sweet, flattering words
Heard in clutches and hugs
Drugs for the lonely, the needy.

And you became convinced
Since I am so good at my craft
I drafted you into my dream
Seemingly all your idea.
My Galatea of sweet, smooth skin;
Sin for me to commit gladly,
Madly, I did not care what you wanted
I flaunted my talent brashly
Trashily uncaring of the scorn
That might be born of my ego;
My need so ugly to see:
Me, playing god of love.

Jackie come sit with me
I have been waiting so long.
Come hold hands with me
Then I’ll know nothing is wrong.
I will try to do better this time.
Jackie please try not to be
Seethingly angry and snippy;
Completely ******* at me.

I know I should have thought
Before I laughed loud like I did.
Now I wish I had closed my mouth
And had gone someplace and hid.
But, can’t you see that sometimes
Not laughing is quite a hurdle?
Especially the way you look when
You wiggle into your old girdle.

I’ve told you many times before
I prefer your body without one.
But you insist on wearing the thing
And won’t quit until you are done.
So, that’s all fine and very good
If I am not in the room with you.
You insist on dressing in front of me
And you can’t claim you never knew.

Because I giggle and laugh at it
Every time because it is funny
And I can’t help myself, even though
I know your mood won’t be sunny.
Telling you I have never liked girdles
Or things like those awful ***** hose
Doesn’t seem to mean a thing to you
So, that’s just how it all goes.

Every time you put that thing on
And when I laugh you get mad.
And I am ashamed to admit it
But it’s the best time we ever had.
You wiggle and I giggle, and then
You finally get it on and glare at me.
It makes no sense that you insist
On forgetting our marital history.

I heard the wind speak your name
I enjoyed the aroma of your scent
Though you had gone for hours.
And I knew what these things meant.
I heard your voice in the breeze
And saw your face in the clouds.
I wanted so much to see you again
That I needed to shout out loud.

I am that slap-happy person
I made fun of only yesterday.
I would look at me and laugh.
But not anymore. Not today.
If you haven’t had it happen
Someone changes everything,
Then you won’t understand
Any lyric I am choosing to sing.

Days were once just long hours,
Time endured begrudgingly by me.
Then you changed them to music;
Measures of beats and melody.
It was so easy to sing from then on
And to dance instead of walking.
I found myself making poetry
Rhyming instead of just talking.

So many of the things in life
Chores I once found tedious,
Like going outside in the rain
Or waiting for the next bus
No longer even bother me
Now that symphonies play
Like a movie theme song
To accompany me on my way.

I am that slap-happy person
I made fun of only yesterday.
I would look at me and laugh.
But not anymore. Not today.
If you haven’t had it happen
Someone changes everything
Then you won’t understand
Any lyric I am choosing to sing.

I’ll keep on loving you
Long after you start to
Look like your mother
Though she looks much
Too much like her brother.
I’ll keep on laughing at
The groaner puns you make
And eating the cakes
That taste like meatloaf
From Blavian yak ****
Because that is what,
To me, true love is.

It doesn’t take a wiz kid
To see what nature did
And I am sure I will be
A cartoon version of me
When I get to that stage
Where age has altered us
To having rear-ends like a bus
And skin like the spin cycle
Before the dryer gets there.
We’ll have hair like lint
To match the laundry bent
Of the last four lines.

And I know I won’t mind
Because it’s you I adore
And that is what love is for
To help us ignore the stuff
Like belly button fluff
And farting unashamedly
Even though we are blamedly
Guilty as recharged, stinking.
I am guilty of thinking
Things will continue to get worse
Until the nurse considers ******
When nobody heard her.

Hey ****** ******,
Some stars gotta fiddle
Just like a Catholic priest.
We have to give them credit,
God saved them when they did it.
And blessed them at the least.

Hey ****** ******
Fat Trump has to fiddle
With women he can control.
He pretends he doesn’t know
What that word simply shows
Since the last syllable is troll.

Hey ****** ******
A high powered fiddle
Is always powered by cash.
But, Mr. Diddler
Unlike a talented fiddler
You are nothing but overpaid trash.

Hey ****** diddledick
We all hope your fiddlestick
Falls off and lays on the ground
Then you could stop it
And the women could stomp it.
And kick your skanky *** around.

You’ve never grown up
You’re just a big kid
But only big on the outside.
To you, life’s a game
And we’re all just the same
We’re along for your crazy ride.

No use in sighing
After all your lying
Don’t come crying to me.
It’s almost gotten
That you’re so rotten
It will be a lot of fun to see.

The way you play around
You’ve never left the playground
But you still steal the money and chalk.
You want things your way
And every single day
And if you don’t get it, you walk.

No use in sighing
After all your lying
Don’t come crying to me.
It’s almost gotten
That you’re so rotten
It will be a lot of fun to see.

Fix things for yourself
And lean on someone else
I have learned all about your rules.
You cheat and you steal
Because none of us is real
And you think all of us are fools.

I want to be where people love each other
Where trust is the way things are.
I want to practice everything I preach;
Learn to love folks for who they are.
I want to get up and be very glad I’m here
That I have food and clothes and shoes.
I want to sing praises for the life I lead
And to replace everything I use.

I want to see all the people that I know
And let them know I cherish all of them.
I want to consider thoroughly before I speak
And not insist people follow my whims.
I want to hear all the music the world plays
And sing along when I know the words.
I want to share with the people I know
Every helpful thing I've ever heard.

I want to laugh every day and not be sad
Unless some poor soul I know is hurt.
I want to contribute to make things better
Even if in the end I lose my shirt.
I want to be strong enough to speak up
If someone is trying to tell lies
To take things from those that own
And the victims don’t even realize.

I’m going to raise my voice and celebrate
When the downtrodden manages to win.
I will applaud and shout “Good for you!”
If they trip, say “Get up and try again!”
I want a world when money is not
The final word in every dispute.
I want to know there is no one who says,
“You must do what I say or I’ill shoot!

Our way is the right way
Just like ****** has shown.
We will carry automatic weapons
And you must leave us alone.
Keep your liberal mouths shut
Give KKK politicians a pass.
If you don’t our President will
Okay thugs to kick your ***.

You had your own way too long
With jerks like that FDR guy was.
We have taken over everything now.
Haven’t you heard the buzz?
We don’t care about equal rights
And **** and blacks and Jews.
We have plenty of Republicans
And Fascists we can use.

We’re going to beat you up
We’re going to **** your kids
We’re going to blow you up
’Til you agree with what we said.
Our way is the right way
Yours is a piece of crap.
We will walk all over your rights
And give The Constitution a slap!

We can take those stupid laws down
That tell us to agree with you
Or hear you or behave ourselves.
Any time we don’t want to.
So quit all your sickening whining
About the things we have done
Like rioting against you wimps.
Your day is over, we have won.

We won because most of you
Like the Germans of the forties
Let spread our righteous hatred
In murderous, cleansing sorties.
So don’t look for magic tricks
Played by a powerful evil elf.
Everything that is happening now
You can only blame yourself.

We’re going to beat you up
We’re going to **** your kids
We’re going to blow you up
’Til you agree with what we said.
Our way is the right way
Yours is a piece of crap.
We will walk all over your rights
And give The Constitution a slap!

Over the passage of time
Things got slowly better.
I began to hold my head up;
Rejected that lavendar letter;
The big “F I had to wear.
It originally meant ‘fairy’.
Later it meant ******, but
They still called me ‘Mary”.

They called me ‘“******”
And hurtful words like “shim”
When they referred to me;
They said “her” and not “him”.
It was so widespread that
The jokes were ever-present.
Life for a guy like I was then
Was seldom rewarding or pleasant.

There was no place back then
For those who were different.
The kindest word for the media
Could only be 'diffident'.
The world could only see us
As clowns and comic relief
But socially we rated somewhere
Below baby ****** and a thief.

So. we started marching
And coming out to our friends.
Later we would come out at work
But the discrimination did not end.
I was told not to put the picture
Of my lover on my office desk.
And I had to agree or else I would
Put my meager salary at risk.

When lovers were sick in hospital
We were not allowed to decide
How they would be treated at all
Our access to them was denied.
Family members, even haters
Were allowed to make the choices
And we were brushed to one side
As if they couldn't hear our voices.

Meanwhile co-workers ranted
If we used words like “my husband”.
We were treated the same as if
We were some ditzy cousin
They kept in the attic or a home
For the terminally strange and sick.
No matter when we stood up
We got the ***** end of the stick.

Today things are a bit better,
But, we have seen the pendulum swing.
Strange fake Christians get control
And reason stops meaning anything.
Jesus, who preached love and peace
Is used as a seemingly holy excuse
And, still today, many decent people
Never see through this awful ruse.

The ringing of a telephone
A simple knock when I’m alone.
Someone just calling my name
And screaming seem the same.
A loud noise when I am sleeping,
Someone throwing open my door,
A car backfiring close by home,
The sounds of steps across the floor.

These are the normal sounds
The symphony of people living.
These sounds don’t normally
Carry terror along with the giving
Like someone living in a war zone
A place with mass invading troops.
They are isolated common things
Unless they arrive in huge groups.

Yet these things still bring me
A painful pounding in my heart
And it goes on for too long
From the moment it starts.
It is the gift of abandonment
Of childhood neglect and abuse
And is viewed by most adults
As ridiculous and abstruse.

But many survivors of childhood
Of threat and pain and fear
Will tell you the horror remains
After the passage of many years.
It has to do with the inner self
Being robbed of a basic trust
Of life itself by their care givers,
By God himself, if you must.

Because there feels a solid knowing
That truly, deep inside the child
There is nobody to save them
From creatures near and wild.
Nobody will come to rescue us
When the bad things come to bite
And everybody knows they come
In the deepest part of the night.

Southerners said “You’re white!”
They’re black, and that’s not all right,
But you’re okay because you’re white.”
But that’s not right because I’m not white.
I’m sort of a pasty pinkish beige
So, why is it the rage to say white?
And black? That is usually the wrong tack.
I know people that say they are black
And others yak about black folk
In hateful, racist jokes, but they too
Are not black. They’re color runs from
As light as a cup of milky tea
To the color of a kukui nut.

So what is this black and white crap?
It’s a trap for some who don’t know
What to call other people because
They’re trained to call other people
Some name besides just people.
It has to be what color people
Trained under school bell and steeple
To talk this way and veer away
From the point they are making,
The risk they are taking by seeing
Something else besides a human being.
Instead they focus on something unreal
And therefore manage not to feel.

It’s really so sad, and so demeaning
To zap so much meaning from someone
Who has a life, loves, joys and pain;
Let's remain aloof from giving names
And incorrectly worded colors to them.
Don't pretend that you are being kind
When you teach yourself to be blind
To the beauty and the joy of boys
And girls who are not from your race
And to replace love and opportunity
With fear, suspicion and enmity.
It is quite simply a common tragedy.

MISE EN SCENE

Once, the long ago and far away me
Could attract the eye and heart.
But without my watching it be so
I did not see my good looks depart.
I did not see the wrinkles arrive,
Nor the spots appear on my skin.
I did not note the muscles loosen
And the arms and legs go so thin.

I watched the blonde become silver
And the dark become so very light
But, I did not mind the stooping posture
As tiredness made it feel just right.
I felt my diet changing because
Some things no longer tempted
Others took their places every time
As the younger favorites were exempted.

But now I have glasses everywhere
And I turn the television up too loud
That the neighbors squeal to the landlord
And that does not make me proud.
For most of my life, I read incessantly
But now, never can read at night
Because I have to have a strong lamp
Or the lighting is not quite right.

And, oh the pills I must take now.
Some for morning and some for night.
I must take them in order, counting
So I know I keep the dosage just right.
Some are supplements, but some are for
That age that I have now achieved.
Yes, I am that old, and accept it mostly
Even though I find it hard to believe.

Brent Kincaid
4/14/2019

Why are you shouting out loud?
Are you saying I am too proud?
Do you think I am undeserving?
If so, it is completely unnerving
That you don’t want me to own
What you see as yours alone;
A sense of dignity and hope.
You must see me as a dope
Who can’t see you getting rich.
You are one shallow sonofabitch
If you think just calling me villain
Will somehow make me willing
To give up my own free voice
So that only you have a choice
About how much I will make
And which decisions I take
About my own home and body.
Can you really be that shoddy?

Well, yes, I have learned you are.
You think you are a superstar
And are immune to decency
That your star is in ascendency.
Well, I really hope that it is not
And that your tail gets caught
In the door before it slams
And we see the last of your scams
And your nepotistic buddy deals
And get back to what is real
And proper for our poor nation
Instead of graft and intimidation
That makes wealth for a few.
Nothing for me, all for you.

Will we end up where we have been
Will anything important have changed
If we were to start all over again?
Or will we end as lovers estranged?
Or will we do it different this time
And make some better choices.
Maybe better words can come
From formerly unsuccessful voices.

After all, we are no longer who
We were before we became
The who we have become now.
We are definitely not the same.
We didn't know then the things
We take for granted today.
We no longer look at our lives
In anything like the same way.

But still we let our feelings
Get away from us so badly
That we began to look at ourselves
And regard each other sadly.
It's like we were someone else
Two different people for sure
Suffering from a kind of illness
For which love had no cure.

After all, we are no longer who
We were before we became
The who we have become now.
We are definitely not the same.
We didn't know then the things
We take for granted today.
We no longer look at our lives
In anything like the same way.

Things were said that seem unreal
When we look back on them now.
We have turned into strangers
But it's like we don't know how.
How did we perform this trick
This sleight of hand without magic?
Why did it take so long to fear
That this would be so tragic?

(Warning: this poem is not for the religiously inclined.)

For centuries, entrepreneurs
Have been selling slivers
Of the True Cross of Jesus
Promising how much it delivers.
Of course, if they were any part
Of the real True Cross at all
The weight of all that wood means
The cross was thirty feet tall.

Still, it is only meant to be
A symbol of The Son Of God
Who got murdered and transformed
Into a deity, but that's odd.
It’s like all the Romans making
A ****** dagger their sign
Of the purity of Julius Caesar;
Revered if not quite divine.

Or maybe worshipping the bullet
That killed Kennedy or King.
Are we sure that kind of devotion
Is the right way to the right thing?
But fonts full of holy water did
The trick for many centuries.
So, maybe the faithful don’t care
About ecumenical vagaries.

Yet I don’t hold much hope out
For businesses of spirituality
Who put up golden castles
In zones of the most abject poverty.
Anyone who thinks a god
Needs to look down on glitz
Promises not much more
Than a dogma from the pits.

We need to celebrate what we have
And not so much what is lost.
What has all the jewels and gold
And superstition added to the cost?
I prefer to keep my integrity and
Check out who’s the real boss.
Knowing that it might upset those
Who get weepy about a cross.

I call all prevaricators liars.
They’ve set the world on fire
They’re walking on a wire
And I’m their jeremiah.
Our government is bad
The worst we’ve ever had
When it is fixed, we’ll all be glad.
And thus my jeremiad.

I shout my warnings aloud
Be not so blindly proud.
Our country lives under a cloud;
And we all wear a living shroud.
Snoozing through a pack of lies,
We should wake up if we’re wise
Look at what is before our eyes.
Heed what’s in the common cries.

Are we living behind barbed wire
Only seen by this jeremiah?
The time is now, the need is dire.
We’re threatened with a funeral pyre.
If freedom for all is a major threat,
We haven’t got democracy yet.
Rather than struggle under regret
WE fight a war, don’t forget.

I, the jeremiah, I make you uneasy.
I want the oppressors to be queasy
I want all of them to tease me
To change their ways to please me.
I won’t be polite, use kindly words
I gladly tweak the pompous overlords
I will continue to use my vocal chords
And call them out across the board.

Love ******
What else can I say?
Addicted to love
I’ve always been that way.
It’s an actual fact
Not just the way I act.
It’s the way I feel
And every word is real.

All should accept it
I take every single chance
Whenever I think this
Is the time for romance.

Yes, love can make me
Act like a monkey in a zoo
But trust me when I say
For me it’s nothing new.
I am totally enraptured
Like I’m as high as a kite
Each time I get captured
Happy all day and night.

All should accept it
I take very single chance
Whenever I think this
Is the time for romance.

I’ve been with those
For whom it’s all just play
And while it can be fun
I’m just not made that way.
It’s not about appearance
They can be thin or chunky
The point is that I am
An unrepentant love ******.

The Right believes it is right
And so by default we are left
To fight both day and night, bereft
Of the loving eye of Propriety.
Denied by those with single site
Those who once believed in divine right
Even though that was never right
Never really acceptable
Mostly reprehensible
Spouting their religious twaddle
They were always ready to fight
For what they were told was right.

The Right listens to entertainment
And claims they are news shows.
And regard the truth with amazement
But that is just the way it goes
When you are raised by dunderheads
Who think education is a waste.
Listening to people like that
Will always leave a horrible taste
For those who prefer research
And knowing what is going on.
But don’t expect the Right to see
Charlatans and say “Move on!”

The idea is to listen to the words
And find the ones you want to hear
And then parrot back the lies
Smiling broadly from ear to ear.
Every time you repeat untruths
They gain a bit more credibility
And it matters not one whit
That the words don’t mach reality.
So, the Right keeps up the fight
For anger and hatred to win.
And every time the truth arises
The Right will fight it once again.

I just want five hundred grand
Is that too much for me to ask?
It is a lot. Probably too much.
But I am prepared for the task
Of spending that much dough.
I have it completely planned out.
I know where every dollar goes.
It’s all over but the last shout.

Right away, I want a house
And a decent one here on Kauai.
I also want a brand new truck
For my husband to drive and try.
I also have a few trips to plan
Like floating down the Rhine
And then up by train to Denali
That would suit us both just fine.

That ought to do it, I believe;
A secure home all paid for
And decent new cars for us
And a world out there to explore.
That should spend that money
And have a bit of change left over.
Satisfying the homebody I am
And the man I married is a rover.

I am very willing to write a book
And have it sell a million copies.
I have several started and am sure
They would each be a hit in shoppes.
There can be about eight books
Carefully edited by me, for sure
Those alone should make my rep.
That would be my poverty cure.

Look down.
Is your money slipping away
As if it never was?
And can you not figure out
What is the basic cause?
Look down.
Are you hands not quite beige
And are there calluses there?
Then your Trump Republicans
In Congress don’t really care.

Look down.
Are you a pregnant woman
Who has no sacks of gold?
Are you sick and poor now?
Are you broke and old?
Look down.
Do you have a few million
You can donate to the GOP
Then likely you are *******
And have suffered silently.

If you sit and let them do evil
And don’t stand and resist.
They’ll use your sacred words
To prove your rights don’t exist.

Look down.
Do you watch the television
And believe all you see?
Does the Christian right dictate
How your existence should be?
Look down.
Are you sick of war and hate
And can’t see it ever ending?
Just realize it’s Congressional villains
That our country is befriending.

Look down.
Are you living up to the goals
You set for yourself in life?
Or is your government killing us all
And handing you the knife?
Look down.
There is hope if we all act
And pull these criminals down.
It’s our fault they are even there.
They run the circus, don’t be a clown.

If you sit and let them do evil
And don’t stand and resist.
They’ll use your sacred words
To prove your rights don’t exist.