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
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?
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.