"mckinley" poems
We live in a time of uncertainty
No jobs
Climate change
Mass killings
warnings of pandemics
Where is our utopia
where is our heaven on Earth
1900's we had
San Fransisco's earthquake
McKinley was assassinated
First Nobel prize
The Tunguska Event
nothing as changed in my eyes
1910's we had
Spanish flu
The sinking of the unsinkable ship, the Titanic
and World War 1
What else is needed to say about this decade
nothing changed as the human race lived on
1920's we had
Discovery of penicillin
The great depression
and prohibition
1930's we had
Bonnie and Clyde
Hindenburg disaster
Discovery of Pluto
Al Capone imprisoned
1940's we had
World War 2
Mount Rushmore completed
Big bang theory formulated
Israel founded
Nothing changed but who knew
1950's we had
Castro becomes Dictator of Cuba
Laika the dog goes into space
Korean War began
History never changed and neither will the Human Race
1960's we had
The rise of the Berlin wall
First man on the moon
Vietnam War
Nothing changed and won't any time soon
1970's we had
First test tube baby
Tangshan Earthquake
Kent state shootings
Elvis died
1980's we had
Chernobyl
Tiananmen square massacre
Exxon oil spill
Nothing changed and never will
1990's we had
Oklahoma city bombing
Princess Diana died
Columbine massacre
World Trade Center bombed
End of the Cold War
2000's we had
Hurricane Katrina
Pluto reclassified
Obama elected
September 11th
2010's we had
Haiti Earthquake
Japan Earthquake
Bin Laden killed
BP oil spill
England riots
Brazil riots
China banned time travel.
We're only 4 years in.
**** sapiens are nearly 200,000 years old
nothing changed
and never will
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
Let’s start with a reminder:
President Harding,
President Woodrow Wilson,
President McKinley,
President Calvin Coolidge
& President Harry S. Truman--
Harry giving them hell in my lifetime,
In my time—
An ever so proximate reminder--
These were all Presidents of the U.S. of A.
Also, KKK Members.
Warren G. Harding, for Christ’s sake,
Was actually sworn into the Ku Klux ****
At a **** ceremony
Astonishingly conducted,
Inside the White House,
Presided over by Wizard Imperial of the Day,
The Honorable Colonel Simmons.
And I may as well throw in
Justice Hugo of the Supreme Court
Hugo Black in white robes,
While we’re on the subject of cultural memory,
To wit: the one Branch where Fairness
Is supposed to go with the territory.
You want to talk about race?
Hey, don’t get me started.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
Every child of ten knows
the universe is a jagged shape
edged by home and park
and school and market -
at least that’s the way I knew it
and all the world’s kids
went to McKinley school
and everyone's dad
worked at Lincoln Park Tool
while mother stayed at home.
So my entire universe
was shaken to shards
when father broke news
that we soon would be moving
to a distant galaxy
a dozen miles away -
entirely peopled by aliens.
Well it wasn’t so bleak after all -
my brother and little sister
were allowed to come with us
and we kept the same grandparents too.
New friends popped up everywhere
like rainbows of tulips in May.
The house was fresh and new
but seriously lacked a lawn.
so a rusty old truck rumbled up
and dumped us a mountain of soil.
Seizing the obvious challenge,
I put a shovel to its intended use -
moving and spreading non-stop
until Mom called us to dinner
then went back and shoveled ‘til dark.
The pile was nearly leveled
by afternoon next as
Dad turned his fifty-three Ford
into our driveway -
hitting the horn to call me over,
“Son I need your help.”
Dropping my shovel
I sped to the open trunk
and stared in disbelief.
In an ecstatic yelp
produced only by ten year old boys
I circled Dad's waist with my arms,
then gratefully unloaded
the best yellow scooter
in this or any other galaxy.
September, 2008
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:54 AM UTC
Flight came so easily
when I was a boy of seven.
I'd hover over sidewalks, cars and lawns
gliding on a sea of azure air
above my friends at play
and Mom and Pop talking on the stoop.
I'd circle over McKinley School (my school)
where the recess bell is ringing
and the creek by the edge of the woods
where I found the railroad flare
(my creek, my woods).
Flight came ever so easily
when I was seven (or was it eight?)
when the sky was autumn blue
and the world below was kind and true.
But in time, science grounded me,
said it was just a dream.
After all a boy can't just up
and repeal the law of gravity, can he?
Why yes, of course he can:
it comes so easy
when you're seven or eight
and the skies are right for flying.
October, 2010
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Robert Johnson went to the crossroads
And fell down on his knees
The wolf was howlin' at midnight
McKinley Morganfield stirred the muddy waters
Singing of hoochie ******* men and mojos
Right back to Charlie Patton and Son House
And Blind Lemon Jefferson too
Men from the land of cotton, corn liquor and jukes
Always travelling hard and hard driven
Playing hard and hard living
These men who became legends
Who touched the deepest part of souls
With their elemental music
And they still do
By Phil Roberts
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 3:46 AM UTC
Presidents
Washington, Adams and Jefferson,
had *** with slaves just for fun.
Madison, Monroe and Adams,
I'm sure had secret madams.
Jackson, Van Buren and Harrison,
not sure how they ever won.
Tyler, Polk and Taylor,
before elected lived in a trailer.
Fillmore, Pierce and Buchanan,
should have been shot from a cannon.
Lincoln, Johnson and Grant,
each once had a cotton plant.
Hayes, Garfield and Arthur,
sinking fast with no life preserver.
Cleveland, Harrison and again Cleveland,
both of them killed at least one Indian.
McKinley, Roosevelt and Taft,
all too fat to float on a raft.
Wilson, Harding and Coolidge,
should have jumped from a bridge.
Hoover, Roosevelt and Truman,
wondering if they were even human.
Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson,
neither of them can still run.
Nixon, Ford and Carter,
not sure which one was smarter.
Reagan, Bush and Clinton,
shot, stupid and a Monica.
Bush and now Obama,
one was dumb,
and the other looks like a black llama.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
That shot of whiskey
dulls my nerves
that taste aint good
and it kinda burns
what do I do now?
I pull a smoke from
my pocket, and take a light
the smoke creates a ghost
in the pitch black of the night
I stroll down McKinley
humming a tune from the radio
I dont have a place to be
no place to actually go
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 7:43 PM UTC
Robert Johnson went to the crossroads
And fell down on his knees
The wolf was howlin' at midnight
McKinley Morganfield stirred the muddy waters
Singing of hoochie ******* men and mojos
Right back to Charlie Patton and Son House
And Blind Lemon Jefferson too
Men from the land of cotton, corn liquor and jukes
Always travelling hard and hard driven
Playing hard and hard living
These men who became legends
Who touched the deepest part of souls
With their elemental music
And they still do
By Phil Roberts
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
A penny for your thoughts,
A nickel if you're fickle,
A dime and you're mine,
A quarter for the century,
A dollar makes you holler,
Five to keep it alive,
Mr. Hamilton wants attention,
Mr. Jackson is very sore,
Mr. Benjamin will ease the tension,
... and maybe some more
A Mr. McKinley to keep it clean,
Grover Cleveland may make it messy,
But President Madison has arrived,
I don't mean to Chase you away,
but Woodrow Wilson will do just fine.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
Robert Johnson went to the crossroads
And fell down on his knees
The wolf was howlin' at midnight
McKinley Morganfield stirred the muddy waters
Singing of hoochie ******* men and mojos
Right back to Charlie Patton and Son House
And Blind Lemon Jefferson too
Men from the land of cotton, corn liquor and jukes
Always travelling hard and hard driven
Playing hard and hard living
These men who became legends
Who touched the deepest part of souls
With their elemental music
And they still do
By Phil Roberts
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
They flit like pages or old ghosts
through the dark spaces of your mind,
front to back like a laundry lists of good
memories gilded and soured
both-- by time and retrospect.
They come in little images like behind
the big, blue trash cans on the playground
where Marie kissed you
and you ran away.
The leather seats of
her father's car where McKinley
undressed herself that first time,
belt buckle taut against you hip.
All of them like snapshots
blending upward and forward
toward you until the recent,
fresh and inflamed as if the skin
of some rotten, festered wound.
How you see her here,
sitting there across the
edge of the bed
a million miles away.
She is salvation if only you can grab her,
but you cannot anymore.
See her in dark hair, tied loosely
back behind her.
See her in anger at the turn of her lip,
sweet flesh-- even as the words sour.
See her in reflections of light
softening her eye against the welling tear
she dares to fall.
Torn-out pages of scripture.
Sad beautiful ghosts that,
if not dead, are far
from here--
And what ought love to do
from a thousand miles
but die.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
peter hated the house on mckinley street
in his eight-year-old brain it was a hot mess
since his parents moved there
all he heard were complaints and yelling
his mother was always moaning about the small rooms,
the lousy closet space, the faulty plumbing, the leaky roof
and the mice
they were everywhere - in closets, in pantries, in drawers,
behind the heater, under the radiators
they were in nooks and crannies, behind the refrigerator,
in the laundry room, even in the crawl space
they were almost always in hiding, rarely seen in daytime
except when they were found dead in a trap - also a rarity
traps were set methodically, enticing hors d'oeuvres were created
laced with cheese and peanut butter but still nothing worked
his mother would religiously check the traps every morning
and every time she'd mutter "those little ******* ********
the sly moves of mice to avoid the guillotine snap of a mousetrap
as they nibbled around a flap of cheese amazed everyone
besides traps his parents bought sticky cheese pads where the
tiny monsters would get their heads and bodies stuck permanently
one time peter observed a black mouse lying - and dying - on
a cheese pad...he pushed a second pad over its face
"i suffocated the little **** he exclaimed and when he told
his parents they bought him a gift card from the lego store
but every now and then one of the lilliputian invaders would
make a live unscheduled appearance
one october when the nights began to get colder his mother saw
a gray mouse climb up a cord leading to the microwave
she almost had a heart attack right there on the spot and there
was the time his father was looking in the refrigerator and
heard a strange scratchy noise behind him - he sensed
a sudden descent; a baby mouse had scurried off a shelf and
fell into a small trash can so his father immediately picked
up the can and hurled it out the back door
ultimately the parents decided to move to a swanky apartment
house and the night before peter had his last "mouse dream"
it featured a giant white mouse's head that was the size of
a billboard so big so menacing it scared him awake
finally he fell back into a gentle state of dreamless slumber...
and when he woke up his parents were taking down pictures
he looked out his window and saw a moving van pull up and
for the first time in a long time he was happy
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
mountain high glaciers
as blue as the sky above
feeds her swollen creeks
whispy green rivers
in our countries northern sky
bring romance to night
grizzled beasts feeding
as salmon swim to their fate
wolves ever present
mushing sled dogs run
racing anchorage to nome
heritage recalled
our final frontier
In McKinley's great shadow
wild free Alaska
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 9:21 PM UTC
If Washington came back to life
I wonder how he’d feel
To be pictured on a quarter
And a dollar bill – surreal!
Abe Lincoln, too, would bust a gut
If he became alive,
To see his visage plastered
On a penny and a five.
And Alexander Hamilton,
If he could live again,
Would love the play about him
And his picture on the ten.
Had Andrew Jackson ditched his grave,
He’d likely argue plenty
About his image front and center
On our nation’s twenty.
Ben Franklin, though, would be real proud
If he came back to earth,
To find out that a hundred dollar bill
Proclaims his worth.
McKinley’s portrait graces
Money that we rarely use.
(I’ve never even seen that bill –
Five hundred smackeroos!)
Poor Jefferson, despite his wealth
And all he got to do,
Unfortunately got his mug
On the elusive two!
The pictures on our currency
Have long been set in place.
Thank goodness or our current prez
Would swap ‘em for his face.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
I need a friend, who will run the black alleys with ecstasies and delight
Under the pale moonlight, livid tales of life and together we'll achieve enlightenment
We will scream at the top of ours lungs with dessert sand between our toes not to be heard
We will touch the tip of McKinley and brew tea from the freshest waters of Earth
We will be under the stars wrapped tightly with cold kissing our skin
Believing there must be a god, just not the one we've read of
oh there will be everlasting joy and the days will run wild as wolves.
I need a friend, with morally tough skin, to sing along with the nightingale, to place a goodness in my heart where once was only sin,
to make beautiful dreams that come to fruition, who will say let's travel until we're done until our legs buckle under our own bone,
who does away with dogma, prejudice and then revelations will be held in the palm of my hands, and I'll hold them dearly as pearls of gold. Yes, you are a dear friend.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC