12/9/18’s Rhyme – dedicated to PDO


A house divided. Anger burns in eyes.
All view The Other. None for compromise
Cruelty, injustice. Power for the few.
Headlines of fear. But still, what else is true.

Countries at odd while borders grow inflamed.
Leaders posture as their young get maimed.
Buddhist. Christian. Hindu. Moslem. Jew.
One God or none. But still, what else is true.

A planet on the brink needs action drastic
What isn’t up in flames is filled with plastic
While seven billion wonder what to do,
The rest are leaders. Still, what else is true.

The joy of harmony. The promise of romancin’
If all else fails, dare to go out dancin’.

December, 2018


In Kennebunk, we saw him once,
While dining with his wife
Between us, Secret Service men
On call to save his life.

He looked relaxed and jovial
Quite friendly with the staff.
Acquaintances would saunter by,
Shake hands, and have a laugh.

Back in the day, his politics
And mine did not agree
But in retirement, he seemed
Benign enough to me.

I once put down his actions
And all he had to say
But now he stands a moderate
Compared to those today.

A local told me both were loved
By left and right and such,
Then smiled a bit, leaned in and said
“Their children, not as much”.

Ah, Vlad and the Saudi Crown Prince.
From their hands, blood of rivals they rinse.
Their G20 embrace
Caused our Prez to lose face,
And we haven’t seen Trump smile since.


At a China-US dinner meeting
A trade war truce met with warm greeting.
A Great Deal, we’re told.
Put them tariffs on hold.
And please, stop the stock market bleeding.


It’s been said that majority rules,
‘cept where those in charge doctored the rules,
and flagrantly pandered
districts, gerrymandered,
Playing well-meaning voters for fools.


No Prison Time. Three words that ring so sweetly
to he of long-term insights gained first-hand
for names and dates laid at Mueller’s command.
And what exactly does this tie up neatly.

From sifting lies, to pleas, to dots connected,
who gains, who loses from these revelations.
Regardless, will they change the fate of nations
should vote suppression become resurrected…

But I digress. This Russian agent’s song
Brings others from the woodwork to the chorus.
How substantive their melodies? How porous?
And will we know if Trump knew all along.

The Special Council probes Election Steal.
From “Lock her up” to “Hey, let’s make a deal”.

At the funeral, next to his wife,
Donald’s pouting cut thru like a knife
He was angry and sore
That in death, Bush was more
Than Don ever could be in his life.


Over North Carolina’s vote messin’
Dan McCready’s withdrawn his concession.
Absentee ballots bought.
Looks like someone got caught.
Hope there’ll be a G.O.P. confession.

O sing the song of Fixer Michael Cohen
A mix of lies and truths through seven meetings
With verse and chorus rhymed with guilty pleadings,
And coda from the prison where he’s goin’.

But what of this Individual One?
Did he but pay to keep silent a tryst,
Or stoop to kiss some Russian Mobster’s fist
To move ahead his Moscow Trump Tow’r Fund.

For Truthy News, what do we hear from Rudy,
Wide-eyed and frothing in his tweet denials.
Come January – more charges and trials
With Dems in charge, let’s watch him do his duty.

New revelations shows a plot that’s thickening
Each player and their action, truly sickening.


A house divided. Anger burns in eyes.
All view The Other. None for compromise
Cruelty, injustice. Power for the few.
Headlines of fear. But still, what else is true.

Countries at odd while borders grow inflamed.
Leaders posture as their young get maimed.
Buddhist. Christian. Hindu. Moslem. Jew.
One God or none. But still, what else is true.

A planet on the brink needs action drastic
What isn’t up in flames is filled with plastic
While seven billion wonder what to do,
The rest are leaders. Still, what else is true.

The joy of harmony. The promise of romancin’
If all else fails, dare to go out dancin’.

November, 2018


This Day to celebrate All of the Saintly
Not just the ones we know by heart and name,
But Secret Saints as well, who just the same
Are present in our lives, however faintly.

Those unnamed Saints who give beyond their due
And love despite the urge to deeply hate
And in small ways, endure a Martyr’s fate
While making clear another step for you.

Some gone too soon before we quite awaken
And others, quiet, hidden in plain sight
Their gentle presence in the face of might.
A light to other paths far better taken.

Oh Saints, in honor of your perfect timing
I offer you today my humble rhyming.


From violence race hatred condones,
In Kentucky, hear two families’ moans.
Damn the shooter’s claims.
Just remember the names
Maurice Stallard and Vicki Lee Jones


In Georgia, a big legal fight
Helped restore a citizen right.
Now the Sec’ty of State
Won’t determine the fate
Of 3,000 votes Tuesday night.


On a road trip before Voting Day
For a little North Coast getaway,
We acknowledge the dangers
Of chatting up strangers
And not knowing quite what to say.

For the times until Tuesday are tense
And while some folks might be on the fence,
Between redwoods and pines,
We see campaign signs,
With a number of them for Trump-Pence.


Those Democrats – they brought about the schism.
They and the press are tearing us apart.
And if elected soon enough they’ll start
To bring you gun control and socialism.

They’ll welcome in a sea of brown invaders
With Soros pulling strings behind the scenes,
To flood the voter rolls with welfare queens,
Then staff the government with freedom haters.

Those Democrats are bad and must be beaten.
They dream of surfing in on blue-ish waves
Fueled by their gangs of women, Jews and slaves.
With what’s at stake, we’re not beyond some cheatin’.

A referendum as a midterm race.
Tomorrow, see you at the Polling Place.


I cheer the end to daily quests for donors,
And endless stacks of unread campaign mailers.
Goodbye to all you online rant-&-railers
And nightly calls from pesky robo-phoners.

Those strategists with shocking revelations
About opponents, on the radio,
Distorted claims that just make noses grow.
It’s voting day in our divided nations.

By mail, in person, or to choose Abstain.
Like Background Actors clinging to their roles,
The News will show us heading to the polls,
But Red or Blue, true power will remain.

Tonight, percentage, pundits and projections.
Tomorrow, hope for positive directions.


In elections, some win and some lose.
It’s America. We get to choose.
But still just the same,
Could someone explain
Steve King, Brian Kemp & Ted Cruz.


On colored folks, he came down hard.
Kicked pot smokers out of his yard.
He tightened the border
Was a stickler for order
But still, it’s “Bye Bye Beauregard”


America’s Free Press is free no more.
The softball questions are more Presidential
Push harder and risk losing you credential
The threat of truth leads Trump to bar the door.

He pouts and hurls invective from the stage.
Shows doctored footage highlighting aggression,
Removes the critic who is his obsession.
For journalists, a new and darker page.

As Donald offers more self-serving fiction
The Fifth Estate is wrong to be polite
Fake news is never fake when it is right,
So here’s some praise for Jim Acosta’s friction.

And if Dear Leader chafes from the humanity,
There’s always hugs and kisses from Sean Hannity.


Deadly Fire.

Tragic Shooting.

System Failure.

Try Rebooting.



Shallow. Self-centered. A liar.
Drags studied discourse through the mire.
A bully, a coward.
Some say golden-showered.
Has the gall to blame us for the fire.


My father rarely spoke about the war.
But in his voice, when with his fellow Vets,
I heard the tones of pride, mem’ries, regrets,
And silence for the ones who gave much more.

In combat, brave and bloody truths revealed.
A common thread throughout our history.
But why is an enduring mystery.
What is it of this lure of battlefield.

An old man sits alone in a cafe,
His coffee and his ‘Nam cap both displayed.
I ask the server – tab’s already paid.
I shake his hand and thank him on his day.

In Flanders fields, where still the poppies grow,
Lie countless stories we will never know.


In Florida, what is the score.
Just tally them up, I implore!
We must know the amount,
And make every vote count.
(Depending on who it is for).

In Midlothian, fearing the worst,
Into Manny’s Blue Room, Police burst.
In crime fighting school,
The unspoken rule
Seems to be – “Shoot the Black guy first”.

It feels like a new line’s been crossed.
We can never add up the true cost.
Things will not be the same
But still, pray for rain
And the victims of Paradise, lost.

The OED word of the year
Sums our current state up very clear.
“Toxic” waste, air and deeds.
“Toxic” breaking news leads.
“Toxic” politics, people, and fear.


A trickle, slow, we see the Blue Wave rising
New faces face a process very old,
The space between the written and the told.
(And what is this the Right is so despising?)

A margin, slim, but still the margin’s yours.
A chance, a time for charting fresher courses,
Or serve the will of great financial forces.
We know well your againsts. What are your fors.

A clock. Oh no, much more an hourglass.
And here it seems, a chance to stanch the flow.
For if not here, where else is there to go?
No more to face this sitting on our ass.

The suffering of many, caused by the few.
It’s time to see the good that we can do.


The smoke, loss and death are mind-numbing.
In shelters, on cots, folks are slumming.
They’ve had all they can take.
You brought them a rake.
Very thoughtful sir, thank you for coming.

There are folks on both sides who agree
That Whitaker’s wrong for A.G.
A scam-ridden past,
Wants Mueller gone fast,
But Trump sez “He’s just fine for me.”


Commander In Chief gave the order.
His Country was under attack.
He marched his troops to the border,
And then he marched them back.


The captured sounds, as horrid as they are,
bear witness, as should you, the captured victim.
Who called it? What World Court would dare convict him.
Who stands for us to say “This time, too far”.

Bear witness. Stand tall to hear his ending,
The fifteen men and bone saw that were sent,
and ask yourself if this is what you meant,
this message to the world that you are sending.

Pompeo’s truth cuts through just like a knife.
The powers of this world do not play nice.
Our friend, our ally, comes at such a price,
and in it find the value of a life

Oh MbS, pray, what do you possess
to make our Fearless Leader acquiesce.

To lead with a heart that’s forgiving
And toast both departed and living,
To share the abundance.
May life be a fun dance.
A day both for Thanks and for Giving.


The Climate Assessment has tried
To report that the world’s getting fried.
The White House, to grease it,
Decides to release it
Today when we’re preoccupied.


To an island quite far out of reach,
Sent by God about Jesus to teach.
His waterproof Bible
Was shot by the tribal
And they buried him out on the beach.


In caravans from what was home they fled
From brutal gangs and from corrupt police
To where their children may some day find peace,
To leave behind the mem’ries of their dead.

We greet them here with troops and razor wire.
Residuals from our Honduran coup,
To stay or flee – who knows what one would do
Run from or straight into the bleeding fire.

What in us lets a place like this exist.
Outrageous sums of cash from drugs and guns.
The darker fuels on which the engine runs
Fund governments that only rule by fist.

The deals that shape the world we’ll never know.
Democracies exist mostly for show.


The caravan’s coming en masse
But nobody gets a free pass.
We need to keep order
At our southern border.
Thanks for coming. Here’s some free gas.


With Cindy Hyde-Smith, it’s been found
Her racist allusions abound.
If awakened souls
Can get to the polls,
In the Senate, she won’t hang around.

What falsehoods had Manafort said.
What info was Wikileaks fed.
What agreements were breached
What compromise reached
To whom, how much bullshit, was fed.


Life expectancy’s down, they confess.
Thanks to problems too big to address.
There’s no sign of a cure,
But one thing’s for sure,
We’re paying a lot more for less.


The Fixer’s time is over. Things are broken.
He’d take a bullet for him, once he said,
But Cohen cops another plea instead,
Admitting, yes, to Moscow he had spoken.

And then, that dirty trickster Roger Stone –
The conduit from Trump to WikiLeaks
(Tho Trump will say he knows not of what he speaks.)
Of course. Not with a mentor like Roy Cohn.

Forget the wall. It’s time to put up fences
A distancing from Flynn and Manafort
And all the things admitted to in court.
The waiting game as sentencing commences.

Who cares. Besides, collusion’s not a crime.
We’ll find out soon enough. It’s Mueller Time.

October, 2018

Of the money that Donald Trump had,
How much of it came from his dad
Through fake corporations
And sly tax evasions.
There are some who might say fraud is bad.


Oh Beer, thy crisp and ever golden hops,
Release me from the pressures of my studies
And lose me in indulgence with my buddies.
(A curse on he or she who called the cops.)

You give me courage as I bear my soul,
All sloppy, combative and belligerent.
Help me express these truths I really meant,
While clinging to the Court as highest goal.

How dare you hint that I was blacking out
When stature and rich privilege prohibits it.
Though more admit my past exhibits it,
God bless the shield of white male doubt.

I lie, perhaps. But still, just superficial.
Cannot you see my temperament Judicial?

In Ole’ Miss, “45” told his base
Blasey-Ford did not have a case.
That insensitive mocking
Even for him was shocking.
Those remarks were a classless disgrace.

He was young. He was drunk. He was jokin’.
And his life now is “totally broken”
Maybe so. The poor dear.
But we’d sure like to hear
From those folks, to the Feds, have not spoken.


Dear Senator, tonight I’m calling you
To ask, despite what you’ve been told
To challenge history and to break the mold.
To not confirm that man who loves his brew.

Our times, incendiary and divided
So desperately need a voice of reason.
His confrontation, rage suggesting treason,
The coarse attacks his “victim tears” incited.

This man is clearly from the Corp’rate State.
Deliver us a clear voice for the People.
Keep separate the Flag and Church’s steeple.
Don’t let brute force dictate our legal fate.

To claim your vote, some see a process rushed.
Who gains from valid testimony, hushed.


There are too many thoughts for these rhymes.
Heavy hearts. Action plans. Dreams of crimes.
Yes, that battle is through.
But what else is true.
My. These are in’tresting times.


Something happens not quite unexpected.
Red eyeballs stare addicted to the feed.
Heart sinks or rises based on what to read.
Another episode. For many, truth deflected.

I see a disillusionment around me.
A need to turn away, a vow to vote,
Another chance (or is that all she wrote).
As others, thoughts of “next” confound me.

But counter to the shout is not more shouting.
The note, the line, the sacred, blind intention
A space of peace to still the mind’s contention.
A fearless gesture made despite a doubting…

Resist the urge to become what you read.
What is your narrative beyond the feed.


A corrupt oligarchic elite
Jammed agendas through, using deceit.
But voters remember,
And come next November,
(a) They’ll all walk away in defeat.
(b) They’ll all get a boot in the seat
(c) They will just be a pile of dead meat
(d) Trick or Treat, they can come smell my feet.
(e) They’ll be peddling lobbyist teat.
(f) They’ll speak at an alt-right meet-&-greet.
(g) Their take-over won’t be complete.

Nikki Haley was put to the test.
Tho true, she was never the best.
Climate change, Human Rights,
Refugees. Global plights.
In her place soon will be Kanye West.


The right wing fake news pool insists
That a war on white men now exists.
But detainment and slaying
On rise might be saying
The Global War’s on Journalists.


The Media. The Democrats. George Soros.
The triangle of Liberal deception.
With any song they sing, beyond reception.
Paid activists and sheep provide the chorus.

Who needs the most these words above ring true.
The holders of the reins since reins’ inception
Who’ll take by force what lags through sheer deception.
The soulless force which seeks to but accrue.

A blissful ignorance at any cost.
The fearful cling to ever darking Oracle.
Ignoring inconvenient trends historical.
And in that fear, humanity is lost.

America, your pioneering spirit.
The gain. The loss. The choice to weep or cheer it.

In Georgia, to fight voter fraud,
Brian Kemp applied methods quite broad.
To eliminate doubt,
“Exact match” or you’re out!
Mostly Black folk affected. How odd.

An ever-intensified cycle
Resulted in Hurricane Michael.
Climate’s great demonstration
Of obliteration.
What say you, denial disciple?


What a cool way to give Dems a lift.
Those new registrations – a Gift.
How many new faces
Will fill polling places
Because of pop star Taylor Swift.

When he’s finished his President Run
And looks back on the things that were done,
The sum of it all –
Like he told Leslie Stahl
“Know what? Doesn’t matter. We won.”


A story I heard struck me funny.
And if it is true, it’s a honey.
In Microsoft tech,
What was called “SPAM Project”
Was short for “Spend Paul Allen’s Money”.

An interrogation that went wrong.
Or so goes that sad Saudi song.
No need to get real.
You’ll screw the arms deal.
Just go along to get along.


Goodbye to the suit Don McGhan
Who helped quite a bit with the plan
Of appointing judges
With right-leaning grudges
Stacking courts for the White Corp’rate Man.

In the Senate, that prune-faced old Mitch
Helped push through tax cuts for the rich.
The payoffs from where?
SSI. Medicare.
If you don’t vote, you’ve no right to bitch.


Of good news, we don’t have a lot.
Vote suppression. Democracy rot.
Saudi murder excuses.
Those “proud boys” abuses.
But in Canada, there’s now legal pot!


So many twists to how he met his fate,
Accepted, not to spoil the deals pending.
But each one still leads to the grisly ending:
His death inside the Saudi consulate.

New revelations bring forth lies and guesses
To justify our so-called allies’ acts
While money washes clean the bloody facts.
That sacred cleaner of unholy messes.

And he who lauds and loves despots and thugs
Sees how they handle journalist dissent,
Looks on in envy at this sad event,
(And billions versus Yemen lives), and shrugs.

To read and watch it’s hard to not turn numb,
Or justify this thing that we’ve become.


A Senator, name of Ted Cruz
Has allegiances that can confuse.
Trump insulted him bad,
Dissed his wife and his dad,
But is still an endorsement to use.

If from nuclear pacts he resigned,
What new deal does Trump think he’ll find.
Gorbachev sent rebukes
When Don said “yes” to nukes.
This is “not the work of a great mind”.

It’s sad when the average Joseph
Sees the climate become so corrosive.
You want to give up
When the phrase “Lock her up”
Turns into “Send her an explosive”.


At first they said he walked out quite unharmed.
Denying any mayhem there or trouble
But then admitting to a body double
When his poor wife-to-be became alarmed.

And then, word of a choke hold gone awry,
A fist fight that broke out by accident.
Rogue agents, on their own, with ill intent,
But still they did not mean for him to die.

And no, the Prince did not seek his rendition,
Or bone saws brought to an interrogation.
Besides, this stuff goes on in every nation –
Dissension death a long and proud tradition.

Okay. We did it. Now what will you do.
Premeditated, yes. But then, by who?

So they’ve now got a van and a name,
Bringing end to this pipe bomber’s game.
After one week of fear,
I’m anxious to hear
Of how George Soros is to blame.

Most mornings I check out the buzz
On her radio show, because
Amy Goodman is Wow!
But Democracy Now
Is more like Democracy Was.


America, this road to being great
Is taking us to interesting places.
A landscape filled with fists and angry faces,
Of flaming words and deftly nurtured hate.

These targets, Democrats and Blacks and Jews
Denounced by pundit and from bully pulpit,
And coded phrases from that Orange Culprit.
Conspiracies that drive a man to choose

To take up arms. Build bombs. To start a war.
Some twisted view of purity as goal,
To justify a rotting of the soul,
Returning to a never-was Before.

These bloody acts of our collective fall.
No false flag here. There is no flag at all.

Each day there is troubling news
From about any angle you choose.
But I get a big grin
When I read “Red Sox Win!”
Even more when I read “Dodgers Lose!”


This is the Greatest Story Being Told
Each moment brings a chapter to unfold
But who amongst us gets to do the telling.
A bloody narrative, with too much yelling.

The twisted faces. Wild gesticulating.
Look closely. See – It’s Death they’re celebrating.
And in return, beyond Resistance strife,
Make time each day for celebrating Life.

Beware the ones who’d suck away your joy
Through each destructive tool in their employ,
Out of allegiance to some force above.
Just stand your ground, and dare to fiercely love.

These madding times, a weight of rage and fear.
Reflect and ask, “what else is true, my Dear.”

Eleven times Eleven
And then Eleven still
And so the matrix of a loss
That stems from one man’s ill.

September, 2018


As the wheel of life takes its toll,
In its path, you will rock, you will roll.
Give and get some R – E
S – P – E – C – T,
So decrees the late, great Queen of Soul.


A politics pretending brave and tough,
Yet at its core is sadly born in fear
Lets phony controversies fill the sphere.
Now, rise above, and finally say enough.

For some things transcend party or ambition,
And lie beyond the money, fame, & power,
Allowing more abiding truths to flower
As counter to who prey without contrition.

So says the man who held this space before,
The Kenyan socialist who took our guns,
(How far the change to one who tweets and runs)
As eulogy to one who gave far more.

A funeral. A place to speak the truth.
As well as is November’s voting booth.


Though his daughter is tragically gone,
Through her death, she will not be a pawn.
Let the politics cease.
Let her soul be at peace.
Let the mem’ry of Molly shine on.


Jeffery Sessions did not get the memo.
Sniffing out Our Guys is a problemo.
Open these cans of worms
Just before the midterms
And the voters might flip and go Demo.


The battle for Kavanaugh rages.
The outcome is one for the sages.
But why would one spurn
Those who move to adjourn
To read 42,000 new pages.


The list of the suspects is growin’
Yet nary among us is knowin’
The leaker’s true name
But I’ll lay the blame
At the feet of Sasha Baron Cohen.

This drama playing out in real time
In daily unexpected episodes
Inflammatory words and secret codes
Is this an entertainment or a crime.

A scathing book. An unsigned op-ed treason.
A hearing where we’re told the fix is in.
Evasive answers cloak unspoken sin.
A President beyond both rhyme and reason.

As accusations fly, so does denial.
As those who seek the truth are truly vexed,
Refresh the screen to see what happens next.
This age of our Democracy on trial.

A gift to all the protest votes for him
Who has no guiding force but petty whim.


Shift over. Go home and to bed.
But enter the wrong home instead.
Encounter a stranger.
Draw gun, sensing danger,
And now, Botham Shen Jean is dead.


You have to clap and smile and play along.
You have to stand there acting quite enthused.
Don’t disagree or look like you’re confused
By grimacing at facts that he got wrong.

Through your responses, don’t reflect the schism,
Or to his points, be mouthing words of doubt.
Above all, at his shoulder, don’t take out
Your pin for Democratic Socialism.

Wave signs, wear hats and play the little game
Get on TV and act both loud and proud,
Part of the Billings manufactured crowd
Or just like that, you’ll soon be out of frame.

O Plaid Shirt Guy, your fame may not have traction,
But thank you for your humorous distraction.


A handsome young Dash & Dine scammer
Had to stop when cops laid down the hammer.
Now, for leaving his dates
With “Balance Due” fates,
He’ll be eating for free in the slammer.


Twelve years ago, Brett Kavanaugh did stand,
In Senate hearings where some say he lied:
The memos that young aide Miranda pried,
He claimed on oath, had never graced his hand.

Contrary to some emails received,
Including one with subtle header “spying”.
Why might one privy to these think he’s lying.
How could he be confirmed by those deceived.

Is perjury now dwarfed by politics?
Or is this charming girls’ basketball coach,
This Federalist darling, past reproach.
The Ruling Class has spoken by its tricks.

Some say before a High Court vote is reached,
For misconduct, this judge should be impeached.

In the southeast, denial was key
To not planning for fast-rising sea.
So now here comes Florence,
With water in torrents,
And poor coastal dwellers must flee.


“The Maria death toll is a lie.
3,000 people did not die.
My response to that mess
Was tremendous success!”
I! I! I! I! I! I! I! I! I!


In High School, what did young Brett do
To rate him a hashtag “MeToo”.
Will this old accusation
Delay confirmation
Or will they just let him skate through.


What secrets now, what juicy truths be told
By this spectacular capitulation.
What names will surface through cooperation.
From pressure causing Manafort to fold.

O songbird see this court as your grand stage.
Sing every tune those Feds might be requesting
Sweet melodies of others, so arresting,
To limit time you might spend in your cage.

From Russian op’ratives to grifter sleaze
This campaign made each deal it could get.
No wonder his foul swamp is not drained yet,
For when you lie with dogs, you rise with fleas.

How many here were crimin’ly intentioned.
How soon will we see RICO statutes mentioned.


Heavy wind from Florence still howls.
Much destruction. The flood water fouls.
Pouring rain, rising tide.
Too many have died.
Where’s our leader with more paper towels?


And now, a name. A painful silence broken.
A secret kept for over 30 years
Reveal’d despite a valid list of fears.
What blowback comes for her having so spoken.

And what about that list of sixty-five.
Perhaps their mem’ries mean we view him leniently.
But still, their words come quickly and conveniently.
Who’s hand and efforts helped them to arrive.

He, drunk and horny, physically restrained
A girl, forcing his preppy privilege.
But they were kids. Is this still sacrilege?
Oh yes. Her pain of memory remained.

How many times has this played out in history
Where men are judge and jury over her story.


From his nauseous smirk of a smile,
To his sneering attack-doggie style,
His life is a lie
Only money can buy.
Don Junior comes off as quite vile.


In simpler times, some things were left unsaid.
And noble souls took secrets to their graves.
But now, dark revelations come in waves
Exposing truths perhaps best left in bed.

In simpler times, some things were best unseen
For once exposed, they cannot be erased
But leave us all a little more debased.
But that was then. Our now, so coarse and mean,

To capture headlines and to sell more books
To top the list of what is viral trending –
A bottom-feeding race that’s never ending.
It’s hard to tell the heroes from the crooks.

How sad one’s mind’s eye can no longer part
From “a dick like the mushroom in Mario Kart”.


“This water is wet”, says our boss,
To a couple whom Florence did toss.
Their insurance co. rolled them.
“Have a good time”, he told them,
This man without sense for their loss.

Those “stand your ground” laws are in fash’,
Tho’ some folks responses are rash.
In the news we have seen
Down in ol’ Abilene,
A man shot and killed over trash.

Hey, Grassley & Comp’ny ain’t fools.
To them, law and process are tools.
Shower doubt and insults,
Make up the results,
Right before they hand you all the rules.

The nightmare from Florence still grows.
In the water, coal ash overflows.
Countless gallons of poo,
Massive livestock death, too.
Caused by climate change? Yeah, well who knows.

In the news, there’s more bads than goods.
All surrounded by shouldn’ts and shoulds.
But back on the green
It’s good to have seen
That Tiger is out of the woods.


Our news today reflects One Life to Live.
Soap Opera accusation and denial,
Abused, abusive pasts on public trial.
But still – is this the best we have to give.

What tariffs do uncovered truths impose
Upon the trade of daily interactions.
Must every past split present into factions.
Must all men bear what every woman knows.

There are some wounds that time cannot absolve.
The ageless crush of drunken male ego
Is seen and felt it seems wherever we go.
But now together, and as one, evolve.

As old as life, this sweet eternal dance.
‘Til time is right tho, keep it in your pants.

“In our two years, we’ve done more. So true.”
Said Donald to the U.N. Crew.
Those career diplomats
Do not wear MAGA hats.
Yes Donald, they’re laughing at you.

Oh Christine, this is hard to listen to.
In real time, what you are going through.
You speak for many who have been there too.
How could those present all not believe you.


A mix of anger, tears, and church and beer
As Kavanaugh, defiant, plays the victim.
While shouting down who dares to contradict him,
Denying every act that brought us here.

For there’s too much at stake for him to lose.
He is the great return on their investments,
Lifetime deciding vote in Supreme Vestments
On Corp’rate rule and woman’s right to chose.

But if he’s now whom old friends claim to know,
And if by vote, he’ll soon assume his place,
His rude evasions still cannot erase
What happened in that room so long ago.

I’ve listened, wanting to be fair, and tried,
But cannot shake believing that he lied.

So with only a week to invest,
Let the Bureau do what it does best.
Perhaps they can budge
The mind of Mark Judge,
And find out who’s mem’ry’s repressed.

Past the infinite sea of MeToo,
Our Congress had much more to do.
Their tax cuts beget
Three trillion in debt,
Also giving our future the screw.

August, 2018

You’d best be a ducker and sprinter
For it might be a bloody long winter.
You can get yourself killed
Since now folks can build
A gun from a 3-D printer.


That he wants the probe stopped’s not surprising.
For he has things to hide, we’re surmising.
Though there may be confusion
Over what is collusion,
In the meantime, sea levels are rising.


Each day, from our future we borrow.
On a path that may well end in sorrow.
Trump’s emission solution
Just adds to pollution.
Breathe now like there is no tomorrow.


As a player, I’m not LeBron’s fan.
Still, I have much respect for the man.
His passion is burning.
Gives money for learning.
Just throw Donald’s tweets in the can.

My son and the Reds have not spoken.
If they did, then no laws were broken.
And I didn’t know.
And if I did, so?
Jeff Sessions, tell Mueller to stop pokin’.


And finally, there was collusion there.
He says this after 40 times denial.
So what does all this mean for Mueller’s trial.
(In other news, how many lack health care.)

And lawyer Michael Avenetti’s ire!
He wants to duke it out with Fox’s Hannity.
About the Stormy D payout insanity!
(In other news, our planet is on fire.)

And how we love to hear the snowflakes bitch
On each and every presidential action,
The Lib’rals weep while midnight tweets get traction.
(In other news, those tax breaks for the rich…)

All day, all night, Trump headlines get the best of us,
Ignoring all the things that plague the rest of us.


For his paranoid spewings of hate,
Alex Jones got the boot, and that’s great.
iTunes and Spotify
Kissed his podcasts goodbye,
And for this, we thank The Deepstate.

Embezzlement. Cooking the books.
My God, what a damn bunch of crooks.
Just a slight bit of sweat
In that ostrich jac-ket’.
Let’s see how your prison suit looks.

So Brock Turner, convicted but barely,
Dared to claim he got tried unfairly.
But the judges, in force,
Ruled out his “outercourse”
And upheld the sentencing, squarely.

A statement made, perhaps a gauntlet thrown.
For those who say that systemic oppression
Thrives in a space of human rights repression
A hatred born in fear of the not known,

Tweet-fueled by one who’s borderline psychotic.
Just throw the ball you whining piss-and-moaners.
But isn’t it the class we know as “owners”
Who really stoop to sins unpatriotic.

Hey Whitey, hear just what is being said
When own’ed ones dare raise a fist and kneel
And in that moment, take a breath to feel
Grandfathers brought in chains and left for dead.

No disrespect to the Red White & Blue.
The Red stands for the Red of our blood too.

Monsanto says RoundUp don’t kill.
And has “evidence” “proving”, but still,
I’d rather have health
Than die with the wealth
Of that 289 mil.

In Charlottesville, people felt slighted.
Recall how their torches ignited,
Expressing their fears.
But for hundreds of years,
The Right has already united.

From slavery to pure genocide,
And the guilty who never got tried,
Failed treaties and borders.
Just following orders.
Go forward or backward. Decide.

Do words exist that ‘ere should not be said,
And who is there to forcibly prohibit them.
Then what is lost, should we no more exhibit them
Or would they but explode inside our head.

And what is truly served when they are uttered,
In instant global reach, inciting hate.
No more with tact or prudence must we wait.
And now in flames hear truth and discourse guttered.

But what of those upon the hearing end.
So sweet to dream the dreams of sheltered ears.
Or are we stronger listening to our fears.
A rended fabric needs both sides to mend.

Beyond the fog of what was thought was meant.
May we be judged upon our true intent.

Omarosa’s new book is a teller!
Says her ex-boss is a racist feller!
She’s just playing the game,
Grasping seconds of fame,
Saying anything for a best-seller.

From Pennsylvania comes a sad confession
To cause a true believer much dismayal
Revealing generations of betrayal
The dark side of Apostolic succession.

One thousand victims seeking ministrations,
Statistics on an index of abuse
The courage to come forth, but what’s the use.
A scar transcending statute limitations.

Oh Mother Church, your Bishops hiding Bishops
A cloak to cover up sins of the Father
For years you wonder why the wounded bother
When cries for help fall deaf on higher ups.

With power to keep reputations varnished,
How many souls leave faith brutally tarnished.


No surprise to a person who knows him.
Going after the ones who oppose him
Is but par for the course.
Is there voter remorse?
Where’s the folks with the stuff to depose him.

So many of them come home ill
After serving our country, but still
Our vets get ignored
So Trump can afford
A parade that costs 92 mil.


In Georgia, there’s some polling places
That serve mostly folks with black faces.
Those booths will now close.
Could one fairly suppose
This concerns Voting Rights for the races?

When governments that stand as Democratic
Must face the bitter now that’s economic,
Then Global Trade’s the real Bomb Atomic
Decisions made by those more autocratic.

And standing oddly silent on the side
Look on and see one million disappear
Can one not bear to ask who’s next to fear
The quick and guaranteed efficient ride.

Retraining schools enforcing strict obedience
A learning curve for those to work as slaves
But what flag has the courage to make waves
In light of commerce needing our expedience.

And so amidst our own crisis and scandal,
Another truth so many cannot handle.

From his staff, he wants loyal adherence.
From his critics, he hates interference.
And what matters greatly?
What you’ve done for him lately.
(Or you’ll lose your Security Clearance.)

From Rudy’s evasions and lies,
To the EPA clouding our skies,
To immigrant cages,
To midnight tweet rages,
It’s just too much. Doctor, my eyes…


Within an hour, the juried peers had spoken.
Two men found guilty of 8 counts apiece.
Paul Manafort in his fine ostritch fleece,
And Michael Cohen, the lawyer-fixer, broken.

For lying’s simply not “Alternate Truth”,
And still there is a price to pay for fraud,
‘een if one’s blessed by Russia and by God.
Remember, come November’s voting booth.

Hush money paid to silence talk of quickies.
What other charges might Mueller be bringing
Should deals made bring up more songs for singing.
(what is it about Presidential dickies?)

Today for once, the Left side is all smiles.
But what will be revealed in future trials.

A current High Court nominee
Plainly said that a Prez should be free
From being indicted,
Which made Trump excited
And he said “Here’s the Judge for me!!”

I don’t mean to get all polemic,
But Gummint corruption’s endemic.
The grifters and phonies.
The favors to cronies.
Why, immunity seems epidemic!

And now an immunized and leaking Pecker,
Profess’ed master of the “catch-and-kill”,
A man who bent a paper to his will,
Revealed to be a journalistic wrecker.

In serving the best interest of a friend,
Suppressing damning gossip tabloid glee.
This disappearing act not played for free,
It’s payoff but a presidential end.

How could these players make our country great?
Who’s only love is asset liquidation
A fire-sale sell off of our nation
And four of ten still cheering on this fate.

With eight-hundred and eighty days to go,
Is one more tired or sickened of this show.


At peace, his final battle now has ended,
A man of courage, principle, and wit,
Admittedly, a flawed, imperfect fit,
But on both sides, respected and befriended.

A humble sense of serving something greater,
Unlike his punchline of a running-mate,
Or many in our government of late,
Who but to self and special interests cater.

In those who may not see this man a Hero,
A link to our humanity is lacking.
As witness to our great foundations cracking,
He spoke truth to our coward Orange Nero.

Let those among us who for honor thirst
Lament this man who put our Country first.



Neil Simon


But still we wish

He wasnt




A tradition this seems to becoming,
(Though it looks like The Donald’s not bumming)
Still, it looks like McCain,
Like Babs Bush, made it plain:
“It’s my funeral. Thanks for not coming.”

With the Christian Right, Donald Trump met,
And he told them “you guys better get
All the White folks you can
To vote Re-Pub-Li-Can,
Or the Negroes will get you, you bet!”


To keep children safe in our schools,
Our teachers must have proper tools.
Using Federal funds
For purchasing guns?
Great idea! That Betsy DeVos rules!



A quarterback dares kneel in his prime.
And sidelined by white owners, an example.
Speak truth and find your punishment is ample.
A stunning act for this “post-racial” time.

But can these claims meet some burden of proof.
Was subtext clearly, “Boy stay in your lane”.
While player-felons feel far less pain,
Did his glass ceiling hit a steel roof.

No disrespect but still to make a claim:
The Dream is more a Nightmare for too many
Where few get most and others, hardly any
There on the streets, where race is not a game.

In kneeling then, a man is standing tall,
And kicks off a political football.

July, 2018

Our President’s Deutsche Bank link,
Justice Kennedy’s son. Dontcha think
The loans he approved
Helped opinions get moved
With an influence peddling stink.


An interview with Michael Cohen
Suggests cracks in the armor are showin’.
Take one for “The Gipper”?
He’s more of a flipper.
For to jail he don’t want to be goin’.


Kristin Mink, a schoolmarm from DC,
Met Scott Pruitt while out having tea,
Dissed his climate denial,
And his scandal plagued style
Causing Scott and his toadies to flee.


Best to all on this Fourth of July
Proudly raise up your flag. Let it fly.
Good luck to our Nation,
But I’m on vacation.
Sending hugs from Quebec now. Goodbye.

(For a more detailed Independence Day rhyme, please refer to my poem from 7/4/17 located in this site’s archives)


Oh Alex Jones, your Second Civil War
Lays bare our nation’s uncivility
A line dividing our humanity
A bloody road that we have seen before.

And yet we joke in styles of ancient letters
Lampoon your paranoia entertainment.
A litany inciting the insane, meant
to alert the armed alt-right go-getters.

This tired act to push us to the fringes
Provokes our independence from each other,
With Liberty to demonize The Other,
And blow the door to Hell beyond its hinges.

Each day, a step away from a reunion.
And from our Founding Fathers’ perfect union.


Behold! Beware! Be sure, I am the swamp.
I am the chewy orange setting sun
The fracked and strip-mined blank unholy sum.
The soulless pit of carbon footprint stomp.

Beware you schools and sons of higher learning
Bring not your data indicators here
With progress, science will not interfere
But grant us grand new ways to speed the burning.

Be sure, this desk where influence I peddle.
Taxpayer-funded perks enjoyed by cronies,
And deals made with conservation’s phonies.
No climate-change canaries need to meddle.

I am Scott Pruitt. Out is where you’ll find me,
And yet there are so many more behind me.


From his mouth, don’t expect to hear sensible.
More like tastelessness that’s indefensible.
But still, I must say
That his speech on Thursday
Hit a new low for incomprehensible.


In these days of strange and sad news,
Many folks can’t help singing the blues.
But rather than mope,
There’s new reasons to hope,
Cheering on the Thailand cave rescues.


Some dubious formula peddlers
Are American breast-feeding meddlers.
But the World Health group bit
At our Corporate tit.
Mother’s Milk simply hasn’t got better-ers.


For the Right, Kavanaugh is just fine.
A conservative values gold mine.
Thus setting the stage
For a modern Dark Age.
Special thanks, of course, goes to Jill Stein.


Let’s tell all our allies they’re bad!
And how NATO deals make us mad!
Let’s foam, spew and rage
On the Grand Global Stage!
Then enjoy private moments with Vlad.


From neighbors on their anxious city streets,
To countries with their frayed and jagged edges,
Between two sides, those ever-widening wedges,
With every victory greater in defeat.

This toxic separating separation;
Toy soldiers guided by some darker hand
To rise against The Other on command,
How could a life rejoice this degradation.

The easy choices serve a smaller “I”.
The greater “I” encompasses the all,
Consumes in this the essence thought of “wall”.
And knowing this, see now, and wonder why.

For after all is finally said and done,
We’re still but emanations of The One.


And now perhaps the dust and smoke are clearing,
So let the experts sift and parse the shouting,
The transcript of such crass partisan doubting,
Ringmaster Gowdy’s tense ten-hour hearing.

As clowns on board, Gohmert, Goodlatte and Issa,
Fixate on an imagined smoking gun.
Conclusions reached before their Question One.
Taxpayers, thanks for paying for this pisser.

And yet the witness, cool while under fire
Admits to angered texts sent late at night,
But still subject to Bureau oversight,
Laments his nation dragged into the mire.

The words themselves say more than some reporter.
This mockery of Robert’s Rules of Order.


To grab the headlines is the trick of it.
To everywhere, be in the thick of it.
Agree. Disagree.
Still, it’s his face you see.
I’ve got Trump Overload, and I’m sick of it.


On Kav’s confirmation, Trump’s bankin’.
And the Court’s Left of Center is tankin’
Just another judge seat
For the money’d elite.
I tell ya – I’m missing Al Franken.


On the Right, some don’t care what he breaks.
They get off on his lies and mistakes.
Incite global rage,
Take a dump on the stage,
Bring tears to them precious Snowflakes!


The former head of Russian secret forces.
A long and fine career in stealth and spying,
Who’s critics, foes and rivals end up dying.
Believe his word above your country’s sources.

And brush away the facts of 12 indictments
The driving wedge of all this witch-hunt foolishness.
Ignore your best friend’s history of ghoulishness.
And hide behind your smoke-screen tweet excitements.

A battle rages for our country’s soul.
For some he’s still the answer to a prayer,
This floating infant in his underwear
Stay tuned for what they call Damage Control.

But let’s applaud whatever non-nuke deal.
Why bother blowing up what you can steal.


So many areas of fierce concern
And we, beset with weariness and worry
To what, or from what threat must we next scurry.
This sickened feeling just behind the burn.

But we are precious more than just reflexes
To whiplash headlines meant but to divide
Move slow. Don’t let them keep you on this ride
Find in you still, the quiet, reasoned nexus.

If there is hope, it lies in us together
Within a peace beyond unsettled scores.
Stare down who dare to profit from our wars
Yet even they’re connected by the tether.

Each day a pressure to a quicker pace
Then suddenly to stop and ask for Grace.

The Congressman named Rohrabacher,
A known pro-Kremlin altacocker,
Sought a back-channel deal
And perhaps copped a feel
From Maria, the locked-up spy shocker.


In Branson, a sad, tragic note.
Casualties from a sinking duck boat.
A metaphor forms:
We’re all weathering storms,
And fighting hard to stay afloat.


“Your favorite President did nothing wrong.”
How comforting to read these morning tweetings.
But lawyer Cohen’s secret tapes of meetings
Might sing to us a starkly different song.

What dirt would tapes reveal about Lincoln.
The untold scoop on him and Mary Todd.
Or would they show that Roosevelt was odd.
My fav’rite Prez? What was this fella thinking?

I’m sorry Don, you’ll have to get in line.
Put Kennedy and Truman before you,
And Silent Cal, and Eisenhower too.
E’en William Henry Harrison looks fine.

With all the things you’ve done that will need fixin’,
How sad you make me long for Richard Nixon.


Assange! Assange! You are my Robin Hood!
Your WikiLeaks a brave gift to the poor.
From Ecuador, I fear for what’s in store,
For part of me believes still, you are good.

What powers cannot handle truths be told.
Look there and find who gets to hold his key.
For all the things we’re not supposed to see.
What threats were made. For how much was he sold.

What Nation Secrets did he jeopardize.
His hubris paving paths to bogus sources,
And making him a tool for Russian forces
But still. The words themselves be truth or lies.

While caught twixt gratitude and condemnation,
The First Amendment dies with his incarceration.


Meanwhile, Macron’s aide in France,
With his fists on some folks did a dance.
He’s been charged for the scrum,
But his boss has kept mum.
In this world now, it’s Give Beast a Chance.



Acknowledging the tariffs he imposed
Brought consequences that were not intended,
12 Billion now in bailouts are extended.
Free-traders up in arms by what’s proposed.

So many things, they’ll shamefully ignore
And justify outrageous claims and lies,
The silence that a juicy tax break buys.
But they don’t like those tariffs anymore.

Behold – it cuts both ways, the trade war knife.
And red state farmer voters in a panic,
In line for handouts from President Manic,
Elect who values profit over life.

So clearly seen a Congress not our friend.
Trade War’s the only war they’d care to end.


Our President is quite a chafer.
Under his rule, I don’t feel safer.
But today’s sad surprise?
The apparent demise
Of the foul tasting ol’ Necco wafer.


While it looks like Trump’s fixer, Mike Cohen
Will be telling the court what he’s knowin’.
About Donald’s flirt
With collusion for dirt,
Every nose in the room now is growin’.


To the Senate, the House will be sending
A whopping bill for defense spending.
The vote tally sez
Regardless who’s Prez,
We’ll be paying for war, never ending.

Lying safe and secure in my bedding,
I fret over where things are heading.
With temperatures higher,
Our state is on fire.
And hearts break for the people of Redding.


Now Bannon loudly chastises the Kochs.
How odd to hear one brother voice regret.
Still staunchly to the right and yet,
A slight nod to the welfare of just folks.

Get with the program, Bannon says. Shut up.
We count the votes -then- we philosophize.
Til then, we’ll need your bankroll for our guys.
To let our Democratic friends all know whassup.

So Donald Trump’s divisive. God, who knew.
Surprised, as now his policies take toll?
Since when has our well being been your goal.
Next up? Fresh faces giving us the screw.

This weekend’s Colorado Springs retreat.
Where Master Carvers argue how to slice the meat.



Bell-bottoms, wide lapels, that ‘stash and ‘fro,
Epitomizing 70’s Progressive.
For 37 years he served, successive.
And made it on to Nixon’s List, you know.

A radical who fought within the system
For justice, human rights, and ending war.
A Statesman who did not forsake his core,
And when he left, even opponents missed him.

Ron Dellums, here, we note and mourn your loss.
Now many others walk a trail you blazed,
And carry forth the issues that you raised
As Congressman and then as Oakland’s boss.

Articulate, impassioned and pragmatic.
A far cry from these days of constant static.