He wasn’t a boy,
He was forty years old
But they called him boy;
A habit born of old
Bigotries and behaviors
Difficult to defend
But that doesn’t mean
They came to an end

The shoeshine boy
Mostly shined the shoes
And if anyone listened, he had
Good advice they could use.
But most read their papers
On the busy city street
And paid no attention
To the wisdom by their feet.

The people read the news
And ******* about things
And gave their confusion
Talkative wings.
One day a guy asked
Why do people do
The horrendously crazy
Things they seem to do?

The shoeshine boy looked up
And gave the man a smile
And said a pithy sentence
After a decent while.
He said it often,
Sometimes audibly,
“Most people die
Of plain stupidity.”

The fellow thought this wise
And shared it with his friends
And that’s how a catchphrase
Or idea ultimately begins.
It’s something that is simple
But makes a lot of sense
For those looking for answers
If they are not too dense.

Sometimes it’s the only answer
That seems to apply at all
When madness is afoot
And morality seems to fall;
When people waste money
On toys instead of their kids.
That is often how they take
A ride down to the skids.

If only they heeded the things
The shoeshine boy said,
They might have grown wiser
Fewer rocks inside their heads.
But instead they sided with
Maddening mediocrity
Never realizing most folks
Die of plain stupidity.

Demons of change taunted me
If I don’t do what I always did;
Fear of being strange haunted me.
What punishment for what I hid?
Maybe things will be a bit better
And settle down a bit after while
But life doesn’t seem to work well
Like when I could wink and smile.

My looks used to get me a ways,
Where mornings could turn into nights
I could have fun and party for days
And everything seemed fun and right.
I started out drinking and using
To overcome all my social fears.
It was just for weekends, partying,
But then it turned into many years.

I bought the drinks and the grass
And suddenly I was a welcome guy.
Later I too publicly fell on my ***
And nobody even asked me why.
But I caught myself holding ****
And *****, and keeping quiet
So nobody would come knocking
To party hearty and to try it.

And then one day, demons came
And heartlessly showed the truth;
They showed me myself by name,
I was no longer a pretty youth.
Only those as bad as I had become
Could stand to spend time with me.
I came to and realized I was numb
That my life had turned into tragedy.

Some will make their home
Wherever they can
Get to with their feet.
Cardboard box houses
And pallets they find
By trash bins on the street.
The boxes work well
Unless it snows or rains
And then when they melt
It’s out to find a home again.

Go on home
Where the love is
Home to family
Go on home
Where you’re welcome
There is no home for me.

Cookie used to be a chef
He lives under that low bridge
He cooks in used coffee cans
That just how his life is.
Makes dinner when he has it
For us who have so little.
You’ll find him most days
Cooking delicious food
Halfway to the middle.

Go on home
Where your bed is
Home to wife and your kids
Go on home
And be grateful
And not living on the skids.

Some people gripe
When the waiter is slow
And some were once waiters
Themselves long ago.
Some people are full
After they have dined
Others only manage to eat
Whatever castoffs they find.

Go on home
Because you have one
Because you have a job.
Go home where no one
Call you a lazy slob.
Go home and thank God
You have a place to sleep.
Go home and be grateful
Go home and God keep.

You say because I am not a Christian
That means I am totally bound for Hell?
Mostly those who claim to be Christian
Behave in such a way you could never tell.

You say because I'm gay I am unnatural,
That I am surely the Devil's tool?
You're upset I am the way God made me?
The way I see it you are the fool.

You say Jews and Muslims are disgusting,
And you look to them to place all your blame.
All three religions are the followers of Abraham,
And much of what they believe is the same.

You say women are possessions like cattle
And are required to walk three steps behind.
If You agree to treat people like chattel
You can't expect others to be blind.

Almost all religions agree on one thing,
Stealing is a basic kind of sin.
But if you use your money to bribe people off
It's not a righteous life you're living in.

You say you want America back
Exactly he way it used to be
Back when women had no rights
And we based our wealth on slavery?

You say you believe all men should
Be free, with inalienable rights?
But some of them should not vote
Or even be allowed out at night?

You say you retain the right to decide
Who gets to do what and where?
Read that to me in the Constitution.
I don’t remember it being there.

Does anything ever mute
The sound of dying men’s screams
Who volunteered to defend
The righteous demands of greedy dreams?
The clouds roll quietly in
And who can tell if it is mist or smoke?
So, this pile of dead humans;
Are they enemies or a sick man’s joke?

Did they know what they were
When they piled into the planes and cars?
Did they have any idea why
They were ordered to march and fly so far?
Were they told they were fighting
For one thing when it was really another?
Were the coerced into uniform
By neighbors, teachers, fathers and mothers?

And when smoke clears each time
Do those that came after them to battle
Find some still lie there dying
So they can listen to the death rattle
Of one more brother or sister
Dying in the mud on their back
From a war that was started
When their nation was never attacked?

Glory and pride are words
That can be used to cover over lies
Like bandages over wounds.
But they don’t mute the mortal cries
Of those who died feeling tricked
About not defending freedom
But for money for the hand-picked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I was just a little kid
I never liked a ****.
When I grew up it didn’t change
When I went to work.
I didn’t much like pranks and such
And  most practical jokes,
Whoopie cushions, pulled out chairs
And winking, leering blokes.

It was much more annoying to me
When the liars got to win.
It made me want to call them names
And kick them in the shin.
How anyone ever thought well of them
Made no sense to me.
They should have been taken to task
And called the enemy.

Schoolyard antics
Made me frantic
When they harassed the weak
The underweight, those in glasses
Those whose noses were tweaked.
Why didn’t their parents teach
These creeps to be more kind?
Or keep them home full time,
I’m sure nobody would mind.

Now I hate to watch the news
And see how many got elected.
If the average voter doesn’t know
At least they should have suspected
When billions of dollars disappear
And nobody is ever put in prison.
That means there are jerks out there
And that doesn’t take a lot of wisdom.

I sometimes wish Kafka was right
And the evil woke up differently.
Maybe they could be one foot tall
And not quite reach my knee.
Then we could see the crooks arrive
And lock them out of our conventions.
We’d just have to lglance to know
That they have dishonest intentions.

Schoolyard antics
Made me frantic
When they harassed the weak
The underweight, those in glasses
Those whose noses were tweaked.
Why didn’t their parents teach
These creeps to be more kind?
Or keep them home full time,
I’m sure nobody would mind.

Jackals  and *******
Clowns and criminals;
Lies and libelous lambastes
With integrity minimal.
Grande Guignol politics
From pusillanimous politicians
Poisoning the populace
With only selfish ambitions.

Sleight of hand shysters
And self-appointed diplomats
Throw out all their morals
And set out the welcome mat
For those the most likely
To pay the highest bribe
And have no care if they sell
The land from under the tribe.

So what if water is poisoned?
As long as they make money.
After all, the rich aren’t harmed.
Now isn’t that incredibly funny?
Who cares about the future?
What matters is right now
And the profit they can make.
It is what the law will allow.

And those that wrote those laws
So cleverly and quietly confused
The very people stupid enough
To so gullibly to be thus used.
But jackals and *******
Really aren’t animals at all.
Nor are they household pets
Who come when they are called.

It was a scam, a sham
The flimmiest of flams
There was more pork there
Than a Christmas ham.
It’s nothing but a racket
Stuff it all into a big packet
And put into a time capture
Leave it until the rapture
Where it can’t hurt anybody
Then, fix yourself a hot toddy
And laugh about how shoddy
Future folks will think we are.

They won’t be wrong by far.
They’ll marvel at how many
Candidates worth a penny,
Or less, showed up to run
Like the whole thing was fun
And better than a TV show.
How could they tumble for
Not that good of a governor
Didn’t know what lips are for
Or what to say on the floor
Yet some wanted her to run?

What fun the press had with
Filling up the internet bandwidth
With screeching permutations
Of tired old KKK reiterations
Of the wonderful Aryan nation
The South advocated before
We had us a big-*** ugly war.
It’s like they didn’t know they lost
And were prepared to pay the cost
To do it all over again, not just men
But women too, who shouldn’t do
Because they were not part of
The government to be started up.

It was rather Alice In Wonderland,
The fuzzy details of their whole plan.
Certain things were carved in stone.
Some should go back to an age of stone
And forever leave the real people alone.
Because they’d shout out now and then
That this world was meant for white men
To run and control and own. Nothing tribal.
They said it was written in their Bible
Which was obvious they never really read
Or they would know what it really said
About helping the poor, the halt and lame.

They went on doing harm in the name
Of the King of Passion and Rescue
Saying that was the wrong thing to do.
They insisted they could do what pleases
And it should have nothing to do with Jesus.
It’s all about who is rich and who is not
And who doesn’t need what they have got:
All the good land and the mineral rights.
The rest can just stay up nights working
Two jobs, maybe three, they didn’t care.
Those pundits had to start somewhere.
Let those dishwashers and caddies
Go get their own filthy rich daddies
To leave them accounts full of millions
So they could hire undocumented millions
To build their dynasties of marble and gold.
Really, folks. This story never gets old.

Wutsa matter wit you?
Whirr you frumm?
You from summ furren country?
Cain’t you tawk better den at?
Murruhkunz doan tawk Inglush lie cat.
We talk good Inglush. We tawk da bess Inglush.
Ain’t nobody tawk better den us.
Irregardless of whut kine uh furriner you are
You could not tawk so ignernt.
It’s a insult tah good Murrukuhns tawkin lie cat.
You should be imburrst to tawk ataway in public.
Should be ashaymt uh yerself.

Yenno, peepo c’n perject thur ignernce
’N thur lack intelluhgunce so easy.
They jess open up thur mouths
’N let the dumbness fall out
’N thur it is, fer alll to see.
Yude thank they’d realize what dumshits they are
’N not let thur mouths write checks
Thur butts cain’t cover.
But, no. They’s flappin’ thur yaps an babblin’
‘Bout nothin’ at all, ’n actin’ the pure fool
Lack thur mamas din teach them nuthin.
Well, nuthin’ good, at lease.
Me, muhseff, I thank sumbuddy
Shoulda kicked thur butts
From here ta Sundee.

But, thass jess me.
I know thurs a buncha bleedin’ heart libralls out thur
That wanna let peepo get by with crap jess ‘cause
Sumbuddy is a Niger er ‘cause they’s Messcun
Er sum kinda ******* heathen er ‘sump’n,
But I thank thass jess wrong.
Peepo gotta talk good jess to respeck the flag
’N God n’ country. Or go home.
Yeah, go on back to whatever Godless place
You ’n your race ’n yer ideas is okay.
We rilly doan need ‘em here.
We’s good, God fearing’ peepo and hard working too.
So, if that ain’t you, *** on yer camel ’n ride
Back tah whurever you cumm frumm
Till you c’n tawk good Iinglush lack decent fokes.

You can sing it to the tune
Of I Shot The Devil,
But I totally did it
Strictly on the level.
No, I didn’t know it when,
For another night of ***,
He asked me to his den
Under the spell of some hex.

It was like he was to me
The hottest guy ever seen.
He was built like a star
His hair had a fine sheen.
Body and face were fine;
Toned and masculine.
I’d never seen him before
Though I had often been.

He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.

We met in a bath house
On Melrose, West L.A.
And somehow that night
Things seemed to go my way.
He gave me the eye
And I returned it in full.
I am fairly certain that
We both felt the pull.

It was all about debauchery
And he was calling the shots
Making me see I got stupid
Whenever I got that hot.
I let my **** do the thinking
And he seemed glad to show
That I would flirt with danger
And then, not even know.

He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.

So, I went back for seconds
At Hedda Hopper’s apartment
Across from Mae West’s place
Fueled with no armament
To protect me from what
Would turn out to be, for me
The scariest ****** encounter
In my busy, young history.

We were doing the deed again
But this time things had changed.
His appearance began to alter
Into something scary and strange.
His canine teeth grew longer
And his body turned fiery red.
I quickly dressed and left that place
And stumbled back home to my bed.

He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.

You, yew and ewe.
New, knew and gnu.
Two, too and to.
Do, dew and doo.
Your, you’re, ewer and yore.
Sower, sewer and even sore.

Pin, pen
Win, wen.
Tin, ten.
Bin, been.

For, four, and fore.
Poor, pour and pore.
Bear, bare and bayer.
There, their and they’re.
Sure, sewer, shore and shower.
Censor, censure, sensor, censer.

Din, den.
Kin, ken.
Win, wen.
Yin, yen.

Shoulda, coulda and woulda,
Wanna, hafta and hadda.
Pitchers painted of pitchers
Ree-lutters instead of realtors.
Pertecting you with protection.
Prescribing you a perscription.
A different kind of differnse,
For instance, gimme a frinstance.

Pin, pen
Win, wen.
Tin, ten.
Bin, been.
Din, den.
Kin, ken.
Win, wen.
Yin, yen.

I worry for a creature
One that calls itself wise
That needs to believe
Some ancient pack of lies
About timeless people,
Gods that can never die,
Though they are preposterous,
They fail to ask why.

I worry for a people who
In an age that conquers disease
Where we can educate ourselves
To do almost whatever we please;
Can turn night into the day
And speak across the many miles
Still chant their superstitious tales
About magic arts all the while.

It seems they are trained monkeys
Who push buttons for rewards
When spiritual independence
Could be their permanent award.
They thank the wrong saviors
For pulling us out of the slime
That has punished our people
Back since ancient times.

It was not ritual witchery
That gave our people freedom.
Instead it was seeing clearly,
Analysis, research and wisdom.
No blathering high priestess
With winged dragons to fight
Brought us medical cures, or
Radio and electric light.

The Dummocraps and RepubLIE-CONs
Are engaged in a devastating war.
The RepubLIE-CONs hate everyone
The Dummocraps hate decisions more.
While the RepubLIE-CONs are engaged
In selling away the public’s rights,
The Dummocraps fight among themselves
And bring confusion to the fight.

So, the RepubLIE-CONs don’t need
To bother tearing Dummocraps down,
They just stand back and watch while
Dummocraps knock each other around.
Any effort the Dummocraps try to make
Ends on a pathetically useless note
Because over half the Dummocraps
Don’t even bother to go and vote.

The RepubLIE-CONs, on the other hand
Have an insane, but vocal minority
That are paid very well to do as told
By an even smaller, rich minority.
So, a country that is mentally lazy
And generally stupid in the bargain,
Lets itself get tangled up in lies
Propaganda and obfuscating jargon.

It’s all really that easy, it seems
When you look at what is true.
The voters in this country feel
That voting is too hard a thing to do.
So, they sit on their ***** and then
Complain at every law they pass
That robs them of their place in life
And destroys all but the upper class.

I once dated a ******
And I loaned him money.
I laughed out loud in church.
Well! I found it all so funny.
I bought a used Chevy van
Without the proper paperwork.
I tried to get my money back
And the guy called ME a ****.

A friend told me I could buy ****
From a guy on the edge of Watts.
Eleven o’clock at night on his porch
Me, a stranger, waiting. Stupid ****.
Once I knew another guy, not well.
He wanted some dope from me.
I agreed to sell it, then realized
The fellow worked for the FCC.

I let a gal move in with me
A hippie from Haight Ashbury.
She drank my *****, ate my food
Then stole all she could carry.
It was just the kind of thing,
The sixties games we played.
Free love, open heart and then
After all that, I didn’t get laid.

A guy was selling hot TVs
From my place of employ.
A fool and money, you know
Is all about a gullible boy.
And, since the crook was a gal
I fell for it, because naturally,
A nice lady would never, ever
Try to swindle the sweet young me.

A guy was plunking his guitar
With a sign that said he was blind.
I gave him my last buck and
Figured I was just being kind.
At five o’clock, he got up to go
And I thanked my lucky star
That I was not blind like he was
Then I saw him drive away in his car.

Doing stupid things does not mean
That a person it a certifiable idiot.
It can mean that we trust too much
Or that we’re greedy and don’t admit it.
We see a chance to get a profit
Or even to do something nice
Then get stupid, do what we know
Is contrary to all good advice.

(I seldom publish anyone else's poetry, but this one is so exceptional on so many levels, I had to reproduce it here. Hillary Clinton reposted it, so why not me?)

“Education then, beyond all other devices of human origin,
Is a great equalizer of the conditions of men.” – Horace Mann, 1848.
At the time of his remarks I couldn’t read — couldn’t write.
Any attempt to do so, punishable by death.
For generations we have known of knowledge’s infinite power.
Yet somehow, we’ve never questioned the keeper of the keys —
The guardians of information.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen more dividing and conquering
In this order of operations — a heinous miscalculation of reality.
For some, the only difference between a classroom and a plantation is time.
How many times must we be made to feel like quotas —
Like tokens in coined phrases? —
“Diversity. Inclusion”
There are days I feel like one, like only —
A lonely blossom in a briar patch of broken promises.
But I’ve always been a thorn in the side of injustice.

Disruptive. Talkative. A distraction.
With a passion that transcends the confines of my consciousness —
Beyond your curriculum, beyond your standards.
I stand here, a manifestation of love and pain,
With veins pumping revolution.
I am the strange fruit that grew too ripe for the poplar tree.
I am a DREAM Act, Dream Deferred incarnate.
I am a movement – an amalgam of memories America would care to forget
My past, alone won’t allow me to sit still.
So my body, like the mind
Cannot be contained.

As educators, rather than raising your voices
Over the rustling of our chains,
Take them off. Un-cuff us.
Unencumbered by the lumbering weight
Of poverty and privilege,
Policy and ignorance.

I was in the 7th grade, when Ms. Parker told me,
“Donovan, we can put your excess energy to good use!”
And she introduced me to the sound of my own voice.
She gave me a stage. A platform.
She told me that our stories are ladders
That make it easier for us to touch the stars.
So climb and grab them.
Keep climbing. Grab them.
Spill your emotions in the big dipper and pour out your soul.
Light up the world with your luminous allure.

To educate requires Galileo-like patience.
Today, when I look my students in the eyes, all I see are constellations.
If you take the time to connect the dots,
You can plot the true shape of their genius —
Shining in their darkest hour.

I look each of my students in the eyes,
And see the same light that aligned Orion’s Belt
And the pyramids of Giza.
I see the same twinkle
That guided Harriet to freedom.
I see them. Beneath their masks and mischief,
Exists an authentic frustration;
An enslavement to your standardized assessments.

At the core, none of us were meant to be common.
We were born to be comets,
Darting across space and time —
Leaving our mark as we crash into everything.
A crater is a reminder that something amazing happened here —
An indelible impact that shook up the world.
Are we not astronomers — looking for the next shooting star?
I teach in hopes of turning content, into rocket ships —
Tribulations into telescopes,
So a child can see their potential from right where they stand.
An injustice is telling them they are stars
Without acknowledging night that surrounds them.
Injustice is telling them education is the key
While you continue to change the locks.

Education is no equalizer —
Rather, it is the sleep that precedes the American Dream.
So wake up — wake up! Lift your voices
Until you’ve patched every hole in a child’s broken sky.
Wake up every child so they know of their celestial potential.
I’ve been a Black hole in the classroom for far too long;
Absorbing everything, without allowing my light escape.
But those days are done. I belong among the stars.
And so do you. And so do they.
Together, we can inspire galaxies of greatness
For generations to come.
No, sky is not the limit. It is only the beginning.
Lift off.

Donovan Livingston
Harvard Commencement 2016

If you asked if I would skinny dip
You would have hit it on the nose.
But that was back when I was still
Rather attractive without clothes.
Now I don’t go around naked
As long as it is in my power.
I’ve gotten so fat and wrinkly
I wear ****** even in the shower.

I’m not kidding around a bit
When I talk about this aging stuff.
I not only don’t look so ****
When I walk around in the buff,
There are certain types of clothes
I do much better to avoid wearing;
Me in sweat pants or leggings
Is not a sight I enjoy sharing.

I’ve begun to look a bit like
Laundry that is not quite dry.
I’m not much surprised by this
Because I understand why.
I have been around a long time
And have enjoyed my ice cream
But it makes one into a pudding
And makes other people scream.

It’s just not a good idea these days
To show of what time has done.
There are such things as hotties
But I know for sure I am not one.
You know those Botox babies
You see on the Hallmark Channel?
Notice how they don’t look like
Their faces are made of flannel?

Well, I’m not into all that stuff,
That reconstructive surgery.
I don’t expect to look today
Like an escapee from a nursery.
I just make wardrobe choices well
Bearing my current self in mind.
I look upon some of it as wise
And some of it as me being kind.

Neener, neener, neener
Your daddy is a wiener
A peener, a geener
A ***** magaziner.

Nanny, nanny boo boo
Stick your head in doo doo
Your granny has got put in jail
For practicing at voodoo.

Olly Olly Oxen Fee
I see you, you can’t see me.
I am smart, you are not.
Just how stupid can you be?

Waka, waka, waka
You look like an alpaca
Your mama should have taken you
And stuffed you in a locker.

Zimmy, zimmy, zim
Your luck is getting slim.
Bad Luck Billy says you’re
You’re almost bad as him.

Hardy hardy har
You think you are a star
But an extra in a walk-on role
Is what you really are.

Clunkety clunk clunk
Your dreamboat has sunk
You think you smell like roses
But it’s more like a skunk.

Sniggley, sniggley snurt
The truth is bound to hurt
You invested in yourself
And then you lost your shirt.

It rained all day that Tuesday
When Link McCoo hit town.
He checked into a rooming house
And began to look around.
He found the most run-down dive
And pulled himself a chair.
He took one look around to see
Who else was drinking there.

Nobody much noticed him
Except for Esther Masterson,
And she walked right over to him.
She knew she’d found herself a good one.
She asked him to buy her a drink
And he shook his head slowly no.
He said he wasn’t in the renting mood
So she might just as well go.

Esther like the way he looked
That he wasn’t to be a pushover.
She moved her chair next to him
And slyly told him, “Move over.”
She said, “I’m not a working girl
I own this stink-hole of a place.
So, being seen with the likes of me
Is not some kind of a disgrace.

That started them as something hot
Flame hot enough to set fire.
Nobody looking at the two of them
Could miss the heat of that desire.
Then, about a month later on,
Johnny Wacklin came back to stay
He and Esther were once a thing
And he was here to have his way.

But Esther had moved on by then
And told Johnny right up front.
Johnny paid no attention, said
“It don’t matter what you want.”
He grabbed her hand and dragged
Nearly taking her off her feet.
Link came in right about then
Knocked Johnny into his seat.

Link tucked Esther behind himself
And he warned Johnny not to try
Or he would be leaving there
With no time to say goodbye.
Johnny was always long on mean
But pretty much short on bright.
He figured he could whip Link
In a short but brutal fight.

So, they squared off and circled
And scowled for a few feet.
Link punched Johnny in the throat
And knocked him back into his seat.
Choking Johnny still attacked
So link kicked him in the knee.
He said “I don’t play slap and cry.
I don’t fool with those who attack me.”

Link and Esther have stayed there
As two knitted into just the one.
The bar has cleaned up clientele
And is a place for having fun.
Johnny Wacklin went away and
Spent some time in a clinic.
I can say he deserved what he got
Without being branded a cynic.

I am now so old
I only remember things,
Whenever possible,
That please me
From days “back then”,
When my **** was where
It was supposed to be
Now it walks along behind me
Like a lady in waiting.

My **** is like bunting
And my hair is hunting
For new territory
Up my back and shoulders;
It happens when men get older.
The hair on top thins
The stuff below begins
To reupholster my anatomy.
It’s so irritating to me
This whole aging thing,
This “being a senior” stuff.

It’s really rough on someone like me
An eternal teen, new to the scene.
But now I have become
That eccentric old fellow
In plaid pants that looked dumb
In the seventies and before
And forever after.
But I can’t join the laughter.

Because it’s me, you see.
All I need now is to pull them up,
My pants, my belt
Right under my man *****
And I’ll be the guys on YouTube
In the video gag reels.
That’s how it feels.
But, it’s not funny to me.
It is, however, reality.
I will just have to make the best
Of the good and bad, the rest

Disgusted now that America is busted
For voting in sewer rats and gone to bat
For making this into an autocracy,
Working to gut democracy and replace it,
Deface and deforest all of the best
Then sell off the rest of the planet
From the water to the granite
Leaving only inedible gold
Shoved into the the wallets
Of the national pickpockets
And liars while they set fires
And burn down the country
With their hatred and bigotry
Unchecked by the lazy populace
Too stupid to know what danger is
While it is marching into their homes
Making every state a danger zone.

The traitors who own the industries
Hold a gun to journalist monopolies
So that artificial realities are sold
As socialized necessities
To people who prefer tabloids
To history books and crave bromides
For this time it is the Christians
That fiddle while Rome turns to ruins
And ashes surrounded by those who fought
While a complacent half of America did not.

I am sickened at the laziness,
The political father of craziness
Has let this horror happen to this,
The country of which I was always proud,
And sick of how loud the rats are
That they have taken destruction so far
That we may never recover again
And start to elect countrymen
Instead of men to own the country
Without a scintilla of modesty
And treat fine people shoddily
Merely because they can.
Who needs that kind of man?

I’m going to solve my problems
By fixing you!
That sounds like the perfect thing
For me to do.
Life would be fine for me if you
Did not insist
On carrying on all the time and
Getting me ******.

You keep on ignoring me when I
Tell you what to do.
Everything would go just right.
It’s up to you.
Do what things like I tell you to
It’s best for you.
You never manage things as
Well as I do.

I’m amazingly organized and
You are not.
You haven’t the gift for it like
I have got.
You’d just mess things all up
For me to fix.
I’m not stupid, you know, I’m
Onto your tricks.

You get the wrong thing because
You did not hear
What I was saying went in and
Out of your ear.
Things always need to be done
A certain way.
And they would be if you would just
Recall all I say.

I swear I don’t know what you’d do
Without me.
You’d turn into some kind of major
Chaos factory.
We’re much better off if you just
Do as you’re told.
This petty bullheadedness is
Getting rather old.

Because all that is wrong with me
Is the stuff you do.
I would be a success story if it
Wasn’t for you.
You manage to ***** things up by
Not following rules.
Nothing would ever get built without
The proper tools.

But things will get better soon,
I promise you that,
Because a hot new slugger has come
Up to bat.
I’m taking over everything so
You just lean back.
In no time at all I’ll have your life
Right back on track.

ATYPICAL GAY GUY

I am an atypical gay guy
I don’t match any mold.
I am not young any more
But not in any way old.
Too fem to be a he-man
Too butch to be a queen.
I am neither fish nor fowl
Always Mr. In-Between.

I do love my show tunes
And of course Miss Babs
And I do put a bit of product
In my hair, just a few dabs.
I don’t haunt the health clubs
Flexing on the big machines
Trying to bring to vapors
Our local workout queens.

I do like to cook a little bit
But, my house is usually a mess.
I don’t like angora sweaters
And would never wear a dress.
You couldn’t really peg me
By the way I usually walk.
I don’t lisp or squeal, so
It’s a manly way I talk.

I do cruise quite normally
When hot guys walk by me.
But, I try my best to do so
Undetected, and slyly.
My taste in men does not
Run to muscled guys.
When I see someone pass
I first look at his eyes.

It’s hard to get me into bed,
I am really rather choosy.
I don’t do promiscuity,
Not a backdoor loosey-goosey.
So don’t go giving birthday gifts
Of dildoes and leather goods.
You won’t find me in costumes
Like rubber and leather hoods.


I am an atypical gay guy
I don’t match any mold.
I am not young any more
But not in any way old.
Too fem to be a he-man
Too butch to be a queen.
I am neither fish nor fowl
Always Mr. In-Between.

Brent Kincaid
1/27/2015

Conservative these days now means
The richest are the few who glean
The wealth that exists in our land.
The rest of it is sleight of hand.
After decades of this foolishness
We have grown weary of your mess.
We don’t think we can ever win
This country back to from you again.

You seem to hate those who are non-rich
And include them in every austerity pitch.
You refuse to help them feed their brood
Then pay the farmers not to grow food.
You cover yourself with glowing self-praise;
People starve, you grant yourself a raise.
You stand before the rich and genuflect
And subject your constituents to neglect.

You want every child to be born
Then vote to have their allotment shorn.
You seem to want them not to thrive;
You only protect them until they are alive.
You send the soldiers to march and die
And deny them benefits. Tell us why.
Is it because you have your wealth
And no longer care about their health?

The most hateful game you always play
Is making the voters look another way.
While you make laws that take their rights
You engage them in unimportant fights
About who is sleeping with whom today
And who is straight and who else is gay.
Or you worry the people about war
While you funnel subsidies by the score.

You pay your friends and give them jobs
Then call your opponents egregious slobs.
You engage in double-talk about the facts
And claim calumnies are helpful acts.
You accept your fortunes from commerce
And agree to treat the populace worse.
No matter how often you rearrange things
You edits end up being very strange things.

We need to hear our own clarion call
And push this kind of politics to the wall.
We must do more than hope for liberty
And once again fight for the land of the free.
We can’t just sit around at home and mope.
As it is, today, we can only sadly hope
That some liberty you will choose to take
Will cause the regular people to awake.

Backstabbing, double-talking
Collection of crooks and creeps.
Oily tinhorn picks the pockets of
The common man while he sleeps.
Corkscrewing rhetoric
The worst you have ever heard
Spoken so that in the end there is
No meaning to the words.

Sidewinding viper’s nest;
No warning rattles on their tails
Criminals being paid too much
That really should be in a jail.
Four-flushing deck-stackers
Two friends and a stranger.
Dressed in thousand dollar suits
All unrecognizable danger.

Mean-spirited jerkwads
Blather daily on my teevee.
Cutpurses and footpads.
Mostly all the same to me.
Dressed up nice and talking
Smooth like a baby’s ***.
Don’t expect me to vote for you.
No thank you, I will pass.

Gutter crawling, bile spewing
Butter won’t melt in your mouth.
Carpetbagging, underhanded
Favorite sons of the Old South
And some forked tongued Yankees
Siding up with traitors and smiling.
Glad-handing, baby kissing liars
Notoriously, falsely beguiling.

In case you find me too subtle
With my message to you and your crew.
There isn’t a whole lot to recommend
Anyone with wisdom to like you.
The only positive use for you
That one can readily foresee
Is to serve as a shining example of
What a politician should never be.


Brent Kincaid
4/21/2015

Ronnie couldn’t talk
And be rhymless at all.
He could barely walk,
I'm pretty sure he'd fall,
Unless he was rhyming.
He said to me, “You see
The thing is with me
It all has to do with timing.

The cadence when I walk
Become words I hear,
The beat when someone talks
Makes a poem in my ear,
Then the rhyming begins
And seems to make good sense.
The words like magic appear
Poetic possibilities immense.”

All of the time I knew him
It seemed to be the truth
He rhymed almost constantly
From his very verbal youth.
He was like a Hallmark card
Sometimes saying pithy things
That fit the moment exactly
And had that ***** ring.

But other times his utterances
Were acerbic and very witty.
When it came to sarcastic tilt
He was the Mayor of Snark City.
Or he could rhyme endearingly
And paint pictures with his words
Saying some of the nicest things
That were ever put into words.

Yes, he was Rhyming Ronnie,
A poem for any current thought.
You couldn’t stump him even once.
At least not that I ever caught.
Ryan was amazing for sure
And some found it rather vexing.
But oh boy in the internet age
It came in handy when texting!

I can’t believe many want us
To starve, to sicken and die.
I can’t believe they hate dark skin
And I bet even they don’t know why.
I can’t believe they think it is fine
To tease friends who are different
And that they hate women and claim
What clearly is discrimination isn’t.

I refuse to believe your insistence
That you are a member of a church
That is fine with blocking our laws
And leaving the land in the lurch.
I don’t accept the standard cant
That all our young must go to war,
Then watch people act as if veteran’s aid
Is not part of what government is for.

It hurts to hear that you hate welfare
But gleefully grant it to the very rich
And buy aircraft and warfare equipment
As our highways fall into a ditch.
It is far beyond shameful to see
The number of our American cynics
Who would vote for a liar,  and a thief
A draft dodger, a cheat and a bigot.

What has happened that we got stupid
Enough to not be able recognize
A narcissist that is in it for himself
Who is neither a statesman or wise?
How sad it has become for this land
The example of truth and wisdom
Has pitched its camp with an uncaring fool
And those who agree with him.

I’m not going to make money by
Creating some clever gadget.
That costs too much for advertising
To fit in my future budget.
I’m not going to write a book yet
Because they are hard to sell.
I decided against self-help seminars.
Sitting through those is hell.

I’m not going to learn hairdressing
So I can be a pricey hair ******.
I’m not going to write recipes to show
A hundred ways to use a blender.
I ruled out auditioning for **** flicks
I’m far to shy for all that.
I won’t be trying to make viral videos
Of adorable fuzzy little cats.

You won’t be hearing any hit songs
Written by me, myself and I.
I can’t carry a tune and can’t rhyme
So, right away I won’t even try.
I can’t paint and I can’t draw at all
So, I won’t be a world-class artist.
I won’t become a rocket scientist
In math I was never the smartest.

I'm not going to start some con game
And leave them all in the lurch.
Well, in a manner of speaking I am,
Because I'm starting a church.
I’ll spend tons of money on my home
And make a big flashy cathedral
Then spend lots of time bragging
How it’s all so very spiritual.

People will send me lots of cash thinking.
That will get them into heaven.
I’ll make more money selling God to them
Than owning a thousand 7-11s.
I’ll only need to convince my followers that
I have the get-out-of-hell-free card;
That I am the path to understanding God
And that just can’t be that hard.

I am the rejected child
The neglected son or daughter
That did not live up
To the standard that we ought to
Because we are not
A carbon copy of our parents,
And what we are in life
Is so very honestly apparent
That they can no longer lie
To their friends and neighbors.
We are symbols of rebuke
Of all of their dishonest labors
To make living our lives
All about how they want to look
And how upset they are
That we didn't play by the book.

Some of it is because
The religion they never really studied
Got all tangled up with ego
And the truth became too muddied
For them to pick apart the facts
From fears created for financial gain
Based on ancient stories
That disregard the hurt of others, the pain.
But, their child is one of them
Those others they choose to proudly hate.
But, if they examine themselves
They can change, it is never too late.
If they ask themselves “If God made us
Didn't he make me as well as you?
Surely this moral infanticide
Is not what he wanted you to do.”

You dissolute deputation
Of disparate dipsomaniacs
Disparately determined
To drive me, distance me
Definitely, diametrically
Dizzily daft, daily.
Ditzy, I determined to
Deftly divide them;
I defy them, deny them,
Don't deify them
But deride them
Stand beside them
And guide them
To wander away
Until some other day
Some other fool
Who, as a rule
Digs abuse and misuse.

It's not a truce
But an absolute demand
For their total surrender
So they remember
From December to December
I am not a lifetime member
Of the “Beat Me” club.
Aye, there's the rub
You thought I liked it
So you could spike it
Like a basketball.
But, my soul is not at all
Into anything you could call
Masochism or submission.
So, if your mission is
To collect acolytes and slaves
You'd just better save that
For someone sicker than I
And bid me a fond goodbye.

See the Nigra boy statue
On a White front lawn
It is all that is left now
The Old South is gone.
It’s beloved in those towns
With proper church steeples
From the good old days
When people owned people.

It is a symbol of when
Blacks stayed in at night
And all public offices
Were held by the Whites.
When all human rights
Applied to only Caucasians,
And not to Blacks, Hispanics,
American Indians or Asians.

Those were the days when
It was easy to quickly see
Which were the good people
And which ones were guilty.
In those much better times
We didn’t stoop to harrangue them.
If they shot off their mouths
We would  simply hang them.

Two hundred years of tradition
Was rudely taken away
No matter how we fought it
No matter what we had to say.
Those were the best times
And we liked it that way.
And our friendly Congressmen
Should make that way today.

The little Lawn Jockey remains
Almost by himself to carry on
Now that the massas and mistresses
In the Sainted South are gone.
He signifies a better time
Like Stephen Foster songs:
We never found owning darkies
So very evil or all that wrong.

Wink, wink,
Let’s not say what we think.
Hokey smoke.
Let’s pretend it’s a joke.
Act like you’re in on it with me
And I will reward you secretly.

Let’s laugh about women
When they can’t hear us
Make stupid broad jokes
Come on and join the chorus.

Let’s be a couple of the
Very classiest of wags
By making many jokes
About lezbos and ****.

Wink, wink,
Let’s not say what we think.
Hokey smoke.
Let’s pretend it’s a joke.
Act like you’re in on it with me
And I will reward you secretly.

We can think of ugly names
To call our Asian colleagues
And not let anybody hear
About our verbal intrigues.

We can meet someplace
And not let the liberals know
And rip up their politics
For a couple of hours or so.

Wink, wink,
Let’s not say what we think.
Hokey smoke.
Let’s pretend it’s a joke.
Act like you’re in on it with me
And I will reward you secretly.

There’s always religion, of course
Since there is so much to say
So there’s plenty of fuel for us
On how bad Catholics are today.

And then there’s always on hand
Those strange believers in Islam.
Hell, they even chose a name that
Appropriately ends in the word slam.

Wink, wink,
Let’s not say what we think.
Hokey smoke.
Let’s pretend it’s a joke.
Act like you’re in on it with me
And I will reward you secretly.

Gooder and Badder
Bedder and fadder
What are Americans saying?
Boddle of wadder
Mudder and fodder
What is this game we are playing?

Funner and betterer,
Pitcher and ledder
They expect folks to unnerstan
Gimmes and wannabes
Mundees though Sundees
A hunnert and ten grand.

Gooder and Badder
Bedder and fadder
What are Americans saying?

Reedikullis and eeleegull
Furrin kinds of peepul
Should learn American English
Even when it’s ignernt,
And sounds  a bit differnt,
A definite ***** to distinguish.

Boddle of wadder
Mudder and fodder
What is this game we are playing?

Inneresting innerlopers
Drunky ***** goat ropers
That’s what they think strangers are.
Our dippy high schoo dropouts
Don’t care what education’s about
And only care about today’s sports stars.

Gooder and Badder
Bedder and fadder
What are Americans saying?
Boddle of wadder
Mudder and fodder
What is this game we are playing?

I have a wish
Though it seems unlikely
Hey Liley, Liley, Lo.
Arresting the GOP
Going on nightly,
Hey Liley, Liley, Lo.
It’s a lovely dream
It can’t start to early
Pick them up
By their short and culies.

I don’t know,
But I’ve been told
Republican pockets
Are stuffed with gold!
Sound off!
One two.
Sound off!
Three, four!
Kick their butts out,
One, two,
THREE, FOUR!

Hey Liley, Liley, Liley
They are most likely ******.
Living the life of Riley
Don’t go to dollar stores.
Most likely smiling slyly
They want to win again.
Hey Liley, Lilely, Liley
Finish off the working man.

I don’t know,
If you have heard.
The GOP are
Great big turds.
Sound off!
One two.
Sound off!
Three, four!
Send them back home!
One, two,
THREE, FOUR!

It all started with a big mistake;
I’m here to tell it was all a big fake.
Fred hit Kelly in his great big mouth;
He said he caught Kelly at his girl’s house.
Rosie was jealous of Fred’s main squeeze;
Said she always does what she pleases.
So, she cooked up the story about her.
And Kelly never knew a thing either.
But that didn’t stop the fur from flying.
I tell you the truth, if I’m lying I’m dying.
The mood changed in the old hangout.
Everyone stuck around, nobody cut out.

Everyone was gathered for birthday cheer.
You know, some pool and some beer.
Nobody knew about Rosie’s big lie
Or what kind of crap would soon fly.
They just laughed and cracked jokes;
Enjoyed some legal and illegal smokes.
And when the mood was sufficiently jolly
Rosie quietly took Kelly out into the ally.
Said she saw Kelly go into the house
Fred started fuming, calling Kelly a louse.
He went back in and he smacked old Kelly
And followed it up with a shot to the belly.

While Kelly was reacting, Fred purely raged.
He wasn’t quite done, was not even assuaged.
But Kelly’s girl Lydia heard what Fred said
And smacked Rosie up side of her head.
She started screaming that Rosie was a liar,
And then there were two more irons in the fire.
It was two women and two men slugging.
The Fist City Express started chugging.
Mirrors were broken by costly pool sticks
The bartender finally got tired of the tricks
And got out his baseball bat and stepped in.
Rosie ******* up and hit him on the chin.

By now, a customer called nine one one,
And the end of the brouhaha had begun.
All four of the combatants were busted.
And the cops finally decided they trusted
The regular customers who all insisted
That the bartender not be arrested.
It might be good to say it was a big shame
But fights in bars are the name of the game.
Especially when women fight, it’s a show
And bystanders in bars always let them go
And then cheer and some even take bets.
This is how selling alcohol to fools often gets.

Today is Everything Day.
It’s Valentine’s Day and then
Here it is, our anniversary
Happening all over again.
And it’s So Very Happy
I Got To Meet You Day
When life really started for us.
So join right in and sing along
And sing loudly at the chorus.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY DAY!
SO MUCH LOVE TO SHARE
ON HAPPY EVERYTHING DAY!

It was so smart of us then
To pick this one special day
So everyone in the world
Had a chance to pipe up and say
Happy everything to us both.
Like they knew us all along.
Gifts and decorations in stores
And poems and even songs.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY DAY!
SO MUCH LOVE TO SHARE
ON HAPPY EVERYTHING DAY!

It’s our annual day to celebrate
But it’s far from all over yet.
We have many more years to come,
And who could ever forget
That this day is a wonderful one
That may be our favorite date,
Because everybody, worldwide
Joins in to help us to celebrate.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY DAY!
SO MUCH LOVE TO SHARE
ON HAPPY EVERYTHING DAY!

A leader, strong of heart
Proud of soul and mind
Sure of purpose and hope
Nor is the Leader blind.
In horrifying circumstance
When nobility seems gone
The leader stands up proud
And the truth marches on.

When larceny and intolerance
Become the uniform of the day
The leader speaks of opportunity
To do things a better way.
The Leader risks scorn of people who
Care more of what is gained today
Than taking care of our future
And not as much of today’s pay.

The Leader does not scoff at us
If we want to make a living wage.
The Leader only objects to us
If we couple wealth with rage.
If we hate people who are not rich
And wish to take human rights away
The Leader objects and points to the law
And has many good things to say.

The Leader may not be the one who
Was elected to protect the common citizen.
But the Leader seeks to teach us all
To save all of our futures for our children
The Leader means to save our world for
The opportunity to be a healthy human.
The Leader so far has mostly been a man
But The Leader can just as likely be a woman.

Brent Kincaid
5/18/2019

Religion can be somewhat stygian
Often is as a matter of fact.
It isn’t all fluffy clouds and saints.
Like in their published tracts.
Not all of the promises made
Will ever come true for you.
The miracles they talk about
Are they facts? Very danged few.

Wail and sing hosanas
Hail to the golden calf.
How to tell who’s bananas?
Separate wheat from chaff?
Give lots of money to churches
Buy many more holy chalices.
We are such a poor country
With far two few golden palaces.

Remember all Christians are holy
No matter the evil they may do.
They just confess it on Sunday
And then they are better than you.
And even though Muslims all came
From the same book up to a point,
They are all heathens and hell bound
No righteous forehead to anoint.

Wail and sing hosanas
Hail to the golden calf.
How to tell who’s bananas?
Separate wheat from chaff?
Give lots of money to churches
Buy many more holy chalices.
We are such a poor country
With far two few golden palaces.

Nobody gets to go to heaven
Unless they are from the right church.
Anyone not in that category will,
The day of atonement, be left in the lurch.
Remember their god is wrathful
And will drown all your children for sure.
So, unless you are “washed in the blood”
You’re going to hell. There’s no cure.

Wail and sing hosanas
Hail to the golden calf.
How to tell who’s bananas?
Separate wheat from chaff?
Give lots of money to churches
Buy many more holy chalices.
We are such a poor country
With far two few golden palaces.

Hush little baby
Stop crying now
Mama’s well trained
I will show you how.
Lock your feelings up inside
Don’t let them out until you’ve died.

Stop little baby
Don’t you feel!
Keep your soul
In a heart of steel.
Promise Mama that you won’t.
Love breaks everyone’s heart if you don’t.

Sleep little baby
That does the trick
Crying all day
Can make you sick.
Nobody like a kid who cries
No one will come to sing you lullabies.

Good little baby
Never says a word.
Quietest baby
I have ever heard.
No one would ever guess
That inside you are a mental mess.

Hush little baby
Stop crying now
Mama’s well trained
I will show you how.
Lock your feelings up inside
Don’t let them out until you’ve died.

Is there any more vile villain
Than one that starves children
Or one who leads his men
Unarmed into the lion’s den?
Is there any more wretched soul
Who destroys his people’s goals
And befouls his neighbor’s sod
Then hides behind the name of god?

Is there any more heinous criminal
That those hiding in a high citadel
And ordering the total destruction
The implementation of a weapon
That murders women and children
That have done nothing to them
And hides the truth behind lies
Then points to the flag that flies.

Can anyone ever be worse than
The screeching ugly harridan
Who mouths deceits of her man
And brags she is his greatest fan?
Can she not see what she does
How she besmirches her own cause
By siding with this misogynist.
She condemns herself with her own fist?

Sometimes the villains that surround
Do their work with the least sound.
They undermine their very own fate
By siding with some nefarious mate.
Maybe someday the people will awake.
And make it stop before the **** breaks.
Or maybe we are doomed to forever be
The mindless victims of national apathy.

He’s the meanest kid on the block
His head is made of solid rock
He is no good at all
His morals are too small
And I want to give him a good hard sock.

Can’t trust him past where you can throw him
Your mind hurts just because you know him.
There’s not much he’s good for
A class-A notorious bore.
A waste of the cost it took to grow him.

I’d tell you that he is homely
But that would not be only
The one thing that makes him bad.
He seldom keeps his word
And everything you have heard
About him should make you sad.

He’s a gold-plated, two-****** tinhorn
He knows how to steal with both hands.
He’s never acted right
Even when asleep at night;
He’s the kind of creep nobody understands.

His pants very rightly should be on fire
Because he is just that kind of a liar.
He really loves to boast.
It’s the thing he loves the most.
Bragging is the object of his desire.

Listening to him causes dread
Like a nail going through my head
Because I know he doesn’t care about us.
We’re just creatures he will use
Then leave us without our shoes
Mistaking brains for being devious.

I’ve dreamed I was falling asleep
And shaking myself to keep awake.
There’s only so much weirdness
And crap a poor dreamer can take.
It was all involved with friends you see
That I don’t see now, because they
Were stranger than my dreams
Or maybe I was. Back in the day.

I would be partying with them
And walking remembered streets
But I’d look around and everybody
Found other people to go meet.
Then suddenly the Hollywood
I knew and loved for twenty years
Became Kansas City boulevards
And Hollywood totally disappears.

Or maybe I’m coming home
At the end of a tiring long day
And look around, find myself
Saying, no way. No effing way;
This is not my apartment!
It’s fine, I kind of like the place
But someone is pulling a joke
The housekeeping is a disgrace.

Then someone would come in
Who I was supposed to know
And this chick is my roommate?
Oh, no. This woman has got to go.
But before I can get my head
Wrapped around standing up
My family is there too, cooking
Handing me a steaming hot cup.

Well,, now I can’t offend them
So, I sit my *** back down.
I don’t want to seem ungrateful
Like some unfunny kind of clown.
******, I leave to go for a walk
Thinking I am in Tucson but then
This is the Country Club Plaza
And I’m back in Kansas City again.

One time I was building something,
Under an expensive sort of contract
But none of the sub-contractors
Or the assistants knew how to act.
They were putting the thing together
Like a Rube Goldberg machine.
I was going ballistic on them all;
The ugliest thing I had ever seen.

These are the dreamworlds for me
On a regular, but often bizarre basis.
Streets change while walking
And people I know change their faces.
Or I am tasked to do something
Involving technology or looming mass
I end up getting no help at all
And wind up falling right on my ***.

Those important moments
When you look into the eyes
Of that one hot person
Who is just passing by
Are usually what it takes
To make magic occur.
So take those moments
To look at him or her.

Lock your eyes on them
And don’t let the look go.
Or else the moment passes
And you may never know
How hot they think you are
And what is in store
So, don’t get bashful.
Hang in a moment more.

And don’t forget the secret
That is an open happy smile.
It usually wins them over
It just takes a little while
Because all of us look better
And sexier when we grin.
So open up, let the smile
And the eye-locks begin.

In the end there is little
That is more truly appealing
Than giving the other person
The convincing feeling
That you really do like them
And think they are hot.
If you don’t make it obvious
They might think you do not.

We’re slowly dying of thirst
In the desert of Trickle Down.
Allowing politicians to lie
And constantly fool around
With the laws, rewording them
So, they leave us all out.
Today, that’s what being a
Republican is all about

The GOP takes money
And waves it in our face.
They don’t know the meaning
Of the word disgrace.
They cater to the lobbyists
And the riches they present.
The kowtow and kiss the ***
Of the holy one percent.

If you are the kind of folks
With no millions in the bank
You don’t have a chance and
You have the GOP to thank.
They don’t like non-whites
Nor non-Christians here.
They wish you’d leave your money
Then quietly disappear.

While we’re on that Christian stuff
Don’t get so carried away
That you think Republicans
Care what you have to say
About the basic freedoms that
The Constitution gives.
They only mean it for themselves
That’s where the issue lives.

So, don’t you non-white citizens
Think you can open carry.
It’s just as sore an issue with them
As gays who want to marry.
It may be the law, but then
The police are on their side.
Those who thought otherwise
Have suffered and have died.

This is the Land of The Free okay
If you play by Republican rules.
Those who don’t believe that
Are soon proven to be fools.
This is the land of those
Who can buy a public office,
They feel the way you pray should
Be ruled by Republican caucus.

The whistler was a policeman
He whistled when he wrote a ticket
One citizen was so incensed
He told the officer to stick it.
But the officer understood.
He had heard complaints before.
They seemed to miss the point
As what this whistling was for.

They didn’t realize that he
Whistled as well when nervous.
He monitored himself carefully
When he was in the service.
War is often no kind of place
To be making unwitting noise.
He was reprimanded by
The officer and the boys.

But Sam, the whistling cop
Had done so all his life
He whistled different ways
Even like a sailor’s fife.
He could trill like a bird
And do the best of all;
That kind of whistle
That wonderful taxi call.

It was an amazing to hear;
He could whistle too
From the side of his face
So you had no idea who
Was making that music
As his lips were not pursed.
That made it more maddening
To a few people that cursed.

As part of his job, one day,
A hotelier called him in
To deal with the issue
Of a dead resident within.
Sam hated blood and death.
It made him quite queasy.
So, he went about this task
But for him, it was not easy.

With a dead body in his arms
Quaking with internal fear
The hotelier objected to his song
Sam asked what he wanted to hear.
He was whistling The Blue Waltz’
In his pitch perfect rendition
To keep his mind off of the corpse
And off of his own condition.

But, oh boy, could he whistle
Making music in every day.
Creating lasting memories
I recall up until this day.
That officer, Sam, you see
Too often in a spot of bother
Was known as Whistling Sam
And was also my father.

PERFECT WIFE

A perfect little wife
A perfect loving life
He slaps me in the face
I don’t feel disgrace.
As long as he comes home
And doesn’t choose to roam
Then I will toe the line
And all will be just fine.

I’m not the perfect wife
I can get out of hand
He’s the love of my life
You have to understand.
We have so much invested
In our life together.
He’s so very special
I’ll never find another.

It’s not his fault
What is going on.
It’s not his fault
I egged him on.
It’s not his fault
I burned his dinner.
It’s not his fault
I should have known better.

A perfect little wife
A perfect loving life
He slaps me in the face
I don’t feel disgrace.
As long as he comes home
And doesn’t choose to roam
Then I will toe the line
And all will be just fine.

When he’s sweet
He’s the love of my life.
He’s the perfect husband
For such a ******* up wife
When he’s angry
He’s not the same.
It’s all my fault;
He’s not to blame.

A perfect little wife
A perfect loving life
He slaps me in the face
I don’t feel disgrace.
As long as he comes home
And doesn’t choose to roam
Then I will toe the line
And all will be just fine.

Brent Kincaid
4/1/2015

Zeerow, The Hero
Was a spectacular fool.
An unrepentant tool,
He run on philosophy
Based on misogyny,
Of raging homophobia
And collected memorabilia
From the Third *****.

He didn’t like to be questioned
Whenever it was mentioned
Because he knew something
The rest of us were missing.
He knew as he knew day and night
That he was one hundred percent right
And we were all certifiable imbeciles
That made him totally irascible.

His compassion undetectable
He thought himself respectable
Because he kept his bigotry quiet.
But few could actually buy it
Because his brow-lowering scowls
And not-so sotto voce growls
Gave him away rather quickly.

And sometimes things got sticky
When he found him surrounded
By those previously grounded
In his wordy, misguided opinions  
That we were all his minions
And he was some kind of lordling.
So how could we find him boring?

Yet we did. The best we could, we hid
Whenever he showed his face.
Especially in a public place.
The only thing that made it worse
Was that in the final verse
Some idiots elected him to office
So he got to irritate all of us.
And he did so officially,
Doing so quite efficiently.

You go to church on Sunday
And then you've done your part.
Instead of saying “I hate that *****
You just say “Bless her heart.”
Monday starts the week anew
With dog-eat-dog intention.
Live and let live and the like
Seldom rates a mention.

Help the poor and needy
Doesn't pull too much weight
When measuring by dollar signs
To decide what is truly great.
The Bible verses get changed:
“Do unto others” is rewritten
To “Do what we can get by with.”
Thus is the common man smitten.

So you allow the Congress
To do whatever they want:
Outlaw our rights and rob us,
Laugh at us and then flaunt
That nobody can touch them
As they bleed the land dry.
We're just to bless their hearts
While the watch us slowly die.

We can keep on pretending
That everything is just,
Then go to church on Sunday
And brag about “In God we trust”,
Or we could wake the hell up
And start to participate
In what used to be our country
Right now before it's too late.

But that would mean standing up
And not just going along
And not following on party lines
Not singing the downtrodden song.
It means questioning our leaders,
But, you see, right there is the rub.
If we stop ourselves from being robbed
We can't belong to the Hypocrite Club.

Our God is really excellent
At death and genocide.
How we love to celebrate
How many folks have died.
We always feel better about life
And the wonderful heavenly joy
When we’ve murdered some foreigner's wife.
Or when we put to death girls and boys.

It is so commendable of humans
To execute those who are different
Or if they commit the cardinal sin
Of being some kind of sick dissident
Who refuses to do what we want
Like maybe lying down and acquiescing
Or refusing to shut up and play along with
Our political posturing and window dressing.

And is is all sacred and very holy;
Every bit of it is hidden by claims
That all genocide and bigotry
Is committed in our God’s name,
Unless the genocide and prejudice
Is directed anywhere near us.
The we whip out our Bibles and cry
And make a self-righteous fuss.

The Golden Rule applies to all
Except heathens and non-Caucasians.
And then it’s a noose, SWAT team or
At least an *** for every occasion.
Because killing people is terrible;
It is simply not the proper way
To deal with all of life’s issues,
Unless we want to, then it’s okay.

And all of it is by The Good Book
If the right verses are selected.
The American Bible is written to insure
The right people are not neglected.
And everyone should worship
And join the Living God’s legions
And be exactly like he lived life:
A blond-haired, blue eyed Norwegian.

Hey ** and there you go
And when you get there
Well, there you are.
Now, ain’t that something;
Better than nothing?
Two guys walk into a bar.

The barkeep asks them
What will you guys have?
The both gave him a look.
I would like to be rich
Both guys said, but that
Is neither aa creek or a brook

Two little old ladies
Were rocking on a porch
Throwing fruit at passersby.
Their husbands hid out
Finding it were best
In case someone asked why.

All this and all that was
Somewhere not quite all
The way to awesome.
There were a few pretty boys
And then some women that
Were known as handsome.

Eenie meenie miney moe
Olly olly oxen fee.
Whattya know about that?
Higgeldy piggledee
Hotsy and totsy, has
Your tongue got your cat?

Thingamjigs, doolollies
Gadgets, whirlygigs
Don’t amount to nothing.
Whatsername and Miss Thing
That ought to do it right now
To keep your beer frothing.