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“Better than working in a factory.”
Truer words were never spoken while
Smoking a big fat *doobie.

For Doug Clifford & John Fogerty
It was a motto; an anthem.
Creedence always respected &
Loved the workingman.
Working stiffs know--
They know in their bellies--
That Republicans are good for the
Proles, here in Oceania,
Good in particular for the building trades.
I recall a distant mob of
Swarthy plumbers & carpenters,
Electricians & masons,
A toolshed parliament & all-purpose
Construction industry trade show;
So many, many Italian family
Weddings & funerals attended . . .
Sometimes my residual blue-collar instincts
Show up during the most inappropriate,
White-collar times. But I digress.

Which brings us down memory lane
This evening, as in “Good-
Welcome aboard the Hitchcock Railroad.
(Stage whisper: If I have to explain it,
You’re outside my demographic age cohort,
And a member of a pointless throng of green,
Presumptuous whippersnappers.)

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And now that I have your attention:
Consider the current national stage:
A media circus, a minstrel & medicine show,
H.L. Mencken’s last *******,
Give us our daily bread.
It’s August 27th, 2016.
We’ve survived back-to-back
Republican-Democrat Political Party
U.S. Presidential nominating conventions.
I’ve caught you smack yabba-doo-dabba
In the middle of this Trump-Clinton
Full-press, traveling Reality Show Cavalcade.
In short, I’ve caught you at a good time,
Perhaps receptive, somewhat, for a:
Nixon Retrospective.*

I submit that without doubt,
The most stunningly democratic gesture
Of our generation to wit: replacing the
College deferment loophole with a
Blind, dumb-luck Vietnam Draft Lottery.
You can thank Richard Nixon,
Milhous of that name,
Our much maligned 37th President.
The only RESIGNEE in history,
Run outta town on a rail,
Convicted without bail.
Set adrift without sail.
(How you wish I’d **** this
Wretched rhyme scheme.)

Yes, you can thank Tricky **** for
Sticking it to the Bush Family
And their inherited-wealth neighbors--
Riparian souls one & all--along the quaint
Long Island Sound, New England seashore.
Surely my Brooklyn working class roots,
Demand I salute and snap to, attention.
Hail to the Chief, Babaloo!
Mr. Nixon still has my vote.
He tackled big problems: nuclear arms,
Diplomacy with China, Vietnam,
The Economy (can you frickin’ believe a
Republican got away with
Wage Freeze & Price Controls?)
Not to mention The Environment:
Slap! BAM! Soupy Sales:
“I told you not to mention *THAT!

But you knee-jerking libs out there,
Must remind yourselves that
President Nixon created the EPA &
Signed the Clean Air Act.
Think about it next time your
Nixon-Watergate gag reflex kicks in.
Whisper forever your warm , endearing sweet musical question in my longing ear . Sing to me on confused , windswept blue and ivory mornings with improvisational ballads of great candor , disguised in starlights language . Ballads of clarity , brilliance and great emotion ..
Copyright January 8 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
I had created a dream
Where everything was what it seemed
No underlying lies
No forming covert ties
I had created a dream
In which there was no time for sorrow or grief
Where a heart could not be stolen
Without any care
As if by a thief
I had created a dream
Where people were not bridges
Used to get to the other side
Where I knew
If something said
Was false or true
I had created a dream
 Nov 2015 james arthur casey
In retrospect,
dredging up past events    
that led to the here and now.              
Pending course of actions in which to exact...    
Reaching as far back as the mind would allow.

In retrospect,
studying the reflection
in the rear view mirror,  
as the present freezes itself intact.
Sifting through past images...        
Second by second,
frame by frame.      
Identifying overlooked pitfalls          
and margin of errors.      

In retrospect,
straddling the realm...  
Where my current state of mind      
lapses into a minute-long sleep.  
Sights on the future... Folded blind,
discerning the treachery          
of impulsive thoughts and actions.        
Diving up from oceans deep,    
painting the backdrop beyond paths at
unmarked junctions.              

In retrospect*,
every detail deconstructed...
Deliberated against the yardstick  
of what's done and the supposed.    
Refracted memories snap back clean into place.      
Over and over...        
Layer upon layer...    
Time and again forming      
the looming weight      
that pulls me to a stumble              
into the stagnant puddle...  
Of long gone days.
 Nov 2015 james arthur casey
All the experiences
from life's coffers
I'm willing to take

To commit into text
with deliberate romanticism

My brand of unspoken poetry
with sense
only I can make

To rebut
my mind's
skeptic cynicism
 Nov 2015 james arthur casey
I am quiet in front of the ambient lights.
Confronted among these Ambien nights,
with alluvial life, a hot bed of technical idolatry-
It is hard in the valley of the sun
the people who over-extend
self, carry impotence and
a loaded gun-
The land of geriatrics filled with frolicking snowbirds
who cast out their alcoholic offspring
to grind under gears of the economic machine.
Modern man is genuflecting in the sanctimonious pantheon of self.
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