Dinking too much whiskey,
Behaving sort of risky,
Telling lying stories,
Tall tales of former glories,
Laughing between the tokes,
At outrageously bad jokes;
We thought we were outlaws,
But were tamer than in-laws.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Honking horns at passing cars
Toking doobies under the stars,
Letting no cuties pass us by
Without whistling, my oh my.
We were certain we were cool
Too ****** to know we were fools.
Escapees from the workaday,
We ten-mile perimeter ruanways.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Out at night, no three-piece suits,
Sandals instead of fruit boots
Pegged jeans and rolled up sleeves
No fancy stuff with fancy weaves.
Prepared for whatever comes
Serenaded by engine hum
We told each other that we were hot.
Even though we knew we were not.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Jammin’ with Mammon.
Hyped to the max.
Finding those loopholes
Paying no tax.
Slammin’ for Mammon.
Foreclosing on life.
You died too soon?
We’ll tax your wife.

Jammin’ with Mammon
The world by the tail.
Lie cheat and swindle
Don’t worry about bail.
Swimmin' like salmon
Against the stream.
Dealing from the bottom;
Living the dream.

Slammin’ for Mammon;
Trample the rest.
Get first and last from
The community chest.
No famine for Mammon;
Let the poor starve.
**** the fatted calf and
Get ready to carve.

Jammin’ with Mammon
As good as it gets.
No room for conscience
Or squishy regrets.
Slammin’ for Mammon
Means money is king.
Don’t count the victims,
Just get the brass ring.

You and I shared childhood
When dreams seemed real
And life spun on a wheel
Of fun in our neighborhood.
We stayed out as late as can
Before our mothers called
And needed not much at all
We made fun with two tin cans.

Rolling down hills together
Like sledding without a care
And snowfall everywhere.
Our fun didn’t need weather.
We made up our own games
With just rocks and sticks
Forts we built for kicks
And we gave them clever names.

We took our time for granted
Like tomorrow was never
We’d go on and on forever
Like two human trees planted.
But looking back we can see
We were but a lovely hour
Wilting like a lovely flower
And had no true immortality.

Still the memories are pleasant
And speak softly over years
About having fun without fear
And learning from life lessons.
We need to savor every gift
And take them all to heart.
Remember those and start
To let our aging spirits lift.

(For my cousin, Louise Stacer Alexander)

Come and let me tell you
Tales of distant wizards
In far off foreign lands.
The speak in words of poetry
And magic incantations
Even they don’t understand.

They tell of arcane stories
Of dragons and the caves
Of gemstones where they hid.
They tell of verve and derring-do
And swashbuckling heroism
In legendary acts they never did.

They chant, these ancient shamans
To deities and gods of ancient name
Who they know well are fakers.
They foretell and portend wonders
And riches for those who rule, and
Call themselves movers and shakers.

These magic-minded soothsayers
Drape themselves in auras of mystery
And tell the believers they can heal.
And if the congregation fails to look
Closely enough at their performances
They believe the mythological is real.

And time can coat the stores in paint
That looks like the patina of the ages
So it passes the inspection of he willing.
No true believer looks for cracks
In the walls around the real facts
Or questions the truth they are killing.

The old saying talks about
Being snug as a bug in a rug
But how can you feel that way
If you never ever get hugged.
If you hug your loved ones
They may not need drugs.
It’s an inexpensive medicine;
The basic household hug.

Worse things could happen
Than to catch the hugging bug.
It’s a better remedy than you
Can find in an apothecary jug.
It doesn’t require prescription
And is no big weight to lug.
You always have one handy,
The standard loving hug.

A hug can be the cure for you
When you are in a purple fug
And your face begins to look
Like a rather dyspeptic pug.
Somebody wonderful arrives
And gives your heart a tug
By giving you the all-time best
Wholehearted, loving hug.

The hinky stinky spider
Spun a crooked web.
His mama called him,
Said “You stop that, Jeb!”
Jeb the hinky spider
Pays nobody mind.
He stumbles on his way
Just as if he’s blind.

The hinky stinky spider
Spins webs around DC
Pulling in Republicans
To his philosophy.
They do not notice
His mind is awful dim.
That is because they
Are half as bright as him.

The hinky stinky spider
Spins old and faulty tales.
Knows half the voters
Will fall for all his wails.
Hoping he is lucky
Like his brother Dub
And gets himself elected
Resulting from a flub.

The hinky stinky spider
Looks just like a man
Looks very much like
A normal also-ran.
Hopes he can win with
What he thinks is fame
Based on ignoring
The blight upon his name.

He, the rumpled bumbler,
Stumbled, mumbling, bungling
Through his self-made jungle
No mote of humility, his abilities
Were not inclusive of subtlety.
He settled for a public identity
Of propriety and normality,
Obvious hospitality but falsity
Like the nose on his face, exposed.

What a verbose, but artificial
Government official he was.
His cause was never for us
It was for that he was notorious;
How laboriously he dissembled.
But he resembled his opposition
Then took a position of submission
Until his mission was complete
Then he beat his feet in retreat
To those he knew could beat
The highest price and that was nice.

Twice as nice for rental cars
And pretty movie stars
Who weren’t too humble
To stumble the red carpet
With the rumpled bumbler,
Mumbling, no longer bungling
Through his self-made jungle.
Still no humility, a perfect facility
To take from the poor, give to the rich
And not care who calls him sonofabitch.

You can talk about Jesus
And be instantly heard.
You can call him your Savior
And not mean a word.
You can shout your hosannas
To the people on your street
And few will suspect you
As having pure clay feet.

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

When you talk about Jesus
Please be true to the words.
Read what he has said
And not what you heard.
If you read the Holy Bible
And find reason to hate
You’ve been led astray
And it’s not too late.

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

So far we’ve noticed
The words that bigots use
Are not from Christians,
But are textual abuse
In that they are from before
Man learned to write
So why are bigots so sure
They got everything right?

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

If I die and I go to hell
One thing I know very well
I’ll take the elevator, and not stairs
And every Republican is sure to be there.
I won’t be lonely, or a little bit scared.
I can always hide in Donald Trump’s hair.
I’ll probably find some dandy premises
If I believe the campaign promises.

When I die and I go to hell
I will see evangelists ringing their bell
To direct their followers to the right
Figuring they finally won the fight
And got all the right people swayed.
They’re in for a revelation, I’m afraid.
As usual, they will have it backward.
Their vision upside down and awkward.

But, don’t worry everyone
If you are going to hell.
Fox News will be there with us
With made-up stories to tell
About how hell is about to freeze
And Democrats, down on their knees
Will repent in the final days
How soft they had treated the gays.

But, do not fear the story I tell.
Some things will be familiar in hell.
For instance, the Congressmen there
Will still be trying to work up a scare
That making them and their buddies rich
Is the right and proper political pitch.
When the field is their kind of level,
They will take over and outlaw the devil.

DUMPY TRUMPY

Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****.
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****.
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.

Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.

Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.

Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.

Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.