Tuesday, September 19, 2017

What now, Nancy Pelosi?



What will you do, Nancy Pelosi,
When your own kind turn on you,
Like the pack of wolves they are,
Bearing their fangs at you
Because you dare to do
Anything they do not like,
This spoiled breed of beat
We all created back in Kindergarten
When we gave them all awards
Because we did not wish for them to feel bad
When they did not have the right stuff
To complete and always lost,
They are still losers and we coddle them,
As if they are stiff infants
When they are really wolves
Dressed in infants’ clothing,
Ready to tear your throat out
When they don’t get what they want
Or what they think they deserve
We can’t blame their parents
For loving them to much
As to make them into the spoiled brats
They have become,
We must blame ourselves
For letting it get out of hand,
For not putting our foot down
When we still could,
Before the wolf cubs grew fangs
And a taste for blood
Even your blood, Nancy Pelosi,
Or anyone else’s
That gets in their way.


Monday, September 18, 2017

Dreamers a little dream



They bring their children here to find salvation
Desperate souls from places
we’ve made into slave colonies
Where we tear down trees
so we can feed the cattle
That feeds us our McDonalds burgers
Or where they build dark factories
to make the sneakers we jog in
Or dig the raw materials
so we can have our I-Phones
Stitching shirts with logos
we wear while out at the cafes
With words like “peace” or “Love”
or “Not my president”
Meaningless words
we spew during our protests
Deliberately blind to the warlords and street gangs
That inspire these families
to drag their kids here,
Gangs that beat and exploit them
As much as we did at a distance,
Parents desperate to rain their kids in a place
Where there is less of this,
Unaware until too late that they bring the warlords
And street gangs with them,
And they in their misguided belief they do their children well
But dumping them on the door step on the evil people
Whose sneakers and i-pads, shirts and hamburgers
Created the living hell from which they flee
So their children might grow up to become the remote
Warlords like us,
wearing the same t-shirts, carrying the same i-pads
Eating the same hamburgers
that enslaved them in the first place,
Dreamers dreaming of a better life just like us

Love song of Steven Colbert




I would love to love you, Steven Colbert
But nobody can love you
As much as you already love yourself,
That self aggrandizement
That exudes from you like sweat,
A stench so raunchy we need no hound dog
To find you lost in the woods,
Their howl not lush from your scent
But a desperation to escape from it,
You that desperate drama queen locked in a media castle
Standing in front of your magic mirror
Asking who is the fairest in the land
And getting vindictive when it says it isn’t you,
You clinging to your watcher rating charts
As you sell yourself as a new Moses
Ready to lead your flock of melting snowflakes
As deluded about reality as you are
Each believing like you they are the fairest
In the land, when they like you, are simply spoiled,
I would love to love you, Steven Colbert,
A media hog, brimming over with self-loathing,
A dirty little mean queen collecting corporate cash
For each twisted little thing that drips out of
Your pathetic little mouth,
Seeing your true self in a distorted mirror,
a perverted little man with a exaggerated ego
And thinking of course it must be someone else

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Better left unsaid




Some things should never get said,
The stirring heart beat
The thought of what is possible, 
Not allowed
This life where things collide
At the wrong moment
We needing a time machine
To go back or ahead
To make things right
Or turn out as they ought
Still unable to still
These thoughts 
That should never get said
Or dwelled upon
Too tempting 
Too much a violation of
All those rules of civilized life
We take for granted
Even in a society
That slowly crumbles
As ours does now
Ideas tick tocking inside our heads
To which we cling like life preservers
On this sinking ship
When they only make us sink
All the faster,
Bearing the burden of unfulfilled
Desires was have no right to wish for
And no sense to keep
Silent about.

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Super hero



Batman couldn’t drive as ruthlessly as she does,
An unrelenting rage against the unfair world,
Refusing to compromise an inch
As she weaves through a city filled
With idiots behind the wheels of beamers,
And other overrated ego-gratifying machines
In a cut throat race to get ahead.
She doesn’t let them get away with anything,
A personal rebellion in a world where
Being a rebel makes you a subject
For crucifixion,
And she, like Batman, puts on a mask
To protect her true identity,
A female Clark Kent that tolerates
The abuses of the daily time clock,
And the mad-hatter who inspires
Rage nobody dares express
Except on the expressway,
She gripping the steering wheel
As she weaves through these streets,
A true super hero
Teaching all these beamers
An appropriate lesson in manners.



Friday, September 1, 2017

Check mate



You move, then I move,
Then it shifts between us,
Then a dull pain inside us
We do not resist,
We rattle internally
Like chess pieces
With our bodies as the board
A dizzy dispute
Neither of us expects to win,
Both of us embracing
The mood of it
As we strive,
The up and down of it,
The in and out,
The around of it,
The more we move
The more I world sways,
We are drunken sailors
On a self created sea
These storms roared
From out of us,
Making us crave a closeness
We cannot get close enough
To achieve,
This ritual of pain
That is not pain,
The struggle rumbling
Within us,
As our limbs entwine,
Struggling not to think about it
Only to feel it,
Not an act of love so much
As a quest for something
We can’t possibly achieve
You move, then I move,
Making the piece rattle
As I take your queen and you take mine,
The point not to check mate the other,
But to make it so neither of us
Can lose.


The worst obsession




The more you touch it
The more it scalds
But you just can’t leave it alone
Wrapping your fingers around it
feeling its burn,
taking it into your mouth
and onto your tongue,
until it smolders down
deep inside you,
a volcanic reaction
that needs to explode
Love is not the only obsession
Just the worst
Stirring up nuclear temperatures
You can’t resist
Like a child
Attracted to the kettle on the stove
No matter how many times
Your mother warns you
Not to touch,
You always do,
Failing to learn the lesson
Of once burned
You’re never shy,
Gripping this thing in both hands,
Dipping it deep inside
So you can no longer tell
If it is burning or you are
Nor caring,
Unable to stop consuming it
Consuming yourself,
No matter what the ultimate
Outcome is.