I am older
You are younger
You are brown
And I am white.
I eat well while
Your folks hunger.
You work hard
So that isn’t right.

You are religious,
I am surely not.
This almost the only
Difference we’ve got.
You eat veggies
And I eat meat.
You can kiss your
Lover in the street.

You like watching football
I like swimming laps.
That doesn’t mean
Football games are crap.
You like pickup trucks
I prefer a speedy coupe.
I like a four course meal
You like salad and soup.

You like hip hop songs
I prefer classic rock.
You think my music went
Out with argyle socks.
You like horror flicks
I prefer great comedies.
There’s nothing wrong with us
We don’t need any remedies.

We are simply different
In what we know and choose.
Being who and what we are
Should not bring on the blues.
Humanity is growing up
And seeing differences exist.
You are you and I am I.
Who has the right to insist?

It has been a year
Exactly one year to the day
When we decided to say
I do, again, forever, together.

And never a day goes by
That I don’t try to hold you
And tell you again how much
You mean, your voice, your touch.
The only things that matter
Are these smatterings of moments
Like hugs and kisses good morning
And the same at bedtime at night.
These things are right and the best
Better than all the rest in life
Worth any strife, any price,
Several steps beyond nice
They are what fuels my hopes
And my peaceful dreams.

It seems that sometimes quickly
There are tickly moments to bear
Like a bolt out of somewhere
That must be suffered through
But as I do, there are you
Smiling saying it will pass
And just that fast, it does.
What it was is then a memory
And no longer vexes me
Because what is important is us
And not a sorrow that once was.

So, here is yet another toast
To what matters most, you and I
Learning from what has gone by
And building toward a great future
That is the two of us together
And never a regret that we are
Who we are, not wishing on a star
But accepting and reveling
In what we have now
And happy with how
Things can work out for two
Like me and like you.

Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.

If you’re not white
And your state is red,
Don’t be surprised
If you end up dead.
As maybe some one
Will beat on your head
And demand to know
What goes on in your bed.

If you are any race
But Holy Caucasian
Like African or Inuit,
Mexican or Asian
That includes Islam
And all such nations
The bigots will hate
On every occasion.

Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.

In World War Two we
Fought against fascism
And now we entertain
An unholy American schism
In which Americans plan
With gleeful fanaticism
To make every effort
To maintain totalitarianism.
For over two centuries
We have sung of equality
And the inalienable rights
Of American humanity.
We continue to fight now
But it has become a calamity
Because now we are fighting
Within each of our families.

Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.

There is an ancient woman
In the market near my home
Who walks the timeless amble
Of a battered soul alone.
Her pasted orange tresses
A marmalade cascade
Fall so stiffly down to where
Her hand is always laid
Clutching her treasure bag
She goes her way careless
Ignoring chiding glances
At her faded evening dress.

Her story hides in rumors
Whispered by those who work
In the shops and restaurants
Here near McArthur Park.
They say she was a movie queen
Or an extra in the silent days
And an accident at the studio
Made her bald unto this day.
She refused to remove the wig
She ran out crying, in costume
And now she is still wearing it
Hoping he will find her soon.

The woman at the pharmacy
Said her hair caught on fire
At a movie in the twenties
Her boss calls her a liar;
Says the leading man did it
In a fit of rage and jealousy
When she wouldn't marry him
He set fire to the scenery.
Others heard that she was fired,
But she wouldn't leave the set
So deep inside her mind
She really hasn't left it yet.

Some have tried to talk to her
But she never speaks that much
Except inquiring prices and colors
Of the goods she chances to touch.
To direct questions and advances
She turns sadly away and leaves.
You can tell she is sensitive
You can tell by her face she grieves.
It is easy to see she is living
In some world that is not ours
Her world seems a place of gloom
Of thunderstorms and showers.

She caresses with her fingertips
Along the banisters she passes
And she seldom lets her gaze linger
Behind her smoked sunglasses.
Her satin dress has faded,
Like the color of her hair.
She still lingers in each moment
When she walks down the stair.
She never seems to notice those
Who stop and goggle at her
And they are many, these gawkers
But they just don’t' seem to matter.

She seems to have accepted
What her life has now become.
She has been coming to the park
For decades more than some.
This may be a playground
For popeyed urban gnomes.
But this is where she shops
This decaying place her home.
This park is very much like her
Many ages past its prime.
The vestiges of past glory
Have not been erased by time.

I’ve been losing sleep,
The pain runs too deep.
Wind whistles through the trees
And it blows right through me.
It’s like I am human sieve
Who has given all he can give.
I surrendered my physicality
And am battered by reality.

I’m over playing silly games
Of guessing people’s names
And hoping they really are
Who they claim they are.
Now I prefer to stay alone
Not waiting here for the phone
Or visitors at my front door.
I’m not into that any more.

Feeling I am invisible
Can become invincible
A force that slams the gate
On any successful fate
Making a hash of all tomorrows;
A progression of personal sorrows.
I need to do something different.
I need to stop being indifferent.

I’ll stop playing supporting roles
In matters that can heal my soul.
I will say yes to a future me
That can exist without tragedy,
Self-ridicule and poisonous doubt.
I’m not sure how, but I will find out
And make for myself a new way
To fill the empty space every day.

Scary Larry,
The Margarita Fairy
Could drink anything,
As long as it wasn’t dairy.
Bollocky Pollack
Put up his smock
Covered with paint
On the auction block.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

And Yeaster Bunny
Thinking he was funny
Baked bread dildoes
That sold for bags of money.
Scott Tissue
Said “We’re gonna miss you.
Your bread will sell quicker
If don’t make *** an issue.”

Two three four
What are friends for
If you don’t accept them
Then throw them out the door?
Besides variety
Is much more fun
Than always being alone
With number one

Phony Joanie
Wishes for alimony
But refuses to divorce
Her husband Tony.
Skinny Lenny
First cousin of Kenny
Lives with nobody
But sleeps with many.

Go outside after breakfast
Come back for lunch at noon.
Come inside at suppertime
And even then, it was too soon.
Never permitted to be late
We ate dinner at six each day
Eat every bite on our plate.
About the menu we had no say.

We had baking soda submarines
Popular Mechanics magazines
And that was technology back then.
Decoder rings and roller skate keys
Shooting marbles on our knees
And playing crooks and G-men.

Those days we had three channels
On all black and white televisions.
Just the same thirteen inch boxes;
Nothing like 3D or Panavision.
Loved Uncle Miltie and Lucille Ball
And considered Korla Pandit a waste,
But we must be forgiven because
Back then, no one had much taste.

We could spell Kula, Fran and Ollie,
Said words like “gosh”, and “by golly”
And were anxious to see flying cars.
Many movies were in Technicolor
But you always had to take your brother
And he didn’t recognize the stars.

After school we played sandlot ball
Saturday were TV cartoon shows;
Dancing trees with belly buttons
And a local clown with a red nose.
We joined Cubs and Boy Scouts
Had lemonade stands by the street,
Matchbooks in bicycle stokes
And used bottle cap taps for our feet.

It seemed like days were longer then
And summer was slow to come again.
Those were the days when we had fun.
We built our forts and hooked up swings
Kids did all crazy kinds of things
Before these modern times had begun.

I was having a cigarette
On top of a ziggurat
When I asked the Sphinx
To say what he thinks.
He said I’d know what he did
If I were in the pyramid.
But instead I had got
Myself on a ziggurat
So, he couldn’t say what
He truly thought he thought.

Then the Sphinx said to me
There will be lots of mystery
And I am certainly not joking
But you must give up smoking.
Because an important answer
Is that ziggurats cause cancer.

I don’t believe that is so.
I feel I must let you know
That there isn’t a chance
I mean, look how you dance
With your body all flat
In those tall pointy hats
Your elbows look broken
So, I know you are joking
And making an ancient pun,
You are just having fun
With a modern American.
I will do whatever I can
To try to catch the basic gist
Of whatever I have missed.

Then uttered the Sphinx
You logic is missing some links.
I’m older than the pyramids
And you are all just kids.
Now you know what the Sphinx thinks.

I listen to the whine of time
That goes in a line, a climb,
A silent sign wave; fine
Resonant and resilient,
Nearly sentient, it reminds
Of times of meditation,
Of peaceful celebration
Like music with no beat,
No melody and no lyrics
No clerics can well describe.

Whatever remains of before
I ignore; ideas like yesterday
Which is to say tomorrow,
Bring no sorrow here, no joy.
They are a ploy to change,
To rearrange the apogee
Of this lovely inner symphony
And bribe me with self-pity
In sympathy with some dream
Which once made me scream.

I imbibe in the circumstance,
A chance to muse on forever;
Words like never and regret
I forget and only think of serenity.
A rarity; an affinity with infinity
Entices me to surrender instantly
Serendipitously and trustingly,
Just me and the universe
Chapter and verse, still unwritten,
Unbidden, I surrender.

I never thought I would live this long.
I thought I would be dead by fifty.
Live hard, make a pretty corpse
Seemed, at the time to be nifty.
But, fifty came and went on by
And did so relatively quickly,
And here am I, not doddering
Not stooped over, not sickly.

I remember being that kind of kid
Who thought forty was old age.
The kind of oldster playing gramps
In the movies and on the stage.
Gray hair meant guys near death,
I needed not too much convincing.
Thinking of that, thirty years on,
These days, has me broadly wincing.

Looking back is more difficult
As eyesight loses credibility.
So much of what one sees in youth
Is forgotten so very easily.
I look at the photographs of me
Back when I had flattened abs.
Back when my flesh was taut
And hung on me in solid slabs.

I didn’t seem to have any limits
And could do anything I’d care.
Now a long walk is difficult and
My best friend is an easy chair.
Today I see life as a daily feat
That seems to come on quietly
Like a maid in a swank hotel.
It comes in and then out, silently.

I hasten to assure, I am not
Complaining about anything.
I have had more than my share
Of victories, spent my winnings.
It’s just that I never planned
To be an a senior citizen,
Entitled to cheaper entry fees,
An early-bird buffet denizen.

With amazement I nod whenever
Young people offer their seats.
And any time I run a bit too fast
My heart skips a couple of beats.
Then I walk by a mirror and see
That older person standing there
Who is amazed to still be here
Rocking a head of gray hair.

When children go hungry;
And even water is scarce,
When they have no shoes
And no country leader cares.
When school is too expensive
And illness goes unchecked,
Whose cause advances
As the economy is wrecked?

Greed is often the reason
If you ask yourself why.
Neglect and starvation
Makes the angels cry.

When parents neglect children
And seem to easily forget
That animals are not children
And children are not pets.
Everyone needs love and care
And a feeling they belong.
Any other treatment of them
In every culture is wrong.

Power can be made evil
For those who live by a lie.
People used as chattel
Makes the angels cry.

Some of us feel so lost
Overrun by a busy crowd
Seem to find our days are
Covered by a dark cloud.
Our old ones suffer alone
In tiny rooms of shame.
Our goal-oriented society
Seems to forget their name.

So, there is your answer,
You need not ask why.
Yes is the answer.
Indeed, angels do cry.

There’s something wrong with me
I’m broken somewhere inside.
And, I know it won’t be easily fixed
I know because I tried.
I’m all messed up and in pain
And nothing is going right.
I keep on trying to get better
But it’s an uphill fight.

I’m hurting and I want to cry.
I’m depressed and I know why.
I want things to change right now
But, I can’t fix it. I don’t know how.

I keep wishing it was tomorrow
And my heart didn’t hurt so much
For the feel of you in my arms
And the healing of your loving touch.
I’ve healed all I will ever heal
From drowning in my own tears.
But there is something wrong with me
Since you are no longer here.

I’m hurting and I want to cry.
I’m depressed and I know why.
I want things to change right now
But, I can’t fix it. I don’t know how.

There’s something wrong with me
I’m broken somewhere inside.
And, I know it won’t be easily fixed
I know because I tried.
I’m all messed up and in pain
And nothing is going right.
I keep on trying to get better
But it’s an uphill fight.

While sleeping in my bed
Rhymes escape my head.
I maunder them around
Then write them down
And publish them instead.

That is, those worth keeping
That I write while sleeping
That often turn out to be
Happily approved by me.
A poetic parrot peeping.

An internal rhyming thing.
Almost an eternal ping
That runs through my brain
There to sometimes remain
And bubble back upon rising.

Sometimes it wakes me up
And I brew myself a quick cup
Because at that time
In search of a rhyme
That goes with boxer pup or buttercup.

I haven’t made a dime from this
My middle-of-the-night muse’s kiss.
I just gleefully scribble
And sometimes I giggle
No matter it’s a hit or a miss.

Far be it from me to complain.
For so many poems remain
That turn out terrific
That I’m labelled prolific.
Either that, or poetically insane.

She was a vegetarian
Cigarette-smoking drunk
Who fell in love easily
With any handsome hunk.
She was a bible-quoting
Daily Zodiac-addicted muse
In dungarees, leather chaps
And covered with tattoos.

Like a character from Monty Python
She always had pentagram earrings on.
And she loudly wondered constantly
Why nobody ever took her seriously.

She looked like a biker mama,
But she never owned a bike.
A personality like barbed wire
She was so very hard to like.
She growled like a take-off
Out of Cape Canaveral.
Why she wasn’t popular she
Could never understand at all.

She had the strangest body parts
Tattooed or heavily pierced
She looked unlike a human being
And she thought that was fierce.

She walked like The Thing
From the Fantastic Four
And I was never sure she knew
What shower was created for.
Her entire vocabulary was
Based on waste matter and ***.
I really do believe she was
The product of an ancient hex.

Kinda lost, as a matter of fact
No kind of tricks I can use
To help me to recover from
The Watching The News Blues.
There is no way I seem to
Be able to pay enough dues
To help me avoid getting
The Watching The News Blues.

Politicians stuffing ballot boxes
Some senator ****** little boys
Big Pharma raising their prices
The Pentagon buying broken toys.
We fracked another state up
We are invading another country
We’re outlawing people’s rights
The KKK is gains popularity.

I’ve got that kind of blues
From my hairdo to my shoes.
No over-the-counter drugs
That are any good to use.
It does no good to complain.
Everyone just ignores the clues.
They prefer to let us all suffer
The Watching The News Blues.

Big Oil bought out Washington
And then made solar illegal
If you pay enough money, you
Get to shoot an American Eagle.
DC is selling our forests off
And sells arms to both sides
And the average American
Can’t afford a place to reside.

Kinda lost, as a matter of fact
No kind of tricks I can use
To help me to recover from
The Watching The News Blues.
There is no way I seem to
Be able to pay enough dues
To help me avoid getting
The Watching The News Blues.

There are people somewhere
Almost no one knows about
There are girls and women boys and men
Gone beyond the places people care about
And, no one ever sees them again.
They laugh and love and work and share their daily bread
And, live within the fruits of the soil
Smiling at the treasures only found
In the efforts of the ones who toil.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.

Somewhere smoke is curling from a handmade home
Someone sits adrift in a song
Tapping toes to rhythms of a timeless beat
And sometimes laughing loud and strong.
Someone no one knows about will sleep tonight
Content with what was done today.
Smiling with a face that seems to say
They wouldn’t have it any other way.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.

Little Timmy Trashcan
Was born on a lonely day.
His mother had him and then
She threw Timmy away.
She never wanted children
She just wanted her man.
So, she got pregnant
And her man just ran.

Little Timmy Trashcan
Grew up nearly all alone.
A neighbor hired to feed him
So, he was all skin and bone.
His teacher tried to help
But the mother told lies.
She watched a lot of TV
And it made her PTA wise.

Little Timmy Trashcan
Much smaller than his peers.
Got beat on and ridiculed
For all his growing years.
No man was there to teach
How to stand up and fight
And his mother was busy
Going out almost every night.

Little Timmy Trashcan
Never made it to adult.
He lived beneath notice
And this was the result.
He learned how to vanish
And bother nobody much.
Little Timmy Trashcan
Died from no loving touch.

I was once capable
Of talking without rhyme.
I could carry conversations,
And I did it all the time.
I could discuss the weather
And even a bit about sports.
I had anecdotes on things like
Political crooks and cohorts.

I could discuss the stars
And the people they dated.
I could reflect on the news
And my words never grated.
I talked about history, too
And how it might affect us.
I marched in protest parades
And didn’t let them deflect us.

But something powerful
In that which makes me
Urges the words I utter
To come out in poetry.
I used to question this
But I no longer chose to.
I don’t hide my poetry
From the world like I used to.

I hear common speech and
I hear cadences and rhyming
In step with what I am doing
And pace my walk to the timing
Of words I’ve heard and talk
That makes a marching beat
That is syncopated to my walk.

So, I no longer apologize
When I am rolling on a stanza.
I look upon it as gifts from the muse,
A positively literary bonanza.
I am my words; my words are me
And if you don’t care for poetry
Listen for a while and maybe see
What truths I write within my poesy.

Dad and Mom both want me
To dress like they both dress.
If I don’t follow their rules
They think my life is a mess.
I understand that they don’t
Like the way I wear my hair
But, if haircuts are mentioned
In the Constitution, tell me where.

I’ll be a mullet-wearing hipster
As a dedication to yesterday
If ever a day is officially declared
Celebrating double-knit polyester.
But until that day comes, folks
I want you both to know
I don’t want to look like I am
Character from a television show.

I don’t mean to be picky here
But I have suffered the ridicule.
I was the only kid dressed up
Like a CPA in elementary school.
We’re not talking about me
Joining a gang of outlaw crooks.
I just don’t want to get beat up
Because of the way I look.

I’m not shaving ‘***** you’ in
The back of my shaved head.
Neither do I want to come
Dressed as a nerd instead.
It’s probably all about moderation
And less about modern style
But with your kind permission
I’d like to talk with you awhile.

Let’s come to some happy medium
Where you don’t think it’s a scam
That I want to enjoy my youth
And be the person I really am.
I do understand parental guidance
And am grateful that you are here.
But please let me get with the times
Before I prematurely age ten more years.

Where I came from
It was that time in history
White people who loved
Black guys faced misery.
There was a huge batch
Of ugly names we earned.
And sometime more than
Just crosses were burned.

Where I came from
The Bible was used to beat
To abjure and vilify us
And toss us into the street.
We were demonized for
Bedding animals they said.
I just couldn’t stand that
Kind of hatred in my head.

Where I came from
Hypocrisy and bigotry rule.
They go to church Sundays
And the rest of the time
They act the total fool.
They demand the right
To tell me who to choose.
Demand the same of them
And brother, you lose.

Where I came from
They throw around the words
Of someone called Jesus
As if they had really heard.
But talk to them of the book
They claim is the word of god
And they come up with answers
That can only be called odd.

Where I came from
There are beggars on the street
And children without food
Or shoes on their tiny feet.
And yet they sing songs
Of good will to all men.
But they really don’t mean it
And prove it again and again.

Where I came from
Much is called restricted.
The Golden Rule and peace
Are so totally conflicted.
I grew up seeing goodness
Reinterpreted by the white
That practiced prejudice
And hate and called it right.

Sounds rather risqué, right?
Like an unmentionable body part.
Not a person you might care about.
No the other half of your heart.
Not my partner or sweetheart
Not my husband or my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

No, they call me your friend,
Your little buddy, your ‘thing’.
That last one I always suffer
As particularly insulting.

But, not my watchacallit,
My whatever, or such euphemisms.
They hit me like less than kind
And disapproving colloquialisms.
I mean, how would you feel
If I referred to your wife like that?
Calling her your sidekick or
Something like a stray cat?

I have no problem with asking
How my honey is doing today.
After all, that’s really who he is.
He’s my sweetheart every day.

So, think for a moment, please
Before you begin to speak.
Your lack of sensitivity can
Only make you look weak.
Just because we didn’t choose
The path you chose to take
Doesn’t mean you’re better than I
So, give this bigotry stuff a break.

He’s my partner and sweetheart
He’s my husband and my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

For you who served
So others might live.
Some of you gave
All you had to give.
We lost some of you
And it broke our hearts
But, live or die you all
Stood up to do your part.

For those of you who served
When some could not go
You overcame obstacles
That we will never know.
But because you stood
And fought against villainy
You have an honored place
In our country’s history.

No stones can be stacked
High enough to balance
The mothers who lost
Their children in battles
And no speeches made
Can ever appropriately say
What your sacrifice has meant
To every one of us today.

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

The echoes sometimes call
From no memory at all.
Nobody ever felt the pain
That caused this refrain;
A sound that startles me
Somehow it shames me.
Often it blames me.

I don’t understand the reason
There can be time without season,
Leaves fall without any tree.
Voices heard but only by me.
Is this only my imagination
Or some kind of hallucination?

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

Is this something the lonely do?
Is this what the solitary go through?
Do all loners dance to a ditty
Dictated and orchestrated by pity?
Is being single a kind of madness
Brought on by descent into sadness
Where one is never told
That they have lost their hold?

The is a kind of sad magic
That makes clowns of the tragic
And paints impressive hues
On the excuses I use
To try to mask the crippling pain;
Of swirling around the drain.
It’s not until the last bubble
That I know I am in trouble.

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

To be fair, this superstitious stuff
Goes a helluva long way back.
It was around the time of Babel
That the Israelites lost all track
Of logic and reason in the books
They were peddling as God’s word.
Oh, okay, they were just passing on
Mesopotamian stories they heard
But then to start calling it all
The voice of the spiritual over-mind
Means we are expected to be
Sort of intellectually deaf and blind.
Even if one can accept things like
A snake that talks and wheedles
I think accepting talking bushes
Requires stuff in hypodermic needles.

I think you have confused
Your Jehovah with Santa.
They are not the same thing.
Let me hear you say hallelujah!
Some of your traditions are
Verging on the weird and funny
When you peddle stories
About an egg-laying bunny.
And that basket of fishes
To feed a thousand was dumb.
In prehistoric Israel, just where
Did those freeloaders come from?
That strange ‘water into wine’ thing
Would be banned by law today.
Jesus, as evangelical moonshiner?
The authorities would put him away.

But that’s all fine and good if
One personally deems it to be so,
This claiming to run daily life
By words memorized long ago.
Since some of it makes sense
It may be easier to just ignore
Things like wizards and magic
As something from long before.
Evidence today says nobody lived
For eight hundred years and such.
But things like facts don’t seem
To bother religious people that much.
So, have at it, you spooky folks
With your symbols and mystery
Just save your breath if you think
You’ll get acceptance from me.

When I dream
I find myself in places
I never go to awake
Taking chances
I never take
For fear I will break
Or stumble.

So instead I grumble
That I never go anywhere
And let myself scare myself
Out of doing what I need
To do in order to be true
To the person I am
When I am awake.

I fully flimflam and take
The easy, the coward’s road.
I hop away like a toad
Then whine to myself
In my dreams.

It seems ineffective.
But it seems inelective.
It’s like I have no choice
But I still listen
To my sleeping voice.

Someday I may stop
And drop this bad habit,
Choosing to have it my way;
Me on the highway, walking
Instead of lying in bed talking
About how good it could be
If I were the dreaming me.

The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.

With malice toward none
The land of equality
Everyone the same
Just like you and me,
Unless he is black
Or some other non-white.
Then, not really equal.
No, sorry. Not quite.

The rules are laid out,
Not in the constitution.
To be okay in the USA
Is an ironclad institution.
You don’t make waves,
Or rise above your station.
A handpicked few white men
Are in charge of this nation.

The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.

So, don’t start whining
About equal opportunity.
That really isn’t for you
Only for the likes of me.
I’m a rich white man, you see
I control most of what there is
Which is almost everything.
Tell you when to take a whizz.

There are haves and have-nots
And you know which you are.
If you’re lucky you get to own
A TV and inexpensive car.
But other than voting for
The two parties we allow
You just pay taxes, that’s it.
Nothing else, not ever, not now.

The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.

They cry about heaven
Even as they transform skin
Into sin, punishable by death
Or ****, or disfigurement
Sent by the devil for sure
Wearing tonsures and cassocks
Causing their own brand of havoc
Ruled by insensitivity
Because we are the enemy
No longer human, doomed
To suffer the ravages
Of their bad ***** training
And lack of discipline
Over and over again
On playgrounds as kids.

They did it all over again
When in uniform, warmed
By the glow of popular bigotry
Idiocy blessed by some dope,
Some Protestant proto-pope
Who thinks God has time
To engage in crime in his name
So they can blame him instead.
Little else in their head
They steal land, and brand people
Burn people, assault people
And do their best to make them feel
Their god, their way is not real
And is not worth keeping.

Sleeping at night, nobody knows how
Now that they have shown their colors
To their brothers and sisters;
That they will **** mothers and fathers
And babies and the land
And think it just grand
Because they got paid
As they laid waste,
Turned the gardens to paste
Between the toes of evil.
We the boll, they the weevil;
They mashed us under their feet
No thought of being discreet,
We were fodder for their hatriotism.

Not patriotism.
That is impossible
And totally improbable
Once you’ve sold your soul
To Old Nick and his minions,
Hell’s hand-picked denizens
Who look just like your neighbor;
They labor at jobs, like you do
And look a lot like you, too,
Especially if you make excuses
To commit abuses
And blame it on god.
Savor the rod
And abuse the child.
Isn’t hatred wild?
Always on hand.

Hot dogs get chili
Burgers get mustard
Porterhouse gets steak sauce
At least the last I heard.
French fries don’t get vinegar
That’s totally absurd
French fries get ketchup
At least the last I heard.

Toilet paper rolls off the top
Toilet seats need to be up.
Tea is iced and in a glass
Coffee should be in a cup.
Tuna casserole is not for men,
We need meat and potatoes.
We only like marinara sauce
Instead of raw sliced tomatoes.

Salads are lettuce and dressing
Especially of the cheesy kind.
Eggplant is all plant and no egg
And tastes like watermelon rind.
Finger sandwiches are a waste
Especially those with watercress.
Cold borsht served in flat bowls
Is not much more than a mess.

Sushi is nothing else but
Some overdressed hunks of bait.
Pork bellies are pudgy bacon
And deserve a better fate.
Sweet breads are neither;
Sweet nor are they bread.
Steak tartar is just raw meat
And should be cooked instead.

Brunch is a truly silly word
One needs make up the mind.
Either have lunch or breakfast.
I don’t mean to be unkind.
We can be a confusing culture;
Combining things so badly.
Give me the basics, nothing more,
And I will go imbibe quite gladly.

I want to wake up when I want
And then slowly get to my feet.
I want to have a breakfast
That is very much like a treat.
I want to dawdle over my coffee
And take lazy, leisurely stock.
And, I want to do all of this
Without waking to a clock.

For I hate that awful buzzing
That it takes to shake me awake.
I find the racket ruins dreams
And is too much for me to take.
I want to sit where late morning
Sends its sweet shine in on me
While I sup and sip and dine
Like a member of royalty.

Oh, I am not so snooty myself
That I don’t prepare this repast
With my own two clever hands
And at that, amazingly fast.
It’s almost like my hands want
To hide from my waking mind
That the meal I am having is not
Not the made by Ritz-Carlton kind.

I want to waken to cognizance
In a particularly decadent way.
I find it totally disgusting to
Rush madly into any given day.
I’d sit in smoking jacket and slippers
If I had such magazine attire.
And if it were chilly upon rising
I would magically manifest a fire.

Of course I don’t have a fireplace
To go right along with plain jammies
So instead of brocade robes and such
I very short of mystical whammies.
I can’t witch up this storybook stuff
Of class A, high-class pomposity.
But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t wish
To have it all appear before me.

I like to rub her righteous
Rubber baby buggy bumpers
While her Sister Susie
Sells seashells by the sea shore.
Susie works in a shoeshine shop,
She sits, and she shines all day long.
She confesses with too many esses
It lispers up her whispered song.

Peter Piper picking peppers
Putting pickled peppers in a ***.
Woodchuck chucked wood,
Chuckling, chucked the wood he got.
Susie’s sister Betty Botter
Bought a pound of bitter butter.
Betty was a bit of a ******.
She said her butter was better bitter.

I thought of a thought, thinking
It was a very difficult thing to occur.
Thinking, busily thinking;
Blinking, and winking, thinking of her
We made a date at a quarter to eight
Said, “I’ll see you at the gate, don’t be late.”
Lucky and plucky, my ducky doo,
It was a heavy date, and a heavy gate.

Leary of a really weary *****
We wandered in our wandering leathers
Wondered if whether wetter
Weather were better to weather together.
We celebrate our late date
We didn’t skate, or deliberate our fate
Suffice is to further elucidate
And cheerily chewed the churros we ate.

Who was it, unwise child,
Who taught you to hate like this?
What kind of twisted mind
Made you frightened of a kiss?
Did some kind of twisted soul
Train you to hate based on skin?
Did one or both parents of yours
Mistrain you about morals and sin?

Who taught you to speak painfully
To those who were born less fortunate;
To laugh and call names of those
Who are sad or disconsolate
From the waves of life washing in
And taking them away,
To the kind of life you have never
Had to suffer for even one day?

Did your family force you to compete
For love, acceptance and approval?
Did you even undergo the threat
Of reprisals, and maybe removal?
Did you look to your parents eyes
For help and loving acceptance
And instead find the face
Of rejection, and even repugnance?

Everyone wishes all children
Get treated sweetly and kindly
But some parents are poisoned
By their parents to react blindly
And pass on the outrage
That was given to them as kids.
They too, are victims
Of what their parents did.

The hope for today is simple;
Don’t pass it on to your children.
Wake up, change things and
Do what it takes to love them.
Stop the cycle here with you:
Hold back that anger and hate.
Teach them that they, like you,
With your love and care, can be great.

The man who lives in a mailbox
Sings his song alone
The rent he says is reasonable
And he likes the tone.

He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.

His song is sung to passersby
Always much surprised
To pass a mailbox, hear a song
Coming from inside.

He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.

Now, some protest, they say he’s mad
They tell him he is wrong
And some ignore his choice of home
And listen to his song.

He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.

If I let you be as superstitious as you want
And raise your children with gods that haunt
Will you back the hell off my brothers and me
And content yourselves to just let us be?
You can dress yourself and your children
As two thousand year old men and women.

Happy celebration, to everyone here
To every person, all through the year.
Let’s tell each other all we are glad of,
And share with each other peace and love.

It would be a lovely thing for all people to do.
We could all have holidays, yes, Christmas too.
We could create traditions of good will in men.
Now, where did I hear that phrase again?
We could spread messages of tolerance and love
And you could blame it all on something above.

We could start collecting ornaments and things
Just a bit different than your angels with wings,
And we could light candles and sing some songs
And if you wanted to, you could sing along.
And chant obscure ditties and archaic poems
Just don’t expect us to, even if we know them.

Happy celebration, to everyone here
To every person, all through the year.
Let’s tell each other all we are glad of,
And share with each other peace and love.


Then nobody would scowl and wish you ill
Because we wouldn’t have anything like hell.
There would be no devil dude to make you sad
And plenty of words to say when you’re mad.
We’d just have a place where we could all live
And presents for each other if we wanted to give.

Happy celebration, to everyone here
To every person, all through the year.
Let’s tell each other all we are glad of,
And share with each other peace and love.

My long distance, never met
Cyber lover I can’t forget.
I don’t intend to give him up
His picture says he’s quite the pup
So, I will keep him ever more
It isn’t like I don’t know the score.
My too long distance Romeo
After all, it ain’t my first rodeo.

I’ve been around this block before.
I don’t fall so easily any more.
I’ve known this guy a long time.
He’s the real thing, not slime.
He’s the right age and is honest
And he writes me clever sonnets.
I know what he does for a living.
I know it’s not a line he’s giving.

He has been hurt before too.
It’s not something he can do
To dangle someone on a line.
He’s too nice, he’s too fine.
My friends are so mean
That because he is unseen
They say he could easily be
A bored housewife in Tennessee.

My long distance, never met
Cyber lover I can’t forget.
I don’t intend to give him up
His picture says he’s quite the pup
So, I will keep him ever more
It isn’t like I don’t know the score.
My too long distance Romeo
After all, it ain’t my first rodeo.

So, I pay no attention to them.
Their outlook on this is too dim.
It isn’t like I am the gullible type
That falls for some ****** kind of hype.
I’ve been to college and I work.
I’m not the target for some ****.
I have asked all the right questions.
So, I ignore my friend’s suggestions.

I mean, think about it, after all.
Why would he do that to me at all?
What is he gaining to lie to me,
A person over here he never sees?
It isn’t like we are soon to meet
Like I lived right down the street.
He has told me several times before
That meeting up is not in store.

My long distance, never met
Cyber lover I can’t forget.
I don’t intend to give him up
His picture says he’s quite the pup
So, I will keep him ever more
It isn’t like I don’t know the score.
My too long distance Romeo
After all, it ain’t my first rodeo.

Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s hot as fire.
Snooty Rudy
Leaves a lot to be desired.
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s better than us all
Silly Rudy
He’s heading for a big fall.

Rudy always thinks
He’s the star of every game
Rudy never gets
The joke hidden in his name.
He looks up on life
As someone else’s duty.
Someone must pay the piper
But it is never Rudy.

Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s hot as fire.
Snooty Rudy
Leaves a lot to be desired.

Rudy never gets the check
When he goes out to eat.
When people rise to clean
He always keeps his seat.
Rudy doesn’t like to stir
From a relaxing chair.
Look around when work is done,
Rudy is never there.

Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s better than us all
Silly Rudy
He’s heading for a big fall.

Rudy likes to join
Committees for charity causes
But when the work is done
Rudy only pauses.
He’s there for congratulations
But not for sweat and toil.
***** hands are beneath his station.
Never a smidgen of soil.

Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s hot as fire.
Snooty Rudy
Leaves a lot to be desired.
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s better than us all
Silly Rudy
He’s heading for a big fall.

Some will make their home
Wherever they can
Get to with their feet.
Cardboard box houses
And pallets they find
By trash bins on the street.
The boxes work well
Unless it snows or rains
And then when they melt
It’s out to find a home again.

Go on home
Where the love is
Home to family
Go on home
Where you’re welcome
There is no home for me.

Cookie used to be a chef
He lives under that low bridge
He cooks in used coffee cans
That just how his life is.
Makes dinner when he has it
For us who have so little.
You’ll find him most days
Cooking delicious food
Halfway to the middle.

Go on home
Where your bed is
Home to wife and your kids
Go on home
And be grateful
And not living on the skids.

Some people gripe
When the waiter is slow
And some were once waiters
Themselves long ago.
Some people are full
After they have dined
Others only manage to eat
Whatever castoffs they find.

Go on home
Because you have one
Because you have a job.
Go home where no one
Call you a lazy slob.
Go home and thank God
You have a place to sleep.
Go home and be grateful
Go home and God keep.

Automobiles and road rage
Alcohol and steering wheels
Texting and driving
The Military and U.S. Steel
Banks and mercy
Fashion and comfort
Priests and Godliness
Trade alliances and imports.

Republicans and The Constitution
Bigots and non-Caucasians
Christians and homosexuals
Unbalanced equations.
Elitists and human flaws
The rich and the poor.
Anger and loaded guns
You and the Jews next door.

They are naturally equal
But they’re exactly opposite
Sometimes they balance
But often there’s no sense to it.

Attorneys and justice
Lobbyists and compassion.
Science and the church
Trust and politicians.
Monsanto and private farms
Pipelines and ecology
Fracking and water rights
Minorities and majorities.

Hope and desperation
Citizen’s rights and Tea Party
Media and integrity
Politics and morality
Free enterprise and monopolies
Censorship and free press
Freedom of expression
And illegal social duress.

They are naturally equal
But they’re exactly opposite
Sometimes they balance
But often there’s no sense to it.

I got used to a fantasy world
I knew I’d wise up one day.
Give up a dream I was making.
So tired of living in someday.
When it started I was younger
Not quite as bright as today.
Settled for crumbs of your love.
So tired of living in someday.

I tolerated each of your myths
And lived with being miserable
Hoping things would get better
Always waiting for the miracle.

I gave in so easily to the idea
That it was all about just you.
I did it all without questioning
Whatever you wanted to do.
It was dreamwork those days
All made of mirrors and smoke
And felt like the kind of high
You get from illegal tokes.

I exaggerated on your myths
And lived like an acolyte
Like your personal Cleopatra
Waiting for the snake to bite.

I told myself I would win
If I held on to you some way.
So, I gathered all my assets
And invested them in someday.
I can’t say your habit was
That you treated me like dirt.
But, I also can’t say to you
That your treatment didn’t hurt.

I am through with your myths
And living feeling so miserable.
I know things won’t get better;
I won’t ever see a miracle.
When it started I was younger
Not quite as bright as today.
Settled for crumbs of your love.
So tired of living in someday.

I’ve run the gamut
From plus to minus
From nearly the worst
To among the finest.
But there was an actor
I’d love to date again.
The incredibly attractive
Richard Chamberlain.

Richard Chamberlain
You magnificent man
I blush to write a poem
But I will do what I can
To get the point across
That you’re one of a kind
To think otherwise one must
Be deaf, mute and blind.

I am just old enough to
Recall young Doctor Kildare.
I am sure with cable now
It always plays somewhere.
But, for a young gay kid
I immediately lost my heart.
I could not convince myself
You were just playing a part.

To me you were the doctor
That could heal where I ailed.
No matter that at this time
What I felt could get me jailed.
I just went on and pined for
This beautiful man on TV.
Every word he said seemed
To be music to young me.

So when I got the chance
To spend an evening with him
Dancing at a nice party
Thrown by a mutual friend
I jumped at the chance
And broke a cardinal rule
I told him of my crush on him
I am sure I looked the fool.

Thus, it really wasn’t a date
More of an amazing evening.
That kind of happy accident
I still have trouble believing.
But it counts as a date to me
When a delightful, classy man
Spends the evening chatting
With an obviously smitten fan.

I wish I had the money
To buy myself a yacht.
I wouldn’t spend it that way
But would love what I bought.
I’d have a huge party
With every friend I know
And let it go on and on
For about a week or so.

And, gifts to everybody
Who was ever kind to me.
Just something thoughtful
To give them gratefully.
I’d pick things out carefully
And wrap them up nice
And in some cases I’m sure
I’d do it at least twice.

I’d rent a fancy house
That overlooked the beach
With kayaks and hammocks
All within everyone’s reach.
And I would hire a caterer
To make delicious foods
So nobody would hunger
No matter what their mood.

And I would hire musicians
To play on regular intervals.
Maybe local songwriters
And super talented minstrels.
And I would wear my finest
Most beautiful things I’ve got.
That’s what I would do if
I could buy myself a yacht.

The sunshine has left
My days have turned to night.
I try to accept you’re gone
But it doesn’t feel right.
I wish I had known the truth
Right from the start.
I still hold your shadow
Instead of your heart.

But a shadow doesn’t breathe
And shadows cannot kiss.
Shadows can’t love me back
When I’m hurting like this.

I thought that I had found it
The love I wanted all along.
I felt that we were perfect
And nothing would go wrong.
I let myself feel hopeful
That this was the best part.
Now I hold your shadow
Instead of your heart.

But a shadow can’t hold me
When I’m alone in the night.
Shadows are just memories
That did not turn out right.

I walk past places we went
Back went when we first met.
It only makes it harder
For me to heal and forget.
Sometimes it’s a melody
Or the aroma of a bloom
That we enjoyed together
In our own cozy room.

Still a shadow is all I have
And that’s the painful part.
I still hold your shadow
Instead of your heart.

I’m a junk sale ******
As a matter of fact.
It has to be addiction
Because that’s how I act.
I just can’t help myself
I buy what I see.
It’s almost like the stuff
Is calling to me.

I drive by a yard and see
A ringer washing machine
And say to myself
Wouldn’t that be keen?
I could do my washing
And ring it nearly dry.
So, I buy the thing and
Don’t ask me why.

I’m a junk sale ******
As a matter of fact.
It has to be addiction
Because that’s how I act.

I once found a deal
On a gerbil habitat.
I bought it and took it home.
That’s just where I’m at.
That I don’t have a gerbil
Is a minor detail.
I just can’t resist a good
Price in a sale.

I just can’t help myself
I buy what I see.
It’s almost like the stuff
Is calling to me.

People have told me
If I ever get a bride
She’ll be someone
I met on the roadside.
But I quickly add that I
Might be the worst
Because I would look
At the sale items first.

I’m a junk sale ******
As a matter of fact.
It has to be addiction
Because that’s how I act.
I just can’t help myself
I buy what I see.
It’s almost like the stuff
Is calling to me.

I’s gunna say
I’d hafta wanna,
So, omina say no.
I know I coulda
And prolly shoulda
But I wouldn’ta
‘Cause I gotta
Kinda take a chanceta
Be a wannabe.
Not a useta was,
But a gunna go to guy.
Still I liketa never
Gotta break yet.
But I’m tryna.

Winecha common?
Wotsa prollem?
Youc’n do it, cancha?
Tryna kid me?
Tryna trick me.
Wotsa mattayou?
Crazy inna head?
Shoulda stood in bed?
Eye ainna gunna
Letcha **** me
Lyka dummass
Jess causeya can.
Eye aindat kyna guy.
Eye ainno fool, er you?

So, omina skip it
Jess fergit it
Eye ain doinit.
No way ** say.
Say wotcha gotta
Wotever ya wanna
But omina do thangs
My own way.
Not gunna play.
Nuttin youc’n say
Gunna change me,
Make a differnse.
So, jess go way.
Look fer sumthin
Er sumone else
At wantsta play.

He has one eye missing
And a patchwork ****.
I tell everybody he’s winking,
That he has one eye shut.
He’s lost a lot of hair
And he no longer sits up
Like he used to before.
But whenever I see him
I am never in doubt
He is still the bear I adore.

Bubby Bear is a very good bear
The best friend there ever could be.
He sleeps by my side every night
And Bubby never argues with me.

When things get too scary
Or out of control I go and
Grab up Bubby and hold him.
He’s always warm and he’s
Sympathetic, and so I never
Feel the need to scold him.
I can always talk to him
And explain things out
Because he is so very patient.
I think it is because he
Is such a very wise bear
And always there waiting.

Bubby Bear is the finest bear
He always right beside me.
I don’t have to worry that he
He might want to abandon me.

Some people like to tease me
About the way Bubby looks
And make fun of his condition.
But they have to admit to me
They don’t have a friend who gives
One hundred percent permission,
And never gets tired of them
Or tattles their confidences
Or gets bored with what they say.
That’s why Bubby is my best friend
Always was, always will be
All night long and every single day.

Bubby Bear is a very good bear
He puts up with my every whim.
I feel sorry for anyone who
Doesn’t have a friend like him.

When I was young high school kid
I wasn’t doing very well with girls
I didn’t know what to say to them
But I really wanted to give it a whirl.
So, when Mama saw me struggling
She saw me blowing my chance
She told me, “They’ll come around,
All you have to do is learn to dance.”

So, she showed me some rather easy
Stylish steps from her jitterbug days
I took them and danced to the music
That the deejays chose to play.

Mama taught me jitterbug
And that helped quite a bit
She won awards as a teen
I heard she was quite a hit.

I rocked and I rolled and bounced
My shoes got to moving with the beat.
Then I was snapping my fingers and
My body went along with my feet.
I twirled the girls I danced with and
Held them snuggly up close and tight.
And the girls started asking me to dance
Right away from that very first night.

Mama taught me jitterbug
And I very glad she did
It turned a geeky wallflower
Into a much more popular kid.

I learned the Stroll and Hully Gully
The UT and the Electric Slide
With a changing bevy of beauties
Dancing along right by my side.
This was before Twist showed up
Which everybody could learn to do
But even then I found that I could
Teach them another trick or two.

Mama taught me jitterbug
And that helped quite a bit
She won awards as a teen
I heard she was quite a hit.

Many of my poems are snarky
And I know it.
Some things make me ******
And I show it.

Some people are beneath contempt
Puff out their chests, think they’re exempt
But at the bottom of it all, they’re ****.
They count on people at large to be dumb
And deaf and blind to their ugly tricks.
People give up thinking they can fix
The atrocities perpetrated on society.
They get physically sick at the impropriety
And villainy these criminals get by with;
Two tongues in each mouth politicians lie with.

Many of my poems are painful
And I know it.
Some things make me disdainful
And I show it.

I’d perhaps take up haiku poems or calligraphy
If there wasn’t so much ignominy around me.
My trusted representatives are lying to me
And are doing so daily with total impunity.
It’s disgusting and even more, its treason.
And most of the time, they have no reason
Other than rampant compulsions and greed.
So, what better excuse would they need
To betray every concept they claim to believe?
Is that why there’s never going to be a reprieve?

Many of my poems are political
And I know it.
Some things make me analytical
And I show it.

It works because we reward tinhorn crooks
And let them alter all our history books
To either pretend they never existed
Or to act like they ever have resisted
Any momentum to remove the rights
Of those who were not born white
Or rich, or straight, or Republican
Then, the next Congress starts again.
I’ll stop being a ***** about all this
When they stop offering their *** for me to kiss.

Many of my poems are snarky
And I know it.
Some things make me ******
And I show it.

When I was a little kid
My friends and I would play
At cowboys and Indians
In the barn with forts of hay.
We crafted guns from sticks
We found about the farm
And though we shot each other
We managed to come to no harm.

Bang, bang, bang! I got you!
No you didn’t, you missed!
The bullet whizzed by me!
You can’t see me in the mist!

Of course, if we were Indians
The same rules held true there.
You never managed to **** us
We never took your hair.
But, we knew we were villains
Because cowboys were king.
We didn’t even question it.
It was that sort of thing.

Bang, bang, bang. I got you!
Cowboys don’t ever cry.
We twist and dodge you redskins
So, don’t even bother to try.

Holding invisible reins, we rode
On our noble painted steeds.
We pretended it was the old West
Here in our playground of weeds.
Some of us had play weapons
Santa had brought to the lucky
But forcing improvisation only
Made us a lot more plucky.

Bang, bang, bang. I shot you.
You ***** lowdown rustler.
Oh, we thought of every dodge.
What young, clever hustlers.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

The other guys were different
And that made them negligent
And earned them the fate
Of a premature exit date.
They will always suffer defeat
That are not of the prime elite.
Killing such a strange enemy
Should garner no sympathy.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

The children are taught
From the first days of school.
We are the good guys
And that’s the important rule.
Bear that in mind, kiddies
Because it will always be true.
We are the champions here
No matter what we do.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

Children with sticks for guns
Learn to play their games.
They get shot, but don’t fall.
They know just who to blame.
You missed me, they call
Until the bullets are for real.
Then, they learn to question
What they were taught to feel.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

That’s what all war is for
To make sure none are alive
To fight the glorious holy war.
So none manage to survive.
With overwhelming enmity,
Some faced down opposition
By obliterating the enemy
And earned their commission

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

Listen friends and neighbors
As I do my best here to tell
Of some of the animals which
Reside in this jungle hell.
Some may look harmless
But can eat you all alive.
And many for no reason
Prefer you do not survive.

One is so horribly large
It can fall on you and end
Any chance you may have
To become its loyal friend.
It’s the smarmily gracious
Nearly total waste of *****,
Cringingly contumacious
Pusillanimous pachyderm.

It blunders around the jungle,
Often the danger is crushing.
It cares not for little folks, it
Only cares where it is rushing.
The other creatures around
Are annoyances in its way
And it really doesn’t care much
What they might have to say.

Of course, there are donkeys
Of many different classes
But try as each of them may
They always act like *****.
They bray but acquiesce
As long as they get their hay,
And do their absolute best to
Stay out of the pachyderm’s way.

And of course, the chameleons
Who cleverly change their look
So they can hide in plain sight.
No chances were ever took.
They hide among the foliage
And only come out to eat
And stay out from under the
All of the larger animal’s feet.

The pachyderms are herd animals.
They learned to stick together
So, few are clever enough to
Face them down in any weather.
But there are these little creatures
That use tricks and some tools
To take the occasional beast down
Though animals think them fools.

Then there are the tigers as well
And they must be well considered
Because like the pachyderms
They work very well together.
But they won’t often take on those
Huge beasts with the long trunks.
They are smart enough to choose
Their dinner in smaller chunks.

So, the lesson here is for you
To move carefully, don’t bungle.
It may look like a lush and green,
But for reals, it is just a jungle.
The beasts will make short work
Of humans whenever we weaken.
So, don’t walk blindly around.
Remember, it’s you or them!

I am really not passible
Just **** as possible
For a well-worn *****.
And, they call me Missy
Because I don’t think I can
Act like a masculine man
So spare me your hissy fit
Go someplace and get over it.

I can walk well in high heels
Don’t need any training wheels.
My taste in clothes is excellent
Not the slightest bit recalcitrant.
I’m fully into the new club scene
About half way to a drag queen.
One more piece of women’s wear
I’ll be ready to go about anywhere.

My movements are very delicate
And that is, of course, deliberate.
You get more if you advertise
And some assets I can’t disguise.
I’m six feet tall in my stocking feet
As spicy as Red Hots and twice as sweet.
If you don’t like your she-girls tall
Then you don’t know what’s good at all.

You’ll find me in cabarets, everywhere.
We’ll be up at the bar or in a chair
Showing off our legs and swinging
Lip-synching the words the juke is singing.
We’ll appreciate a drink, if you are buying,
We’ll make your day complete without trying.
We’re full of fun and know lots of jokes.
We’re a short vacation for the right blokes.