I love America
But sometimes I hate the U.S.A.
How do you spin,
Blocking airways?
Two party system;Our United States,
Couldn’t give better delegates?
And I despise all of the
Idol Worship,
Trickle-down culture,
Your distractions, weapons. Change;
not an endless hunt for newer things.
When Patriotism Trumps
Common Sense,
1776,
And we Masquerade our Liberty
Confined in an invisible pillory,
And you accrue,
While we make do,
At this point, if you are asking me,
Then yes, I would prefer shared misery
To your “equal opportunity.”

They set us so carelessly upon the trees;
despite our wails, screams, and pleas, we
become dying fruit for the fleas.
Institutionalized and criminalized, we live a life of fear.
They sneer, jeer at the sight of us at life’s rear.
Our plight against contempt makes for a militant man
as we just try to be as real as we can.
To them, our efforts are never enough,
for them, our pain is never enough.
We strive for equality, liberty, happiness, and life.
In turn, we receive hatred, anger, and strife.
Murdered and ***** and torn next to our loved ones.
In response, we give a passion greater than the Sun’s.
All of our lives, we have had to fight.
Striking back against their wrath, destroying their blight.

They set us so wrongly upon their boat;
after we are spent, we are set to float.
I wonder about real life,
“What does it feel like?”
Torment should not be equal to pigment,
and there is nothing to warrant such abhorrent torrents.
We are not equal and never have been the same.
When we speak out, we are silenced; liberty too tamed.
They set us so harshly upon the pyre;
the extermination of desire,
the death of liberty as a killing fire.

From going out
I have to refrain
Terrified by the passing by
Corona thunder and
Pandemic rain,
Oddly defying science,
A chimera,
Looming large
Again and again.

I have begun
To pine
For old me
Freely out to
The neighborhood
And street
Somebody to meet
Somebody to greet.

After  Covid-19's
Shock treatment,
My reservation
I admit
In being picky
When choosing people
I used to meet.

"Love your friend
As yourself
As God said
It has dawned on me
In humanity's treasure trove
Should  come peoples' love
Of course all things atop
Must be placed
In-God-vested hope.(Mark 12: 30-31)


My behavior spiraling
Out of control
A feeble and complacent
Human being
I stretched my imagination
As if God
Has secondary or no role.
As such,
Earthly pursuit
Was my goal.
Now, as King David said, (plasm 122:1)
I reflect
Going to church,
Uplifting soul, allows
With God keeping
In touch.
It has also sank in
Brushing shoulders
With collogues
Was enthusing
Aloof, on my chair
Before I perch,
At times to do
Reading research.

I realized the money
I used to stash away
To make hay,
While others were starving
And when I could become
People hungry
Had no meaning.

I want to see
The broadmass
No more afraid
Out, on their table
To put bread!

I pined my liberty of
To and fro
Breathing oxygen free
Before the
Corona lockdown decree.

I want to project
My true face
Forced not on
My lovely face
A mask to place.

With a square shoulder
I want to walk
No more ringing
In my ear
The pandemic talk.
I want to rove the land
And fly on the sky
To feast my eyes
On touristic spots
Or goods to buy,
May God allow me
Such things again
Before I die!
I  also pine to see
The day
Undertakers are
No longer in a hurry
Fellow citizens
To bury.

I pray for
God's Mercy
Gramercy!

But now  
Keeping social distance
Washings hands with soap
Putting on face mask
And sanitizing is
What I advance.

Mother of Cowards
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Spread-eagled, showering gold, a strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
"Mother of Cowards!" From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
Allegiance to her ****'s repulsive game.

"Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!" cries she
With scarlet lips. "Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump's pleasure by the gilded bowl!"

NOTE: My sonnet is a parody of the famous poem "The New Colossus" written about the Statue of Liberty by Emma Lazarus. Keywords/Tags: America, American history, liberty, United States, Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus, Statue of Liberty, Lady Liberty, torch, freedom, beacon, lamp, light, door, golden door, liberty, immigrants, immigration, refuse, homeless, poor, rich, discrimination, huddled masses, yearning, breath free, giant, fame, free, freedom of speech, independence day, New York, patriotic

Chapter One.

Taste the crap fully.
The corn eyes comatosed....
stuck
In between the folds of mash potato like obedience.
Fuckery makes hate great again.
The horrible rift established by
Religiously intolerant thetoric.
Reacting becomes classic.
Suffocation slowly creeps in and becomes expected.
The silence becomes tragic,
as the first amendment is shredded  into nothingness.
And soon the corn eyes begins to multiply,
as stinking crap blinds the dreams of its corn fed yellow eyes.
Remember, fake news like corn never sits well in the tummy.
Comes out at the other end.
Brown chunky oatmeal,
with corn eyes wide open looking stuck upon the mountains and mountains
of left over **** traffic coming to a sudden halt.
Where is lady liberty?
My original democracy loving tv dinner Mommy.
Who knows....
This is the diary of zombie corn eyes.

Next Week....
Chapter Two.
When a new jacking off tax becomes a liability for those professionals tryimg to make money off their favorite part time hobby.

(C) copyright 2020

Liberty liberty
We chant
Peaceful peaceful
Our voices rise
Seeking a dream
Seeking a homeland
....
Blood blood
Is all I wipe
Eyes wide open
But they see no light
Chasing a dream
Chasing a homeland
....
Tears tears
Sobs and cries
Gone forever
My beautiful man
there is no dream
There is no homeland

I often wander past her gallows
And feel a sympathetic twinge
At glints of sun on growing rifts
I long to hear her sing

My fingers itch to hold the mallet
Molded to her brazen form
A tongue, once ripped from quiet lips
It rests, with ears, unworn

If treasured glance is counted higher
Than the purest ringing note
Then may she hang still, gagged in silence
“To Liberty!”, I quote

Let me be a bird
And fly in the sky
Free from all fetters

Let me be a fish
And swim across the seas
Free of all bounds

Let me be the wind
And flow everywhere
Free of all barriers


Let me be the sun
Let me be the moon
And caress the nightly Earth
With my cool milky warmth

Let me, let me just be
Myself...!