It's getting on to 4, the sun has not shown itself
all day, the snow is melting, some bare spots of
grass appearing here and there, it's 34 degrees.
The little piles of bird seed I put out at noon on
the walkways have all but disappeared, gangs
of birds have mostly consumed it all, pretty little
ground feeders, of one kind or another. My inside
fat cat has had his nose pressed to the window all
day observing them with wide eyed interest and
quivering jaw, maybe licking his predatory lips.
Even though he has never eaten anything that did
not come out of a bag or can.

I too have enjoyed watching them busily hopping
around feasting, I always wonder where they go
when they disappear. Maybe just passing through
headed south for warmer pastures? Or are they year
round locals? Do they have any idea who put out
the feast, and how does the word get spread, do
they have scouts or lookouts, or some kind of aerial
bird only telegraph system.

At least the freezing weather kept our Barn Cats all
snugged up and off the street, at one point I quick
counted between 40 to 50 winged visiting diners
out there. The cats never even knew they were here.

Watching them feed was almost as much of a treat
for me as it was for them. It made me feel useful,
and that does not happen very often these days.
When we get old it is these little things that matter
and sustain us.

I watched "Judgment at Nuremberg" last
night, I have seen that film many times.
However, in light of our nation's current
chaotic political direction, that theme and
topic have taken on a new unsettling and
dire significance. The implied specter of
the term "National Socialism" is all too
ominous.

73 million people died or were murdered in
WWII when a nation of otherwise normal
rational people were ****** in by listening to
a homely, little possibly insane former German
army Corporal rant and rave their nation into
a frenzy of cultism, and "National Socialism".
Through lies and deceptions, Adolf ******
plunged the entire world into a chaotic and
destructive war.

I can't be the only one to see and be deeply
concerned by the undeniable significance and
similarities of our current parallel direction
towards a National Socialism agenda?
Inspired and led by the newly appointed wonky
cult of administrative dimwits and their newly
self-anointed unstable KING, that appear not
to give a **** about our laws, our Constitution
or any of us as individual free citizens.

Our US government watchdogs the Congress
and Senate seem to have lost their direction and
patriotism, grown spineless and mute under the
spell or fear of King Trump.

Wake up America!
We are headed in a very bad direction.

The yellow morning sun rises out of an Easterly gray
sky bringing the promise of a bright blue, cloudless
new day.

A dozen songbirds are hard at work upon the feeders,
the barn cats lurk in the flower bushes, hunting waiting.
A hawk perches upon the barn roof, preening his feathers
in the warming lemony new light. Our red rooster crows
his morning song from the safety of the covered chicken pen.

I stretch, yawn and scratch my itchy bits, standing peering
out the window at the spring dewy grass scene that reminds
me to check and gas up the riding mower.

My hungry hedonistic house cat meows and rubs against
my bare legs, and hem of my old bathrobe, the aroma of
fresh perking coffee brings all morning ritual attentions
back inside, and just like the outside creatures, I also begin
yet another fine new day, content that for this emerging
brief moment in time all is right in my world. For as long
as I leave off the Television.

Power is indeed a corruptive force,
Through all of mankind’s history
This has always been true.
Emperors, Kings, Potentates,
Popes, Presidents and Despots too.

Gathering near the Throne are the
Eager Courtier leeches reaching to
touch the anointed one’s robe.
Declaring their undying loyalty,
In the process selling their souls.
Their rewards, a speck of personal
power, Castles and more riches of gold.

Like their Master, the entitled ones
will lie and cheat, while ignoring
The principals of right and good.
Believing “Decency” is but a poor
man’s word, never uttered within
the hearing of their Ruler.
Truth never a considered artifact of
his desired absolute corrupt power.

To the Ruler the slaves, serfs, the
little common people matter not,
but to serve him and his enablers.
He and his power elite will start
needless wars, or offer up sacrificial
lambs, for deportation all to distract
the unrest of the little people.

They will suppress human rights,
free speech and defame, banish
or imprison their detractors, ignore
our laws and our constitution, tread
on our flag and urinate on our history.

Their smiles and lies are all merely smoke
and mirrors to conceal, their controlling
agendas of limitless personal greed.

Telling us it's all for our own good and
will make our lives and nation great again.
From ancient times down to today this
egomaniacal cycle and agenda repeats.
Kingdoms and Nations have perished
From this kind of poisonous corruption.
Needless to say, it will happen again.
It seems that it already is.

Unless this poem is too obtuse, We all
must endeavor to change our history
to come. Stand up and speak out,
march in the streets, if we must,
defiantly stand our ground!

This is our nations new Ides of March.
It seems we now have our own Julius
Caesar, may he go the way of the other.

of a poetic life,
better yet,
of a life within
poetry,
is but
my microdot-millisecondmoment

it is illusion-less,
devoid of blustery
dreams, but for
the self satisfying
in touch with my
deepest innards,

where flows laughter
(at one self) goes up
from my raucous laughter,
spreading up to my northern star of a
laugh-lined furrowed forehead

and download flows tears of self recognition, disparity, and despair, tinged and singed by sorrow and pity, for and bye my endless deprecation and depreciation of the the light and little life I have
"accomplished"

so be it ~
not even a flash in the pan,
Not even a water's short-lived morning twinkle

less than a secondary sighting of a stars on/off flashing,

as short as a shortness of breath,
unconsciously counting the fewer steps l
eft near my death than thee

blink! And will we miss each other's transition composition from living to eternity, never to be forgotten, and never to be remembered

this is peace, and acceptance that the pieces of me,
shall not be re-glued or re-assembled, and that is how
it be sowed and sown and reaper~ed

how I got here, what to do,
frozen like a banana, brown,
curved in a bad posture, and
melting aint an available cure

every turn defeats me, too many choices
leads me into more drowing in uncertainty,
the new~ow!~now~word of external tumult,
that wraps me me bound in a blankety submission

talk to walls white and their answers come
pre~whitewashed, reverb off my skin, and
the echo chambers of my heart resist only
because they're already 98% clogged and

very choosy 'bout which truths got left
out
or newbies get let
in
sad sack sanctum