to the tune of "My Favorite Things"*

Poems in all caps and no punctuation,
Mixed metaphors and clichéd observation,
Roses and rainbows and angels with wings--
These are a few of my least favorite things.

Morbid obsessions and self flagellations,
Self involved rantings and dull ruminations,
Exhibitionists’ ****** preoccupations--
I’m just not dying to read these creations.

Statements of true love to those I don’t know,
Plodding prose poems that go way too slow,
Syllable stresses that aren’t found in English--
If only I’d see them no more is my true wish.

When the urge strikes,
When the words flow,
When you grab that pen--
Just take a moment and think…again.

A good Dictionary, and a Thesaurus,
Some time to read poets who wrote long before us,
Revising, rewriting and time to review--
It’s only these small things that I ask of you..

The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he scurried up to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we endeavor to hide."

""We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."

"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."

"Our graduates cheat and suborn
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Politicians here are made, not born,
and all learn to prevaricate."

"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some Coed's behind."

We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
telling lies in an endless loop.

There were quotes from
the Koran and Bible
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.

" The people must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."

I said, barely moving my lips.

Stamp out all the clocks in me,
Bend this  glass until time breaks
Hobble the pace of everything that runs
End all noise and raw prediction.

Give me one moment with a still sun,
A pod of great white clouds in pause,
The flutter, the wind, the memory of beginnings,
I miss you most in mornings, why wake up at all.

I’m beyond the reach of what you see.
I’m past the breach of decency.
I wait and pace in gloomy alleys
as we count and number up the tallys.
I’ll drop a dime on the world wide web,
as justice and compassion ebb.
I’ll shout the truth for all to hear,
but where I am—it isn’t here.
My name is scarlet, black or white;
call me when it’s time to fight.
Just give the sign, when it’s time,
I’ll put aside my game of rhyme.
Tread in shadow, stalk by night,
Tyrant falls from the assassin’s bite.

I don’t care if you steal a quick look,
when you think I can’t see it.
As long as it’s furtive, it’s by the book.
A man looks at a woman;
it’s only human.
But when you stare
at my big “girls”, then leer in my face--
you’re a disgrace.
I’m not putting up with your ******.
The next time it happens,
I’m going Thelma and Louise.