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.

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