A long time ago, when we were young
My brother used to be a funny guy.
He could sometimes break me up a bit
Without really ever seeming to try.
So, one day, when he asked a favor;
I could tell because he wasn’t snarling
He batted his eyes like some movie star
And ended saying “Hunchy, lumpy, darling.”

Now all my brothers had Missouri drawls
And, it turns out, they never lost them.
No matter what I or teachers would say
They drawled no matter what it cost them.
They didn’t really have very much regard
Or use for the propriety of the King’s speech.
It’s almost like good grammar and prose
We just a bit too far out of their reach.

So, I wasn’t surprised I failed to understand
This strange request from my young brother.
After all he talked just like relatives, neighbors,
And most of all, sounded “Jess lack his mother”.
But this one time I had to stop and ask him
Would he please repeat what he asked me,
Because for all I was worth, at that moment
His meaning was blithely slipping past me.

His answer, you see, started me right off
On a hunger for rhyming, slang and puns.
My lifelong romance with games and wordplay
Had accidentally, but quite solidly begun.
Because Hunchy, lumpy, darlin’ it seemed
Was saying his way to me, “Honey Child,
Lambie Pie, Darling.” I got it and I screamed.

I laughed and rolled around on the couch
And took it instantly into my grabby brain.
That one little misheard bit of movie-talk fun
Hit me as hilarious and worth saying again.
I’m sure he picked it up from the TV;
Something from a forties comedy movie.
Thinking it was a bit glib, he purloined it
And he was right, I thought it was groovy.

Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.
Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.

Please take this as truth
That this is how it is done
If you see someone as enemy
You cease to see a human.
The fact that they are armed
And don’t like who you like
Is enough to create words like
****, ****, ****** and ****.

Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.

Line up the opposition forces
Against a bullet-riddled wall
And shoot them many times
And see how many will fall.
The ones who do not die
Must be minions of the devil.
They are the enemy, you see.
That’s all. That’s on the level.

Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.

And those people that don’t
Believe in your own form of Jesus,
Like Aerabbs and Jews and such,
Shoot them as much as it pleases.
Because they won’t go to heaven,
And are just heathens anyway
Like them Buddhist dingdongs
Like them ****** lesbians and gays.

Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.

And people in foreign countries
Well, you can guess how that goes;
Take a look and easily compare
Canadanians to them from Mexico.
The French are Frogs, Spanish spics.
None as good as us Americans.
And nothing good can come out
Of any **** place that is African.

Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.

Now if you find some of this offensive
And if this is revving up your motors,
Just bear in mind, this is what goes on
In the mind of the average voter.
Want to change this, make life better?
Drop your representatives a letter.
Tell them you are on to their villainy
And see them as supporting the REAL enemy.

Open for breakfast and lunch,
It closes every day at two
Perfect for the working folk
In this factory-life milieu.
So, every day, I made sure
To be right there on my stool.
Those people could cook eggs.
I know how to shop, I’m no fool.

Now, let me assure you all before
You knock them down a few pegs,
Not every eatery in the world
Knows how to cook decent eggs.
But that rangy old cook did
And the hash browns were great.
This place knew what to do
And performed it all at first rate.

There was deliciously brewed coffee
And wonderful Danish to be had
And like everything I ate there
Nobody could call anything bad.
They did a cinnamon roll, with butter
And they warmed it on the hot grill
And, while I am not easy about food
That gave me an oralgasmic thrill.

And the people were just people
Nobody there had a bad attitude;
They greeted people like family
And showed their great gratitude.
They told us they were glad
We didn’t rely on the coffee truck.
I can say it better right up front.
Their success was not due to luck.

Is there any more vile villain
Than one that starves children
Or one who leads his men
Unarmed into the lion’s den?
Is there any more wretched soul
Who destroys his people’s goals
And befouls his neighbor’s sod
Then hides behind the name of god?

Is there any more heinous criminal
That those hiding in a high citadel
And ordering the total destruction
The implementation of a weapon
That murders women and children
That have done nothing to them
And hides the truth behind lies
Then points to the flag that flies.

Can anyone ever be worse than
The screeching ugly harridan
Who mouths deceits of her man
And brags she is his greatest fan?
Can she not see what she does
How she besmirches her own cause
By siding with this misogynist.
She condemns herself with her own fist?

Sometimes the villains that surround
Do their work with the least sound.
They undermine their very own fate
By siding with some nefarious mate.
Maybe someday the people will awake.
And make it stop before the **** breaks.
Or maybe we are doomed to forever be
The mindless victims of national apathy.

I am the person who pays taxes,
Therefore I am not rich or a major corporation.
I am the person you send to war
And then come home to an ungrateful nation.
I am the worker who paid for years
To a fund you raided, then want to destroy.
I am the gay or black or disabled person
You decided it was unacceptable to employ.

I am the mother of children
Who can’t feed her children due to inflation
The grown child who cannot rent
Because I am seen as an abomination.
I am the person you claim is equal
But I am also the person you chose to ignore
Because I don’t live the way you say
You don’t want me in your neighborhood any more.

I am the person whose skin is too dark
So, you decided I am not a human being.
I am the person starving in the street
The one you manage to keep from seeing.
I am the person who hates war
And that you keep on creating more death.
I am the person who denies you grace
With all the energy I have until my last breath.

We are suffering today
From a disease called hypocrisy.
And it is the basest enemy
Of freedom in democracy.
It substitutes a dollar amount
For lives and souls and hope
And tantalizes the population
With TV, ***** and dope.

By the time the population
Wakes up and catches on
A new batch of crooks exist
The old got rich, moved on.
Every campaign promise
They will fail to deliver.
They will lie to your face
And sell you down the river.

Our women are widows
Our children are orphans
The churches want money
For larger pipe organs.
They wring their hands
Subject abortion to scorn
But, abandon them to penury
As soon as they are born.

They say they want nobody
To receive free ride Medicare
Then freely give corporations
Un-needed trillions in welfare.
The chant against big government
Is a perennial marching tune.
They’ll decide the kind of ***,
And have control over wombs,

The world is a place today
Where the dollar comes first
And the children of the poor
Are usually treated the worst.
We are suffering today
From a disease called hypocrisy.
And it is the basest enemy
Of freedom in democracy.

Random acts of poetry
Seem to come a lot to me.
No apologies issue from me
Because that is how it is meant to be.

It’s that lovely time of year again
Those words we love to hear again.
It’s not an ordinary kind of day
It’s your long-awaited birthday.

We have brought out the cake
And all the candles it would take
To signify to anyone who sees
You are the star of the festivities.

Maybe some presents will appear
Maybe some will forget which year
But each person there will be
There for you and happy to be.

There may be some jokes told
About you being dodderingly old
Or around longer than the earth
But all will be done in great mirth.

Others will look back pleasantly
To the halls of pleasant memories
And be proud to have been around
And hearing once again that sound.

Happy Birthday to you, again
Just like it was way back when
And just like then, it is today
That we wish you Happy Birthday.

I want to sing love songs to you
And recite poetry all I can
But I must not and I won’t
Because you are a Republican.
I want to sit at the shore;
Watch the gulls and pelicans
But that isn’t going to happen
Because you are a Republican.

We could go out to a bar
And sing old favorite songs.
We could sing and dance
Our friends could sing along.
But that won’t happen for us
Because hope for it all I can
The bottom line to all of this
Is you are still a Republican.

If they took a twisted family tree
And put it into a cheaply built can
Then added some bile and lies
You’d have canned Republican.
You could open it and pour it
Away from good, decent Americans
Because we’ve had it hard enough.
We don’t need more Republicans.

There’s a brand of human mutant
Arises when times are better than
The starvation and degradation
When the nation went Republican.
These mutants make war with poor
And unemployed and dependent man;
Blame everyone else but themselves
Mutants mentioned here are Republicans.

I want to sing love songs
And recite poetry all I can
But I must not and I won’t
Because you are a Republican.
I want to sit at the shore;
Watch the gulls and pelicans
But that isn’t going to happen
Because you are a Republican.

You’re just a pumped up,
Jumped up pile of blather
And I’d rather hear a cat
Yowling under my window
Than what you bellow
When someone is stupid
Enough to hand you a mike.
And I’d like to remind you
How unkind you are to many
That you daily look down on,
Calling them losers and morons,
When the title refers more to you
Because of the incredibly crass
Times you are an ***, a buffoon.

I pray that soon, you will wake up
And take up some kind of therapy
That will bring clarity to your mind
That is fogged by hair products
Or some early conduct of a parent
Because it is apparent you suffered
From lack of parental training.
Or it was raining on manners day
And you stayed home to play
Or count your pay from dividends
From your trust fund. That’s just one
Of the multitude of benefits you had
That made you barking mad today;
That made you say horrible things
About women in general and inaccurate
Statements about Mexicans and about
Better politicians than you will ever be.

If suddenly history goes completely nuts
And elects your ***; a misogynistic,
Unrealistic a sophistic stranger to reality
As you turned out to be, it will be sicken me.
You had more given to you without effort,
And in that desert of a mind of yours,
Which bores most of us to tears,
Somehow the years of plenty
Denied to so many and gifted to you
Have left you with nothing fun to do
But brag about yourself.
You’re an ugly elf.

You weren’t listening to me
I know it to be true you see
Because you could not hear me
And not be in love with me.
I have told you carefully
What you have here in me
A person of total loyalty
And outrageous personality.

You could not have been listening
Because you were not hearing
The wonderful things I’m telling
And the joys that are here waiting
Waiting patiently and languishing
In the shadow of your evening
As the sun has begun lowering
And the moon has begun rising.

I sit in the shadows and I’m sad
Missing all the good times we had
Knowing something cannot be bad
When it has made me so very glad.
If you only missed me just a tad
I would be a much happier lad.
I fear our love was just a fad
And it’s serving to drive me mad.

I know you weren’t listening to me
Or you couldn’t behave callously.
You would be enchanted totally
And drawn to me quite helplessly.
Is it something else completely?
Some magic spell not from me?
Some disgusting magical sorcery
That drags you away forcefully?

It was the Saturday before Halloween
And my friends were having a blowout.
For the first time in a long time I chose
To make an exception and go on out
Dressed up for the occasion that night
As Moses without the tablets, a mask,
And when I got there, nobody groaned
Instead, I got offered a hit on a flask.

So, I arrived at the party, not hopeful
That a good time would be had by all.
I wore my silly old man mask at first
And my long gold robe to cover it all.
No biggie, everyone was dressed up
In outrageous, fantasy forms of attire
There were princesses and knights.
I called one crowned fellow sire.

My friends were doing a wine tasting
In connection with the happy affair
So, I took them up on all of that
After doffing my mask full of long hair.
We joked and told each other tales
Of our activities at work and home.
Later, I found myself kissing with
A hot to trot, **** garden gnome.

Then my oldest buddy Dan said,
“Let’s take this to the Boulevard.
It was just five blocks to the south
So the walk won’t be that hard.”
Seeing the adventure in this
Nobody disagreed even a little
We took off in a clump of twenty
With me masked, close to the middle.

First was our friend, Allan the artist.
He’d constructed a seven foot ****.
He wore black pants and shoes
But the papier mache did the trick.
Second was the Darth Vader guy,
A lawyer in a fine rented outfit.
Behind him was Doctor Ucia Sickie
In scrub greens with ****** clots on it.

There was Raggedy Anne and Goofy
And a couple of Midnight Cowboys
And Dan was dressed quite normally
Because he was the outing’s decoy.
See, most of us were a bit drunk, and
Nobody had any dope on them then
As it was a touchy time about ***
In the days of Reagan, way back when.

Daniel didn’t care. Without telling a soul
He had whipped up Toklas brownies
And passed them to us, getting us ripped
Completely unknown to most of the townies.
Dan raised great window-box stuff, so I
Remembered, in two bites, from times before,
And soon I got that happy, toasty feeling
And my shyness was suddenly no more.

Of we went, twenty fools wide then
Wandering down the Avenue of Stars
Goggling at the crowd, the costumes,
The zinging lights and the hopping cars.
Everyone had beer bottles, not just us
Or wine bottles and were guzzling glad
About this happy, jam packed occasion
There was no way to be bored or sad.

The cholos were dancing their hydraulics
On cars that cost more than some homes,
And the sidewalks were all overflowing
With humans thick as laundry foam.
It wasn’t really walking, it was standing up
And letting the tide of people carry me
In a Mardi Gras atmosphere of loopy fun
That offered up nothing to worry me.

We went all the way to Fairfax, then we
Turned around and made our way back
A knotted mass of silly people gabbing
Like hamsters running on an invisible track.
Halfway down, at about Hudson street,
In front of me I heard something loud.
People were screaming with laughter
And gathered in an even tighter crowd.

The middle of a circle, with TV cameras,
Was Allan, the seven foot ****, corralling
A six foot, totally authentic Miss Piggy
And she was fending him off giggling.
He kept putting the huge head of his guise
Down toward her thighs, and the crowd
Applauded, hooted, whistled and laughed
And it seemed the Boulevard just howled.

It was on the news the next morning
As we all were sure it would have to be
But that night became a noteworthy one
For all of my friends, strangers and me.
You never know what will happen to you
When you let yourself be a bit more free.
You might end up in a Halloween Parade.
Well. At least that’s what happened to me.

Don’t like waking up in the morning
I like to sleep until at least noon.
Breakfast can be any food at all
I drive home under the moon.
My friends are all complaining
They don’t know when to visit
But that never seems to stop me.
That isn’t very balanced is it?

I’m a swing shifter, it’s true
Even if it’s grating on you.
I’m either cooking or cleaning
Or maybe the one waiting on you
So you have your evenings
Free to go out and have fun.
Someone must be there for you
And baby, I’m the very one.

I never see the evening news
Except on my evenings off.
I’m not caught up on politics
To form an opinion or scoff.
I’m not up on television shows
Don’t know about the stars.
But I know the late night spots
And exactly where they are.

I’m a swing shifter, it’s true
Even if it’s grating on you.
I’m either cooking or cleaning
Or maybe the one waiting on you
So you have your evenings
Free to go out and have fun.
Someone must be there for you
And baby, I’m the very one.

I made you love me
With treacle, tricks and tonsure.
I was so sure of myself
I could dissuade you from anyone else
And elves would come
In the night to bewitch you more deeply.
Sleepy, sleeping, not seeing
You would fall under my loving spell.

And well would I use you
Truly dragging you along unaware
Of my witchery, jiggery-pokery
Jokingly, or seductively
Instructively guiding you to please
Easing you into your role;
Solely in charge of the play
Saying sweet, flattering words
Heard in clutches and hugs
Drugs for the lonely, the needy.

And you became convinced
Since I am so good at my craft
I drafted you into my dream
Seemingly all your idea.
My Galatea of sweet, smooth skin;
Sin for me to commit gladly,
Madly, I did not care what you wanted
I flaunted my talent brashly
Trashily uncaring of the scorn
That might be born of my ego;
My need so ugly to see:
Me, playing god of love.

Just like everybody else
I was learning for myself
Just what would make me sick
And how the whole world ticks.
Then I quickly ran into collusion
Left me in a state of confusion.
I learned about rationalization
And self-righteous indignation
From purveyors of hypocrisy
Passed off as great philosophy
That labeled some as dross,
Not fit to be the lowest boss.
I watched people get locked out
And ignored when they shouted
The bosses talking about degrees
Driving workers to their knees
Because they couldn’t afford
College room and board
For the four years of beer bashes
And drunken month-long crashes
In Mexican towns full of them
That could go there on a whim
While the children of the working class
Worked hard so their kids could pass
And have a chance to get ahead
Instead of a shoveling until dead.

I was learning this first-hand
That not all of life was grand
If you could not afford to buy.
And banks just passed you by
When you needed a car
Because work was so far
From where you had to stay
In the neighborhoods far away
From the nice neat places
And squeaky clean faces
Of those who inherited wealth
Or were sent to schools
That sent out the fools
That knew how to look nice.
And nobody thought twice
When they weren’t quite as bright
As the people that had to fight
For an opening, then trained
So the rich kid could maintain
In a job he didn’t qualify for
But he had the SAT score
To prove he was intelligent
And had the proper quotient
Whether he could deliver or not.
The rest was all just rot.
And nobody paid attention
Nor would they mention
The kid was a well-trained fool
And what he learned in class
Was how to look good and pass
For a person smarter than
The average working man.
That’s what I learned first-hand
And what I came to understand.

One, two, no three
It’s just you and me.
Six, five, four
We don’t need any more.
Eight, nine, ten;
Too big of a crowd.
One, two, no three.
I say it loud and proud.

It’s you, baby.
You’re a miracle to me.
It’s true baby.
My heart beats constantly
Whenever you’re around
Whenever you are near.
Just look at my face
Smiles from ear to ear.

You’re it, baby.
Nobody else will do.
The best baby.
Of anyone I ever knew.
Just right, baby.
Like Goldilocks and the bears.
You fit, baby.
And that is all I really care.

We click, baby.
Like we always did.
Come quick, baby.
Make me feel just like a kid.
My heart, baby,
It’s beating just for you.
It works, baby.
It’ just about me and you.

One, two, no three
It’s just you and me.
Six, five, four
We don’t need any more.
Eight, nine, ten;
Too big of a crowd.
One, two, no three.
I say it loud and proud.

I was moaning softly
So you would not hear.
I do it every moment
When you are not near.
It’s like I’m emptied out
In the blink of an eye.
All I want to do is to
Sit right here and cry.

I want you to stay
Don’t want you to go
But you’ve got your life
So, what do I know?
If I were the one who
Was just perfect for you
You’d stay by my side
My dream would come true.

I pretend in front of you
So you don’t even know
How much I miss you
Every time you go.
I know it’s silly of me
You have broken no vows
But that doesn’t help me
When I feel as I feel now.

I’m hurting inside myself
And I’m missing your touch,
Your kiss and your smile
Came to mean so much.
I hate sounding needy
Even though it’s a fact.
I’m so much in love that
I don’t know how to act.

I want you to stay
Don’t want you to go
But you’ve got your life
So, what do I know?
If I were the one who
Was just perfect for you
You’d stay by my side
My dream would come true.

You don’t matter at all,
You hardworking citizen,
You who toil at drudgery
To feed all your children.
When we need you to vote
We pay attention to you
But the rest of the time
We look right through you.

You don’t matter at all.
Only the rich are essential
The rest of you are not;
You’re interchangeable.
You’re just marks on a page;
On the bottom of a ledger
And it’s best if you just
Work silently altogether.

The one percent matters
But if you are not rich yet
That means you are too stupid
To reach out and get.
The rich are a better class
And a truly valuable human.
All you non-rich are good for
Is to support us by consuming.

You don’t matter at all
Since you only vote for POTUS.
The rest of the time you all
Let us rob and you don’t outvote us.
We write laws that give more
And soon all of wealth to us
And then we point at someone else
For you to fail to back and cuss.

You don’t matter at all,
Or haven’t you even noticed.
You didn’t see that we urge
You to dwell in a field of lotus
Called football beer and Fox,
The news that is not really news;
Just something to misdirect.
It helps us shape your views.

You don’t matter at all.
You prove it every single day
By being so ignorant and lazy
We give this country away
We sell off your birthright
To the rich of other lands
And you all just run your mouth
And sit there on your hands.

Sitting in my fifty six Chevy
The top down and feeling good.
I love driving in the city
Like I never believed I would.
Girls and guys scope my car
And they wish they had one.
It has a few primer spots but
The car is far from a bad one.

I love my fifty six Chevy
The best one ever made.
Three speeds, six cylinders
Ford never made the grade!

The don’t make them now
They way that they used to.
They’re not made of solid steel
Like the older classic used do.
You kept up with the fluids
Changed the tires when had to.
Give up my wonderful Chevrolet?
Dude, I’d be absolutely mad to.

I love my fifty six Chevy
Never a bit of car trouble.
It’s so much like driving in
A mid-century auto bubble.

It doesn’t have the modern stuff
Like air bags and cruise control
But, still it comes fully equipped
With clout and a whole lot of soul.
Punch it on the straight-away
And watch the other cars go by.
It runs better after half a century
Than most modern cars I can buy.

I love my fifty six Chevy
Much more fun than all the rest.
Back then they made the cars
With stamina and a lot of zest!
It’s a beauty from another day.
Don’t try to take my car away.
It’s bigger, and a bit more heavy,
But I still love my fifty six Chevy!

He always wanted to be a ballerina
To dance so dainty up on his toes.
But everyone could see under his tutu
And the bump they saw was not his nose.
He had the talent and the perfect figure
To perform the balletic steps just right.
There was no way he could ever manage
To keep that ample package out of sight.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

His skin was smooth just like a swaddling baby
There was no concern about flat *******.
Many ballerinas are rather mannish
With not much curvature to their chests.
So he could pass completely undetected
Androgyny was his great good friend
But any moment when he swirled about
Tutu would lift and then spell the spell would end.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

He never really loved the danseur posture
The holds and lifts and hearty leaps about.
But in the world of ballet and its leaders
Ballerina guys are always left out.
Still he danced in tutu at auditions.
He heard the comments, paid them no mind.
If they could not see grandly male Pavlova
That meant that all of them were blind.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

Ziggy was named
By his rock and roll dad
His Mama ran off right away.
Ziggy grew up
Almost on his own
Dad didn’t care what he’d say.
A lady next door
Took pity on Zig and his dad
And sometimes cooked them a meal.
All Ziggy knew
Was this was home life
The stuff on TV wasn’t real.

Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.

Ziggy, don’t run around with those girls
They aren’t a good kind of crowd
They only want you for money and drugs
They’re ****** and awfully loud.
Ziggy don’t go play cards with those guys
They’ll take you for all that you’ve got.
I know you think they are all your good friends.
But, I assure you they’re not.

Ziggy, the world can get to be big
Well before you can cope.
There are uncaring people all over the place
Ready with sweet words and dope.
Ziggy, the people who only like you
When you are not flat broke
Those kinds aren’t worth your concern
Not worth a dime from your poke.

Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

She calls herself a housewife
But that would be a lie
She doesn’t ever clean the place
She can’t cook a pie.
She only gets dressed up
To go out on the town.
She a big old mess unless
She’s messing around.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

She’s an old fashioned ******
In a new-fangled dress.
She makes out she’s a lady
But she’s a bit of a mess.
She dropped out of high school
To ride in boy’s cars.
If they make a round-heel movie
She could be the big star.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

She was going with another guy
When it all started out.
He wouldn’t take her dancing
So she started to pout.
Then, he slapped her face a bit,
I stepped in to defend.
I probably should slap myself
Make this nightmare end.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

I miss you and wish I were there
To celebrate the day of your birth.
I would toast to your continued health
And sing out for all I am worth.
I’d exercise my vocal chords well
So that everyone around could hear
That I am delighted for another year.

Three hundred sixty five and so,
The days since your last birthday,
When friends and family take the time
To give cards and cake and say
Congratulations to you, dear heart
And hug you ever so generously.
I wish I could be there with you
To give you one of those hugs from me.

I hope a hundred people call you;
Write and send you clever cards.
I hope they bring you tasty cake
And gifts enough to fill your yard.
Maybe that will keep you so busy
You won’t notice I am not there.
This little bit of rhyming rap
Is to hint at how much I care.

So, this will have to do, I fear,
A Facebook note in poetic form.
It won’t quench your sweet tooth,
But maybe it will keep you warm
When you realize that it means
The love I feel far too distantly,
But don’t let the miles apart
Let you for a moment, forget about me.

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.

(And, no. It is not autobiographical.)

They say the black holes
Are all in outer space;
But I lived with my own,
Hiding behind my face.
There was never a night
As dark as in my mind
And from time to time
It was as if I were blind.

I couldn’t see reality
Or see what was right.
There was no truth
I was afraid to fight.
I heard the helpful words
Of friends worried for me.
But all their kindness
Only managed to bore me.

I told myself I was looking
For something true and pure,
And what that something was
I was never all that sure.
It was something about trust
And feeling I was needed
But drugs and alcohol always
Came in and interceded.

At first it was to help me
To relax and be what I was,
But soon it became a crutch
And I could not see the cause.
When I lost the ability to stop
Once the first drink was taken.
It seemed just a few months
Then my integrity was forsaken.

Still wanting someone to want me,
My heart missing a huge chunk,
I harbored a huge resentment that
Nobody wanted a hopeless drunk.
I kept ranting to God and the world
That I needed a lover to be found.
I never managed to realize
It had to be the other way around.

Then one day I saw that I
Was in a downward spiral.
The disease I was suffering from
Was not something viral.
And I would never get better.
This was how it would be.
The only soul to rescue me
Was me. Only me.

It makes me angry
To see how many people
Don’t act like they are good
Outside the church and steeple.
It’s like someone is keeping book
On how often they appear there
And saying they love Jesus
Is all anyone should care.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

It’s pretty scary
To watch what is happening here
When speeches like Goebbells
And the Nazis is what we hear.
When not speaking the party line
And regular people are demonized
Walk hand-in-hand with rich dreams
And high class crooks are lionized.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

The first thing the Nazis did
Was take over the popular press
Then made the party philosophy
A religion and that started the mess.
Helping the poor, friending too
Was outlawed for those they hate.
They were made to look like criminals
And unpatriotic outlaws of the state.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

And all was done under the banner,
The blessing of the Christian flag.
They murdered every single
Jew, Communist and those called ***.
They created new chants and songs
And verses so people could sing along
And raise a salute to the elite.
And soon there was nobody to defeat.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

I was her mean motor scooter
Until a big hunky Harley came along.
I took her out putt-putting
There didn’t seem to be anything wrong
But for a just a little bit more torque
I was left behind ******* in smoke.
When she saw his big old motor
My Cushman eagle looked like a joke.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

I asked her to a picture show
She smiled and said that would be fine.
Come the day we meant to go
She made and excuse that felt like a line.
She said she had an ailing aunt
But later I saw her get off of his hog.
Now, I feel just like scooter trash,
An unsightly little bump on a log.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

Don’t get me wrong about her
I don’t really mean to put her down,
She just wanted a bigger deal
With which to tool around the town.
When she sat rode behind me
I really should have guessed you see
She made a kind of vrooming sound
Like I was going ninety three.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

If you are advocating
The eliminating of humans
Assuming they are less
Than the mess you are, then
You are, by far, among the worst,
The first level of devils living
And I am giving you the name
And the blame for the horror
And am all the sorer that you
Insist I must take it silently
While you slice them, bleeding,
Leading them into the jail
Wailing, calling them names
Then maiming, beating and killing
Even when willing, and agree
To cooperate in your travesty.
In your majesty, you feel you
Are the one true and decent
And as they are your victims
Inherit all the ills that go with them;
Your prisoners that you call *******
And beat their insoles and bare feet,
Drag them off the streets for being poor,
Call the women ****** and trash,
Smash them around and then you
Say they fell down, and your boss agrees
When the prisoner’s knees are broken.
Just another token of how awful
And how stinking terrible they are
Those without cars, or jobs, or houses.
Just human louses in stained blouses
And raggedy clothes. Break their nose.
Nobody cares about them.
You are real men, they are not.
They get what they deserve.
“To protect and serve.”

Dinking too much whiskey,
Behaving sort of risky,
Telling lying stories,
Tall tales of former glories,
Laughing between the tokes,
At outrageously bad jokes;
We thought we were outlaws,
But were tamer than in-laws.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Honking horns at passing cars
Toking doobies under the stars,
Letting no cuties pass us by
Without whistling, my oh my.
We were certain we were cool
Too ****** to know we were fools.
Escapees from the workaday,
We ten-mile perimeter ruanways.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Out at night, no three-piece suits,
Sandals instead of fruit boots
Pegged jeans and rolled up sleeves
No fancy stuff with fancy weaves.
Prepared for whatever comes
Serenaded by engine hum
We told each other that we were hot.
Even though we knew we were not.

Out for a wild ride,
Living on the wild side
And howling at the moon.
The sun will be rising soon.

Jammin’ with Mammon.
Hyped to the max.
Finding those loopholes
Paying no tax.
Slammin’ for Mammon.
Foreclosing on life.
You died too soon?
We’ll tax your wife.

Jammin’ with Mammon
The world by the tail.
Lie cheat and swindle
Don’t worry about bail.
Swimmin' like salmon
Against the stream.
Dealing from the bottom;
Living the dream.

Slammin’ for Mammon;
Trample the rest.
Get first and last from
The community chest.
No famine for Mammon;
Let the poor starve.
**** the fatted calf and
Get ready to carve.

Jammin’ with Mammon
As good as it gets.
No room for conscience
Or squishy regrets.
Slammin’ for Mammon
Means money is king.
Don’t count the victims,
Just get the brass ring.

You and I shared childhood
When dreams seemed real
And life spun on a wheel
Of fun in our neighborhood.
We stayed out as late as can
Before our mothers called
And needed not much at all
We made fun with two tin cans.

Rolling down hills together
Like sledding without a care
And snowfall everywhere.
Our fun didn’t need weather.
We made up our own games
With just rocks and sticks
Forts we built for kicks
And we gave them clever names.

We took our time for granted
Like tomorrow was never
We’d go on and on forever
Like two human trees planted.
But looking back we can see
We were but a lovely hour
Wilting like a lovely flower
And had no true immortality.

Still the memories are pleasant
And speak softly over years
About having fun without fear
And learning from life lessons.
We need to savor every gift
And take them all to heart.
Remember those and start
To let our aging spirits lift.

(For my cousin, Louise Stacer Alexander)

Come and let me tell you
Tales of distant wizards
In far off foreign lands.
The speak in words of poetry
And magic incantations
Even they don’t understand.

They tell of arcane stories
Of dragons and the caves
Of gemstones where they hid.
They tell of verve and derring-do
And swashbuckling heroism
In legendary acts they never did.

They chant, these ancient shamans
To deities and gods of ancient name
Who they know well are fakers.
They foretell and portend wonders
And riches for those who rule, and
Call themselves movers and shakers.

These magic-minded soothsayers
Drape themselves in auras of mystery
And tell the believers they can heal.
And if the congregation fails to look
Closely enough at their performances
They believe the mythological is real.

And time can coat the stores in paint
That looks like the patina of the ages
So it passes the inspection of he willing.
No true believer looks for cracks
In the walls around the real facts
Or questions the truth they are killing.

You quote from Leviticus
Call me an abomination
As you eat cheeseburgers
And claim a Christian nation.
You don’t ****** daughters
Who have had unmarried love
Yet, demonizing gay people
Fits you like an expensive glove.

You vilify your children daily
And quote the bible to boot,
While you work on the Sabbath
In your fine mixed-fabric suit.
You talk so glibly about us
Out of both sides of your mouth.
You are embarrassing examples
Of the sickness of the Old South.

You just ain’t right.
Your head’s on wrong.
Your hypocritical ravings
Are the cause of this song.
You’re a liar and a nut
And you’re halfway crazy.
We'd make laws against you
But we’re too **** lazy.

You wave your hands and pray
In public so you are well seen.
You copy your Christianity
From the latest People magazine.
Your idea of pious philosophy
Is way off the Christian track.
If I ever shake hands with you
I’ll count the fingers I get back.

You just ain’t right.
Your head’s on wrong.
Your hypocritical ravings
Are the cause of this song.
You’re a liar and a nut
And you’re halfway crazy.
We'd make laws against you
But we’re too **** lazy.

The old saying talks about
Being snug as a bug in a rug
But how can you feel that way
If you never ever get hugged.
If you hug your loved ones
They may not need drugs.
It’s an inexpensive medicine;
The basic household hug.

Worse things could happen
Than to catch the hugging bug.
It’s a better remedy than you
Can find in an apothecary jug.
It doesn’t require prescription
And is no big weight to lug.
You always have one handy,
The standard loving hug.

A hug can be the cure for you
When you are in a purple fug
And your face begins to look
Like a rather dyspeptic pug.
Somebody wonderful arrives
And gives your heart a tug
By giving you the all-time best
Wholehearted, loving hug.

The hinky stinky spider
Spun a crooked web.
His mama called him,
Said “You stop that, Jeb!”
Jeb the hinky spider
Pays nobody mind.
He stumbles on his way
Just as if he’s blind.

The hinky stinky spider
Spins webs around DC
Pulling in Republicans
To his philosophy.
They do not notice
His mind is awful dim.
That is because they
Are half as bright as him.

The hinky stinky spider
Spins old and faulty tales.
Knows half the voters
Will fall for all his wails.
Hoping he is lucky
Like his brother Dub
And gets himself elected
Resulting from a flub.

The hinky stinky spider
Looks just like a man
Looks very much like
A normal also-ran.
Hopes he can win with
What he thinks is fame
Based on ignoring
The blight upon his name.

He, the rumpled bumbler,
Stumbled, mumbling, bungling
Through his self-made jungle
No mote of humility, his abilities
Were not inclusive of subtlety.
He settled for a public identity
Of propriety and normality,
Obvious hospitality but falsity
Like the nose on his face, exposed.

What a verbose, but artificial
Government official he was.
His cause was never for us
It was for that he was notorious;
How laboriously he dissembled.
But he resembled his opposition
Then took a position of submission
Until his mission was complete
Then he beat his feet in retreat
To those he knew could beat
The highest price and that was nice.

Twice as nice for rental cars
And pretty movie stars
Who weren’t too humble
To stumble the red carpet
With the rumpled bumbler,
Mumbling, no longer bungling
Through his self-made jungle.
Still no humility, a perfect facility
To take from the poor, give to the rich
And not care who calls him sonofabitch.

You can talk about Jesus
And be instantly heard.
You can call him your Savior
And not mean a word.
You can shout your hosannas
To the people on your street
And few will suspect you
As having pure clay feet.

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

When you talk about Jesus
Please be true to the words.
Read what he has said
And not what you heard.
If you read the Holy Bible
And find reason to hate
You’ve been led astray
And it’s not too late.

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

So far we’ve noticed
The words that bigots use
Are not from Christians,
But are textual abuse
In that they are from before
Man learned to write
So why are bigots so sure
They got everything right?

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

If I die and I go to hell
One thing I know very well
I’ll take the elevator, and not stairs
And every Republican is sure to be there.
I won’t be lonely, or a little bit scared.
I can always hide in Donald Trump’s hair.
I’ll probably find some dandy premises
If I believe the campaign promises.

When I die and I go to hell
I will see evangelists ringing their bell
To direct their followers to the right
Figuring they finally won the fight
And got all the right people swayed.
They’re in for a revelation, I’m afraid.
As usual, they will have it backward.
Their vision upside down and awkward.

But, don’t worry everyone
If you are going to hell.
Fox News will be there with us
With made-up stories to tell
About how hell is about to freeze
And Democrats, down on their knees
Will repent in the final days
How soft they had treated the gays.

But, do not fear the story I tell.
Some things will be familiar in hell.
For instance, the Congressmen there
Will still be trying to work up a scare
That making them and their buddies rich
Is the right and proper political pitch.
When the field is their kind of level,
They will take over and outlaw the devil.

DUMPY TRUMPY

Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****.
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****.
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.

Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.

Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.

Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.

Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.

He was a fine broth of a man
And I loved dallying with him
In afternoons of sun and breeze
My lovely one-man harem.
Such a delightful odalisque,
I suspended thoughts of time.
I greedily took up my guitar
And seduced him with rhyme.

As we fed each other sweets
And made coffee by the jug
We laughed and smoked ***
Together naked on the rug.
We told each other stories
Of places we had been
And astounding miracles
Each of us had seen.

We talked of **** dancers
And clever men of magic
And how the loss of innocence
Was not altogether tragic
Because we got to learn
And could use it to grow
And understand the secrets
We recently did not know.

He taught me how to love,
This man of many stories.
I learned to welcome mystery
And search in it for glory.
He showed me how to look
And see people as unique
And not some mass idea.
I grew up from that peek.

That simple time of learning
And laughing with a man
Who had the gift of sharing
The way to understand.
He took me from my childhood
And showed me how to live.
He gave me a gentle heart.
The best thing one can give.

I’m going to Republican heaven,
Going to meet Republican Jesus
After I pay off my school loans
Whenever my banker pleases
To let me out of the contract
With its usurious interest fees
And I am sure I will get there
When I am down on my knees.

I’ll have my Republican Bible
With its verses edited wisely
To exempt all the white folk
From behaving quite nicely
And making sure welfare
Is only for rich white neighbors
The rest are not allowed in
Our society except as laborers.

I am sure that Republican Jesus
Will welcome me quite warmly
For supporting the death toll
Of our Christian Soldier army.
He will be so delighted that
We vilified ungodly abortions
And how we treated those awful
Poor mothers and their orphans.

He will have to be delighted
That we held back the riches
We gained from our warfare
Ignoring our soldiers in ditches
Or maimed in those battles
We know you wanted us to wage
In the name of Republican Jesus
Out of our holy sense of rage.

Republican Jesus surely will
See how cleverly we diverted
The money to the richest people
Not the soldiers we deserted.
And, how only the people who
Did not need help financially
Got all the extra wealth we had
And we made sure of it annually.

I’m going to Republican heaven,
Going to meet Republican Jesus
And I’m sure greed and bigotry
Will just tickle him to pieces
Because it says in the Bible
The only people who will get in
Are the people that look like me
And vote for all the same men.

Hello, I know you’re not there
But I’m leaving a message again.
I don’t know where you are or
If you’ve one out, or even when.
Maybe you get these messages
Then immediately delete them.
I keep thinking you will answer
But my hopes are getting dim.

I won’t believe you’d end it
Without a saying a thing
That you would sit and listen
And let the telephone ring
Then monitor what I say
And not acknowledge my pain
Then do the very same thing
Every time I call again.

Ring, ring, I hear the sound
And it is breaking my heart.
Love is supposed to be a joy
But, I am not liking this part.
Ring, ring, please answer me.
I want to hear your real voice.
Pick up the phone, say hello
Give me reason to rejoice.

I am trying so very hard here
To give benefit of the doubt
That you are just too busy
And that is keeping you out.
Maybe you are out of town
And visiting some family,
It’s just that the silence
Feels so very wrong to me.

So, please give me a call
You have all my information.
If you left town on business
Or on an impromptu vacation
Just ring my phone and say
How much you have missed me.
Otherwise I am suffering here
Because of all the mystery.

Ring, ring, I hear the sound
And it is breaking my heart.
Love is supposed to be a joy
But, I am not liking this part.
Ring, ring, please answer me.
I want to hear your real voice.
Pick up the phone, say hello
Give me reason to rejoice.

Here’s the good thing to remember:
I’m not all right when you’re not here.
When you’re here, I shine like diamonds
When you are gone
There is no sun
I disappear.

It’s almost like I’m half a person;
When you show up my life begins.
Wear a brave face when you’re leaving.
My world turns empty
And I have no cause
To smile alone.

Suddenly, the background noise leaves
And I hear and see only you.
What you say and do delights me
Even the little things
Barely noticeable
But fulfilling.

Lights twinkle then, in bright colors
And music seems to be playing,
Maybe I’m the only one to hear it
But it cheers me
Maybe only me.
I’m fine with it.

Maybe some would urge caution here,
To not make you my whole world
But I can’t seem to hear the advice.
It doesn’t reach me.
It doesn’t teach me.
It isn’t real.

I am not a number
I am not a cypher.
I am a real live person
Not a hypothetical one.
I am part of a portion
Of the total population
Not an ignorable thing
Only fit for eliminating
If it suits a demographic,
Budgeted body politic;
Something looked upon
As something better gone.
By some venal banker,
Number crunching ******.

I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?

I am not a figure, a jot.
A squiggle on a page, not
Some negotiable loss
Decided upon by a boss
Who wants a higher bonus
Jettisoning an onus
Foisted on him by liberals.
My problems are not literal,
They are real and due
To be looked through
For a way to be humane
In matters mundane,
And not as profitable.
Don’t be despicable.

I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?

Talk to your accountants
And see what the amount is
To do things for fiscal gain
Without causing people pain.
There has to be a way
We can all have our day;
Our place in the sun
Things good for one
That are also good for all
And don’t cause a fall
In the economy and health
For those without wealth.
If the rich lose big gains
They will still eat again,
But the poor just may not
With what little they’ve got.

I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?

I’m not big enough
I’m not strong enough
It isn’t wide enough
It isn’t long enough.
I’ve hear them all
You are not the first.
Not the best and certainly
You are not the worst.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

I’m not rich enough
Car’s not worth enough.
I live in the wrong place
No work done on my face.
Don’t know the right folks.
Don’t know the right jokes.
Don’t know the right dances.
Not worth taking chances.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

Not butch enough, yet
Who cares about that?
What matters in their soul
Is a big one for their hole.
It must be a big opening
That keeps them hoping
For an arm-sized toy
For such a fixated boy.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

There must be no talking;
Nothing but constant poking
Will satisfy the size-****.
Nothing matters but their ****.
No exchange of ideas or
Hobbies they can explore.
There is only getting laid.
And the conquests they made.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

It doesn’t take long to see
Where the gems can be
Among a sea of phonies
And disco show-ponies.
So, I tell them right away
There’s no bologna here today.
It runs off the size-queens
And leaves human beings.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

Danny could be counted on
To run some kind of scam.
And usually the victim was
His older brother Sam.
But Jimmy liked pranks
And pulled quite a few.
Jumping out at passersby
Was a favorite thing to do.

One day I took them with
Mom’s express consent
To our favorite notions store,
Woolworth five and ten.
We looked and touched;
Added to our Christmas list.
And as we paid for candy
I was clueless what was amiss.

As we were walking home
Out on the street again
Suddenly, goggle eyed
I saw the show begin.
Out of each kid’s pocket
A trinket, a toy appeared.
This is precisely what
I had originally feared.

The little shoplifters stole!
The blame would befall me.
Their only thought was
They got all this for free.
I told them to take it back
But they just angrily said no.
I had other recourse, it seemed
Then to let our Mama know.

Mama went a bit frantic
Her voice went high and loud.
And of course, my brothers
Were no longer quite so proud.
Jimmy smacked Sammy
And Sammy started crying.
Mama smacked them all.
And Danny started lying.

Then Mama walked them
Every one of the three
Back to the five and dime
And they confessed tearfully.
Mama paid for the things
And told them no TV
And sent them to bed soon
After supper was history.

And all of them blamed me
But, Mama said I did well.
It wasn’t to please Mama.
I didn’t want them to go to hell.
And I was a bit P.O.ed;
They took advantage of me.
So, they could just grumble.
It made no difference to me.

That’s the way things went
With three regular brothers.
There were fights and fits.
They often miffed our mother.
Jimmy smacked Sammy
And Sammy started crying.
Mama smacked them all
And Danny started lying.

He wasn’t a boy,
He was forty years old
But they called him boy;
A habit born of old
Bigotries and behaviors
Difficult to defend
But that doesn’t mean
They came to an end

The shoeshine boy
Mostly shined the shoes
And if anyone listened, he had
Good advice they could use.
But most read their papers
On the busy city street
And paid no attention
To the wisdom by their feet.

The people read the news
And ******* about things
And gave their confusion
Talkative wings.
One day a guy asked
Why do people do
The horrendously crazy
Things they seem to do?

The shoeshine boy looked up
And gave the man a smile
And said a pithy sentence
After a decent while.
He said it often,
Sometimes audibly,
“Most people die
Of plain stupidity.”

The fellow thought this wise
And shared it with his friends
And that’s how a catchphrase
Or idea ultimately begins.
It’s something that is simple
But makes a lot of sense
For those looking for answers
If they are not too dense.

Sometimes it’s the only answer
That seems to apply at all
When madness is afoot
And morality seems to fall;
When people waste money
On toys instead of their kids.
That is often how they take
A ride down to the skids.

If only they heeded the things
The shoeshine boy said,
They might have grown wiser
Fewer rocks inside their heads.
But instead they sided with
Maddening mediocrity
Never realizing most folks
Die of plain stupidity.

I’d like to make a wish.
Do I get a wish or is
Society taking a pish?
I wish some people used mouthwash
By the gallon every week
Because they reek.
And, I am not talking bad
No, I am sad to say
They take my breath away
And make me **** in
Like I am hitting good ****.

They really need to brush
Then floss, then swoosh.
Or, I could kick them in the toosh
And scream in their face
“You’re a disgrace!
Surely you don’t kiss your mother
With that breath that could smother
And render her gasping
Grasping for one more breath
Before her death from asphyxiation.
So, for the betterment of the nation,
Your state, county, city and block
I give your forehead a knock
Saying ‘Hello! Something died in there!”

So, when you go in there, to the john
Don’t make yourself gone
Until you have poured something in
That fetid **** above your chin;
Something that will **** the bugs
You got from too many drugs,
Too much crap and too little good.
I’m sure if you tried, you could
Free us from this stench.
Take the mouthwash off the bench
And put it into play
For the sake of the team.

No, this isn’t a dream.
I’m really saying it.
No sense downplaying it.
It’s not outrageous at all.
It’s a wake-up call.

Today, I was scolded
Was told that I was a boor;
That I had, inadvertently
Rendered some holy cattle
Of theirs a death rattle
A battle I won, without knowing
I had even fought, thought
I was just being amusing,
Somehow confusing my path
Down through the tulips
As a meander down the apse
Of some secret church.
Unfair! I was unaware.
And even now, I fear I care
Far less than they do
About their holy cows.
I didn’t then, I don’t now.

But, I have accepted, long ago
That, with social networking
I simply has to be so
That people will be offended;
Starting open-ended rancor,
Scoring slash after ****** slash
Across my Mr. Perfection sash
Granted me by nobody but me,
And that they will put a smudge
By bearing a grudge
About what I see
As a trifling inconsequentiality.
But is their cathedral,
Their Mecca to bow to
And thus I will be the target
Of slings and arrows.

Shall I be sure to only speak
If I speak plenty of inanities
Muttering banalities about love
And the weather and books
Shall I fear the looks, the scorn
Born of misunderstandings
Taken as mishandling
The hearts of the tender
And render myself informationless,
Opinion free, without personality
Speaking when spoken to eternally
So I don’t trip over hidden wires,
Don’t **** on burning fires
Of pet peeves, rip off the sleeves
Of hair shirts, do idols dirt?
Is that the way it should go?
I don’t think so.
But, what do I know?
I am the scurrilous, stumbling fool
Who ****** in someone’s pool
And told them it was raining.

You enticed me, your neighbor,
Newly moved in right upstairs
With aromas of your cooking.
And you invited me to share.
We started then to get close
Like brother and sister were we
That had different parents
But still becoming family.

I ******* about all and sundry
You smiled and said let it go.
I complained about the heat
You laughed and told me “Go
Down to the beach and play;
Get wet and come on back
Then remember Missouri
And see what little you lack.”

And, nobody laughed so,
Delighted with my every jest.
Never remembered punch lines
Yet swore mine were the best.
If I passed near her doorway
I was urged to come inside.
This was the very doorway
Where camaraderie did abide.

So, for a decade we took
Samples of what we cooked
Up and down the stairs
To each other and each took
That deep and abiding pleasure
Of having someone upstairs
Who had that cup of sugar
Or that butter we could share.

I live today with gratitude;
I was blessed, for however long
To listen to the lovely music
Of friendship’s gentle song.
I will miss the coffee shops
And boulevard people watching.
I need to stop this for now as
My throat seems to be catching.