Category Archives: Politics

The Glass Sword

[Children all over the world are being slain without an enemy, other than ours.]

Each evening puts tears in our eyes

as we watch the world

with arrogance, stupidity, and greed

carnage souls and minds.


I know we are getting old.

But, what did we teach them?

Are they awake? What have they learned?


I thought we buried the sword!

If we have left the handle above the ground

—place it back on the slain bodies deep,

and shatter it where it was found.


Kneel and be still.

Then rise, as the new day, with bright eyes.

And, continue to teach each other;

why we all, see the beauty of each sun set

—and why we all, look forward to each sun rise.


 “Children are our second chance to have a great parent-child relationship.”

 Laura Schlessinger


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The silver spoon

The silver spoon

Spilling gibberish, drool, and cream

In this morning’s Lobster Bisque

Screamed at him for not

Eating Cheerios in 1% milk

With silverware, or even

A plastic spoon.

(None would have to be polished

Rubbed by servants

And served, to feed

 Your fat reflecting face).

“We are both, growing worthless

In history” fading as it dripped

and slurped from

Puckering lips.


Posted by on April 4, 2017 in Existential, Poetry, Politics, thoughts


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Notes Found on the Refrigerator January 2016

Fear of Night

I toast to you with wine and sweetened bread;

Those of you who are still afraid of night.

Free will and slavery, share the same bed;

With bling bling’s insatiable appetite


Nay! Men nor women are excused from lies

When they say, “God’s words, only they can hear!”

Asking for cash, property, jams, and pies;

When, the Spoken Word is hearts hidden ear.


Hear! Hear! Hypocrisy of screaming hearts

 Embracing beyond a hand shake or smile,

Stealing souls into night, into the dark,

Where straw shelters burn brightly on trial.


Banners, crucifixes, temples, stage lights,

Candles, and guns keep you on guard at night.


Sophia’s Invitation

 Sleeping with Sophia;

Bitter-sweet desire on a barbed wire fence.


Wisdom, seeks all lovers!

She transcends all borders erected on the altar of soldiers;

Escaping Venus and Narcissus.


Love Me, she quietly pleads.

Few answer:


Responding by groping

Her physical and intellectual carcass;

Diminished in what she really seeks.


Wisdom tunnels into light above the moat of darkness.

Sophia knowing this; embraces the heart of the moon.


Posted by on January 31, 2016 in Politics, thoughts, Wisdom


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Bonsoir Mémé et le Pépé, Bonsoir

 (curtain rises…both are getting into bed)

Mémé: I’m not asking you to cheat

            Only to tweak. (turning over, back to Pépé)

 Pépé: I refuse to participate, in the choices they make,

can’t you see, Just let it be!

(he does the same and turns over. now both are lying back to back)

Mémé: Get off your arse then, and turn off the light!

            There ain’t nothing right… left to be seen this night.

Pépé: I thought it was your turn

To turn out the lights, tonight.

Mémé: You want to fight?

(as a matter of fact)

            I still got a good right.


Pépé: What is it that you want me to do?

            Again. Before I lay down.

(slowly getting up)

Mémé: Go and tell the grandchildren

            To stop this, this… “Messing around!

…La vie ne est plus le pont de d’Avignon.”


  (re-enters and gets into bed facing mémé)

            Bonsoir Mémé.

Mémé: Bonsoir Pépé.

(Both start humming  ‘Sous le pont de d’Avignon’)

(Curtain closes)


On the lighter side, in my “research”, I stumbled on this and if you have the time… [growing up with this song, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw this.]


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I need to take this call: on Bullying at all levels

“I want to be judged by the innocent.” 
~Note Found On The Refrigerator~


It is a source of humor,

a real knee slapper

targeted “faults”

spittle in the laughter.

specifications, whispered about.

Measured things of imperfection,

calibrated with latex glove

against the length of a snot.

Wine slurred dis-approval.

Tsk, tsk, between sips of West Coast grapes

and New York City Lattes.


I have to leave now.

Bushwhackers in the bush

throwing full beer can slurs.


when I think about it

Why would  I go without this upheaval;

shame, detaining progress of escape.


I need to leave now.

I cannot sit without a syllabus.

I need to prepare my right to prevail;

present my argument

for this incredible obstacle you present,

in knowing me.


like a mirror on the fun house wall.


I am leaving  now.

Excuse me,

but I need to take this call.



A Three Minute Rant

2013 House of Representative Blues

They sit there judging in their immensity

 cheeks without scars,

tee shirts with no visible nipples.

Only their bias

and adherence to laws

 they like

 and those they refuse

to enact.

They are all excited

upholding their own

god’s opinion.


I keep exclaiming,

I am not a criminal,

I am, an out-law

by citizenship.

What do you mean I can’t live here?


you sentence to poverty;

to reconsider my life,

to adjust my out-look

of minimum wage.

 Kicking my ass,

demeaning my life,

demanding, to be as Holy

(or un –holy when necessary)

like you.

To accept everything

you say as truth.

Thumping the bible

or buying ammo

and an automatic rifle.

Oh ya, make that two!


I can’t pay the cost

for my freedom

let alone my incarceration.

How much do I really owe

for this  “Bill” of Rights?

 No unemployment,

less Social Security,

and the county infirmary.

I am unable to say thank you

in this short of time.


You complain that my lower

 middle class

is draining the economy.

You take away our radios,

control the price of television,

diminish our pencils with a power point,

and virtual paper.

You listen and stalk my conversations

to be labeled and graded.

Your economy

is supported through old megaphones,

carried by political liars

that are wired to explode.


Soon, you will have to wash

and fix your own cars,

or, without mechanics,

to neuter miniature barking robots;

eventually unable to trust

the media cooks

to feed  your lovers

and armed surrogates.


You write editorial

letters to yourself.

(Hearing us talk of a revolution

through evolution without chaos.

Disbanding MBAs’ greed,

and their broker institutions

for a lighter more palatable fare

of profit and dreams).


Those who have exhausted

our patience for the need

of more than one home

go off shore.

Not to live,

but to follow their predecessors

who plundered this land

and its settlements,

with lines and displacement;

seeking other impoverished people

to exchange bubble gum and soda

for washing  Mercedes Benzes.


They too will become

A new race for complaint.

Allowing them to rent

slums and live

the illusionary American advertising. 

 Oppressed as a new class

with white bread and injected meat;

with enough chemical protein

to keep them working.

You will import them

until they bleed,

and that’s  just down the street.


Politicians? Dead puppets

on wealthy life-support strings,

unable to tax them

as, they sap

and suck out

“health care whores”

 living on government crackers

and block cheese.


Dear editor,

Let me die,

let me freeze,

shoot me if you please.

It will be cost-effective

and less to feed!

And, besides,

there is more out there,

oh ya,

for the taking! Yup, for free.


Yours, Gravely

C. U. Later



Posted by on October 27, 2013 in AARP, Mill Street, Outlaw, Poetry, Politics, religion, unemployed


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He Never Had A Chance

“…All we are saying

Is give peace a chance.”    John Lennon

Twelve devils dancing on a pinhead

Twirling, almost falling,

Catching each other  In sizzling embrace.

Winking, hooting, and hollering

Celebrating the death of peace;

            An un-precedent disgrace.

Needle threading cloth

A suture for a dress

In and out, out and in.

            A thimble on the thumb;

                        A thimble on the index.

Another unforgiving tear.

Another uncompromising disgrace.

Peace, should have been naked.

                        At best.

Where is the catcher in the rye?

            Suicide bombers!

                        Soft targets!

            Murder of children!

                        Children murder parents!

            Prophets poison followers!

                        Followers assassinate prophets!

Where are the angels and cherubims?

Where is the Lord of the dance?

Where is John Lennon?



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