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.
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.