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Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
We heard there are poor people with money
And as Republicans, we don’t find that funny.
At first we thought it was a horrible joke
They’re supposed to be broke.
A kind of liberal poke.

We’re the elite, the complete package.
The blue ribbon, the absolute cream.
Don’t say we’re not or we’ll scream.
We know we’re right
Because we’re white.

So, dance the Republican Mambo
We’re the real Americans by Jingo!
Just like Billy Rose’s Jumbo
We dominate the dance floor
But that is what we live for.
We mow down opposition like Rambo.
Don’t question us again
Just send your money in
Get paper and pen quickly
And send money to the RNC!

Yes, we let a few of the other kind in
But only when we have to now and then.
They are exceptions of note
Designed to get the vote.
They’re each a Judas goat,
And they speak by rote.

Darwin said it well, even though he’s a fake
Survival of the fittest means we can take
Everything and everyone we may see
And knock them to their knees;
Grind them up mercilessly!
We get everything we see.

So, dance the Republican Mambo
We’re the real Americans by Jingo!
Just like Billy Rose’s Jumbo
We dominate the dance floor
But that is what we live for.
We mow down opposition like Rambo.
Don’t question us again
Just send your money in
Get paper and pen quickly
And send money to the RNC!
Brent Kincaid Dec 2017
I sat there, a callow youth
Shallow, unwieldy with the truth,
And fearing to be caught in a lie
My words never gave the by
To my attempt at insouciance.
I gave away the game with my name
And hoped that my meager fame
Would decry any need to explain,
But social curiosity laid its claim
And suddenly I was the luminary
With a silly, boring past to bury.
I knew I should have been more wary.

Why was  I here when it was clear
These people and I were disparate?
Was I so desperate that I needed
To risk an embarrassing removal
To seek these stranger’s approval?
Was I such a egotistical *****
I craved applause when there wasn’t any?
I knew coming here I didn’t know forks,
More accustomed to dinner with sporks,
My napkins had heretofore been disposable.
Socially my thumbs were unopposable
Yet here I sat feeling totally unacceptable.

Yet I was the intended near-inlaw,
Feeling much to be the social outlaw
Recognizing glances and non-glances
Of those who were game to taking chances
To see if I remained seated to brazen it out
Or had I, with an excuse, or better, a shout
Stood and wilted, or scuttled away theatrically
Empowering chatter for those women who natter
And seem of no matter at all to the men
So they can return again to their talk of money
And find nothing in my existence slightly funny;
Finding it necessary to ignore me all the more.

But, raised as a child of little parental concern
I could teach these paragons with so much to learn
That every individual is exactly and precisely that.
They would be wise to take their feet, tip their hat,
And effuse with gratitude, issue some platitudes
And beatitudes that I could so easily obliterate
Their tendencies to pontificate and exacerbate
Their images as characters in a humorous play.
I might receive them of that burden this day
By letting them listen to the tales I could say
Transporting them from this table to non-fables
About what it means to exist with little food.

But I spare them this education, my declarations,
Because I know they desire not any perorations
From a person of my painful lack of pedigree.
I knew I must be satisfied with the planned perigee
Of this cometary gathering, the blathering and chat,
The acceptance of the crucible of where I sat
Like the Cheshire cat, smiling as if this were fine
And my status here were not firmly on the line.
I watched my intended blanch when I said
Or did something she didn’t have in her head.
I counted, the times I was addressed unpleasantly.
I knew this romance was to terminate presently.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2017
The rich never starve
So they don’t understand
When others do.
They have no earthly idea
What the starving folks
Are going through.

They are being taught
By those that have cash
That poor are lazy trash
And it’s fine to ignore
When they suffer.

If the poor were wise
They would choose another
Better way of living.
They’d surely not starve
But would rather carve
Out some way of  life
That brought wealth to
Their kids and their wife.

It’s got to be something
That the poor has done
To make them into
The neediest ones.
They should even work
For some fast food place
Because being poor is
A huge, social disgrace.

And the women should stay
At home with their kids
The same way our mothers
Of yesterday all did.
It’s shameful the way
The poor make their spouses
Work at jobs all the time
Outside of their houses.

The rich never starve
So they don’t understand
When others suffer.
They fail to accept that
We are their sisters
And their brothers.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2017
How are things at the country club?
Was the glitter group too much?
Was that hot young rock star there?
Did you try to get in touch?
Did you catch the ear of
That famous new playwright?
Did the paparazzi catch your act?
Did you do your thing tonight?


Who got mad and who got drunk?
Give me all the dirt.
Who got ****** and struck a blow
And, oh yes, who got hurt?
You see now I understand;
I’m your after dinner lover.
When you’re going somewhere publicly
You find yourself another.

And I guess that’s just not good enough
To keep me satisfied.
To be the after dinner rose
You tried so hard to hide.
So call up Central Casting
And find yourself another.
For I am not content to be
Your after dinner lover.
CERCA 1972 After one of Bobby Allan's dreadful soirees.
I wanna be the hero, I want to be the good little boy, but all this life has me down
and I can’t live in this little town, where everybody frowns, and people walk around with crowns
Looking down because you act a little different and weep yourself to sleep.
It may not be just this town the destroys little boys dreams,
But I’m not going to stick around to watch my home split apart at the seams

My first memory I told my momma that I was the **** duckling from her story,
she whispered “goodnight son”, and rolled her head back chuckling
She must have known for a long time that it was truth
But she insisted on tucking me in so I showed her my pearly white tooth
Because I thought she made the world all better
But when she kissed my head she told me a lie, and It was all to stop the bed wetter.
And it worked for that moment of time
I was too young to understand that other people wouldn’t be so kind

And when my daddy read me stories the next night it was no different
I told him that I was the black sheep that cried wolf, but he was indifferent
He just told me his stories even louder to stop my interruptions
From breaking the perfect bubble they wrapped me up in complexions.
My father told me about the three little piggies and how I was the strongest of them all
Because the big bad wolf could never blow down my bedroom wall
But what he didn’t tell me that all along he was the wolf in disguise
He was eaten himself, and I was next to be gobbled up; a pig who won first prize

However, I never got the chance to go weeeee weeee weee all the way home
Like every six-year-old kid dreamed of on their first day gone.
Within ten minutes of being in reality, I was told that Santa wasn’t real,
That stories were just fiction, and broken hearts won’t actually heal
I ran home that day fertilizing the grass below
It felt dead inside the kick to my reality was low
The grass I ran home on had been bone dry for six years
But I never really knew what to name crying since Elmo never really showed any tears

I wanna be the hero, I want to be the good little boy, but all this life has me down
and I can’t live in this little town, where everybody frowns, and people walk around with crowns
Looking down because you act a little different and weep yourself to sleep.
It may not be just this town the destroys little boys dreams,
But I’m not going to stick around to watch my home split apart at the seams

From the crib to the high chair, from the training wheels to the big boy seat, I was off
Off to meet talking trains, dancing zoo animals, and bright smiling people lit like Rudolf
I wanted laser guns shooting at me, ninja stars whizzing past my face
And everyday boys like me saving the day from bad guys that I'd have to chase
But nowadays criminals are for the news crews, and fights were for action scenes,
Adventures and joys were six planets away in Pluto’s playful puppy dreams
But I distinguished reality as fake because your fake was my reality
That I so desperately tried to hold onto since it was more lively than gravity

I was told the easter bunny had died and my cat didn’t go to the vet to rest;
the Superheroes were just drawings on a piece of paper destroying the forest
Not fighting the joker nor galactic alien ships; not even raising a finger to save a cat,
But I watched thousands of people die on my kindergarten screen in a concrete grave.
Superman never showed up to stop either of the hijacked planes,
And Mrs. Burger, the only teacher to ever give me a red light, cried for at least an hour in pain.
Before this, I had no idea what death was, but it had become blatantly clear to see
That whatever it was, where ever it took people, I swore up and down It would never take me

Because I wanna be the hero, I want to be the good little boy, but all this life has me down
and I can’t live in this little town, where everybody frowns, and people walk around with crowns
Looking down because you act a little different and weep yourself to sleep.
It may not be just this town the destroys little boys dreams,
But I’m not going to stick around to watch my home split apart at the seams
Another poem I wrote in my high school journal that I have been dying to share
Don Bouchard Dec 2011
Around the table,
Literacy discussion turned elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.

I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard...
Was transported to a prairie farm;
Thought of my Father, then in his eighties
Who felt no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.

Every morning, he read his Bible;
Some nights he read the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.

"I don't have time to read!"
He'd shout when I suggested a novel.
What literature he had was in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.

Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way
("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!");
Cows and calves and bulls,
(Which one was sick or well, dry or bred);
Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments
("Start with the easiest options first");
Metals, to know which welding rod applied
("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks");
Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands,
(a test of ripeness);
Cement, to blend the perfect mix,
("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!);
Conservation,
("Always keep some grain on hand" &  
"Keep your fuel above half-tank").

So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
What is literacy?
These words came in response to a conversation I overheard at the University of Minnesota, in which a group of wealthy White female educators despaired a the plight of the under-educated, unwashed masses of people outside their privileged island of higher education. #Commonpeoplefeedyou!
Alan S Bailey Aug 2016
In life you are a total nobody if you aren't:

A "socialite superstar" who sacrifices moral for popularity
A tech freak
A work-a-holic
A married man or woman (opposite *** only!)
An insensitive "cowboy"
A confederate flag sympathizer (incomparable to ******, I guess)
A religious fanatic
Someone who is so open minded they are open to bad or EVIL
Rich as hell
Extremely violent or purposefully "unaware of bullies"
Anyone who graduated with honors (3.5 or higher, please!)
Certain everyone should work and/or drive
Covered by expensive life insurance
Popular with dozens of "honest friends"
A gun owner who doesn't believe in the need for regulation
A cigarette smoker (but *** is a "bigger devil!")
Hating cross dressers
A nudist hater
Built with a six pack
Absolutely certain that every hippy is "the devil"
A nature hater
Willing to **** anything that moves (they are the pests)
Giving away all natural love for money
One who loves to go to war, a.k.a. "gung-**"
Gifted with perfected teeth
One to ignore the "little lower people" at work/school
A "brown noser," trying to even out-do your mentors
A cheeky person obsessed with being manager (I'm #1!)
Poised to kick someone out on a moments notice (no hustlers here!)
Always on "mommy" and "daddies" side, even if they went too far

The list goes on and on, but you need to be most of these to succeed!
It's a long list! So many sharks! So little care about them...
Alan S Bailey Oct 2015
So we're all free, eh? If you start thinking outside the box,
Going against societies grain, then you are snuffed out,
Never heard from again. You can "whine and moan" all you want,
But you'll soon be cancelled out, bad manners are a fine reason
To throw you into the frenzied crowd.

Freedumbs indeed

Your days of voicing your thoughts are through, they've "solved
Everything" by letting laws even go into motion that simple sanity
Can disprove. These laws they always pass, your voice is never heard,
Democracy manifest's evil will soon turn your life over to the birds.
David W Clare Feb 2015
Big bragging girl lives in Beverly hills
her daddy is rich so she became a rich ***** with an itch for shopping

Hopping around in her new fancy car goes out at night to the lesbian bar

Her dad got mad when he got the bills
Her brother went nuts from eating her doctors pills

The mom ran away left All the laundry on the line got sick of it all
Got drunk each day got upset cause her son was ***

Keeping up with the Jones' look at our TV Ours is bigger than yours
We love the New I HATE YOU show
We have a ten car garage
suburban mirage

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