To frack, or not to frack, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the eyes of the world to suffer
The stings and barbs of outrageous corporations
Or to take up pen against a flood of money
And by opposing silence them.  To speak, to write
Not heeded; and by a word we say stop
The drilling and the thousand unnatural shocks
That earth is heir to: ‘tis a consummation
Decidedly to be needed. To speak, to write;
To march, perhaps be silent—yes, there’s the challenge
For in that sleep of conscience, what death may come?

How do I love thee? Let me count the strokes.
      I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
      My ball can reach when sailing out of sight
      For the end of rounds and ideal shots.
      I love to the level of every player’s
      Most quiet need, by sun and failing light.
      I love thee freely, as men strive for greens.
      I love thee purely, as they turn from rough.
      I love thee with the passion put to use
      In my old clubs, and with my hacker’s faith.
      I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
      With my last swing—I love thee with the pars,
      Birdies, bogeys of all my life!
      And if God choose
      I shall but play thee better after death.

Apologies to Dr. Seuss

I am The Donald, The Donald I am
And not like any other man
I’m living large out on the stump
In this house of cards I am the Trump
Little Marco and Big Ted Cruz
Punched me hard to make me lose
They did not know I cannot bruise
I am the Donald, The Donald I am
Withstanding every media pan
The party of Lincoln, the party of Reagan
They’re on their knees and now they’re beggin’
Please, please, Dump the Trump
To them I say harrumph, harrumph
For I am The Donald nobody’s chump
I dish it out lump after lump
And when at last the votes are counted
And protests left and right are mounted
I’ll still be here still standing tall
Because I’m just too big to fall
Be it Crooked Clinton or ****** Bernie
I’m on the phone to my attorney
Cause you all know I’ve got the loot
And Trumps the card that beats a suit
I am Donald, The Donald I am
Known to all as the Flim-Flam-Man

Jeff Moredock…almost the Ides of March

Not tonight, I have my .

It’s all gone, my dog – ate it.

If you _ you lose.

Look, it’s an…of the sun!

I just had my first : oscopy

My sigmoidoscopy was a ; oscopy

I believe Matthew, Luke, and John, but I ?

Every town has a dump
               Some have credentials
               Many rooted in old habits
               All piled high with the
               Detritus of destiny
               The old making way for the new

               But here in Our Town
               We have a Transfer Station
               A place where
               Pass the trash and
               In for a buck is not a game

              Just a dollar a pound
              Unload the unneeded
              The unnecessary, the
              Bad and the ugly
              Only the good live again
              Recycled, reborn, reused

              The large scale weighs the
              Refuse of our lives and we
              Wait while our ticket is punched
              Always with the Big Question
              Really the only question
              Will my end be like this

              When I am no longer needed
              No longer necessary
              Will I be ******* or renewal
              Rejected or recycled

              For…no matter how
              We lead our lives
              We all end up at
              The Transfer Station

Early mourning clouds
   Will hang heavy
   Between head and heart
   Followed by
   Teardrop drizzle causing
   Limited visibility and
   Topical depression

   By mid-day winds of change
   And sunshine smile
   Will allow gradual clearing
   Between head and heart
                   Followed by a warming trend

   Probability of participation 100%