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Dan McCready’s withdrawn his concession.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’.


From the proud who use brick-bats as shields
Shines the blood red their hatefullness yields.
The hurtling metal
The crush of a petal
The jail for James Alex Fields.


There once was a Staff Chief named Kelly.
Who hung in ‘til he said “Woah, Nellie!
All these employees
Crawl in on their knees
‘Til they slither back out on their belly.”


The committee where Manchin will sit
Is giving progressives a fit.
He’ll make real-world strides,
And work with both sides.
Translation: He ain’t gon’ do shit.


For years they would spit out this woman’s name
As if expectorating something bitter
Now back, beyond a doubt, no quitter,
More than prepared to beat you at your game,

As cameras roll we catch the penile pride
erupting in a briefing paper toss.
Just shut it down. You show that bitch who’s boss
A wall. But you’re the only one inside.

So what’s a man to do about this thing –
A woman who’s main goal is not to please.
A woman who says “no.”, not on her knees.
“Don’t underestimate”, she said, “the strength I bring”.

While Pence sits quietly, not even twitchin’,
Just wishing she was barefoot in the kitchen.


Seven-hundred and sixty-nine days remain.
Until our country’s next inauguration.
Each fraying thread another situation.
And all we’ve lost, has time passed to regain?

A party ponders life beyond its head
But who among shall rise to raise the voice
That offers still a right, but saner choice,
Or stay aboard the sinking ship instead.

We’re not the New York Times, but The Enquirer,
A dad held hostage by his psycho kid
For instant satiation of the id
A world not for the do-er, but the desire-er.

Against this backdrop of The Greatest Nation
A migrant child died of dehydration.


The scandals of sex got their start
Long before Donna Rice-Gary Hart
But excuse this behavior
In your sad orange “savior”
And you elevate cheating to art.


The charge of caring for what lies within –
A trust, protecting what belongs to “we”,
And letting lands and waters simply be,
Beyond who wish the auction to begin.

Not so for Secretary Ryan Zinke,
Removing long-time staffers from their station,
To better put the “con” in conservation.
And profit making air and water stinky.

But come next year he too goes out the door
Perhaps to join the fuel and fracking forces
To lobby for the deals he now endorses.
How nice investigations are in store.

Yet still salute this former Navy Seal,
A man who’d truly rather fight than feel.

The bad news, it seems, never ends.
Without warning depression descends.
While troubles abound,
There’s Joy to be found
In Good Food, Good Music, and Friends.


Resolved and standing proud, he’ll shut it down.
No wall? No problem. Call Pelosi’s bluff.
A time to show the world he’s got the stuff.
So easy lies the head that wears the crown.

Transparent Sarah Sanders says “hold on,
We’ll scrape up that five billion other ways”.
What happened to the line “Mexico pays”.
Like other campaign promises, it’s gone.

But hist’ry says that walls stand much for show.
And largely serve for ego and distraction
The smoke to blur corruption and inaction,
Abuse of those with nowhere else to go.

“Dirty and poorer”, so says FOX’s Tucker,
as sponsors slowly leave this racist (huckster).

Bonus Limerick (for no particular reason)
I need to erase from my head
The image of Woody in bed.
Young Englehardt’s depictions
Of erotic non-fictions
Are for me, I regret, best unread.


Michael Flynn hoped he had enough clout
To avoid prison, but now there’s doubt.
It looks like Judge Sullivan
Won’t give him a Mulligan
For his plans to sell his country out.


A rhyme to toast our soon departing Speaker.
Paul Ryan, your three tumultuous years
Did much to stoke environmental fears
And stroke the rich, while making poorer weaker.

Yes, please bemoan our “broken politics”
And carp about surging entitlements,
While handing over blank checks for Defense.
Let’s hope that your departure starts the fix.

You rode in on a promise to cut spending
And rode out on an awesome deficit
No room to pay for Medicare and yet
There’s always more for war that’s never ending.

Bad news? You’re unemployed. Expect a slump.
Good news? Hey, you no longer work for Trump.


The stock market’s tanking, and how!
The Government’s shutting down. Wow!
The right wing is grieving,
Jim Mattis is leaving,
Trump sez: “Who’s the Maddest Dog now?!”


Let the Trumpian Shutdown begin!
It’s a tantrum, regardless of spin.
And no wall, it’s sure,
Can keep us secure
From the chaos he spews from within.


Perhaps some fair questions are, “How
much soul was sold for Trump Moscow”,
and “Just what was meant
by his signing intent”,
and “What does this mean for us now?”


From all that we’ve seen

And all that we’ve heard

Ruth Bader Ginsberg

Is one tough old bird.


‘Twas the night before Christmas, and at the White House
Everyone was indicted except the Head Louse.
The lights were all out, and the cell phones were gone
In hopes that the Prez wouldn’t tweet from the John.
Ivanka and Jared curled up free from blame,
Though they spent the past year cashing in on their name.
And Mama Melania slept through the racket
Wraped up in her “I Really Don’t Care, Do You?” Jacket.

When the Justice Department erupted with clamor
As they bet on the next one to go to the slammer,
Away went the Congress, with government closed –
Who cares if it’s We the People who get hosed.
The market was dropping like new-fallen snow
Leaving hordes of short-sellers with eyes all aglow,
When what to my year-weary eyes did appear,
But a caravan led by illegal reindeer.
With a little old driver, so fed up and tired
By the end of the year, he would quit or get fired.
Like endangered eagles, they limpingly came
As I wondered who’d be left for Donald to blame.
First Sessions, then Zinke, then Kelly, then Mattis.
Giuliani is staying, but he’d work for gratis.
With Haley’s departure, the U.N.’s in limbo
But she’ll be replaced by some young FOX News bimbo.
It’s a fast-sinking ship – it’s a crumbling wall
So dash away, dash away, dash away all!

I was shaking my head and about to get drunk
Contemplating how low our great country had sunk
When Santa walked in – the old man got grounded.
His reindeer locked up and his sleigh was impounded.
Poor Rudolph got wounded – that ended his schleppin’
When a cop mistook his bright red nose for a weapon.
I saw Santa wince as he clutched at his back
And he grabbed OxyContin from out of his pack.
But still as a trouper, he took to his task
In between taking sips from a Royal Crown flask.
I handed him treats and he emptied the bowl,
In return though, he filled up our stockings with coal.
“You’re welcome” he grunted, and went on to say
“For this you can thank Donald Trump’s EPA.
The North Pole is melting and flooding out folks.
So glad Climate Change is a mere Chinese hoax”.

Then shrugging his shoulders and scratching his head,
He said “Hey, we’re done here, just go back to bed”
Then calling an Uber, he went down the block
With faint hopes of getting his sleigh out of hock.
But as he rode off, I heard Santa wail
“Merry Christmas is a greeting that’s too big to fail!”

Put yourself in that little girl’s shoes.
Yes or no, which one do you choose.
One’s disbelief crests
When our leader suggests
That Santa just might be fake news.


Misshapen narratives broadcast from borders
The images of various perspective
From fear to empathy to bald invective,
To uniforms with ever shifting orders.

A family that’s fleeing danger wild.
A family that’s seeking legal entry
A family that’s broken by a sentry
A family that’s burying their child.

Each story just as every heart, unique.
Unholy throng – by many viewed as such.
Not knowing if they’ll ever get to touch
The miracle of what it is they seek.

Each angle brings a channel that reports it
And fills the Babel Tower that supports it.


About his own bravery he bragged,
As his baggy-ass bomber coat sagged.
He lied to the troops
He called Democrats poops.
It’s a wonder he didn’t get fragged.


This shutdown is wrecking the mood.
New Year’s Eve may be somewhat subdued.
Trump’s golf will be played,
And congress gets paid,
While government workers get screwed.


With fake news, disaster and terror,
The world is not getting much fairer.
There still is some time –
Contact Amazon Prime –
This year was delivered in error!

This whiplash tour de force of world events
A weary’d year of many and of much,
And yet so sadly lacking in the touch
That points us to a way that might make sense.

So wide, so deep, the space that lies between.
And now that chasm, globally connected,
Can rock to dust the best that we’ve erected,
And only then, lament what might have been.

A year at closing time – a cycle ending –
A fixed point source of infinite potential.
In some small way a choice that’s reverential –
Absorb and dare to radiate the mending.

If it no longer serves, wring out the old.
Weigh what you feel beyond what you are told.

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.

June, 2018

Despite the man’s past guilty plea,
Donald Trump lets D’Souza go free.
A conspiracy peddler,
And e-lection meddler,
Twists his facts with a demonic glee.

This pardon comes as no surprise.
It’s the “justice” one’s loyalty buys.
Since his Left is pure fiction,
Written just to cause friction,
His reward’s for distortion and lies.

So the Summit is back on the rails.
Ah, such back-channel moves this entails.
Tho things appear better,
Could Trump read Kim’s letter?
And what are the odds that he bails.

The poverty that plagues our once great nation,
Far bleaker for the Working Poor who fear it,
A deeper, darker poverty of spirit.
Imbued within the cult of higher station,

Now proved by twisted scriptural belief,
Sung loud and proudly by this false messiah.
Brush off the needful hand. Ignore the cry,
Assured the lesser ones deserve their grief.

Now, take. Let’s blow this chasm even wider.
The table has been set – it’s time to feed,
This god himself has said – indulge your greed.
Rip open Mother Earth and reach inside her.

Behold our cruelly First World destitution
Enriched by governmental prostitution.

Monsanto, the evil bee slayer
Has polluted our land, see and air.
Their modified seeds
And their killers of weeds
Are now owned by Germany’s Bayer.

Relentlessly the border battle rages
Against the animals, MS-13.
Though Merkley’s visit paints another scene –
Of babies ripped from moms and put in cages.

To Texas he did go, and there he tried
To see up close, effects of Trump’s restriction
To stem the tide of immigrant affliction.
A private prison, closed. Access: denied.

If you’re against his Iron Fist, then you’re to blame
For all the brown skinned rapists in our land.
And in his tweets you’ll read his reprimand
And know by how he plays: this is no game.

Asylum seekers, you are getting hosed.
The president has said – the gates are closed.

A defendant named Paul Manafort
Is enduring his long day in court.
Was Justice he hampering
Through encrypted tampering?
If so, to the pen’ he’ll report.


Today, I won’t write a Trump bash again.
But another jailbird got a pass again.
After 21 years,
There’s smiles and tears
Thanks to White House Advisor Kardashian.

With grand pronouncements making sense, but barely
He gets on Air Force One bound for Quebec.
G7 talks this time might be a wreck.
Again, he whines, “we’re treated so unfairly”

And yes, we are. By him. Make no mistake.
We’re getting pressed and bled at every turn,
While judge appointments watch our freedoms burn,
And cabinet appointments take and take.

But tell our allies they’re the ones to blame.
While courting global despots you admire.
The world sees you, you narcissistic liar,
And some will view you as but Putin’s Dame.

In other news, Chef Bourdain leaves our venue.
Who knows what pains were featured on his menu.


Though the Cavs left it all on the floor,
As expected, the Dubs won in four.
Does this team feel slighted
That Trump dis-invited?
Who cares. Why bother. What for.


Trade talks in Quebec were a grind,
So Trump left our allies behind.
The G7? Not fun.
Time now for Jong Un.
A world leader who shares his like mind.


They work hard for very low wages.
Zero Tolerance for them enrages.
Often doing so much
Work white people won’t touch,
And for this, we lock them in cages.

– with apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge –

In Singapore did Rocket Man
To our surprise and shock, agree
To sit with he of Little Hands
And talk it over, man-to-man
Perhaps to shift this enmity.
One lays his rivals in the ground.
Dear Leader tolerates no sound
Of discord, smiling as he chalks his kills,
While stalking those who bravely dare to flee,
And plants the rest in hidden labor mills.

But oh! The other, midnight tweeting ranted,
As those who dare to cross him run for cover,
And savage Christians cheer him on, enchanted.
Asylum seekers caged, while pardons granted
By he who tries to silence former lovers.
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
Young men of color murdered just for breathing,
A mighty outburst from those women, forced
Against their will. And in our classrooms, burst
Hot fragments, vaulted automatic hail
A land where ancient Constitutions fail
And mid those dancing rocks at once and ever,
Our leader pisses in our sacred river.
But years of edgy truce brings forward motion:
Two tyrants meet midst hope and great élan
The dotard and the Dennis Rodman fan,
Perhaps to once restore this lifeless ocean;
But in this tumult, voices near and far,
The neo-Cons, still hungry for their war
A shadow government’s dark pleasure.
Bloated, calculating knaves
Judge success by twisted measure,
Bombing innocents to caves,
And match his precious nuclear device
With burning fields and slowly melting ice.

Two damsels with a poisoner
In a vision once I saw:
In Malaysia, traps were laid
At the airport he got played,
Stinging, wounded by his brother,
Could but not survive the envy.
This symphony of wrong,
Brings such painful dread within me,
Still, our congress plays along,
Dismiss allies without care,
With despots now we play so nice!
And all the world shall see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His boyish smile, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round them thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For both have signed their names in red
And spilled the milk of Paradise.

The Right saw the Free World a-foldin’.
A mistake helping despots embolden.
Obama took heat
For proposing a meet,
But since Donald Trump did it, it’s golden.

Surprising and hard to believe,
But not worth a moment to grieve.
It’s a wonderful day
When even friends say,
“Brother Pruitt, it’s time that you leave.”


Ancient wisdom, sacred truths abound.
A path to Light within these Holy Pages
Though conflict o’er their meaning often rages,
As politics will twist those words around.

To suit the power structure of the day,
Confirming God is truly on their side
Twisted scripture taken for a ride
Oh weeping mother, what would Jesus say.

To use these words to justify the cruel
Lay cause for your behavior at His feet
This God of Love the source of Love’s defeat?
How dare you play believers for a fool.

Some day for all, may it be truly seen
What Paul meant when he wrote Romans 13.


A consultant named Paul Manafort
For lobbying sins went to court.
Now, a tampering fail
Led to revoke of bail
And the Greybar Hotel is his port.


With envy, Trump took time to mention
How Kim’s people sit in rapt attention.
To win this devotion
He may take a notion
To threaten us all with detention.


The problems that face us? Immensities.
The headlines that greet us? Intensities.
But though things may be bad
They’re still not as sad
As refugees in Texas tent cities.

The traditional countdown from ten,
We hear the words “blast off!” and then,
We head for the stars,
To colonize Mars
And make outer space great again.


Among us now, a moral battle rages.
This Zero Tolerance approach to Law and Order,
Detaining “tender ages” at the border
Then, separated, see them locked in cages.

I hear the question “Is this who we are?”
Cruel history shows evidence of yes.
But some prefer to overlook the mess,
With God to wrap our flag around the scar.

These migrant youths a tragic bargain chip
For he who’s pride demands he have his wall,
While blaming Democrats to take his fall,
Make great again our country’s sinking ship.

And so with weeping days and sleepless nights,
We show the world our stance on Human Rights.

With his goal here to foster creation
Of a more bi-partisan nation,
Mike Bloomberg makes bets
On Dem candidates
With a cool 80 million donation.

In truth I was never a fan,
So I stand in support of the plan
To let her go south
With that sad racist mouth:
The Rosanne show, but without Rosanne.

A columnist name of George Will
Has writ long for the right wing, but still,
To Repubs, he says “Toodles.
They’re just Donald Trump’s poodles”.
Of their “misrule”, the man’s had his fill.

Despite all the partisan jive
It’s a fine time for being alive.
In a land far away,
They’re cheering today
Because now Saudi women can drive.

As we look at the new tariff rates,
A trade war may be tempting fates.
For in reaching to please
Customers overseas,
Harley-Davidson expatriates.

In this most recent flurry of days
The news seems like gossip or praise.
It depends where you look.
But we’re still getting took.
How I long for a parting of ways.

“Supreme” Court? You’ve GOT to be kidding.
For daily, they seem to be skidding.
As they split 5 to 4
They just play The Whore
While they rush to do Corporate’s bidding.

Some say the economy’s humming,
Others find things to do besides bumming.
But the way I am wired,
I’m anxious, and tired
Of the fear something horrible’s coming.

A nation spans beyond my Left Coast bubble
That seeks a future I don’t understand
Five Justices reach out with their Right hand
To crush assumed, established rights to rubble.

A Speaker played his hand with with master touch,
Delayed confirming til Election Day,
And tossing filibuster rules away
He gifted us the Corp’rate Shill, Gorsuch.

Now, guns and God, big business and the rich
Await the next to claim a lifetime seat
Strategic purchased victory so sweet
With thanks to silent Democrats and Mitch.

And polarized, we lash out for our goal
No care left for the damage to the whole.

Annapolis streets filled with sobs.
Another lone nut gunman robs
Life from five folks who choose
To report on the news,
And were slain just for doing their jobs.



May, 2018

I’ll take a brief moment to cheer
As it looks like I’ve marked one more year.
Moody mind, plagued by doubt,
Many parts wearing out.
But still I am glad to be here.

Doc Bornstein said what we suspected:
“The healthiest Prexy elected”
Dictated those quizzical
Results of his physical.
Ah, the lies with which we’re infected.

Giuliani’s a difficult rhyme,
But says Cohen committed no crime.
His current depiction
Is stranger than fiction.
A distracting waste of our time.

For while wondering who Donald dicked,
Our pockets are still being picked,
Our teachers are wanting,
Our climate is daunting,
And our future’s ass is getting kicked.

(993b – bonus rhyme – no extra charge!)
An ex mayor named Giuliani
Preferred Yoplait over Chobani.
But still glad and able
To be back at the table
For a light business luncheon with Donny.

In this time of “me too”, no surprise
Even Stockholm sees scandals and lies.
Please note, to be sure,
That for Literature,
It’s not called The Nobel “Piece” Prize.


Well, Cinco de Mayo is here!
Time for many to sing, dance and cheer!
Cultural celebration!
Mexican liberation!
(And perhaps margaritas & beer.)


So now we see Big Apple’s former mayor.
Face cameras with his legal verbal surgery,
On Russia, porn stars and potential perjury,
So grateful to be once again a player.

This White House circus made for SNL
Some laugh, but mostly just to keep from cryin’
While others justify and keep on buyin’.
Hypocrisy, the overriding smell.

How sad to see such scant regard for truth
Here in the time of manufactured facts.
Where spin is king, and covering one’s tracks
Leads to despair within the voting booth.

This world. These times. Hard not to be dejected.
So far away from what was once expected.


West Virginia’s election’s a trip
Thanks to Trump Fanboy Don Blankenship.
This racist coal baron’s

Poll numbers are flarin’
Causing mainstream opponents to flip.

The NRA’s wisdom and prudence
Seeks out Ollie North’s fearless impudence.
To continue their story
Of God, Guns and Glory
As they ready for battle with students.

A celebrated woman’s rights defender.
New York’s Top Cop. A bright and rising star.
Who learned to hit in ways that left no scar.
A drunk and violent abusive bender.

Role playing games perhaps he now regrets,
Though he declares that they were all consensual,
His vicious slaps and choking meant as sensual.
E’en though they came with vile lethal threats.

Now he himself is facing prosecution,
This sad once noble thorn in Donald’s side.
How many others bruised and battered cried,
And may they all find peace and retribution.

Together we must shape a new reality
And get beyond this small penis mentality.


The Iran deal’s gone, I suppose.
What happens next, nobody knows.
Designed for restraining ’em
From enriching uranium,
But Obama wrote it, so it goes


Kelly Sadler has some sense of humor.
Her sad recent comment may doom her.
More tasteless than shocking
Was her cruelly mocking
War Hero John McCain’s tumor.


Who knows where our country is heading.
Each day a new reason for fretting.
But today, nothing sinister.
I’ll be serving as Minister
As a friend o’ mine’s daughter’s wedding.


A nod to Trump’s mom Mary Anne
Who from motherly nurturing ran
One may wonder today
Of what Freud would say
How her cool, detached ways shaped the man.


The embassy’s moved as was said.
Jerusalem’s it now instead.
There was a big “yahoo!”
From Ben Netanyahu
And more Palestinians dead.

This Election Day won’t be a fix.
Both sides are still up to their trix.
Things can’t stay the same.
Want to change the game?
Remove politics from Politics.

Kim Jong Un’s not smiley or laugh-y.
To the US Security Staff-y,
He’s not sending roses,
Since Bolton proposes
He end up like Moammar Gaddafi.

The Mueller probe’s now a year old.
A “witch hunt” or so we’ve been told,
While Roger Stone boasts
Of “weaponized” posts,
His subpoena is not even cold.

Coming up soon to take Mueller’s stand,
Jeffery Yohai, with plea deal in hand.
Manafort wonders why
This guy’d testify.
What of “ex” does he not understand.

Enough with the murderous fools.
Say NO to these disgruntled tools.
For too many days
We’ve stared at the phrase
That uses the words “guns” and “schools”.

In Trump’s America each White man is free
To take his grievance and his gun to school
Or in a crowd to make his car a tool.
To make his points as victims fall or flee.

In Trump’s America, White women have the right,
To call police on those with darker features.
And rid a public space of lesser creatures.
Who dare to make a wave, however slight.

In Trump’s America White Corporations stand
For growth and profit unrestrained by tax,
Deregulation not slowed down by facts,
And futures bright with purchased votes in hand.

In Trump’s America, circus over bread.
In Trump’s America, the Loving God is dead.

His speeches pit neighbor and neighbor.
He globally rattles his saber.
And today, the report –
His 5-4 High Court
Is dividing and conquering Labor.

It takes a village to build a Border Wall.
So says Dianne Black, Rep. of Tennessee.
“We’ll build it strong with gifts from you and me”
Crowdfunding Donald’s Dream of standing tall.

Complete with festive plaques commemorating
The Patriots who chipped in to the till
To foot his multi-billion dollar bill
While real problems, needing funds, lie waiting.

And in your dreams, how does this wall protect
From those “bad hombres” born into white skin,
The crazy, angry ones already in.
Who’s bloody violence makes them erect.

This waste. A vanity commemoration.
Do tell – how much is Mexico’s donation?

A certain time, and I, a certain age.
A used and yellow paperback did find.
Young Portnoy’s quest imprinted on my mind.
A pained, revealing laugh on every page.

Beyond that yet, a life of shaping words
And phrases, all revealing and disquiet
One may dislike, but still cannot deny it.
No easy fiction here for mindless herds.

Oh Philip Roth. Your long, storied, career.
Your cutting words let flow our human stain.
Dust jacket photos share your brooding pain.
Upon each book a sign: Words matter here.

First Wolfe then Roth – each in their own, a Boss.
Today, we mark our Literary Loss.

In an act of severe reprimand,
The Korean summit’s been canned.
Donald Trump blamed the schism
On patriotism:
For our Anthem, Kim Jong Un just won’t stand.


A contact, unexpected, from my site.
A journalist requests an interview
A smile, a pause, and then what do I do?
A google search to see if she is right.

Five-hundred rhymes (or so). Can I condense
Events and faces flashed upon our brains
Can listeners connect with what remains,
And in this context, will my words make sense.

This snapshot journal offered up in rhyme
To document our shocking, sad parade.
My hand to you should hope begin to fade,
For blessed or cursed, this truly is our time.

A longing burns for truth and for compassion.
How far these things have fallen out of fashion.


One may wonder what Mueller might think
Of the NRA – Russia link,
And what deals were begun
Connecting Trump’s son,
To a known money laundering link.


Trump’s border plan stands without heart.
Ripping immigrant families apart.
By the way, did I mention
Young kids in detention
Locked up in a former Wal-Mart.

Of his War Years, my father said jack.
Tho his actions, while under attack,
Once helped save the day,
But the “heroes”, he’d say
Were the ones who did not make it back.

Yesterday, introduced to the crowd,
Giuliani got booed pretty loud
Guess his work on the stump
Helping lawyer-up Trump
Is not making Yankee fans proud.

There once was this broad named Rosanne
Who scratched, spit and swore like a man.
When her bald racist poke
Fell flat as a joke,
ABC tossed Rosanne in the can.


New data shows what we were told was wrong
With death and loss far greater than reported.
Our helpless and our neediest got shorted.
Maria and her sad September song,

On windy wings brought miles of destruction
And while our aid – in billions – not enough,
Our Stateside minds tuned-in to other stuff,
And left to “thoughts & prayers” your reconstruction.

Our leader, tossing towels from a distance
And with great praise, his victory anoints,
Reducing others’ pain to talking points
Disputing San Juan’s mayor’s bleak insistence.

What “greatness” offers some elusive fix
Solutions beyond greed and politics.

April, 2018


An April Fool Easter confection.
No word here about that election.
May this rare combination
Bring our wounded nation
Renewal, rebirth, resurrection.


Our President’s latest tirade
Slaps on billions in tariffs on trade.
Are you sure that was wise?
We get more from them, guys.
What a April fool’s egg to get laid.


Scott Pruitt’s security bubble
Keeps him safely away from the trouble
His cronies create,
And allows him to skate
Past unravel, and rabble, and rubble.


Great walls of his’try, each in ways a dud,
In time torn down by those who’d be locked out.
But each in prime, invincible no doubt,
Of money made, and painted thick with blood.

Beyond the scant protection they afford,
Much more to say I did this: My Creation.
For coming years of ego satiation.
My name, my image, bright on every board.

But who’s to pay. To whom. How long, and where.
And in exchange, who falls between. Who loses.
Who gains by just the company he chooses.
And will the coming generations care.

Yet still too weak to hold off fear and sorrow.
No wall exists that can keep out tomorrow.


“Open Carry” your gun! Proud and tall!
But to some, this is impudent gall.
For if you are Black,
A far safer tack
Would be: Carry Nothing. At all.


Scott Pruitt is proud to insist
Climate change simply does not exist.
Guess the lobbyist perks
In exchange for his works.
Were simply to hard to resist.


With the DHS wanting in place
A big journalist database,
From the past, we may learn
This is cause for concern,
But they say this is just not the case.


A Trump Tower fire.
In Syria – gas.
There’s John Kelly’s ire,
And Stormy D’s ass.
I browse through the news
In search of a rhyme
Each headline I choose
From gossip to crime,
Leaves me shaking my head
Is it real or fake.
So this Sunday, instead,
I’ll be taking a break.


A photograph in online circulations
Presents a skyline choked in yellow haze,
The sickly chewy air before the days
The EPA brought forth their regulations.

Respectful stewards, Lo, your time has passed,
For growth and profit will not be the price.
There are no bonus points for playing nice,
And he who’s first – shall never be the last.

These times, a changing fast and for the worst.
While Modern Robber Barons carve the spoils
No matter. Let the future take the soils,
And mop the waste from this unholy thirst.

The cost of air. The cost of one man dead.
The cost of one apartment sprinkler head.


Knock knock. Who’s there. Some agents at the door.
Present the warrant and begin the search.
Now Trump’s own suit has landed in the lurch,
My, my. What was that tidy payment for?

And was the studly Donald unaware
Of Cohen’s payout close to the election
To cover infidelity’s erection.
This generous and loyal friend beyond compare.

“Attorney-client privilege is dead”
Ah no, it does not hide potential fraud
E’en if he only preached and spoke of God.
Next time talk faith with your pants on instead.
Now is chief Robert Mueller under fire,
Or will Assad receive our leader’s ire.


This Internet, a subtle serpent’s kiss
A Trojan Horse delivered to our minds
To feed upon each data oat it finds
The price we pay for such connective bliss.

Oh Zuckerberg, stand up and face your critics.
A reckoning, Boy Wonder Billionaire
The dark side of the genie in the air
Unleashed and owned by Cambridge Analytics.

Unholy harvest. Curse who sowed your seeds.
The lies that shape opinion bearing fruit,
While fearing just how deeply grows the root.
The Hydra Matrix growing as it feeds.

So testify. Post up your lame excuses.
And sense the shame your sad sell-out induces.


A supply-sider Speaker named Ryan
Cut nets that left poorer folk cryin’.
Gave bankers a pass,
Kissed the President’s ass,
Now, back to his family, he’s flyin’.


John Boehner says, “Let’s legalize!
To keep toking illegal’s not wise!”
But it’s more from a need
To cash in on Big Weed
Than to go and get stoned with the guys.


Another round of playing Global Cop.
Another set of moves in Cold War chess.
Another chance to make a bloody mess.
While innocents await the other bomb to drop.

How accurate, how surgical the strikes.
How many kills declaring no more kills.
How long must we endure this test of wills.
And will the clever memes result in “likes”.

There’s whispers it is but a pipeline war.
A proxy fight for who controls the flow.
Backstory rumors most will never know.
A shrug from those too weary to keep score.

In Syria today, foundations shook
Distractions from the bombs in Comey’s book.


As a sacrifice for world and nation,
Dave Buckell died from self-immolation.
He went up in flame,
Representing the blame
Of humans abusing their station.


A dark, dramatic build-up sets the stage
As Comey spills his beans on 20-20.
The teasers for a book that offers plenty,
And stokes the opposition’s morning rage.

Some softballs lobbed by Stephanopoulos.
Responses merging fact with strong opinions.
And then the cat-calls from the loyal minions
Defending he who’s moral brand would topple us.

Ah yes, I made mistakes, the man admits.
But as an honest man, where to begin,
Outflanked by those who’s currency is spin
Does Trump look like a guy who pays for tits?

Our Founding Fathers rolling in their graves.
Now, this is how America behaves.


A journalist or just a talk show host.
As situations shift, it all depends.
For Hannity enjoys it from both ends,
And wears whatever hat serves him the most.

That raid of Cohen’s office sparked his rage,
So daily ranted his support for free,
Not mentioning he’s Client Number Three.
Then, citing privacy, tries hard to turn the page.

But when your lawyer’s files wind up seized,
And linked to acts of dubious distinction,
Could those endorsements bring career extinction
And leave one’s precious moral posture sleazed.

Before the opposition chalks a win,
Let’s wait to hear the famous Fox News Spin.


Barbara Bush had both class and skill.
Condolences, truly. But still,
Way back in the day,
We’d jokingly say
How’d she get on our One Dollar Bill?


Kansas Secty of State Kris Kobach
Working hard to bring good ol’ Jim Crow back,
Was found in contempt
For his vote block attempt
And got hit with ACLU blowback.


Today, an early Spring dance,
To toast the world of High Finance.
Celebrating 4-20,
Wells Fargo’s fined plenty.
Here’s to Green! Both money and plants.

A CDC warning today
Says to throw Romaine lettuce away.
I hate to be rude
But there’s shit in our food.
Do your job, you damned FDA!

This Earth Day there’s no way to spin
Concern for the shape that it’s in.
Toxic waste, dying bees
Melting ice, burning trees.
It’s hard to know where to begin.

A Waffle House near Nashville, Tennessee.
An active shooter, this time without pants.
The rifle jams, so one man takes a chance.
The shooter curses and proceeds to flee.

What naked, heated rage within him burned,
This strange young man that we’ve seen once before,
Arrested when he neared the White House door.
(And thank you, Dad, for firearms returned.)

The latest in a series never-ending.
Where thoughts and prayers and logic sadly fail.
Among us, who is left to tell the tale
Of when our fabric passed the point of mending.

Turn not a hardened heart to face the sadness.
Resist the sum of firearms and madness.

He didn’t go far when he fled.
But stayed near the crime scene instead.
The manhunt has ended.
He’s been apprehended.
But if he were Black, he’d be dead.

Our Senate prefers to delay
Votes on Trump’s choice to head the VA.
He drinks to excess,
Causes staffer duress,
But he says Donald’s health is OK.

Mick Mulvaney revealed today
How Congressmen are pay-to-play
If you lobby with green
You’re sure to get seen.
If not, just go on your way.

For playing consumers as jerks,
It’s not just the job – it’s the perks.
From too big to fail
To “hey, I’m for sale”
Is how our “democracy” “works”.


A landmark here: one-thousand days to go
For this revolving door administration
Atop our crumbling, and divided nation.
Stare on in horror, or enjoy the show?

As things we need and cherish lose protections
By agencies run by insider hacks
Who’s bosses, now exempt from paying tax,
Gear up to finance upcoming elections.

Against this, fire, famine, flood, disaster
All play out daily on our global stage
And innocents fall prey to naked rage
With changes always coming harder, faster.

But even so, America’s the best!
Just ask Trump’s New Best Friend – Kanye West.


How many of us knew his bits by heart.
The way he’d use the mic and work the stage.
Back when Why Is There Air? was all the rage.
The total package: clean, black, hip and smart.

An Everyman, beyond the color line,
We’d see his friends on Saturday cartoons,
Those pudding cups with little plastic spoons,
His TV show where all in life was fine.

But yesterday he faced the judge alone
A legacy of laughter in reverse
From much beloved to predator, perverse.
At 80, not much time left to atone.

Over 60 women, drugged, against their will.
Betrayed and violated.
Goodbye, Bill.


Ben Carson’s HUD plan is extensive.
Puts our neediest on the defensive.
With his tripling rents,
We’ll be seeing more tents.
How sad being poor’s so expensive.

At the Press Roast that Michelle Wolf hosted.
The usual suspects got roasted
With her truth wrapped in snark,
Hit it out of the park
While in Michigan, Donald just boasted.

The blowback from how Michelle spoke
Comes from people not in on the joke.
Her words were evocative.
OK, be provocative
As long as you don’t provoke.

March, 2018


The headlines can drive one insane.
Some events just bring my heart pain.
So for now I will say
That the good news today
Is to just look outside and see rain.


She’s not genius nor athlete nor bard,
Still, Melania scored a Green Card.
Was her Extraordinary Ability,
Performed with agility,
The skill to turn soft into hard?


The man who wrote Art of the Deal
Starts a tariff trade war over steel.
He says with a grin
“They’re easy to win!”
I swear. Is this guy for real??


At the Gridiron Dinner we learn
That the goal is to singe and not burn.
To take gentle pokes
And make tepid jokes.
I’m sad no one spoke out of turn.


The Oscars: Not boring, not racy.
And our host kept things moving and pace-y.
The laughs were well-seeded.
Time limits were heeded.
And no Weinstein or Lauer or Spacey.

If we don’t want a nation of fools
We must give our teachers the tools.
Not many folks like
Educators on strike.
They need money, not guns, in their schools.

‘Twas yesterday they stood before the Press
To talk about security and trade
Assurances of deals to be made
And how our Donald’s house is not a mess.

Can tariffs be imposed in “loving ways”?
The Swedish leader there expresses doubts.
As Trump, his great accomplishments he touts,
Still doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase.

A question came of Russian meddling finds.
Our leader says we’re studying the caper,
And backing up the voting logs with paper
No word on who is stuffing voter’s minds.

The meeting? A productive one at that.
Trump shook hands with a Social Democrat.

To all of the world’s danger flares,
Donald heaves a big sigh of “who cares?”
In his Ego’s bubble
The most “Stormy” trouble
Concerns his “domestic affairs”.

The head of that Korean nation
Wants to talk nuke demilitarization.
While we wonder why,
Dennis Rodman says “Hi!”,
Keeping tabs on the whole situation.

A broadcasting group named Sinclair
Spews its right-wing screed o’er the air.
It seems they confuse
Propaganda as news,
But the FCC’s head doesn’t care.

Our hollow, corrupt institution
Calls out loudly for a revolution.
A good place to start?
A deep change of heart.
Hist’ry shows guns are not the solution.


When you get a name like Kushner, it’s hard to make a rhyme.
But his story’s making headlines from the New York Post to Time.
A strategist, a publisher, a Real Estate tycoon,
A pimp of in-law influence, perhaps. We’ll all know soon.

For he used some White House meeting rooms to try and cut his deals
Until John Kelly said “Enough!” and brought him to his heels.
The things he knows. The things he’s read. How could he get a clearance.
Perhaps Ivanka’s shapely legs were running interference..

His nepotism, like so much, makes very little sense.
To wield all that influence without experience.
The lad still has his Princely Crown, regardless if it’s merited,
And sure there’s some remaining wealth from all that he’s inherited.

Too bad about that place he bought – no longer worth its bricks
It’s sad Fifth Avenue address comes up as 6 – 6 – 6.
But hey, let’s have some empathy. Who knows what one would do
When you find you have a billion dollar mortgage coming due.

So he hit up the Qataris and he tried to get a loan.
It must have looked impressive calling from a White House phone
When they demurred, he petulantly tried to fix their slaughter.
Ah, the things you get to ask for when you’ve wed the bosses’ daughter

The papers stacked on Mueller’s desk just keep on rising higher
And every day, there seems to be more coals upon the fire.
How sad to see in so few months we’ve gone from ”Yes we Can”
To craven, wanton schemes of this Banana Republican.

This morning, Pompeo’s deployment.
Put Tillerson on unemployment.
He called Trump a moron.
Let’s go get our war on.
Such chaos just serves Trump’s enjoyment.

Before all the TMZ gawking,
Before daily headlines so shocking,
He took us to school,
And made genius cool.
I’m sorry we’ve lost Stephen Hawking.

From Trump U to Taj Mahal slots,
The Donald could sure pick his spots.
So many got burned
Why haven’t we learned:
A leopard does not change his spots.

He lied about trade to Trudeau,
Took credit for Lamb’s winning glow,
And put staff is on notice.
Celebrity POTUS
Is always the star of his show.

With Pompeo soon going away,
Here comes Gina Haspel to play.
From the depths she’s arisen
Of that secret Thai prison,
Dominatrix of the CIA.

One year ago and to this very day,
My chronicle of our strange times began.
Events and actions; measures of a man,
A ritual in rhyme, as one might say,

To capture thoughts of humor and despair,
And images of our sad house, divided.
To all who care to read, I have confided –
Agree or disagree, why should we care.

Ripped from the news, assembled then in verse,
These screaming headlines of our daily lives,
Drown out the humble prayer that truth survives.
As “normal” sinks to more and more perverse.

For better or for worse here comes year two.
And in it, I wish health and peace to you.

In intrigue, his cabinet’s mired.
With 2 a.m. tweet-bombs it’s wired.
“Great job!”, “Unbelievable!”
Platitudes inconceivable.
And then bluntly ends with “You’re fired.”

In upper tiers of Government, the pressures can be big.
In fact today, for many, it’s become a part-time gig.
To note this odd phenomenon let’s take a look today
At several Public Servants that we’ve lost along the way.

The first to go was Sally Yates, who back in better times,
Decided to go after those committing Corporate Crimes.
But acting as Attorney G, as good as any man,
She got the axe for she would not enforce the Muslim ban.

Soon after that came Michael Flynn, a General, retired,
Who raised Red Flags when it came out to Russia he was wired.
Advising on Security, he finally got canned,
And later pleaded guilty for his lying on the stand.

The FBI’s James Comey heard his firing on the news.
Perhaps for actions previous, predicting Trump would lose.
Ethics Director Walter Shaub resigned when it came clear
That all the things he stood for just would not be needed here.

Sean Spicer quit the podium before he got the axe.
Perhaps he tired of wrestling with “alternative” “facts”.
Close on his heels Reince Preibus left. He didn’t have the stuff.
For all could see when Trump said “jump”, it wasn’t high enough.

The one that many called “The Mooch”, he came and went quite quickly.
But most of us remember his fine suits that glowed so slickly.
Steve Bannon? Nazi Populist? Well, what more can be said.
He once was Trump’s best buddy, true. But now to Trump, he’s dead.

Sebastian Gorka followed soon, and this walk-out would bring
A final, welcome shut-down to the White House Breitbart Wing.
Tom Price resigned. Good riddance there, for it was clearly shown,
The Health and Human Services he cared for was his own.

The Omarosa moment was tried and then aborted,
And when she left, most angrily, she had to be escorted.

Rob Porter got a bum rap. John Kelly likes the guy.
Abuse? It was an accident. There was no blackened eye.
Just ask Hope Hicks who followed suit. I’m sure that she would say
The two of them get on just fine if he just gets his way.

With Gary Cohn from Goldman-Sachs, you’d think he’d have it made,
But Donald dumped him when he when he wouldn’t play hardball on trade.
No tears were shed for Tillerson when his job went away.
Few State Department staffers liked the guy much anyway.

The FBI’s Andrew McCabe’s the next that I shall mention.
For he’s the one who got the axe one day before his pension.
He served the force for many years, and did so loyally,
But got the axe for being far to close with HRC.

Who’s next to join the roll call of departures and disasters?
The Vegas odds-on favorite is probably McMasters.
What does it take to stay on board?
Perhaps less skill than luck.
Remember who you’re working for,
Say “Yes” and learn to duck.


A billionaire named Robert Mercer
Thought Democracy couldn’t be worser.
Psychographic ad trains
To harvest our brains
And guide where our hand points the cursor.


From US vote manipulations,
To British nerve gas machinations,
Just as was expected
He got re-elected,
And Trump sends his congratulations.


With scandals and rifts by the scores,
And our debts mount like festering sores,
In his tweets yesterday,
All our leader could say
Is that “my data’s bigger than yours”.


With walrus ‘stache and sharply hawkish views,
John Bolton storms again the worldly stage.
And with his trademark diplomatic rage,
The risk that those who work for peace shall lose.

A style that even allies find abrasive,
A disregard for subtler conventions,
A passion for our global interventions.
Now watch us get increasingly invasive.

O Bully Trump, you’ve truly found a kindred
Who’ll serve as your Security Advisor,
As you embrace the stronger, not the wiser
To play the global predator, unhindered.

What sanity, what simple hope can linger
To mollify that itchy trigger finger.


Old White Guys are under attack!
We’ve got to take our Nation back!
We’re slipping in prominence
And losing our dominance
(But we won’t be shot while being Black.)

Stephon Clark – 1996 – 2018

The next generation’s called “Z”.
Yesterday, they spoke out on TV.
Articulate, couth.
The passion of youth.
I hope they do better than we.

Our Safety Net gets thinner by the day,
While cronies profit off our Public Lands,
And whistle-blowers now face reprimands.
This Quality of Life in sad decay.

The air we breathe, the water that we drink
In jeopardy to raise a Bottom Line
Still some devout praise all this as a sign.
How far, how far must this Great Nation sink.

So raise the debt. Spend billions on your wall,
And millions more upon your proud parade.
Then when it’s time to clean the mess you’ve made
Your grifter soul leaves not much left at all.

On Sunday, 60 Minutes made a fuss,
But did not say the one he screwed was US.



To lawyers, requests have been sent,
But for Trump, they will not represent.
I’ve heard of a place
Who will handle his case:

A new census soon is in store.
One question’s reception is poor.
If you check the wrong box,
Pull the shades, lock the locks,
‘Cause you might get a knock on the door.

David Shulkin, today goes the talk,
From the VA had to take a walk.
Then, Trump tweets the boast
He’ll be filling the post
With his own super-qualified Doc.

So sorry you feel slighted, Honey.
After so long, I’m sure it’s not funny.
Equal Work – Equal Pay.
I hear what you say.
But the guys will just lose too much money.


Two striking figures seen upon the news:
A fabled genius speaking through machines;
A raving leader prone to making scenes.
In terms of wisdom, which one do you choose.

A man defining physics from his chair –
Unhindered thought transcending limitation.
Or rants of stubby inarticulation
Expressed while tweeting in one’s underwear.

One warned us based on science calculations.
The other only cites the Sacred Oath
He made to those who run The Club For Growth,
Undoing work of past administrations.

How sad the smarter one was picked to leave.
The other has no reason to believe.