#assassination
Where have all the assassins gone,
I'm just asking,
Where have all the hit-men gone,
It wasn't long ago.
Where have all the psychos gone,
Ones like Sirhan Sirhan,
Or a crazy American,
Better still, a red Russian.
Where have all the agencies gone,
I'm just asking,
The MI5, the CIA,
KGB, Mossad;
Where have covert actions gone,
When there's guys like loonie Kim Jong;
A psychopathic American,
A poser with no where to run.
Where have all our heroes gone,
I'm just asking;
Where have all our leaders gone,
Not so long ago.
Where have all our Patriotics gone,
We haven't seen them in so long;
When will we ever learn,
Narcissistic liars can't govern.
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 11:08 AM UTC
L’heure est pressé
La foule, chaotique
La fumee soulèvement
Les gendarmes, psychotique
Nous attendons…pour quoi?
L’heure est arrive
Un seule facon
Le roi décapité
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 12:22 AM UTC
The flowery mountain:
Psyche, a woven garment?
Acts and breeds, deeds and listening
Wait on us, like a stone to lament:
History...
Antiquity and the skip of vice, into a vision
Vertigo is a legend of caring, in a sun's epistolary
Sigh with the blessed, going to heaven...
The first of many
The burst of a faerie
The worst of a carry
The curse of sharing
Silence is wisdom with a dangerous puppet...
Decency in a quiet avail, is to liberate a stare...
Steel in love with its self, is a champion, not a harlot...
The brow of suggestion is never heard, unless seasons scare...
The holiday on the mountain:
Is for any who would believe, an ******* smiles...
Sincerity adding itself, is our only hope, the asking is plain
The moon with one, is still a more cordial life than this hell...
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 5:20 PM UTC
Have there been any reported miracles
Since the martyrdom of Saint Charlie?
A few crutches left lying around.
A wheelchair.
Perhaps a small resurrection?
Just askin'.
Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 8:11 AM UTC
"I remember Coyoacan," Jay told the interviewer,
sitting under mahogany-and-cane fan blades on the veranda.
Leaning back, legs crossed,
He smiled easily and added,
"He didn't believe in me, Trotsky. Too bad.
"The palms were dripping that day, but the rain had let up.
Mercader set his raincoat on the table
with the ice axe under it.
Trotsky was reading.
When he looked down, Mercader withdrew his weapon,
swung and sculpted a new Winter into Trotsky's mind."
Jay shrugged, as if to say what can you do?
"The guards rushed in and beat that man like a pinata.
Each fist was an eloquent argument,
each kick a blow for the worker."
He waved His hand dismissively.
"It was too late of course. Mexico is devout, but unforgiving.
"Trotsky knew he was dying, and said so.
An aide brought a basin for any final ideas,
and someone put on a phonograph record of Russian dances.
Across the room, Trotsky could see where Death had scrawled
'Te veo pronto'
on the mirror above the sink in red lipstick.
"He never asked for me, and died the next day."
The interviewer followed Jay's gaze to the flower garden--
dahlias, the Mexican national bloom.
"The Aztecs used to eat them," he told the interviewer.
The scribe wrote this down on his pad from the hotel,
with "Bienvenida a Coyoacan"
in bold script across the top like a leaflet or a prayer card.
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 4:13 PM UTC
A night at the Museum,
and we're dressed to ****
The mood is gleeful–
and the people, chill.
All court the kings and queens of shill.
Our ****** deeds are whitewashed clean.
Our grievous crimes are left unseen–
sanitized versions on the tv screen.
But our steps were tracked with care
by one who could no longer bear
the growing horror, the scenes from there.
The cry of anguish, the dead-eyed stare.
Now the blood drips on our shoes.
Our deaths headline the evening news.
Yet still, the truth has only views
on internet sites with volunteer crews.
When there is no other way
Desperation will have its day
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 11:36 PM UTC
No one
Silence has a favor to ask
Move the might, adored withheld
Are, the voice of lies, and the act
***
In one misery, to embarrass
Signs to defer, elaborate hosts vex
A callous waste, of decided pasts
Long spoken treacle
Superiority has the moment
Fear, despair; married an oracle
Save your childhood first, the tickle relented:
Poison to youth...
Prestige came by paper and honey
Sweet nothings, that promise to tow aloof
Until presence is a form to money
Money already spent
On have and Eden?
Where has a liberty, been meant?
Somehow the miserable wind, has cried for a reason...
May 5, 2024
May 5, 2024 at 6:21 PM UTC
Where have all the assassins gone,
I'm just asking,
Where have all the hit-men gone,
It wasn't long ago.
Where have all the psychos gone,
Ones like Sirhan Sirhan,
Or a crazy red Russian,
Lining crosshairs for Vlad Putin.
Where have all the agencies gone,
I'm just asking,
The MI5, the CIA,
KGB, Mossad;
Where have covert actions gone,
When there's guys like crazed Kim Jong;
Or a crazed Red Russian,
A narcissistic Vlad Putin.
Where have all our heroes gone,
I'm just asking;
Where have all our leaders gone,
Not so long ago.
Where have all fine Russians gone;
Boris was their last good one;
When will we ever learn,
Ego-maniacs can't govern.
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 10:34 AM UTC
Lincoln died today
He hustled to an early grave
After patience bore the pain of hell
One final bullet to his dismay
Robbed him of the end he craved
Not of time or the sullen knell
But the kiss of a dagger in his worn hand
A battle lost and a battle won
A perdition purged a new ring rung
He's left this hollowed land
Consecrated by blood and gun
And travels now to songs unsung
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 9:16 PM UTC
Dallas, November 1963
Fifty-seven years since they shot Kennedy
Everyone saw then live on T.V.
what happens when you challenge
secret society
Some say the mob or the CIA
Either black or white, but the truth is gray
and long since buried 'neath Texas clay
right next to good ol' LBJ
I ask not what my country can do for me
Blood on her hands, Lady Liberty
Let sleeping dogs lie, leave history be
The truth died in Dallas, 1963
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 3:16 PM UTC
I was sound asleep. Work tomorrow
Tuesday, December 9, 1980. 6:30 A.M.
Alarm on. Out and into shower.
Shave. Can't hear radio.
Getting dressed, and in the background's playing, Imagine.
Then Wheels, Beautiful Boy, Help, I Should Have Known Better.
Why?
And the news sinks in. And I have to go teach Grade 6 English
and read *Curious ******* George* to four classes of Kindergartens and Grade ones.
And, I'm alone in my new house, in a small town called Aylmer (population 5,000).
My wife is away during the week at University, and I hate my job,
and he's decaying on some slab as I read to twenty-five five year olds. Some of these kids will get to know and love his work. So will their kids and grandkids. I know. Like Mozart.
Tuesday, December 9, 1980. 10:00 P.M.
Me, Johnny Walker, and the turntable going round and round, like his wheels.
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 9:48 AM UTC
Shell casings strewn
On a rooftop
A grassy knoll
An underground garage
This is what ensues
When you hate the man
In front of you in line
And he happens
To step into Texas
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 8:48 AM UTC
Brian liked to get drunk to the maxes
He killed 40 innocent people with axes
When it was his time to die
With a twinkle in his eye
Brian yelled, "Death to those who don't pay their taxes!"
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 1:47 PM UTC
fifty years have come and gone
since that fateful November day
when men of greed and fear of peace
took the chance away
removed all hope of paradise
a world serene and free of hate
divided not by war, but sea
where love directs our fate
we run and hide from truth we fear
denial is the easier pill
we laugh at those who held the truth
whose innocent blood did spill
should the Sun soon set
on our Camelot lost
when evil conquers good
they will find no mention in our history books
of the ****** in the wood
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Fifty years I see it clear
a face gone pale
a falling tear
a silent stare as she began
the cutting words that choked like sand
our breath was taken
our hearts were stone
my eyes were fixed
on a tear alone
before it hit the wooden floor
the world beyond our first grade door
had changed from one of children's dreams
from castles, songs, woods and streams
to a good man unsure of what to say
of the world we would have the following day
he removed his glasses
and trembling...he said;
"The President has died"
Camelot is dead
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
They echo through our dreams
clear as church bells
on a crisp Sunday morning
'from that direction
where everyone is looking...
don't you see?'
smoke continues to rise
some 50 years later
from a fire still burning
of greed and hate
the bitter taste remains
the nightmare of truth
keeps it veiled in shadows and silence
hiding in the blinding light
of paradise
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 9:34 AM UTC
#
*I have something within me that I cannot
Bear the burden of of its insinuation.
In the sport-ability of chit-chat I have
Often tried to conquer these thoughts
And with infinite pain I have hazarded
A thousand things hidden within myself.
“Excuse me,’’ I said upon seeing his face
Coming toward me while walking in Central Park.
“Are you who I think you are?’’ I asked.
“I suppose that depends on who you think I am,” he replied.
Not wanting to be made out a fool I asked
“OK, are you best known as JFK?”
“Well not exactly, he was my father,” he said with a smile.
I stuck out my hand like an idiot – but -
He offered his hand and shook mine like a man.
“I can’t believe it,” I said, “You really can
Bump into anyone in the big apple.”
He said that he had to be going, had to finish
His walk and get back to the office.
I asked him if I could tag along, just walk with him.
He said, “Sure.”
He kept a brisk pace, it was a cool day but comfortable.
The leaves were turned, mostly all fallen and
Then I realized that it was November 22nd.
“I’m real sorry about your dad,” I said,
“It broke my heart when I was a child.”
He nodded his head and sort of slowed his pace.
“How old were you?” he asked.
“I was 9”.
“I was 3”, he said looking at the ground.
“Yeah I know,” I said, “Everybody knew.”
He stopped and turned toward me,
Tilted his head to the left and point blank said,
“You know the story about my dad’s assassination
Is all BS don’t you?”
He caught me completely off guard but before I
Could say anything he turned back around and starting
Walking away from me like I had the plague.
I stood in my tracks but after he had gotten about 10 paces
He stopped and turned, “Well, do you want to walk or not?”
I half jogged to catch up with him and when I did
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Look I don’t know you and you don’t know me, “ he said
In a rough almost angry voice.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.
Still half jogging to keep up with him I answered,
“Sounds like you need someone to talk to.”
He slowed a bit, “I just got confirmation on who killed my dad.”
OK, about this time I’m like you saying a few choice curse words
In my mind – like holy sh…. You know..
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Hell I don’t know,” he said, “It’s all circumstantial.”
Coming to a complete stop, “There’s got to be a way that I
Can tell people, let the whole world know that I know who did it.”
He turned to me, “What would you do if you knew who took your dad
Away from you when you were just a baby but if you told anyone about these
Murdering, slime ***** they would most likely **** you too?” he asked.
“I don’t know sir,” I said shrugging my shoulders.
“If I had your money I’d figure out a way though,” I continued.
With a questioning look he asked, “OK, if you had my money what would you do?”
“I don’t know, man,” I said - “Maybe name a building after them or a street
Or something that everyone knew you named.
You know, like a hint or a clue or something.”
His eyes got big, “That’s it,” he said, “By God that’s it.”
He shook my hand again and asked me my name.
And a few short years later he was gone too.
But the name – the name he named his business – there’s your clue*
#
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Blood,
And shadows enough for two,
Lust,
For someone far from you,
Hate,
Sharper than a Blade,
Patience,
And a part in the play.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
I was an assassin,
With magnifying glass and firecrackers,
Bringing Sodom's destruction down on pismires.
BB's left feathers fluttering on powerlines;
Slingshots made Swiss cheese of tree nests.
It's the Wild West outside the urban boundary
Where the .22 slew coyotes and red-tailed foxes.
Old dogs and tired cats were destroyed.
And just now, when the January thaw is here,
I trapped a housefly between my windows,
Opened to draw air.
It will die of starvation in a merciless frenzy.
****** cried the old king.
"Most foul."
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
It started with a devious question
And the answer was clear
To all
But a curious faction
Fueled by fear,
With the means to concoct
An Orwellian plot
That rendered hate normal,
Like bible study.
Let the Right say, 'Amen'.
"She should be in jail," said
A lady in the deli
With a red cap
And matching tee.
Her eyes spewed fire;
Mine stayed on the menu.
Bypassing the bologna,
I ordered turkey on rye,
To Go.
I had a revolution to catch.
One I'd missed like the polls
On Election Eve.
Dylan shot nine,
Dead.
Sparing one to spread the news
And start a race riot
Before Obama takes away our guns.
Then Vladimir bombed
A city Gary didn't know
But no one asked Don.
"I like you," said one tyrant
To another.
"But I despise Fidel, CNN and ObamaCare.
They are all dead to me."
We heard the lie.
Of the grand Muslim celebration in Jersey
After the towers fell.
And a million more.
Yet the tide of deaf ears kept growing,
Engulfing US in a tsunami
Of pussy-grabbing misogyny
That made Bill blush
And gave Hill another shocking traumatic defeat.
Women from Times Square
To Tokyo rained on his parade
And a speech spawned in 7th grade
Earned an A on FOX
And a wet sticker
Everywhere else.
Let the world say, "Impeach Him!"
~ P
#LyricalAssassination
01/21/2017
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC