Don't you admire his ringwork;
His footwork and speed?
Dance. Jab. Dance.
Did you see Rambonehead snap?
Glossy-eyed. Swollen and staggering
Like the bloated incumbent.
Jab. Dance. Jab.
The Dope's been roped.
The final count's on.

The Queen is in the Tower,
She decrees to step out;
But the bouffant needs some tending,
And Royal chin y chin hairs sprout.

The Queen is in the Tower,
She dines well when she eats;
But Lizzie's in a tizzy now,
No walk-abouts on her street.

The Queen is in the Tower,
Standard at full mast;
When the Union Flag is lowered,
Royal Heirs will know she passed.

I’ve dealt with fascist,
super A type asshats
that want to control everything.
They are frequently strictly
overmanaging me.

I am not conservative or liberal.
I am poetic not literal,
so please don’t feed me your vitriol.

I got no political agenda
except to convince you
to basically just be
a kinder collectively.

So, give me less attitude
and I will give you
a life lived with gratitude.

The heart that has been haloed
by horrible years of abuse,
ill-used still learns to view
the world with love
and tidal waves of
compassion.

The mind that has been
constantly poisoned
by ruthless men
and heartless women,
still finds that little
sparkling light
to push back the snakes
that slither in the night.

The person
who could have been
horrible,
but chose instead
to take the terrors
that stir in his head
and brew a better
not bitter being.

May not be the prettiest thing,
but is far more beautiful than
any Hollywood fantasy.

I once held
high ideals.

Hoping that I
would not sit
idly by
while others tried
to use and abuse
the disenfranchised.

Hoping that I
could use my creativity
to wake and relate all people
to their dormant humanity.

Hoping that I
would not turn
a blind eye
to a person in pain,
or a person being shamed
for that which
they have no power
to change.

Hoping that I
would never act unkind,
betraying those things
I held dear to my being,
such grand moral standards.

I failed and still do,
in favor of self-comforting,
in accepting the view
that nothing I do
matters.

I failed faltering
in moments of weakness,
and sadly I
still fail to rise
to the levels
I wished to reach
and fly.

When walls become your imprisonment,
A no win scenario with a raging sickness,
You miss your camera capturing snapshots of life passing by.

You are one in a collective of people, holding each other metaphysically to barricade the vulnerable, this is more than just you.

You pace, you pass time, and you precise your ideas of freedom,
You may even do a painting or two,
A Tik Tok while the clock ticks.

Reflections of your most inner turmoil surface,
Pressures of life continuing with you boxed and it builds
Deadlines
Deaths
Destability

When you just can't take it any more,
You bash against the door, striving for that one touch, one feeling of hope you will break free of the airborn seel

The door opens

One

Point

Five
is  sprayed on your steps, and in your mind.

You would  do everything to chase the sunrise as it greets you again

Who dares enjoy your gold with you?
What good is it Midas? It's contaminated.
When will you, if ever, enjoy it again?
Where is your preferred seating now?
Why persist with your follies? Don't touch me.

When the son-in-law
(who should remain nameless)
Is a clone
Of the father-in-law,
(whom should also remain nameless),
The son-in-law
Lies in an incestuous bed,
And the father-in-law
Gets a vicarious jump
On the wing
(the west one)

I find my humanity
in stories,
in Japanese Anime
and cool manga,
where all those heroes
spring from things
that seem unbearable.

I find my humanity
in far flung fantasies,
of fictional realities
where characters strive to be
better than they were previously,
where they are constantly
working and growing like me.

I find my humanity
in flowing verses of poetry
that sweep stale cobwebs
from my sad cluttered head
and help me see things differently,
which is what my scifi perspectives
also offer me.

Even though, sorrow stains my
poetic flows,
bringing in
cynicism,
and anger towards my fellow men.
Even when people tend
toward hateful trends
of violence, sexism, racism,

somewhere in the art I love
lay similar hearts of
humane ambition,
of nuclear fission,
of dreamers on a mission,
and there my humanity
is frequently restored to me.

It’s the internet
and I hate it,
dealing daily with
raving lunatics.

On a regular basis
I see raging faces
of uniformed racist
ranting about baseless
accusations.

I thought I had the solution,
to the mass confusion
generated by
all those pasty old guys.

I was certain,
and I rationalized
that once they realized
that the fox news dudes
we’re feeding them lies,
they would come around
to my point of view.

What a sweet certain avenue
I followed you through
thinking reasoning was needed
and that it would change you who
truly believed in the hate that you seeded.

But now I admit I am defeated.
As far as I can see
some people are not open
to changing and growing.

No more tears left in me,
so back to my bubble I go,
where my people agree
and know what I know,
a safe space where I will stay,
cause while the world burns
I am certain to be squirreled away
with the rest of my disheartened,
dry eyed dying idealists.

There is a furnace
that burnt us,
turning smiles to dust
and kindness
to distrust.

A place where
suspicion
was sharpened
to the point of
cutting the hearts
that might
offer true love.

In that hell
some have seen
a shell
form around themselves
whilst others have internalized
the fires that fried their lives.

I have been there to
and turn those blazes toward
breaking swords
and building bridges
to places where we
can be a gentler breed
of humanity.

What makes us human,
is not easily defined?

What clutters this mess
we call conscious
is not something
I can measure well
with my mind?

What drives the feminine mystique
is a perilous penultimate peak
which I seek?

What moves us all
to walk or crawl
when life’s pain
is overriding
our common sense
when our existence
does not permit this
persistence?

What is the truth?