i - Introduction:
ii - Lismore Park
iii - The Road to Maidenhead
iv - Town Square
v - Contradiction, contraband
vi - Saturday Afternoon
vii - The Circus Comes to Town (Sunday)
viii - The Show
ix - The ringmaster
x - The Fracas
xi - An incident at Upton Park
xii - No ball games
xiii - New found…
xiv - Nearly done
xv - Another time…

i - Introduction:

Come friendly bombs you’ve still to hit
The place whose name means quagmire
The town, the place that’s left bereft
Of soul, of spiritual fire.
But hurry, hurry, please be fast
For the crack dealer plies his trade
With slight of hand and cunning
A ghetto he’ll have made

The peroxide perms have now all grown
And muster outside shops
To wait for the be-suited sales rep
With his rocks and his alco-pops
They’ve all spawned offspring of their own
Fifteen-year-old cradle pushers
Who sold their souls in return for hope
To thirty year old cradle snatchers

Come friendly bombs it’s plain to see
The vacant, empty faces
The lifeless eyes, the pallid skin
The love that leaves no traces
The love that lasts a knee trembling minute
Outside Harry’s and Sluffs
A love that smells of emptiness
O they cannot get enough

Come with me, look over there
To the sculpture in the mall
The stainless tree with it’s stainless birds
And stainless birdsong call
A bird sings and the town all stops
To see from where this sound will show
A bitter disappointment when learned
It was played on the radio

Community service on the airwaves
To draw the crowd together
A song played, a one hit wonder
Reminds us nothing is forever
The sterile radio station plays on
Opiates to which we should yield
And bare our souls and be grateful for
The song of Bedingfield

ii - Lismore Park

The sight of a child playing in the street
Is one of day’s gone bye
But Lismore Park sees them out in droves
Stealing cars and getting high
The twelve year old sent out to play
Whilst mother takes a knap
But really she’s having it away
For a fiver and a brown wrap

The party at the house next door
That never seems to stop
The men all come and go and paw
Girls in this knocking shop
But halt weary traveller, stop!
Come sit and rest your back
The bench awaits you on the green
And the deluded maniac

The man who knows what’s wrong with you
And how to make it better
As long as he keeps his soul filled up
With cheap White Lightening cider
Six large cans for a five-pound note
From the corner shop near the school
An offer really not to be missed
And to make the drunkards drool

A songbird sits on the climbing frame
And sings his cheerful tales
A tune too much for our dear lush
The maniac exhales
The songbird sings and fills the air
With a loving string of notes
That reminds the sitters on the bench
There may still be a hope

A radio plays ‘that’ song again
Should you dare to forget the rhythm
The bird has flown away now
Fed up with this hypnotism
The airwaves are now filled with dross
Thanks to the flat opposite the green
The weary traveller moves on
“Better days has this place seen”

iii - The Road to Maidenhead

O friendly bombs do try to miss
The sweet blossom, the fragrant smell
The flowers, the green grass of the parks
The havens in this hell
Be careful around the Jubilee River
With it’s wildlife and sculpted hills
For a walk in this very man-made place
Will surely heal your ills

But spare no mercy for the superstores
That pollute and destroy our thoughts
“If it’s not on the shelf, we haven’t got it…”
The familiar assistants’ retort
Take no prisoners with the office blocks
That lay empty year after year
For they clutter up the atmosphere
And have no value here

O friendly bombs, o friendly bombs
The cabbages are all grown
They read the Sun and sing along
To the radio’s dreaded drone
Whilst in their vans they speed on by
Jumping all the lights
To price a job – a small brick wall
Based on a thousand nights

The car showrooms… the car dealers
Stack ‘em high and sell them cheap
Chop-chop salesman, soften ‘em up
The rewards are there to reap
Finance, part exchange or cash
Anyhow you like
“No sir, not me sir…
…I’d prefer to use my bike”

The bustle of the weekend crowds
The steamy traffic queues
Stare too hard at that red car
And suffer the abuse
Overtake the blue one now
And make him toot his horn
See him raise his voice in anger
To satisfy his scorn

iv - Town Square

Saturday morning, seven o’clock
The town begins to wake
A pair of sleeping winos
Dream about their fate
They plan their morning sermon
But who will really care
For what they say means nothing
Less than their icy stare

The busker and the balloon man
Wait to take their turns
To entertain and irritate
And suffer being spurned
By a thousand shady shoppers
Who’ve heard it all before
And probably given hard earned cash
To make them play some more

The trickster and the barra’ boys
Set up all their stalls
Selling mobile phone covers
And fake branded hold-alls
Adorn your phone with logos
Hankies for a pound
“Yes sir, we’re here on Sundays…
…(Providing there’s no police around)”

Grab a baked potato and sit
And watch the folk go by
Some will have you in hysterics
Some will make you cry
The man on his double-glazing stand
In his suit and in his tie
The perspiration on his head
Watch him wilt and fry

The songbird settles on the wall
And sings to our delight
A merry sonnet that will inspire
Dreams we’ll have that night
The wino shouts his sermon now
The bird has paused his song
This post-war sprawling Hooverville
Muddles slowly along

v - Contradiction, contraband

On the steps of the library he screams aloud
Through a mist of smuggled gin
“You’re all fools, the lot of you is ****
I’ve not committed sin…”
“It’s not my fault I’m a lush… a drunk
I don’t choose to live this life”
“You’re all wrong in carrying on
It’s you what’s caused my strife”

In his wretched form he abuses the world
Pooh-poohing this and that
A skunk telling the world it stinks
The polemic polecat
“Society has robbed me of everything
And left me less than whole”
“The only day that’s good is Thursday
When the postman brings me dole”

On Friday he meets his dealer
To fuel his pickled mind
The man with the van on Saturday
With the spirit and the wine
By Monday, he’s all skint and broke
The weekend has passed him by
He takes his place on the library steps
We shake our heads and sigh…

Every week the same routine
The same routine again
Like clockwork his life ticks on by
The suffering and the pain
But he tells us it’s all our fault
We’re the ones not right
But it’s very easy for him to say
The man who’s so contrite

The children watch him puzzled
It’s more than they can bear
“It’s very rude…” their mothers say
“To stand like that and stare”
But what, do they expect their young
To ignore this fool a mumbling?
For they will see it for what it is
A stormy weather warning

vi - Saturday Afternoon

I sit on a wall in Slough with friends
Sharing the Dutch export
Watching and laughing at the world
And it’s variety of sorts
A happy bond that we all share
The joy of simple things
Come friendly bombs and gather round
Watch us while we sing

The friendly bombs you call upon
Are they straight off the shelf?
It’s my belief, my firm belief
The bomb is in yourself
Ticking slowly by and by
Just waiting for the code
To trigger you and trip the switch
To make the bomb explode

We watch the people from where we sit
The hellholes they’ve all made
They don’t live they just exist on
The edge of a razor blade
Stop! Step back and take a look
It’s not too late to change
And become what you really want to be
An icon of your age

Over now to Langley Park
To sit and bathe in the sun
O friendly bombs please wait a while
Until this day is done
But what will tomorrow bring my friends?
And will it come too late?
Something that may save us all
The bombs may have to wait

A sedate sleepy Saturday
Away from all the crowds
Share a joke, a ****, a smoke
And laugh together loud
The sun warms our sombre souls
As on our backs we lie
Staring as the clouds roll by
United under the sky

vii - The Circus Comes to Town (Sunday)

Halt now, wait awhile please
Stop the counting down
Today the air is charged with joy
The circus comes to town
Must have arrived last night we think
Under cover of dark
And settled down and pitched it’s tents
In the grounds of Upton Park

The queue to purchase tickets
Trails far along the road
No. 53 offers cups of tea
From outside her abode
The crowds are mum, they say not a word
As they wait their turns to go
Inside the circus big-top tent
And sit and watch the show

We settle down and take our seats
With an ice-cream and a coke
But wait, where are the circus clowns?
Is this some kind of joke?
A wall of mirrors fades into view
And puts us in a spin
Reflecting all the bright lights
The colours and the din

The ringmaster enters, cracks his whip
And hands out little slips
“Everyone’s a winner” was
On every body’s lips
The clowns they all appear now
With a modicum of fuss
Hold on just a minute now!
The clowns we see are us

A spotlight points up to the gods
At the top of the trapeze
A giant money spider glides
Down with greatest ease
He touches each and everyone
All paralysed with fear
And hands out ten pound notes to all
Then promptly disappears

viii – The show

A strongman strolls out slowly with
A length of iron bar
A leopard spotted leotard and
Moustache sealed with tar
He looks around the big top with
A menace and a sneer
Surveying all the audience
He seeks a volunteer

The white van man he raised his hand
The tattoo on his arm
Said this man must not be crossed
To do so would mean harm
The strongman bent the iron bar
Across the van man’s back
Then invited him to strike him down
An unprovoked attack

The van man clenched his hand and hit
And hurt his mighty fist
A statue of the strong man shattered
Turning into mist
The van man stood and stared in fear
The mist it gathered round
And carried out our hero driver
He hardly made a sound

No-one clapped we all just stared
Our faces ghostly white
The strongman re-appeared and looked for
A second stooge that night
No-one raised a hand in fact
No-one said a thing
The strongman shrugged and vanished…
Empty was the ring

A knife thrower was the next to appear
And seek the help of one
With nerves of solid steel and courage
Secondly to none
Down came a fallen woman
Who said she had no fear
A knife was thrown and pierced her skin
Her right large ear-ringed ear

ix – The ringmaster

A second knife it struck her chest
She didn’t seem to weep
She didn’t seem to be in pain
Although the knife was deep
A third knife struck her arm and then
A fourth it struck her head
The knives that should be missing her
Were hitting her instead

Horrified the crowd looked on
Without a fuss or row
The woman now all full of blades
Politely took her bow
She then went back and took her seat
And never said a word
Not another word she said
And not a word she heard

A magician was the next to charm
And thrill us with his tricks
He pulled a rabbit from his hat
Then sat it on some bricks
He then threw watches at this beast
That grew to a great size
The rabbit caught them all and juggled
Them to our surprise

But here’s the rub when we all looked
At places on our wrists
No watches were there to be seen
A cunning little twist
The magician cracked a whip and put
The rabbit in a stew
Which vanished there before our eyes
Vanished out of view

The magician he announced that he
Alone did have this plan
To mystify and amaze us all
With his clever hand
Indeed he was the ringmaster
That owned this circus troupe
That terrified and petrified
Our frightened little group

x – The Fracas

A swarm of bees engulf us now
And cover us with honey
The ringmaster cracks his whip again
The bees all turn to money
Then suddenly the fight begins
As we grab this flying stash
Filling up our purses now
With the hard-grabbed cash

The ringmaster, a clever man
Calms us with his sigh
“There’s plenty here for everyone
…And more than meets the eye”
Suddenly a flock of doves fly
Sweetly through the air
They then attack the baying crowds
Pulling at their hair

Then with a deafening bang, a crack
A flash of burning light
We all cascade towards the floor
The circus out of sight
Confused we all stare around
Thinking it absurd
This bizarre spectacle should vanish
Gone without a word

I look from face to face to face
Whatever could this mean?
We all are laughing nervously
How stupid have we been?
We talk about the day’s events
We talk and talk some more
A voice booms from out the sky
“I’ve opened up the door”

“I’ve brought you all together now
To pander to your greed
To watch you take from fellow man
Deny him what he needs”
I reach in to my pocket
For the money I did place
It reads “Admission: 1 adult
To The Human Race”

xi – An incident at Upton Park

That week the local paper ran
An exclusive full-page ad
“Faland’s Travelling Circus Troupe”
“The most fun ever had”
But no review was there to read
To tell of our event
The strange encounter with this circus
To which we all went

The following Sunday we meet up
In groups of three or four
Since that incident in Upton Park
The spectacle we can’t ignore
No-one knows quite what it means
I don’t think that we’ll ever
Understand all that happened here
That brought us all together

Perhaps there is a deeper message
Given on that day
Faland may be telling us
That we have lost our way
He simply used us all as tools
To illustrate our folly
That had now become too serious
A risk to things so jolly

Every week now we all gather on
This hallowed piece of land
And this is very odd because
Nobody makes the plan
The idea comes to all of us
A self-ignited spark
And draws each of us in turn
To meet in Upton Park

We picnicked then we all played games
Then talked about the rain
We toasted our new friendships
And vowed to meet again
The bombs, the bombs they’ve all slowed down
Compassion saved the day
This newfound love we now all have
Must surely pave the way

xii - No ball games

The joy did not take long to spread
Across our grimy frowns
And bring a little sunshine
To lighten up this town
Happiness is upon us now
The whole of Slough-kind
Depending on how you look at it
And on your state of mind

The lush upon the library steps
The wino on the bench
The Publican and Landlord
The ***** serving *****
They all wear smiles and laugh a lot
And speak of wondrous things
A songbird perches on the fence
And merrily she sings

The children, o the children
How they sing and dance
Always being friendly
In any circumstance
They have no care for politics
You’ll see it in their face
They want to play with everyone
Who’s in the human race

Meanwhile back in Upton Park
The townsfolk meet again
But there’s no talk of horror
Or suffering and pain
Instead though how a monument
Should be erected in our names
And pulling down the signs
That read ‘No Ball Games’

The bombs have all stopped ticking now
And line up by the wall
And every now and then they clang
Just to remind us all
If we get too complacent
And don’t respect our friends
We’re marking down the seconds
To our bitter end

xiii – New found…

We shared our food and shared our tales
Life stories we all told
They made us laugh they made us cry
Left us warm and cold
The suffering we did speak of
Helped us understand
How fellowman and woman kind
Dwelt in other lands

We laughed at tales of folly
And stories of the past
Stories that we are in awe of
Stories that will last
For another thousand years or more
And travel on the wind
A gentle breeze that talks to us
Thrilling to the end

Gathering momentum
Our stories travel far
Picked up and told by new folk
Under glowing stars
They bring warmth and humanity
Softened by the rain
They travel back to each of us
To be re-told again

Who’d have thought this loving joy
This beacon in the dark
Would begin upon the grass
Of hallowed Upton Park
The greed has gone or mostly so
Now happiness is here
We’ve seen the light and now must spread
Our messages of cheer

Looking back it hardly seems
We could have been that way
Not caring if each other lived
To see another day
This new found near Utopia
Must spread across the land
And we must stand to offer all
Our warm and guiding hand

xiv – Nearly done

The story is now almost told
Of how a strange event
Saved us from our selfish selves
A message heaven sent
With cunning tricks and sleight of hand
The error of our ways
Was written up in greasepaint
Shining through the haze

A strange di

I called her once, then I called again
And I called throughout the night,
There wasn’t a message from Olwen’s pen
Nor the answering ‘ching’ of delight,
I’d begged forever her not to go
But she must have gone and went,
Down to the Fair at Cinders Flo
And into the strongman’s tent.

We’d been together to see the Fair
When the sun was riding high,
And all the rides and the Ferris Wheel
Were reeling up in the sky,
We rolled a ball at the grinning clowns
And we won a Teddy Bear,
The hairy woman and legless man,
All of the freaks were there.

But then we got to the Strongman’s tent
And I saw her eyes go wide,
He picked her up with a single hand
And I’ll swear that Olwen sighed,
I found I couldn’t drag her away,
She paid for a second show,
And after stroking his biceps once
She waved for me to go.

I had to drag her away from there
Or she would have stayed all day,
‘What do you find so interesting?’
I finally had to say.
‘Isn’t he such a mighty man
And his muscles ripple so,
He makes me feel like I want to squeal
Like a Tarzan’s Jane, you know.’

I finally went to Cinders Flo
In the middle of the night,
Thinking the end of me and Olwen
Seemed to be in sight,
I got to his tent, and there she was,
A-stare, a look aghast,
For what she had woken up was slim,
She saw the truth at last.

For there hanging up within the tent
Was the Strongman’s muscle suit,
With every ripple and every bulge
And a chest that was hirsute,
But he sat up in his lonely bed
And was pale and thin and white,
With a certain wiry toughness, though
He could never cause delight.

I think that it cured my Olwen though
She’s never been so still,
She spends her mornings and afternoons
Hung over the window-sill,
I try to get her to walk with me
But she can’t, she says, she hates,
She’s staring down at the guy next door
As he’s working out, with weights.

David Lewis Paget

I continue to be amused &
Captivated by Gabriel García Márquez,
His Love in the Time of Cholera,
Captivating me still.
His simple use of the name
“Bolívar,” por ejemplo.
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There is something uniquely Latin
About life in Latin America,
Once again, stating the obvious
For all the media-slain retards
Hovering around me.
Their never-ending enthrallment
With Strong Men,
Particularly when strength is
A measure of one’s honor,
Hizzoner,
Your honor,
To wit: Honor Killings.
In practice, a sober demonstration
Of the theory as it is practiced.
Americans—with swarthy exceptions—
Do unfavorably view most of us who
Can trace our ancestry to Southern Europe.
“Southern European,”
Itself a vicious racial slur,
And remains so north of Eboli,
No surprise that Christ stopped there,
According to Carlo Levi, writing off the
Il Mezzogiorno, beyond redemption.
Southern European:
Smug words you make them eat,
Throwing Greco-Roman Civilization
Up into their faces.
Athens & Rome--
Epitomes of culture and class--
Patricians, of course, yet
Skifoso bragging rights for all those
***** scratched plebeians of the mob.
But I digress.

Strongman Latino-Americano.
Some Bolívar, some José Martí.
Why not some Fidel?
¿Por Que No?
Tu compadre, Gabo--
Tu Generalissimo Cubano.
How could you miss, Gabo?
Castro lobbying for you, twisting the
Surreal & squirrely qualms
Of Nobel Prize Nabobs.
(SAS: Flights to Sweden, Norway and Denmark - Scandinavian Airlines www.flysas.com/en/us/‎ Welcome to the official SAS US website. Find the best flight bargains from the . . .)
You owe that bearded strong man, Gabo.
Fidel Castro: Maximum Leader to be sure--
Like Omar Torrijos & Noriega--
Panamanian Reds,
Tasmanian Devils!
And Sonny Barger –
Dubbed Maximum Leader,
By Hunter S. Thompson's Hell's Angels:
(The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs RetroBites: Hunter S. Thompson & Hell's Angels (1967) - YouTube ► 6:21► 6:21 www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccyu44rsaZo‎ Jul 7, 2010 - Uploaded by CBCtv Hunter S.Thompson defends his book against an irate Hell's Angels biker.)
Come Perón, come Hugo Chávez.
But, Hark-a-lark,
Let’s wait a sec
Lest we forget
Cristina Fernández de Kirchner,
One tough, Argentine *****,
Illustrating again for all men
The root of all machismo:
La Mujer!
The ***** that bore him;
Nurtured & nursed him.
****** & ****** him.
La Mujer!
(La mujer sin cabeza (2008) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/ tt1221141/‎ Rating: 6.4/10 - ‎1,815 votes Directed by Lucrecia Martel. With María Onetto, Claudia Cantero, César Bordón, Daniel Genoud. After running into something with her car, Vero experiences a... I get 7 cents for each link, each hit, making poetry pay for once, the savvy poet, a marketer finally figuring out how to avoid death in the gutter, a death penniless, diseased, babbling and insane.)
Yes, the woman,
The woman, who loved him,
That widow who buried him.
The woman—at any particular
Time of life, in his life—
The woman who just happened to be there;
Was just hanging around
During that brief, emphatic,
Conversation lull.
Genesis got it wrong:
Adam was a stiff rib of Eve,
Made from sterner stuff,
A creation conceived in torture,
Reared in disequilibrium.

Women create the men they touch.
Strong women.

the priest, whose tomato face looked like it might explode under collar tension,
gave the valedictory at the friday night execution
the yellow-toothed, combover'd serial killer buckled in electric chair
kept staring at the door, expecting an ally to crawl in late but not too late
the mother of one of the victims rattled on about
how she didn't care that the killer had an allergy to the anesthetic used
in lethal injection      he's going to die either way     what's it matter?
buzz of fly    crack of rolled program against empty folding chair
(yes, there were programs, and whoever laid them out knew their typography)
buzz of fly raised upward, toward the black, magma-cooled ceiling
audience chin up, pupils circled fly as the priest droned on
about everlasting life like a Paul Simon song from his youth
like a catcher's mitt from his youth like a youth from his youth
the boyfriend of one of the mothers of one of the victims
said he was hungry    pancakes sound good, don't they?
I love it when syrup gets on the bacon, you know? love that.
a pudgy guard with bleary eyes and 12 a.m. shadow
rolled his index finger   lowered his brow, telling the
priest to wrap it up   so the priest wrapped it up
by reading the names of the victims
Tara Barnes, 17, Rachel Lythe, 10, Julie McPherson, 13,
Serenity Strongman, 15, and Mary Beth Williamson, 13
the priest said something about judgement as
the boyfriend of the mother of one of the victims
took another swat at the fly                       missed
any last words? the priest asked
where's James? the killer asked, he was supposed to be here
did you guys give him the right time?
the guard nodded to a lab coat by a black box
then a hiss then a hum then an inhale
the first jolt of alternating current for

instantaneous brain death

hard to tell if they succeeded in that
for the second jolt came only a moment
later    this shock's aim to fatally damage
the internal organs, overstimulate the heart
and the killer's face looked like a horse's leg
then an exhale then a hum then a hiss
and the killer's face looked like the crinkled
skinmemory of a cicada
it was late   most of the best restaurants already closed
but we could go to that diner off 63rd, the boyfriend
of the mother
of one of the victims, said

elephants stomp with stone-laden feet
back and forth, back and forth,
creating cracks in my already-battered skull,
weakening the very foundations of my sanity.
their trumpeting echoes through cold corridors
flooding my thought capacity to the brim.

a tightrope walker stretches me, thin -
i feel the shifting pressure of her nimble feet
treading the territories of my weathered frame,
back and forth, back and forth,
my skin reddens beneath the incessant crossing
as the sinew within me starts to atrophy.

in my chest cavity there is a ring of fire,
manipulating my lungs and feeble heart to mere ash.
two golden eyes seen beyond the flames,
ready to leap through them - without the
inconvenience of fear weighing down his agile paws,
both capable and likely to tear my veins to shreds.

a grisly strongman has my bones in his grip.
he smiles malevolently, gloating his strength over me,
squeezing the life from my cartilage - awaiting the snap.
i am cognizant of the sound, but i won't flinch.
next, the imminent collapse of my vertebrae -
i feel them crumble to dust. he laughs.

but it is in the pit of my stomach the ringleader sits -
commanding me into subsidence with every crack of his whip.
i want to meet his eyes but he only averts my gaze.
his twisted circus nearly through, the audience begins to dissipate.
i stare through the blurred smoke, desperate for his visage -
when i see on one of his faded lapels, the embroidery spells out your name.

-m.f.

Please take a seat
This narration is about a strongman in feat
However, I am sure this story will bring the house down
Our journey unfolds in the desert of the Israelites
It revolves around a kid named Samson
A Super hero if you will to conquer the world
But Samson was different from others kids
In fact, he always had to hid
But as the story gets more involved
There is a problem that needs to be resolved
Samson is now an adult, But God has a decree in Samson’s life for him to handle
Wrath unto humans who fail to follow God’s word
Yet, there are two groups of people, the Philistines and the Israelites
But Samson’s strength for the goodness of God’s mission
Now Delilah meets Samson for all the wrong reasons
The Philistines has a plot for Delilah to find out where his strength comes
Yet it was in Gaza that Samson forgot all about God, and ventured into
Forbidden quarters
However, God was displeased
As legends foretold, Samson’s strength lays within his long hair
But beware and very cautious
God holds the key to Samson’s true strength and character
Samson has failed, and his hair has been cut
He is now a Mordal and weak as a kitten
Samson has been taken by the Philistines be captured, tortured and be treated as a slave
This is what you when you don’t follow God’s word and behave
Samson must go before the Philistines King and the citizens
He is being treated as nobody, but the name Samson is somebody
Suddenly, Samson summons Delilah to lead him to the Pillars of the Temple as he is going to break them using his strength
Samson attempts to push the Pillars, but nothing happens
It becomes a mockery
Immediately, Samson asks God to use his strength one last time, and it becomes granted
However, the Temple pillars began to crack and fall apart
The Temple is falling apart, run for life, but life is not given
All is destroyed including Samson
Samson knew all so well
But his was his own understanding that led to his destruction
Samson has to learn the hard way
God you don’t go astray
Hero or not, Samson was the Great Biblical Strongman, and his story will continue to be told
But the Heavens reign supreme with the thought in behold
However, always remember, the past was yesterday and tomorrow beyond.

-the global strongman, and how to survive him

"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."
He needs no wicked science,
all he needs is strong believers.

     They don't like competence, they hate discretion.
     Cast down your glance for their eager eyes.

"Ang aming mga lider ay isang mabuting tao,
alam niya kung ano ang tama."
He is an ardent lover of justice,
killing criminal vermin at all cost.

     They want to bring you down, my friend,
     they like us unlike them.

"Wǒmen de lǐngdǎo shì yīgè hǎorén,
tā zhīdào shénme shì duì de."
He needs no shrewd lawyers,
he senses who is guilty.

     By hunger and chaos they make you foul your mouth,
     our hate and cursing will set us all apart.

"Nash lider - khoroshiy chelovek,
on znayet, chto pravil'no."
Now don't get naughty,
you know, just behave.

     Raise your head, man, raise your feeble voice:
     let's sing our songs, let's come together.

"Liderimiz iyi bir insandır,
doğru olanı biliyor."
He's towering above all of us,
he'll crush the faintest uprising upfront.

     Heureux qui comme Ulysse a fait un beau voyage
     - et puis est retourne plein d'usage et raison.

     Fortunate the guy who fared well on his travels
     - and returned, a man of the world, full of wisdom.

"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."

ᚹᚨᛚᛖᛋ - alphabet above the ᚱᚻᛁᚾᛖ... bereft a cleaving for worth of fortitude, or Liverpool: so too the strongman for bow and two finger F; chisel the ******* bracket or ah into stone correctly, or i'll make you stake a thousand men's' worth of dough worthy of death, nation building etc.*

above the Rhine,
at least that's
my Austrian welcoming,
playfriends my beehive
**** the longship.
i said sooth
nearing rune toward Sweden
of Poland or Germania -
ALPHA BETUM, BETUM
try a care begotten a coliseum!
** SALVAGE DIE *** STIRRUP!
TO A *** RIDE! RIDGE A COLLAPSE
OF ROME! salvage it with Bach...
or else, the death-man's symphony,
you Welsh *****.

Under a big tent
Topped with stars and
Smelling of elephants
A couple of daredevils
Toss in their trailer
Restless in the Midwest

Their golden suits shimmer
In the Iowa half light
The cornstalks talk in
The breezes passing by
At night the daredevils whisper
About what it would be like to really fly
And not just on the trapeze
They kiss goodnight and dream of impossibilities

Times are changing
Since the war it's been mostly women
In the crowds the circus draws
They scream at the lions
Roar at the strongman
Gasp and applaud the two daredevils
Enthusiastically
Happily
Making love in the sky

Times are changing
Since his number came up
She's been lonely
Oklahoma, Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri
Her gold suit is covered in farm dust
Growing nothing much
Her husband is on a bombing raid over Nazis
He's finally flying
Helped by an airplane
B52s and bloodshot eyes
No longer dreaming of impossibilities but
Missing his safety net

Since he left she's been thinking about cannons
Popcorn, scrap metal
and hoping against solo acts
She's been dreaming of
What it's like to be shot at
Really take risks
Really feel out of breath
And her husband's been writing her letters
About white picket fences

"The daredevil life that we wanted is so much worse than we thought it would be. Let that sweet silent net catch you and lie quietly thinking of me."

Times are changing
And so is he
Times are changing
And she feels like world shaking
She can hear the wolves blowing it down

But she keeps up her stunts
And keeps up her spirits
Till one day the bearded lady is screaming
Her name from the floor of the tent
Up on that tightrope she pauses
A second
There's two grim faced servicemen
Her daredevil husband is dead
Flying a mission over Dresden
Just another casualty of a world at war
Another daredevil in a dogfight and
Now one less mouth for the circus to feed

Suddenly she's high up in the stratosphere
Breathing fumes
And from the tightrope she faints
I've given him my heart, given him my onliness
She rests in her gold suit
Cradled by the safety net he warned her to hang on to
And in her dreams she can't help thinking
Maybe she dodged a suburban bullet

Times have changed
And since the war's end
The leftover men
Have gotten married
And she's been doing nothing
But lying awake in her bed
Thinking
Picturing cannons mauling
White picket fences
Her body in a gold suit
Broken on the green grass
She needs distance and airtime
To cull this restlessness
Get out of the Midwest
**** his conspicuous missingness
And come up with a solo act
To keep her fed

In the morning she finds the ringmaster
Hungover in the hay of the elephant stalls
In the morning she's made a decision
To fly like a cannonball
Through a dreamland
Times are changing
And since she woke up
She's dressed in her gold suit
Setting fire to the average
Dreaming of impossibilities

After we used to call you piglet
And after you liked celery,
After the eighth of December at eight o'clock
And after you were eight pounds eight ounces,
They took a photo of when I first held you.
You were crying your eyes out,
Like your mum was in the living room
After she found out,
Before I scurried away.

But you've grown up
In your old *** Pistols t-shirts
And your scribblings screenprinted onto new ones.
Copper hair loyally trailing behind you,
You glide around the house en pointe,
In between embroidery at noon and fashion design after lunch.
Too cool to have sushi at ten years old,
And nearly too old
To hug your big cousin without reluctance.
Like an ordinary kid.

Minding your know-it-all brother
With his resounding echos of 'youknowwhatyouknowwhat'
Making sure he doesn't burn a hole through the floor
With his new chemistry set, that he won't admit
He doesn't quite know how to use,
But will continue on nevertheless.
And you will roll your eyes.
Like an ordinary kid.

But your adenosine triphosphate,
Can barely lift it's own molecular weight
Nevermind the energy you ask it to carry.
In comparison, the ordinary ATP
Of your ordinary classmates,
Is a strongman next to your weakling cluster of N, H, C and O.

So you take your small grey spheres.
And don't drink full fat milk
And your father's taught you how to cook
And value food.
And use your nebuliser
And clean and dust and sterilise
So your glass lungs
Which clatter when you cough
Don't shatter.

And after all that
You twist your hair up in a bun
And carry on.
Not falling down the rabbit hole,
But bounding gracefully.
Like the extraordinary kid that you are, Alice.

Hoobler Hobbler:
He brings only fatigue.
He is but just annoying,
He rarely does intrigue.

Even my brothers are
Extremely irritated so,
For they cannot do anything
Since he really cannot go

For even a strongman like old Mal
He cannot move this hefty tonne,
Both Adsel and Luke alike
Their words like an empty gun

Frank cannot do anything,
He just perches there to watch;
Mike and Blake hide in their hole
And Rooney's but a blotch

Oh this fascinating team
For once they really can't control;
This heavy weighted sleepyhead
Has just worsened this hellhole

Hoobler Hobbler:
It's not just the fatigue,
He also brings along chaos
But still doesn't intrigue

I've studied the chess table and its consequent game. I know every inch of every square and what each can provide without doubt. I have seen the creatures of this world conflicting in their natural habitat, like an audience to a drama, watching them devour each other until the math proves the premise on a single side. I've moved according to their stride, like a dancer's partner, gliding across this checkered ballroom floor until the truth sets in stone. It's simple dialectics, a move is made and then, from the other, another follows. White conflicts with Black and Black counteracts, a perfect unity of opposites. Never jumping ahead of themselves, one piece at a time, it's a rising exposition from White's first movement forward, a heat creeping in increments on the desert surface. They're each a step ahead at every moment, each a worthy opponent for the other. The cold, morning mirage becomes blistering afternoon and only once does the volcano erupt from boiling sand, truly agape in a fiery victory. Do you hear that power in the distance?

A horn bellows and I move in the wake of the Divine Voice. I am but a cleric for his queen, yet the king requests my service in these grave times. This foreboding feeling leaves me truly afraid for my life, however, like a snowy dove's feather, I am called to the wind with my brethren towards the direction of the evil swamps. God has blessed our devout; the witchcraft of the Black Kingdom will surely fall to His mystic weaponry.

A farmer's strong-hand makes no strongman in the abysmal depths of this marsh. Tilling the land for fallen comrades, the breath of the Black Eye leaves me entrenched in a dripping terror, coating my lungs in a bitter molasses. I contain my sultry pearl of abandonment in the Clam of Defeat, knowing the king's life to be the insurmountable jewel I must truly protect. The following torture would be an endless excruciation heard from every corner of the world.

From afar this looking tower I notice an encounter of mild defeat. A white knight on horseback casts his sword into the chest of a young peon boy standing guard for the King as he leaves the gates of the Black majesty. The boy cries out and the embers from the magical weapon envelope him in ash. The king needn't make haste, after all, the armored fool is frozen in awe, staring at the remains of his powerful encounter with the child. The half daemon looks to and fro as he skims across the moated bridge. He grabs for the golden kryss at his waste and slowly stabs between the break in white armor, freezing it solid. The blood runs quick on the fallen honor.

She's traveled far from her black caging, ripping down from the sky like a dragon. The wind blows a bastion out of the sand in my protection, but she ignites it with her icy breath, stagnating all those inside, moving ever closer to my advantage. My last warring cleric triangulates a teleportation to the town square, fighting a harrowing defeat that lends her to me. His bravery leaves her chained in physical combat with a half deity, however, she smirks as if the war is already won. I tighten my gauntlets for battle as the flying arrow passes my helmet. Oh my great men of war, your weight is on the wrong side of the world. Now it spins out of control. Eclipsed in madness, I send the eruption beneath her, encircling her in rising doom. She cannot escape her molten grave, neither does the arrow shaft merely graze my heart. Everything is hazy. Everything is dark. It is late in the hour, hearing the Devil's whisper say:

“Checkmate.”

Bleecker Street, a name associated with New York City in the section of Soho
But makes Bleecker Street many don’t know
Just what made Bleecker Street unique?
It’s straight out history is what makes the street complete
It was a Goldsmith shop
Just a gallop hop
The shop was the most famous on the block
The Goldsmith owner being Manny Strong
He was a man who knew how to get along
Mr. Strong was also a professional strongman
His strength was always in demand
Mr. Strong could bend bars to shape horseshoes
However, he could lift heavy weights and even horses himself
Now Manny Strong was ahead of his time, but not like everybody else
Mr. Strong was a valued Circus strongman being the star of the show
But a good glance of his physique was just follow the flow
He would often lift weights over his head
But he would often break chains instead
Mr. Strong had no trouble in getting a female date
But it always had to be a woman who could relate
It was Mr. Strong’s strength that was his build up
His massive muscles were his character in making female’s feel safe in his arms
Yet it was his confidence in don’t be alarmed
Mr. Strong was all strength in being a sturdy solid man
The call of his trade, a business man in demand
One of the strongest in the land
This was Manny Strong’s life that made Bleecker Street his caravan.

Picture the clown
with his silly frown
upside down

Picture the big cat
that docilely sat
as you gave it a pat

Picture the main ring
where the bearded lady will sing
the unicorns, risen at dawn
will trail a rainbow on a string

Picture the strongman
holding a child's hand
when everybody just ran

Picture the journey
that involved you and me
Picture the empty seat

Now picture the chaos
the emptiness of loss
all the glamour and gloss

Picture the heartbreak and joy
see the little boy, with the toy?
It's the one thing he don't allow
others to destroy

Picture waking at dawn
understanding in a yawn
nothing will be different this morn

Picture this, the colours are wild
life is more difficult to adhere
Picture the difficulty of this postcard
*Wish you were here

they whisper in reverent tones
on the television,
hushed, in awe,
struck dumb
by the images
of fifty-nine tomahawk cruise missiles
a flaccid, wanna-be-strongman
just launched at Syria,
a country whose refugees
and babies we'd rather see
washed-up on the sands
of foreign lands than safely
at peace in our homeland.

Brian Williams calls
the spectacle, "beautiful."
sociopathic pundits in ecstasy,
spewing meek excuses
like babbling baboons, buffoons
lusting for an **** of nihilistic violence.
they invoke their dead gods,
beseech the "Almighty" to bless
their bloodstained hands,
and say this is how a demagogue
acts presidential.

beat the war drums in quick succession.
about face in a new direction.
left, left, left, right, left.
it doesn't matter who sits
in the Oval Office, war
makes America great again,
boosting administrative approval ratings
and corporate coffers, revenue soaring
like sky-rocketing jet-fuel.

we cannot pummel the world
into submission with munitions,
but that won't stop us from trying.
planting early graves
like seeds in the ground,
bearing fruit that spoils
and keeps this whole sick joke
spinning perpetually around.
we **** people who **** people
because killing people is wrong.
what i'd give to wake
to a world not torn
apart by war.

The light from the streetlamps squirms it's way through a ***** windshield
Miles of that road-dust, old and new, takes it due portion of the light
grabs it, casts it all reeling off, diffused

But it's ok, because now we're here, standing outside a corner store, charmingly ****** and completely bulletproof.
It has a sign that says 'Yes, we are open' and a thick, oily padlock that says 'No, we aren't'
It's like a sickly smile and a kick in the shins
A corner store like any other, except for the sound
The bass guitar flexes like a circus strongman breaking handcuffs
And pounds it's all-conquering vibe through the walls of the basement, through the brick and mortar and sidewalk-flagstone
Really more symbols that actual obstacles
The drums are syncing well, sunk as they are in the earth
We approach and find a subtler, silver-tarnish voice, worming it's way through ***** and crack
It's a pawnshop guitar, sizzling like a hot pan
It bounces like a drunk off the brick walls of the stairs leading down
Staggers it's way up, to invite you in
It's deadened just slightly by the giddy, rapidly cooling bodies relaxing there
in the no-man's-land between indoors and out, smoking,
drawing burnt-atomized sophistication in.
We mount the top stair, great explorers regarding a mountain, and proceed to climb down.
Every eye looks up, carefully half-lidded, and bored.
But for an instant, every single one has a message squirm it's way through the dust: "Yes, I am open. Please think I'm interesting. Please think I'm worthwhile."

It only hurts for a while
the cuts that bleed will heal
the bruises that blossom
will fade in time,

can you feel
it now?

Feel?

the way,

they told me it's long and I thought they were wrong and they were,
it's even longer and takes a strongman to get there,
many are stronger than me,
but the way that it was,
it was the way that chose me.

Whatever way is any way when you're not going
my way.

Being alone
or being a being alone being alone?

I
play
make
friends
it gets serious
and the playing ends.

I had to grow old.
and
fortune favours
cold dice on
hot tables.

It only hurts for a while
the smoke
the smoke
the smile
when my heart broke
more smoke
It only hurts when she flirts
for a while,
I will bleed
she fuels me
I feed her
she murders
I murmur.

The way
is a long way and more

With the turning of the clock,

And the grooves on your hip,

I'll just toss your stature over my shoulder,


Just to prove a point.

for all trade, a tariff- for all debt, a war
in my hand, the future and a **** to its door

under my hand, dear empress,
now you must understand
under my will, this nation
under my will- this land

a strongman's ire
to those who oppose
tear down the bulwarks
- who dare arose

Orwell, dear prophet
your tales of future design:

"you delusional *******..."

This nation, a reign of infamy,
this nation of mine

for you, dear empress-
costs any you dare
for your comfort, o empress
no expense to spare

give me
the gift
of sorrow
the strongman’s
pencil

-

in the purgatory
of spaced out
animals, ****
on the short
straw

-

tell me I’m not surrounded

-

show to my brother
youtube videos
of our mother
sleeping
on her father’s
back

-

say something in my sister’s mouth

-

scrub me
from the shoemaker’s dream
with a rock
the rock
I deserve

Pseudo-scientific writings
Of two men named Strauss and Howe°
Talk about an existential
War that we are in right now.

It's called a war of the Fourth Turning,
And here's one thing the writings mention:
By aggravating societal pressures,
Leaders control the nation's attention.

Leadership will take measures
To assert public authority. (How nice!)
Then they will apply pressure
To demand public sacrifice.

An unexpected leader called
The Grey Champion will emerge--
A messianic strongman who'll
Lead the nation as allies merge.

It ought not to be so difficult
To see through this fiction, ought it?
However, the president's right hand man,
(Gulp!) Steve Bannon, bought it.

This is the "birth of a new political
Order," Bannon has said. What' more,
We're "in the top of the first inning."
He puts it this way: "We're at war!"

Expansionist China and radical Islam
Will bring about our defeat
Because the Judeo-Christian West,
Bannon adds, is in retreat.

He talks of dark days ahead.
Part of the apocalyptic plan
Has to do with being "reborn"
Or having to face the end of man.

Bannon has the president's ear!
It's really scary when buffoons
Are given top positions and power.
THIS GUY is ****** TUNES!

- by Bob B (2-11-17)

°William Strauss and Neil Howe

A man named GORILLA STRONG
His last name Strong describes him perfectly
Strength in his own right
Strong and Might
Gorilla Strong started on his journey as a Weightlifter
He would lift weights beyond expectations
In fact, when he lifts weights at the gym where he trains appropriately called “INTENSITY BEYOND”
Every weight he lifts sounding like an Earthquake around him with shakes and vibrations
It surrounds Mr. Strong’s training formation
His body parts seem to muscle flex without Mr. Strong doing a flex
Mr. Strong has received numerous Weightlifting awards and top honors in sportsmanship

You are probably scratching your head in wondering who is this Gorilla Strong is a person who I made up in my head
However, it would be surprising if Gorilla Strong really existed
So where did the first name of Gorilla originate?
It wasn’t from the ridges of Africa nor a descendant from King Kong
It describes Mr. Strong’s strength capabilities and Gorilla built structure
But there is another side of Gorilla Strong
He became a competitive Bodybuilder
How does one go from Weightlifting to Bodybuilding?
Easy answer, Train, Eat, Preparation and Transformation
Mr. Strong competed in Bodybuilding Contest in winning the Mr. Sensational Title
Because Mr. Gorilla Strong is unique and was wonder and instilled competitive
No imagination or dream, but fierce competition in what bodybuilding could become
The stage was set and when Gorilla Strong stepped on the Posing Dais or some would call the podium along with the other competitors, there was no comparison as to who would win the bodybuilding show
Mr. Strong was vascular, constructed, muscle pumps and showed promise and plenty of detail
It was because of his Weightlifting days that paved the way for Bodybuilding
Even when Mr. Gorilla Strong shook one’s hand, it was like shaking hands with a vice
He was just that strong
After all, one’s last name of strong is nothing to ignore
Think on crush and ouch
Some might think that Mr. Gorilla Strong might be too strong
Just saying, what if Mr. Strong was arrested, and was put into handcuffs, do think they would hold being his strength?
It might be considered a strongman act
Gorilla Strong being a man of excellence
Essence at its best
Powerful with might
Mr. Sensational
Global name
Gorilla Strong

There were times when we at least thought
The United States was deserving of praise.
We served as a model for many nations.
What has happened to those days?

Now we're at the threshold of
A growing movement that seems to be
A direct assault on what we've stood for
And a threat to our democracy.

How we used to criticize
Strongman rulers worldwide
Who stripped their people of their rights!
Oh, how we were horrified!

Now people around the world
Look at us in disbelief
And ask themselves how all of us
Are not overcome with grief.

People who lived in autocracies
And fled because they lived in fear,
Look around wide-eyed and ask,
"What the hell is happening here?"

Insurrectionists being called
Patriots? Voter suppression?
Overturning election results?
A personality cult obsession?

Immigrants becoming scapegoats?
People challenging safe elections?
Paramilitary thugs?
Folks with suspicious foreign connections?

People threatening health care workers
And thinking there's nothing wrong with that?
The breaking down of institutions?
Voters preferring an autocrat?

Apathy will be our downfall;
Our complacency will as well.
There won't be a clang of freedom
From our silenced Liberty Bell.

If we do not strive to preserve
Democracy and make that our aim,
We will suffer the consequences
And have only ourselves to blame.

-by Bob B (10-12-21)

The living years


This is a story of two people named Brian and peter who try and live very good lives, they exercise every morning by doing a lap around their suburb and they both go to work
Brian is an artist who wants to help the world through his art and despite his mind being made up, he thinks it would be good if he had a good job he will have money to go on holidays and Peter was a gym instructor who trained people to become fitter in mind body and spirit and unlike Brian
Peter believed in strong discipline and
Said it would be great if Brian would follow in his footsteps as opposed to just doing what he wants, both of them were from strong families who believed in the laid back kind of life but peter wanted more but it didn’t seem to work out for him no matter how many times he tried, and helping people with their fitness goals seemed to work out very well for him
And Brian was happy every time he sold an artwork and that inspired him to realise that art was his thing
Peter was suffering after a breakup with his girlfriend Joan who himself trained to be a better person but Joan wanted more from their relationship than peter did so they split up, Peter still trained her twice a week, and every day training Joan, Peter was worried about not being very cool, but then he was fit and strong and every 5 months joined a strongman tournament to make his world a hell of a lot better and cooler, and he always took it out on his mate Brian like saying clean your house and make it spotless ‘boy’ and then suddenly a client gave peter a ticket to see Adelaide crows play the Geelong cats because he couldn’t go and Peter decided to ask Brian if he was interested in going with him and Brian was excited because he really loves the Adelaide crows and watching them play really made him happy and Peter gave him the ticket and said, meet me at the gate or if I call and say I will be late go inside and get your seat and this is going to be exciting, and Peter loved to visit his mum and dad at their home in Coober pedy in which was an underground town, mainly at Christmas and other religious holidays and Brian had a life with his best mate Patrick who they have been mates since school, Brian and Patrick went to see concerts together as well as go to nightclubs as well as footy games mainly SANFL matches where both of them liked watching the Glenelg tigers play whether they won or lost it didn’t worry them it was just a game
But this story is not stuck in the past, no, Brian was now with peter but Patrick was there trying to make Brian
Understand that they are still friends
Through and through and then Brian wanted to be given a job in a job which he could make a difference like working in a homeless centre because he felt sorry for the homeless people as they have a lot of problems dealing with things that Brian and Peter take for granted but because of that some of the homeless people yelled at Brian saying if you want to help us ******* away from this place it isn’t the place that you want to work, no but it is my life today said Brian and Peter asked Brian if he was interested in having a hearty dinner of chicken parmigiana with fresh vegetables and pumpkin
And sometimes Brian got sick of Peter but if they departed their ways he would lose his house so he needed Peter with his high paying job to keep him in his house, besides which Brian
Feels for homeless people but didn’t want to be one of them and yes that was the bond that kept them together. The next day Brian went to his art group where he learned how to express his great imagination to the entire world and after a few weeks of Enjoying this he was asked if his art could be used in a television show on channel 7 because it is amazing how much expression is his works and this made Brian so happy and he went to the bottle shop and bought a nice sparkling wine to celebrate their good fortune and after another 2 weeks Ellen degenerous asked Brian to be on her show in the United States of America so she can get his wonderful expressive artworks out to the people
And Brian was ever so happy about that and he has seen the show and Brian wondered what gift Ellen was going to give him like something like $20-000 to get him in good courses
To make his art improve to the best of his ability but there was still no message of what Ellen was thinking of
And Peter taught Brian about the things he has to say when he is there to say he is a good artist to imply he deserves the money and Peter gave him a mock interview with him pretending he was Ellen and Brian was getting nervous and started to worry that Ellen will kick him out saying you will never be like us ‘ever
And then as the mock interview continued Brian said he wanted to be an actor saying his expressive art will give him confidence to come out of his shell and learn how to act and yes this will make Brian happy but peter asked questions that Ellen wouldn’t ask in a million years but he did that to tell him that he has the talent but he needs to show Ellen that and Brian got very emotional about it and Patrick was thinking Brian is turning into an emotinal ******* know an emo but Brian told Patrick to leave him the **** alone and let me live my life right, ok and then after the day was over Brian and Peter sat down and watched the footy matches that were on television that night and Brian was feeling confident about going on the Ellen show talking about his art and both Brian and Peter were happy with their lives but there is always things that could change their happiness just lurking around the corner like life’s problems.

I’m driving up to a place that you’re at
Ripped jeans, white shirt, a cooler at the back
We have this day to do all that we want...

You grin at me as you hop shotgun
No work, no phones, no past, no promise
Let’s ditch this scene, just you and me

We can head off to the beach
Singing songs atop our lungs
Running with the waves
Dancing like we’re teens

Go to the fair, where dreams come true
You’re the strongman and I’m the gunman
Fingers intertwined, ride a coaster or two
Taste the candy on your lips, your palm on my hip

Maybe take the other road up to a *****
Watch the sunset, have breakfast at dusk
Talk about everything, anything, and nothing
We won’t be sleeping...

"Dear Vladimir Putin, my friend,
Thank you for your ongoing support.
You know I'm really going to need it
If I somehow land in 'court.'

"Keep bombarding social media;
Expand the use of all those bots.
But definitely cover your tracks,
For people will try to connect the dots.

"You know how I--one of your fans--
Highly respect your strongman appeal.
You've perfected your talents there,
As I the art of making a deal.

"I like the way you ******* dissent;
You've got the people under control.
I'm NOT there yet, but give me time.
It remains my overall goal.

"Poisoning my opponents? Well,
Maybe I wouldn't go that far.
But you and I together can think of
Other techniques, tzar to tzar.

"Right now the investigation
Here is really driving me mad.
I want to fire Mueller but need
Grounds completely ironclad.

"Maybe you can help me there.
I'm sure for you it's worth a try:
Help my kiss-*** Republicans
Vilify the FBI.

"I'm trying to follow your media playbook
On how you limit opposing views.
I'm able to spread a lot of untruths
On MY station called Fox News.

"My efforts to trick the religious right
Have been clever and not at all shoddy.
Even though we both know there's
Not a religious bone in my body.

"By the way, you don't have
Tapes of me when I was there
In Russia, do you? You know the kind:
Tapes of me in my underwear.

"Remember the word sanctions, my friend.
We can lift them--buh-lieve you me--
If all the tapes of me disappear.
Your friend, Donald T."

-by Bob B (1-31-18)

It only hurts for a while
the cuts that bleed will heal
the bruises that blossom
will fade in time,

can you feel
it now?

Feel?
the way,
they told me it's long
and I thought they were wrong and they were,
it's even longer and takes a strongman to get there,
many are stronger than me, but the way that it was,
it was the way that chose me.

Whatever way is any way when you're not going
my way.

Being alone
or being a being alone, being alone?

I
play
make
friends
it gets serious
and the playing ends.

I had to grow old.
and
fortune favours
cold dice on
hot tables.

It only hurts for a while
the smoke
the smoke
the smile
when my heart broke
more smoke

It only hurts when she flirts
for a while, I will bleed,

she fuels me
I feed her
she murders
I murmur.

The way
is a long way and more

Rick Perry° has joined the cult
That calls Trump the Chosen One.
Sorry, but that's a game that should be
One with no trumps. Pardon the pun.

To give Trump such an undeserved
Title can only underscore
How much a person has to question
Perry's sanity all the more.

I can think of better titles:
Wannabe Strongman, Liar in Chief,
Security Threat, Hypocrite,
King of Corruption, or Causer of Grief.

But Chosen One? Let's be serious.
Could God really be so daft
To let the Chosen One be Trump?
If so, we've been given the shaft.

-by Bob B (11-25-19)

°Secretary of Energy for Donald Trump

What plays out in the spotlights is all you need to see.
  An extravaganza of what our marriage is each day together.
  As you see we were a perfect match from the beginning. Love
  has blessed us with its fruits, our children, a boy and girl.

  We've had our trials. Behind the big top the clowns drink and
  gamble the paychecks away. The beauties on the trapeze grow
  a little fatter with each decaying year and settle for less.
  The strongman is weaker, the human cannonball almost broken.

  The towns on our circuit seem a little more desperate each season.
  We now have just the one ring for our acts of amazing happiness.
  The kids have joined their own circus and we only have ourselves
  wandering in tattered tents alone at The Greatest Show on Earth.

They came first for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I am not a Communist

Then they came for the immigrants
And I did not speak out
Because I am not an immigrant

Then they came for the feminists, and gays, and lesbians
And I did not speak out, never shouting out that Love is love
Because I was not a woman, neither a gay, lesbian, nor a feminist

Then they killed the blacks
And I did not speak out
Because I am colored, but not black.

Then they persecuted scientists just like in Bolshevik Russia, Chinese Cultural Revolution, and ignored, defunded them just like in present-day strongman regimes
And I did not speak out, never shouting out that Science is real
Because I live in a democratic state, with advanced science and technology.

Then they killed botanists like Leonard Co and companions
While doing fieldwork in the Philippines
And I did not speak
Because I am not a botanist, and I don’t go on fieldwork in those places.

Then they killed Lumads, and burned Lumad schools
And I did not speak,
Because I am not a Lumad, and I went to a prestigious university.

Then one day, they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me.

There is no poetry
in the maskless man’s eyes.

I see only star spangle
stripes mangled
in the pursuit of
more stuff.

****** and mayhem,
bald strongman
wannabe dictator,
stealing from
Orwell’s playbook,
even though
he never read it.

There is no art
only orange skin sinking
as compassion keeps
on shrinking
while loved one
go on shrieking
sobbing and speaking
seeking some sort of
justices for those
they love.

There is no hope
except a broken heart
torn apart
till his kindness
turns to rage,
till the pain of others
turns him to
the hate of those
who hurt and cover
what they do
with the camouflage
of a flag and god.

Today, I am gleeful
smirking with evil
thoughts toward
a human I abhor,
because kindness
seams to be
a weakness
I don’t need.

Dreams are just
particles of dust,
passing in
the torrential winds.

I do not know
if I will ever be
the man of hopeful mercy
that used to write
starlight
and spaceship poetry.

Especially, when
I want to see
the president die horribly.

Huey Long° was the kind of fellow
You wouldn't double cross.
He ran his state as though he was
A genuine mob boss.

Bootlickers and flatterers
On whom he could rely
Helped him gain his wealth and power.
That you can't deny.

He stacked his government with folks
Who'd answer only to him.
His dissenters found themselves
Out on a shaky limb.

Hey, Huey,
We all know
The things you did
So long ago.
Your power grabs
Were tried and true.
We know someone
Much like you.

Harnessing the discontent
Of people was his plan.
His gift of gab as a populist
Made him a popular man.

His cadre of guards sufficiently armed
Made him feel quite smug.
Although he got things done, he was
Essentially a ****.

Taking control of elections, he
Sidestepped prosecution.
With power on display, he'd declare,
"I am the Constitution."

Hey, Huey,
We all know
The things you did
So long ago.
In a way
You primed the pump
And set the stage
For Donald Trump.

Calling himself "the Kingfish," Huey
Found corruption handy.
Power, control, and kickbacks were
His modus operandi.

Reporters whom he didn't like
Were ones he would abuse.
They'd be beaten, and he'd call
Their papers "lyinnews."

A glimpse of how a strongman would
Appear in the U.S.A.
Was Huey Long's rehearsal for
A dictatorship today.

Hey, Donald
We see through
All the things
You've tried to do.
Although this
Is NOT your song,
You're a lot
Like Huey Long.

-by Bob B (5-6-24)

°40th governor of Louisiana and U.S. senator from 1932 until his assassination in 1935.

1 post card yesterday
1 letter today

Fr. John Grace
Buddha pathway

Overthrowing the strongman
Picasso to play

Live not on evil
Little flower, Little way