Come on down
right on down now,
a brand new car,
deluxe washer dryer
brand spankin' new
& all ready to go,
spin that wheel,
turn that square,
answer that question
& gamble that dollar,
Donald J. Trump
has come to town,

the Dealmaker
the Best of the Best,
the All American
gettin' it done
wise & wicked
grinnin' fat cat,
who'll somehow
keep an eye out
for all you smaller
folks as he swings
those roundabouts,
& crosses those t's
& cashes his chips,

Donald J. Trump
will make that dollar,
dig that coal &
bury that pipeline,
negotiate that better
ditch that failure,
scrap that law,
watch out for
that business
& surely curb
those watchdogs,

& money will be
made but not by
you or I or Shirl
or Bob but those oh so
connected & Sheldon's
& Coke Brother's &
Investors & Directors
& Oligarchs & Overseas
Accounts & the select
few who always,
always, seem to
do just fine,

& the pitiful irony
if you will of all
this Making Great
Again & victory
for the Little Man
is that the little
man cast his lot
with someone
who never gave
the slightest ****
& Earl & Nancy
once more get
the short stick,
the bad apple,
the *******
without
the prize,
the pathetic hat
& the broken
soon faded whistle.

On the Bart today some young
African-American kids got on &
one girl had a Black Lives Matter
t-shirt on,

I wanted to say hello & very nice
shirt but of course I didn't for a
multitude of reasons but it
did leave me feeling alright with
the world for once,

that she'd worn this to school
& taken the effort to show to
the world her statement & her
solidarity this tuesday afternoon,

still caught up in the glow as
I write this to be honest.

So he's back ...
George 'Second Iraq
Massacre' Bush,

& I was wondering if or when
it would actually happen
this rising from the foggy
miasma of retirement,

& you do question whether
there's a publicist or it
was discussed around
the family table,
"Well .. its been 8 years now,"
"Is it time yet?"

& apart from a truly puzzling
dancing & swaying appearance
at a black-suit memorial where
he grabbed Michelle's hand &
looked more like a 5 year old
at a birthday party,
well, he's been very quiet,

but of course we've also
been granted the opportunity
to view his oh so charming
paintings,

to see him at work in his studio,
producing dog portraits & simple
naive sincerely primitive famous
people faces akin to art-day at the
old-folks home or a pre-school
honors wall,

& it seems no one wanted his opinion
on anything at all these last years,
but now, oh now he's with us again,
all bashful & "aw shucks" when he's
asked by some obsequious host
about his fondness for Michelle,
& becoming near front-page news
after a mild rebuke of Trump,

& no doubt soon he'll be on Late Night
& such, where Jimmy Kimmel can rustle
his hair & be all smitten & oh so grateful
for the privilege of his company,
& perhaps when Kimmel does chuckle
so sweetly at their dazzling repartee
that night someone could shout out
from the audience ... "Remember the
War Dead",

for its seems America soon forgives
& forgets & its war criminals &
Oliver North & George W. Bush
are allowed to grin & pontificate
& nothing is remembered & isn't
he just aging so well & don't we
just hang on every word & oh
how he matters still.

Next week maybe Kissinger will
come on to entertain us awhile,
sandwiched between cute pet
tricks & some giggling 20 year old
Hollywood starlet hawking her
new blockbuster.

America forgets very, very quickly
doesn't it,
so so quickly.

Somebody Else's Babies ... or a poem for Steve King a Republican
Representative of our esteemed governing classes who recently
came along with another jaw-dropping piece of White Supremacist
******* ...

'Somebody else's babies'
grew up in this green &
pleasant land to go on to
fight & die in the American
War in Vietnam, & the two
unforgivable invasions of Iraq,

which is far more than you
did Steve King,
you draft-dodging,
tough-talking patriot you,

so when you next wake up
calling out 'our destiny' maybe
you'd like to visit some graveyards
& pay some respect,
you empty-headed
Republican fool,

oh & glance back through history
awhile & even cheat a bit by using
google quotes & get some sense
of who else in the history of the
20th century crowed about
'our destiny' ... you malignant
fascist you.

Calling it today!

If Earth First are still with us anymore
& they have some sort of ultra-militant
underground band of dedicated & utterly
uncompromising soldiers ready to defend
their mother earth at the drop of a hat &
of course after some careful preparation
could they please just get on with it before
its too late & carry this man off to a dingy
basement where he can watch re-runs
of This Living Planet while in-between-times
peasant farmers & fishermen directly affected
by rising sea levels as we speak come before
him to tell their tales & weep.

I love the Muppets
I really do,
so it pains me
just a little
to observe that
Jeffrey Lord on CNN
looks like one.

I see him as one
of the old guys
in the theatre box,
but this chaps all
smug & self-satisfied
& so all wisdom-like,
when in fact
his head is
up his Muppet ***.

Kellyanne Conway too,
she's Muppetesque,
with her death-skull smirk
her so-sure inane chatter,
she gives the impression
of all-knowing wisdom
with her condescension,
her weaves and bobs,

Stephen Miller too
all sounding that Trumpet,
seeming born fully-formed
in a cheap shiny suit,
balding already,
& so, so bitter,
after having
surrendered
his lunch money
first day of school.

If the Muppets
had an episode
produced in Hades,
these unpleasant folks
could take centre stage,
as Satan's minions
grimaced & smirked
in the stalls,

& Lucifer himself
led the applause
as the Trumpeters
bowed centre stage
amidst an odorous
sulphorous stink,
& a rapturous cacophony
of beating wings
& shiny scraping claws.

Mr. Gene Huber,
salutes a 6 foot cardboard
box painted like Trump
every single day
of his life on earth,

& gives sincere thanks
to the Lord Above
for this splendid gift
this heavenly avatar
descended amongst us.

Mr. Gene Huber
loves President Trump,
loves him deeply
veritably weeps upon
meeting him,
& Trump whispers
back that love,
all thankyou's &
laying-on-of-hands
like.

He believes all his President
declares as true,
won't consider
contradictions,
all evidence,
any supposed learned word.

Mr. Gene Huber believes
this snake-oil salesman
speaks for him,
will fight for him,
cares about him,
& nothing,
absolutely nothing,
this charlatan says
or has done,
or pretends to have done,
or is found out
not to have done,
makes one half-pence
of difference.

This an adulation in a
near religious sense,
this is the masses & Mao,
this is the people
& Benito,
the children & Moses.

This is every
flawed & human
guru & rabble-rouser
ever to walk this
green, green
earth.

This is a cipher,
a vessel for hopes,
dreams & simple answers,
a man who points
to an enemy
a target for your failures,
to explain your losses,
life's roadblocks,
declare without hesitation
the answers,
the way forward
to that glorious kingdom
to come.

Mr. Gene Huber
is only human,
after all,
& I guess
we feel for him,
but a man who salutes
a 6 foot cardboard image
frightens me
in more ways
than one,
of that
I have
no doubt.

William ...
we need you now,
come on back,

soft-shoe-shuffle on back,
mordantly wander
on back,
undertaker-drag
on back,

comment on the conventions,
acidly notice things,
flagrantly ...
destroy things,

whilst muttering mutations,
just plain cut-the-rug
right out
from under,

the creationists,
the snake-handlers,
the dumb-**** religionists,
the paranoid drug czars,
the oh so ignorant
blonde talking heads,
that *******
Zimmerman,

The war is still being fought,
and Uncle Bill ...
We need you!

"They too had a dream that
one day their sons, daughters,
grandsons, granddaughters ...
might pursue prosperity &
happiness in this land."

Well perhaps not Ben ...
perhaps while 10% of their
chained compatriots died around
them in the dark, ****-filled hull
of this heaving slave-ship they
may well have dreamt of home,
of family, of safety, warmth, of
the basic human right to dignity
& freedom & an ability to simply
walk through life going upon
one's business without the threat
of armed traders carting you off
to other lands ...
perhaps they dreamt of that,

& perhaps upon arrival & unloading
& a brutal harsh sunlight & a reckoning
of those you knew who'd died & been
thrown to the sharks & an examining
of teeth & body as a horse at trade
while upon a block as folks whiter
than you shouted out in strange
tongues & your wife & child were
elsewhere & your whole life was at
that moment in cruel & tragic collapse,
you might have thought of other things
rather than ...
Oh lord, yes, yes, one day I'm going
to be able to make a buck in this Land
of the Free and Home of the Brave ...

Trump supporters ...
we're supposed to be nice
& understanding
& not suggest
they all chew straw,
play banjos on porches,
or gnaw dogs legs
on rocks in the
desert sun,

that they don't
talk of Yankee money,
the good old days,
& shoot possums
& squirrels
on Saturdays
for fun,

that they actually
don't go courting
with their cousins,
are sure Barack was
a Kenyan Communist,
or think that the earth
is oh 4,000
years old or so,
cos The Good Book
dun told them so,

we're supposed to
be kind,
sympathetic,
walk a day
in their shoes,
feel their plight,

but its hard
its hard,
so hard,
when in actuality
they cast their lot
with a lying ignorant racist
just right out of
central casting,
in a Hillbilly remake
of The Last Days of Rome,
Richie Rich Goes to Washington,
or The Devil Rides Out Bigly.

As the fingerless *****
grasps my hand
in a gesture of friendship,

persistent groups
of ***** children
tug at my sleeves,

whilst pink-eyed in the sun
the lone albino
stumbles
in the gutter,

in which the starving dog
furiously devours
fresh human waste;

& the helpless young man
withe the twisted limbs
lies gazing at the pitiless sky,

where the red & blue
paper kite
sways slowly in the breeze,

above the huge white cow,
sitting placidly
in the middle of the road,

beside which
the family of five
begin their evening meal.

There’s 2 regular Trump apologists
out in the chattering classes these dark
depressing days Paris Dennard & the lighter
skinned & white-quiffed Jeffrey Lord, both are
utterly intolerable to spend too much time with
both accepting no, quite literally no wrong-doing,
on the part of their sweet master Trump,

Paris has his gig I guess as the black guy
brought on to be the black Republican who
will defend Trump so the folks back home
can say: “See” …
& he is a smartly dressed dude, plays it well
I guess but jeez your boss isn’t infallible Paris,

& Jeffrey lord, oh god Jeffrey Lord …
where to start, well he’s usually bringing in
comparisons & history points from early
20th century speeches & such, while
actually ignoring the real issue & so he’s
good at what he does I’ll give him that,

I heard that he wrote a column praising Trump
early in the election & Trump called him to wax
magnificent & boy was Jeffrey chuffed & all
& thus has been so dedicated & loyal,

& since then he’s pretzeled himself so far
over to kiss his own heels & ends up the
lone Trump voice in every single discussion,
& nothing, absolutely nothing is questioned
or fault acknowledged.

Its a tough job but someone’s got to do it I
guess, but god these folks disgust.

ha! yes!
sure as heck I'm not exactly
jumping for joy in these end
days of dying planetary life,
threatened existences, starving
homeless 5 year old Mustafa's,
engaged Supremacists, murdered
black boys, hillbilly junkies, fading
healthcare, America First & talk
of 'our destiny' & ******* such,

but what am I to do?
Watch Star Trek re-runs & eat ice-cream?
America calls out to be noticed,
& heck what else can we do
but pay attention.

I'd prefer my politicians
didn't belly laugh, chuckle
or gosh gee shucks after
proposing to deprive 24
million folks of health care
especially of course when
along with that they've
suggested huge tax benefits
for the already rich,

& I'd really prefer my politicians
to be like the president in
Uruguay who drove an old
jalopy & lived in a shack but
I guess I'm just too much of a
dreamer aren't I & for lords sake
how naive can I be?

For the sake of a spherical
leather football & pride &
power & vanity,

for an ultimately absurd
game of running here
charging there,
& brute force,
touch this
& down that,

all morality ceased,
all those who knew
kept silent ...

all those who could have
helped before more
were hurt
chose not to,

for the sake of pride, power
& vanity,
& a shiny leather ball thrown
around to produce numbers
on a scoreboard.

May you all be cursed till the end
of days & may whatever God in
whichever Heaven or Hell rain
down swift, merciless & unrelenting
judgement.

******* you Penn State.

Can a pretty girl
in a short red dress
take away
this emptiness?

Hold me close
squeeze me tight
fill my soul
with rays of light?

Used to be that
the prettiest girls
were actually boys
but no more,
for nowadays
there's a whole mess
of the most gorgeous women
in heels & short tight dresses,
standing on the corners
as offerings to the ways
of men,

some so youthful
that their long sweet legs
totter & tremble
in their fancy shoes
as do the steps
of a new-born
upon the vast
plains of Africa,

& strutting jazzily
their tender flesh
to catch an eye
& then lean
in provocative geometry
into car windows
to state terms
& size customers,

with small handbags
squeezed tight
to their sides,

as they gather in groups
emanating an ****** power
seemingly enhanced
by numbers,

& yet to stroll by
& listen in
reveals nothing more
than simple gossip
& observation,

for after all these
are only working girls
not goddesses at
their ease.

George Best had it,
Wily Coyote tries so hard
that we have to
give it to him,

Gandhi for some reason
doesn't have it
special
though he is,

Geronimo has it,
as does Cochise,
Back Elk
& Sitting Bull,
actually Custer has
a little too,
despite all
his failings,

& the dude who jumped
from space,
has it,
oh yes he does,

& Woodpeckers have it
as do Kingfishers,
& Tigers have it,
for **** sure,
but then
so do
Lemurs,

Great Whites
just ooze it,
cannot argue
with that one,

San Francisco has it
L.A. doesn't,
Detroit did have it,
& deserves to
win it back,

***** has it,
though who can
know that
these days,
English food
definitely doesn't,
oh but Thai,
oh Thai
really does,

my son has it,
when he's
all done up
for a
school concert,
or actually
any old time
really,
cos I just
see to
in him.

The Republican Party's moral
center is proving hard to find
these days with some saying
its similar to El Dorado or Noah's
original Ark which means actually
not there at all & nowhere to be
found really just a dark echoing void
of pure unadulterated starless blackness
at the very centre of an infinite depth of total
& absolute & echoing despairing well of utter
pitiless heartless opportunist depravity much like
a starving hyena coming upon a lonely dying lamb.

Or words to that effect.

And we're off ...
the week has started ...

is it every day we're reminded
how fucken dense this man is?

how utterly, immeasurably ignorant
is this solid mass of orange nothingness
that's tinged with the green of envy,
the dark bile of bigotry,
& the ever present yellow
of moral cowardice,

shaded with coal black
labyrinthian hollows & dense thickets
of double-speak & blatant
lies.

Oh this man!

This pitiful caricature of every
far-too-rich fat cat you laffed at
in the Sunday comix,

all over-fed yet never satisfied,
trophy wife upon his velvet arm,
shy & lonely son left to play with imaginary
friends in a gilded palace of pillowed luxury
& golden gushing faucets of milk & honey
& all those fancy trinkets that declare to
himself each day,
... "Oh how I've made it!"

This bottomless well,
this mind of vacancies &
negative sub-atoms,
pure void of edgeless darkness
infinite & oh so very still,

this encyclopedia of the vacuum,
this mole of the intellect,
this dustbin of the present,
overflowing with inane
***-bits of elemental
irrelevance,
this!

& the horror is of course
that 60 odd million Americans
gave this jestered fool
the reins of power
in the most powerful
& consequential
nation on this
fragile & hurting
one & only
planet earth.

Trump rallied today
which in plain language
means he absorbed the adoration
of a large group of white folks all red-hatted
& sign-waving as if the election was still going
on & Gods Chosen walked among them one more
time just for the fun of it,

& he trotted out the usual enemies of their illusion
& his incompetence & blatant lies,
the press …

for if its daily being pointed out that you fail,
lie & basically don’t know what the hell you’re
doing then labeling those who point this out as
‘enemies of the people’ is I guess one way to
handle it,

& he played the tunes & he pontificated & simple
minded angry Americans praised him to the skies
& felt better about life as The Great Leader promised
better days even though he’s basically done very little
to help your average folk & the courts have challenged
his attempted edicts & his wall is still unfunded & his
tax cuts essentially give more money to rich folks,
but never mind,

‘Make America Great’ resounded through the stadium
as the white common folks found their voice, their man,
their savior & the rich get richer, & the seas get higher,
& the ice melts, & the innocent get deported & Planned
Parenthood gets defunded & we essentially enter a new
age of barbarism, ignorance & good old down home
flag waving victory of the deluded, fooled & just plain
simple.

“We’ve been dreaming of this since
you and I were drinking out of a keg.”

Oh how sweet it must be,
how sweet the moment,
as it finally arrives,
oh so breathlessly,
so eagerly
anticipated.

This idea whose first
beautiful dawning
came as a bunch of
youthful, oh so youthful
& ambitious conservative
white boys shared some
beers together Saturday night

& dreamed
that one day,
one day,
poor folks would be
kicked off Medicare
... oh how sweet it is ...
the realized ambitions of eager
& principled youth.

Jimi moans and wails,
the door crashes
as dad arrives
all anger
& growls,

I look up
all a might stunned
beneath the grinning
& rolling,

oh dad
you made it,
& I love you
y'know.

my eyes
like dark voids ...
searchlights,

his face ...
bewildered.

Just seeing that dumb red hat
gives me the Heebeejeebees,
the Holy Camoleys,
I get the *******,
the John B. Scrotes,
I feel Ben Carsoned,

as if I've been Rogered in my sleep
by Quasimodo & then been forced
to pleasure the Seven Dwarfs,

I have the shivers,
I plead repugnance,
I share the odium,

I experience that near frenzied disgust
as left by a cold slug traversing one's
naked arm in the dank moonlight,

when that oh so ridiculous red tractor
hat is worn by men who have
chauffeurs & bejeweled
golf carts,
& look like a fat cat's fantasy
of a fat cat,

to Make America Great Again for that matter
maybe you have to go as far back as Sitting Bull,
Red Cloud, the Shawnee, herds of bison,
counting coup, & eagle-feather headdresses,

Making America Great Again does not in any
way involve Leroy from the hills feeling better
about his race or Donald J. Trump coming
forth as some sort of Poor Man's Moses.

I hate that stupid hat!

The leopard ...
shining so brightly
as one of the earth's
truly
most truly ...
utterly beautiful
animal
creatures,

which here we see
held aloft,
stone dead,
after being hunted
by two of
the earth's
bravest ...
oh so brave
human beings,
the mighty ...
oh so mighty,
Trump
sons,

here smiling
& self-satisfied,
holding the body
for a picture,
this once living
breathing
& utterly
beautiful
creature,

In a sign of
the complete & utter
moral capitulation
to the designs of power
& the primacy of the old
stone cold ‘ends justify means’
the leader of the United States
Republican Party just this morn
came out in whole-hearted
personal actual phone-call support
of an accused ******* & someone who
was actually on a mall watch list
as a grown assed man …
Roy ‘Ten Commandments’ Moore.
….
& if this news doesn’t just get to you as
it should then you obviously
contain a heart of depthless
dense dark blackness
& find it oh so
easy to quite
simply ignore
the tears
of the assaulted,
an attempted ****,
& innocent
child victims of
this man’s vile pursuit
of pleasure, power
& evil gratification.
…
******* you Moore,
Trump & all who
enable …
That’s it.

Can we feel a fearful nausea as we sense the
gate to the pit of hell gently open & two blazing
red eyes gleam oh so malevolently as they gaze
out into the world for fresh victims,
but of course ...

Can we feel a hatred a deep that it seems out of all
proportion but actually when we ponder it at night
& see parades of washed-up, drowned, sodden
refugee children littering sandy shores,
but of course ...

Can we feel a loathing so profound when we realize
that what he's doing is really with all this is filling
his own coffers with mounds of gold while grinning
so awfully at the suckers he makes of us all,
but of course ...

Can we feel an anger so encompassing that at times
it seems to consume us in its vast inescapable darkness
as we see the old folks hunger, the sick get sicker, the
weak get weaker,
but of course ...

Can we desire some sort of cathartic & ****** revolution
where heads site agape & vacant on spikes & sweet sisters
of the revolution storm ramparts & free prisoners & then
round up their own amongst the swelling bloated rich
& the eternal enemies of the people,
but of course ...

Can we feel o.k. with these thoughts, these fantasies born
of an acute & abiding knowledge of how awful these times
are & promise to be & embrace them & shout them from
the rooftops & declare in all honesty,

******* you & swift be the justice, amen.

The redwoods were so immensely
present and just plain there! ...
as we stood at the base
and looked up & into
the filtering bright
sunlight and
the high, high
branches,

that I wished I was
seventeen again & that
I could take some Acid
& just plain put my
arms around them
& oh so softly weep,

it would have been a beautiful
moment that I would cherish
forever & lord almighty would
I have felt so much better
about all & everything.

“How these gals came up with this,
I don’t know.
They must have had some
sweet dreams somewhere
down the line.”
…
Oh yes for sure
Pastor Earl Wise,
sweet, sweet dreams
of violent ****** assault
in a locked vehicle
in a dark car park
behind the diner
in the dead of night,
…
“Plus,
there are
some 14-year-olds
who …
the way they look,
could pass for 20,”
…
Oh I know
just take a little
look at that
little 14 year
one over
there’s,
easy to see
as 20,
so easy.
…
“I don’t know
how much
these women
are getting paid,
but I can only believe
they’re getting
a healthy sum,”
…
Oh yes,
perhaps George Soros,
or some secret Jewish
liberal slush fund,
or perhaps those
homosexuals,
wouldn’t put
it past them,
no sirree Bob.
…
Earl Wise is a Christian,
just to let
you know,
just in case …
you were wondering
& such,
him being a Pastor
& all.

Hmmnn ... lets see,
how about a simple disgust
at opulent luxury,
... there's a start,

oh ... & many roomed massive mansions
with heliports & tennis-courts,
that too perhaps you're
not down with,

& million dollar wedding rings &
3 million dollar nuptial feasts,
tiger medicines, rhinceros horns,
elephant foot ash-trays &
private zoos with leopards
for the pleasure of the
near sated man who
needs everything,

& 5 million dollar automobiles,
pate, foie-gras, shark-fin soup,
gold faucets in your bathroom,
& gold seats for you to rest
your so sweet golden
*** on,

penthouse suites overlooking Harlem,
cigar-chomping industrialists loosening
their waistcoats after a heavy steak
dinner over which they've carved up
a portion of what is rightfully
others by birth & right,

hundreds of thousands of dollars
tickets for a seat by the boss,
so's you may get the chance
to whisper your pleadings
& caress his oh so mighty
ego,

pipelines across sacred lands,
Christian hypocrites, wealthy churches,
Catholic debauchery, Evangelical
preachers, replicas of Noah's Ark,
sweat lodge motivational hucksters,
Rolls Royce gurus,
ancient Southern hate
& men in white hoods,

taking a look around,
paying attention,
choosing,
& then signing up.

So good with the ethics,
the caring, considerate, oh so
compassionate Christian way
of getting things done ...

the looking out for the needy,
the helping the helpless,
the following the words of
their saviour thing they've
got going on here,

its curious to say the least or just
simply stone cold hypocritical
how the political party
most mouthing out
the words of God,
most concerned with
prayers & such,

seems quite comfortable
if not , well almost gleeful,
at the prospect of a tougher,
harder life for the elderly,
the sick,
the impoverished.

Have they read the same Jesus texts as me?
Sermon on the Mount lets say,
& how is your Christianity weighed
I wonder?
God helps those who help themselves?
God pays back those who pay the preacher?
God doesn't really believe in the very idea
of 'help' in any form whatsoever?

What give Republicans?

Once more I ask this fundamental question.

Republicans, are you human?

… & crawls drooling to the fresh putrid grave
of one recently deceased Charlie Manson
to perform midnight esoteric rituals of rebirth
& renewal as kneeling en masse before
the still fresh soil Manson’s bitter gnarled
fingers appear from below to scoop & clear
the way for his primed & rested body to
leap free like some rancid steaming genie
set loose once more upon the world,
…
whilst McConnell, Hatch & the esteemed
Mo Brooks of Alabama await graveside in
their cloaks of be-dazzling mirrored splendour
to lend succor to the newly reborn & just plain
get their will done ethics be ****** & sure
as **** he’s Charlie but lets put the past behind
us & march on forth to a sweet new world of
righteous Christian revenge, massaged &
pleasured millionaire classes & a stranded
& forlorn weak & weary everyday folks who
by gosh darned if they can’t make it on their
own … then … ah shucks, so be it.
…
The fresh & revitalized Charlie was then oh
so politely & with just so much deference
escorted red-carpet-like to an awaiting golden
chariot headed by two gleaming & snorting
whiter than white horses whose whip-lash
reins were grasped oh so tightly by one
Donald J. Trump in all his fatuous orange
glory …
…
& the victorious vehicle of Republican
moral victory carried its newly crowned
poster-child, Ambassador of Goodwill,
Our Boy **** Right He Is! to the
hallowed halls of Congress for a rapturous
near-incandescent welcome & general
‘got you now leftist America’ parade of
Glory, Glory God Almighty Lookee
Here … deal with it ****.

Well ...
truth be told
that's not actually true
if we are realistic & honest,

it's an attempt by the weak
& the down-trodden
& the wronged
to find some sort of relief 
by saying to themselves
"Oh, the Lord
will judge ...
or ... you'll get what's coming"

when in fact there's is no reason
why the bad guy should get
any natural reckoning
is there?

there is no heaven & pearly gates,
no karmic law of justice & retribution,
read some Nietzsche if you need
philosophical reasoning to work
this out but really its plain as
day isn't it,

justice & accounting & all such
righting of wrongs are all up to
us simple skin & bone humans,

God doesn't judge,
& you don't get reborn
as a lowly grasshopper
you don't ...
sorry to say perhaps.

Justice is not thine oh lord,
vengeance & judgement
are ours & ours alone,
don't waste time waiting
for some unseen but inevitable
law of the universe.

Act!

You may all think Matthew is perhaps up all
night reading Das Capital for fun
& spending odd days in his chair
pondering class relations in
late 21st century Capitalism,

or just plain transfixed by newsreels,
earnest learned scholars,
smiling breezy interviewers,
fooled or entertained
by an opinion about
this, a diversion about
that,

& that Matthew sits hunched
over a computer screen
fuming at life's repugnancies,
odious & loathsome actors
in the Politics Game,
desperately berating liars,
despising sycophants, cursing
till the end of days the evil-doers,
ill-wishers, & apologists,

that Matthew in pure Bolshevik-
style takes no prisoners, accepts
no quarter, tidies up after the revolution
by filling shallow graves with the still
warm corpses of the enemies of the people,

well, actually you'd be on the right track
in some ways to be perfectly honest
but still ...

Matthew loves a good soccer game, caramel
ice cream, bananas, bacon sandwiches,
watching pelicans at the lake,
children playing,
old folks chilling ...

he's not really some kind of Iron Man of the
People all Medalled with the Order of
Proletariat First Class ...
fanatic, without humor, obsessed,
despairing & fuming & just plain
at his wits end,

he actually has faith & can take a step
back & curse the fool while enjoying
the wind upon his face,

Matthew loves the play but hates the
lead actors & in the Old English
tradition shouts out from the stalls
"Look out behind you!" as he takes
a lick from his sweet vanilla cornet.

Perhaps,
well perhaps
if you don't want
the US Press to investigate
& publish
& do their job,
you might consider
not calling them
****!

& perhaps
if you don't want,
your hidden Russian ties
looked into & broadcast all over,
you might,
just might,
not want to make
your subservience
& craven submission
to Putin
so plainly obvious
to all but the
complete deaf mutes
amongst us,

& perhaps,
just perhaps,
if you want
the Intelligence Services
on your side,
you might next time,
not stand in
front of a wall
honoring their dead,
& spend the time
bragging & lying
& honoring
your own
**** self,

& perhaps,
if you want
respect & 'a chance'
you might acknowledge
the complete ethical vacuum
that was your campaign,
& the complete lack of
simple human decency
that was your
trademark,
this last
year
and a half.

Sweet, sweet tea of the morning
& a glass of old-style
Kool-Aid I insist
cos its summer
& we'll need it,

& then we stroll on out
down Main Street
& over the bridge
just past the station
to the old
Baptist Church,

where I suggest
we rest awhile
just to take
the weight off
our feet,

& we sit all
relaxed & resting
& there's a
slight discomfort,
I can feel it,

oh relax I say
just enjoy
the quiet,

& I feel it myself,
the waves,
the shimmering

& the colors
from the glass windows
shine so brightly
& we talk
so objectively
about this,
all logic
& such,

but then it hits
& you all get nervous
& wonder what
is happening,

& I confess
to the plan
& say just
go with it,
go with it,
all will be well,

& light talk goes on
all thought & surmise
& the figure so sweet
all compassion
& sacrifice
grabs hold
& we still chat
but slowly,
slowly,

& Look at the Windows
I say,
& we gaze so
way up there
and the jeweled
light cascades
all reds,
yellows,
blues,

& from inside
after the chit-chat ebbs,
comes flowing
the grace
& the love
& the power

& the Divine
is with us now,
right here
from us
right now,

& we weep
& God is Love,
& we weep,
& we weep

The Great Negotiator
likes to play golf actually
likes to play a lot of golf
even though he touted
from the podium that he'd
be too busy to play golf
unlike that lazy Obama
who couldn't get enough
golf time it appeared didn't it,

& The Great Negotiator has
visited his golf clubs 13 times
in 100 days but his staff
like to kind of not talk about
it too much really do they,
it actually being kind of a
sensitive topic,

& the Master Deal Maker
would be winning so much
you'd be tired of him winning
& then maybe just perhaps
he might find time for a round
of golf in between the many
deals he'd be pulling off
left, right, & centre & winning,
winning, winning in his first
100 days as the Great Negotiator
who could make a deal & get
things done,

& all that other stuff he endlessly
spouted forth in that vapid earnest
New York deal making whisper of his,

oh yes ... The Great Negotiator.

Subtle rhymes
are my forte,
raised on Pound
& Belafonte,

succoured on Yates
& then Bukowski,
slept with earphones
tuned to Count Brodski,

the other kids
they loved me so,
for all the places
my rhymin'
dared to go,

taunting teachers,
mocking dads,
laughing at those
silly fads,

& in the playground
I would rap,
my friend Nigel
doing taps,

& as I stepped down
from the bus,
boys would cheer
& shout & fuss,

Rhyme us!
Hit us!
1, 2, 3 ...

Martin's here
all fancy free.

Eating Cadbury's chocolate handed
to you by sultry Amazons as you
float gently down the river Seine
in Paris while accompanying Frenchmen
in berets gently play their harmonium
thingy as the younger Brigitte Bardot
lets her blond hair tumble gently over
your face as she softly hums in your
ear songs by Smokey Robinson,

& meanwhile Hendrix's long sweet jam
Voodoo Chile blasts from enormous
banks of speakers being towed alongside
by Viking longboats crewed by Republican
politicians & overseen by the ladies of
***** riot now free from the prison cells
of Siberia,

as Tommy Cooper performs magic tricks
& near extinct animals, birds & insects
mate freely among floating clouds of
vapoury spring dew,

while deliciously gorgeous Thai ladyboys
slowly peel grapes for me before setting
off in a fluttering cloud to use their wiles
& charms on Republican conventioneers,
as you relax & smoke ***** & share a
hot-tub with God.

Joy.

Flem went to Washington
riding the tattered coat-tails
of those high-falutin’
swamp-drainers,
who offered him work,
Treasury Department,
carried 51-50
Pence tie-breaking,
by golly yes.

Mink tagged along
surprising the clan
with his tact
& diplomacy
best behavior
and all …
Health &
Human Services
became his.

Ike wasn’t to be
left out,
just rollin’ on
in there,
all a tootin’
& a hollerin’
… Department
of the Interior,
by sheer force
of charm.

Launcelot,
oh Launcelot!
high hopes
had Launcelot,
but he settled
for Ambassador
to China,
loving the food,
& the old wall,
& all.
I.O. …
son *****
I.O. …
Well he gained
immediate traction,
and just
a bamboozled
his way to
Secretary of Agriculture,
mighty proud
he was too,

Eula,
poor Eula,
well along she rode
guarding the
pots and pans
and milk crates
stacked in the back
of the old jalopy,
& carefully took
a simple pride
in White House
decorating.

Flem had some boys
come around
first day
& made some
handshakes on the
best paintings,
so there was
plenty of
wall space
for Eula
to work with,

oh lord yes
the family
had arrived.

In God's American heaven
all the Krishnas,
Ivans & Nadias,
get to wait in line
like sorry-*** out-of-towners
hoping for a good night out,

while the Americans,
granted extra
special consideration
by right of birth
& all that is great
& mighty about
this unique land,

just get waved on through
by God's golden bouncers,
straight on in
like hot girls
& dazzling boys
at the club
of the
moment
in the dazzling
L.A. night.

Just because I think it would be a beautiful
idea if Trump & Bannon could be strapped
down in a Rocket aimed for the outer
reaches of the infinite starry galaxies
doesn't mean I wish them gone,

& just because I'd love to see Julian Assange
work the mines in the deepest bowels of
the high Ecuadorian mountains
doesn't mean I wish him ill,

& just because I'd be so satisfied by Mitch McConnell
pimped out on a Detroit street in mid-winter
while his man keeps an eye-out from a
warm & very smooth cadillac nearby
doesn't mean I wish him a tough evening,

& just because I'd be real chuffed to see Paul Ryan
in all his 'What Me Worry' shallow smile
earnest do-gooder front be flown to Calcutta
as shock-therapy & made to clean the wounds
of leprous beggars,
doesn't mean I'm sensing justice,

& just because I really am down with that oh so
sincerely evil David Duke being forced to perform
street cleaning duties in darkest Baltimore
doesn't men I'm feeling righteous,

& just because I'm very, very o.k. with the idea &
then the actual practice of some sort of natural
justice doesn't mean I'm being unrealistic,
a dreamer, or need to relax awhile.

These are my dreams folks.

Dappled             smooth

marble stones
                             falling,

onto a heap of feathers
              
                              slowly.

A train of bones.

Sharks ...

                             swift & deadly.

I'd like them all
each & every one
down to the last
smug,
self-satisfied,
smart,
oh-so-smart
deniers,

lined up,
arm in arm,
just standing there
waiting ...
at the sea-shore,

& planting
tiny sticks
with flags
representing the
yet to be born
whose families
will find
their villages,
their homes,
their whole history
& livelihood
gone ...
under water,
gone.

I'd make them all
spend day
after day
constructing walls
with grains of sand
to stem the tide,

& I'd like a few
of the most
powerful ones
to simply, really,
just
stay there,
as the tide rolled in
& the waves washed the shore.

Deniers ...
may somehow
you just
be there
RIGHT
when
it happens.

Are they human those folks out there
who gut legislation to protect us all &
each & every breathing life-form on this
fragile Earth of ours?

Are they?

Does their blood flow as you & I or is
it replaced at night by limping hunch-backed
servants as they rest stiffly at night in
lead coffins secure under oh so normal
looking suburban ranch houses?

Does it?

Do they eat as we do by which I mean
placing food in their mouths & biting
down or is some weird looking dry
space-man looking powder flown in
daily from the planet Zarcon to be
diluted with strange lethal brews &
sipped stealthily at midnight?

Do they?

Do they reproduce by means of some
hideously ***** placing of certain parts
in other certain parts while gathering in
naked groups at certain designated rural
retreats from which even the males leave
pregnant & ready to pop after only 7 days,

Do they?

Are they human these vile creatures more
akin to loathsome phantoms from a deep inky
black darkness that is a child's feverish
nightmare in that they move on two legs
but suddenly you realize as they close in
that Sweet Jesus what the **** have I
encountered late at night in this dark alley?

Are they?

And do they mutter in a low vibration too dense
for normal folks to catch a solemn hymn of praise
to some Dark Overlord or All-Powerful unforgiving
master of theirs who resides fathoms deep in
a sullen barren cave of ignorance & cynical
pitiless laughter?

Do they?

Republicans ... are they human?

In Nicaragua
Oliver North
murdered children and schoolteachers,
& he's now on T.V.
military adviser
or some-such,

In Afghanistan
Barack Obama dropped a bomb from a drone
killing dozens from a wedding party,
& he's still president
of some-such,

In Iraq
Bush and Cheney
slaughtered thousands,
one's still out
shooting ducks
or some-such,
one's still grinning
while painting dogs
and vacuous,
infantile
portraits,

In New York
Mr Eric Garner
stood out on the street
selling loose cigarettes
by one's or two's
& he was grappled
to the ground
& then
chocked
to death.

If William Owens caught sight
of the monstrous tugging at
the heart strings of the Chief
Theatric Officer Trump & the
so cheap & cynical little
throw-away line of "The
Bible teaches us ..."

& saying Owen was likely
happy in heaven because
the chamber "broke a record"
for the length of its ovation,

would he be happy to see
his death & his mother's
desperate suffering used
by a shallow vain opportunist
as backdrop to his coming
out as so presidential?

& whilst orchestrating grief
for the folks at home but then
"They lost Ryan" is thrown
out there because heaven
forbid Trump could take
any responsibility for this
soldiers death,

heaven forbid.

Trump has overseas businesses
& assures us he has no conflicts
here, there & everywhere ...

Oh well sure,
we're reassured that he won't
actually be using every angle,
turning every corner, fine-tuning
every legality to bring those dollars
rolling in ...

just as he did with Trump University,
his pitiful bottled water & steak props
at his 'news' conference, his ties made
in China, his Mar A Lago Winter White
House operation, his Trump jet rentals,
your seats next to the President-elect for
close to a cool million ...

his Paul Manafort with his Ukraine deals,
his numerous go-fers all bouncing around
from here to Moscow, his secret deals we'll
all soon know about, his money laundering
Azerbaijan hotel racket, his red ******* hats,
all your Trump makin' a buck wheelin' & dealin'
that continues as we speak ...

& the hell of it is all the poor schmucks who think
you're Daddy Bigbucks & would love the chance
to one day make it just as you, all gold this & big
that & pomp & privilege & trickle-down & *****
the little man, the brown man, the other man &
yes by Jesus he's the man to get it done,
he speaks our language,
feels our pain ...

the only language he speaks is monetary,
the only values he has are green-backed, the only
everyman he looks out for is the mark he's about
to take in Donald Trump's corner store 3 card monte.

Trump sure loves his money, & thanks you all for
this great opportunity to use the Presidency of this
here United States to just plain rake it in like a
chubby, orange Scrooge McDuck in his golden,
tingling, vast & filling basement.

"I think if this country gets any kinder or gentler,
it’s literally going to cease to exist."

Trump chatting it up with
******* gave us that sweet
gem of philosophical &
political wisdom,

Oh kindness ..
that communist conspiracy
cooked up by that bearded longhair
Leon Trotsky & close to a bacillus
that threatens the goodness
of the nation & thus simply
treating each other nicely
becomes the equivalent
of Red Guard fanaticism,

as if niceness was a Leninist
conspiracy & looking out for
strangers was an underhand
ruse & the first station on the
way to the Siberian Gulag
& children informing on
their mama & papa,

as if gentleness was a sin
close to ****** & a defect
solved by drastic measures
somewhat akin to re-education
camps in the steamy jungle
morning,

as if looking out for one
another came with a
guaranteed negative
for the giver & thus
wasn't at all a good
deal & heck isn't a
thing I'd sign off
on thats for ****
sure,

as if brotherly love & simple
common solidarity in the
face of life's trials & harsh
tribulations was anathema
to the 'real' man who sure
as heck won't give an inch
if he thinks the other dudes
gettin' one over on him,

as if compassion was an
elitist liberal virtue & caring
for one another was mirrored
by the Manson Family & sure
by golly gee we're not taking
that road you must be kidding
seriously now,

as if love was not a Christian virtue
& as if trust revealed you as a
taken rube & as if letting your
guard down & giving a ****
meant Satan had taken hold
in your heart & you were now
a direct threat to all we hold
near & dear & sacred.

Just be nice ...
Its not so much to ask.

Come back Barack ...
oh my how we miss
you so,

I know you weren't perfect
in that Commander in Chief
bombing innocent folks overseas
sort of way,

but Sweet Jesus at least
you are not Trump,

you had some natural dignity
as a decent man with his heart
in the right place for most of
the time & you tried, at least
you tried to make things better
for all folks,

& you could shed a tear for the
children & you could take a joke
& you could chuckle with the
best of them & you did have
good dance moves & your
hair wasn't some sort of
freeze-dried candy floss
sort of thing,

& you didn't re-tweet Fascists,
& didn't scapegoat, & lie, & work
every single angle possible to
put a few more dollars in your
bank account,

& you had a keen intelligence for
important things such as the health
of your citizens & the world they live
in & you wouldn't say Islamic terrorism
because you knew it was a dangerous
& short-sighted & in the end truly awful
way to play into the hands of the enemy,

& you kneeled down to talk to kids in
mini-pope mobiles, & you had an honesty
& a calm reasoned approach that even
if that was too much at times at least
you didn't jump into the fire and wade
in the dark morass of prejudice & ignorance,

& you didn't appoint all your family to
powerful positions so they too could work
that dollar angle & you didn't promise
idiocies to gullible desperate idiots &
you at least weren't a ****** predator
& a two-bit snake-oil salesman who
worked a three-card monte with a
'University' so as to fleece the believers,

& you weren't called Donald Trump &
you were at least a Democrat & son of
a gun look at us now!

Young Donald is so very bigly hoping
that he can rest his fat golden *** in
the Queen's oh so golden carriage
when he visits those green, green lands
as he's used to sitting on golden stuff
& it makes him feel so very ...
special & important,

he's instructed his minions to pull strings
twist arms & just plain plead for this to be
allowed as he is just all pumped about the
idea of sticking his big orange head out of
the golden carriage so as he can wave to
the adoring multitudes,

it might even be better than the time they
allowed him to sit in that big, big truck &
toot that big, big horn ...

oh my is he excited.

Me ... I hope there's a riotous seething mob
that makes the storming of the bastille look
like a rowdy friday night at the pub,
but me,

I guess I'm just a dreamer.