FREE POLITICAL POSTER: Donald Trump Swamped With Taxing Situations, Declares MOST UNDRAINING EVER!

Donald Trump’s promise to “Drain the swamp” from Washington, DC, is perhaps his most surreal promise of all. Today, President Donald Trump is campaigning for Senate candidate Roy Moore, who has been facing mounting credible evidence of his predatory sexual behavior, especially against teen girls. Roy Moore has proven himself a liar, not that The Don has a problem with that.  With Roy Moore, Donald Trump wants to fill the swamp, officially bringing pedophilia to the Senate. Of course, Trump’s cabinet and advisers are replete with long-time corporate and political insiders. Trumpcare and the Republican tax scam were literally written by corporate tools and lobbyists.  To top it off, the Trump administration is on course to be the most corrupt Washington administration in history.  The Don may make Richard “Tricky Dick” Nixon look like an amateur criminal.  As Prez Donald Trump becomes increasingly unhinged, swamped with taxing situations, he arrogantly declares, “MOST UNDRAINING. EVER.” Thus, I have created a free political poster: Donald Trump Swamped With Taxing Situations, Declares MOST UNDRAINING EVER!  Please enjoy and feel free to share with friends and enemies.FREE POLITICAL POSTER: Donald Trump Swamped With Taxing Situations, Declares MOST UNDRAINING EVER!

For another perspective on the “drain the swamp” landscape, try this commentary, Trump Made the Swamp Worse. Here’s How to Drain It:

Donald Trump’s pledges to “drain the swamp” of corruption in Washington attest to his genius for unintentional irony. Nepotism, egregious conflicts of interest, flights on the public dime to see Wimbledon and the eclipse — the Beltway wetlands are now wilder and murkier than ever.

It would be a mistake, though, to dismiss the swamp metaphor on account of Mr. Trump’s hypocrisy. You can’t make sense of his shocking victory last year without reference to the downward spiral of public faith in governing elites and established institutions. Years of stagnating incomes, combined with dimming prospects for the future, have primed voters for the message that the system is “rigged” and that only an outsider not beholden to the corrupt establishment can clean it up.

In other words, one key to this populist moment in American politics is the link in the public mind between dysfunction in Washington and the economic malaise of the 21st century. An effective political response to this perilous moment begins with the recognition that this link is real — and that key changes in the policymaking process, supported by a major push from organized philanthropy, will be needed to turn things around.

The image of the swamp conveys a profound truth about the American economy. Our predicament of slow growth and sky-high inequality has many causes, but one important factor is the capture of the American political system by powerful insiders — big businesses, elite professionals, wealthy homeowners — that use it to entrench their own economic power. In so doing, they protect themselves from competition, fatten their bank accounts with diverted wealth and slow the creative destruction that drives economic growth.

Four key policy areas shed light on the growth of this political-economic swamp — financial regulation, intellectual property, occupational licensing and zoning. They show that the swamp isn’t confined to Washington; it can also be found in 50 state capitals and countless local jurisdictions.

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In the financial sector, a web of regulatory subsidies sustains financial institutions’ unhealthy reliance on extremely high levels of debt. These subsidies, including policies that strongly encourage mortgage securitization as well as the implicit promise to bail out “too big to fail” institutions, swell profits in the near term while increasing the systemic risk of a catastrophic meltdown in the long run. The result is a financial sector much bigger than the economy needs, chronic misallocation of capital and the diversion of some of the country’s top talent into counterproductive work. Luring people into excessive debt, draining their savings with hidden fees, inflating the next asset bubble — these and other dubious “contributions” by finance to the economy need to be curtailed.

Intellectual property laws are supposed to encourage innovation by granting temporary monopolies to copyright and patent holders. But if those monopolies get too broad and too onerous, innovation takes a hit — and that is precisely what has happened, at the urging and for the benefit of Hollywood, Big Pharma and some interests in Silicon Valley.

Occupational licensing rules at the state level help explain why professionals in the United States are paid so much more than their peers in other countries. Primary care physicians, for example, make 50 percent more in the United States than in other advanced countries, and specialists do even better. State regulations protect the incomes of doctors, dentists, undertakers and optometrists — not to mention makeup artists and auctioneers — while also stifling innovation.

Increasingly severe constraints on building in high-income coastal cities inflate the asset values of affluent homeowners, contributing significantly to rising disparities in wealth. And by making housing unaffordable, they prevent the less well-off from moving to where the good-paying jobs are, reducing geographic and social mobility.

This regressive regulatory swamp isn’t a natural landscape; it grows because of forces in our political environment. The beneficiaries of upward redistribution are always far more organized than those who pay the costs. They can divert some of their artificially high profits into lobbying and policy research that bestow a patina of the public interest on schemes that are, in practice, legalized robbery. Drugmakers, for example, portray even the most modest retrenchment of patent law as catastrophic for American innovation, while financiers warn that any restraint on subsidized risk-taking (through higher capital requirements, for example) will starve American industry of the capital it needs to invest and grow.

This unequal battle for the minds of policymakers is particularly damaging at a time when the resources that Congress and the bureaucracy have for independent research have been systematically dismantled. In finance, in particular, Congress has a difficult time hiring and retaining staff with the technical knowledge and experience to assess the impact of new regulations, leaving them dependent on the abundant resources of the industry itself.

In addition, many regressive regulations are made in obscure places with limited participation, such as state licensing boards and town councils in charge of approving new housing. Insiders with narrow interests, whether self-serving professional groups or Nimby neighbors, have the motivation and resources to show up at poorly attended meetings and work the system, often at odds with the general public’s interest in low prices and economic opportunity.

Really draining the swamp means changing the policymaking process to shield it against insider takeover and manipulation. For starters, congressional staffs need to be expanded, upgraded and professionalized. Legislators would then be better able to make their own assessments of complex regulatory issues without having to depend on the biased expertise of industry lobbyists.

Philanthropists need to put their dollars behind a network of organizations to counter the organizational presence of the forces of upward redistribution. The Ford Foundation did this in the 1970s by investing in a network of environmental law firms like the Natural Resources Defense Council and the Environmental Defense Fund. More recently, the Eli and Edythe Broad, Walton Family, Robertson and other charitable foundations have made similar investments in educational reforms.

Whatever you think of the merits of these causes, the new interest groups funded by sustained philanthropy changed the political landscape in these issue areas, forcing policymakers to recognize that there were, in fact, two sides to be considered. A network of new organizations with the resources and expertise to compete with big banks, the medical lobby and other industry groups could have a similar impact today. Activist groups could show up regularly in all the obscure places where rules are set and make sure that someone speaks up for the public interest.

State and local governments need to institute regulatory review procedures that expose back-room deals to objective scrutiny. While cost-benefit analysis by the Office of Management and Budget is standard for new federal regulations, no such reviews are conducted when states propose to license new occupations or cities stymie new housing construction.

Courts at all levels need to be less deferential to regulatory schemes that — in contrast to environmental or labor regulation — have no justification other than the protection of incumbent interests. For example, courts could force legislatures to explicitly approve expansions in the scope of occupational licensing, depriving licensing boards of the power to do so in shadowy obscurity.

In the political arena, the issues of regressive regulation cut across the usual partisan and ideological battle lines, and so tend to be kept off the agenda by legislative leaders who emphasize issues that hold their caucus together. Libertarian-leaning conservatives and egalitarian liberals need to forge strange-bedfellows coalitions to tackle policies that are simultaneously bad for growth and inequality. In recent years, cross-party coalitions in the states have started to make progress on criminal justice reform. Opposition to upward redistribution can galvanize support for similar alliances on regulatory issues.

The administration of Donald Trump has shown no interest in draining the real swamp that is drowning America’s economy and corrupting its politics. If public-spirited Democrats and Republicans fail to do so, trust in democracy will continue to erode. And the next demagogue who cashes in by saying he alone can fix things is likely to be more disciplined and focused than Mr. Trump — and hence even more dangerous.

TRUMP Promises Fire And Furry

Donald Trump, abandoning his warm and fuzzy — really fuzzy — persona, has threatened nuclear war with North Korea. Trump has opted for war and furry, promising fire and fury commensurate with his global experience, never seen before.

Please feel free to share this hellish image with friends and enemies.

Trump Promises Fire and Furry


Donald Trump’s full employment program for comedians is in full swing.  Perhaps the only weakness in this full employment program for comedians is that Donald Trump is a master of self-parody.  So, sometimes, to trump the master, you have to go way over the top.  In this Donald Trump meme — BIGGEST. WITCH HUNT. EVER. — I combine the palpable disaster that is the Donald Trump white house — now, extra white — with the image of him as a whining little witch — which witches should find offensive!  Hopefully, this wacky image will positively increase your ratio of laughing to crying…


Self-Made Trump Has A Fool For A Maker

In Trumpian fashion, fool of irony, I quote myself: “A self-made man has a fool for a maker.”  The man-child known as Donald Trump runs roughshod over the boundaries of lesser fools.  He fashions his fashion as the boss of a collapsing world, his world, his collapsing world.  If Trump where to know God, he would know himself — he knows neither.  His self-masturbatory god head is a lonely impossibility, even in his hugely culpable hands and with such a big mouth — something is missing, however compelled he is to grab it.  The loneliness of this pitiful and pitiless man is captured well in the essay by Rebecca Solnit, THE LONELINESS OF DONALD TRUMP: ON THE CORROSIVE PRIVILEGE OF THE MOST MOCKED MAN IN THE WORLD, with excerpts below:

Once upon a time, a child was born into wealth and wanted for nothing, but he was possessed by bottomless, endless, grating, grasping wanting, and wanted more, and got it, and more after that, and always more. He was a pair of ragged orange claws upon the ocean floor, forever scuttling, pinching, reaching for more, a carrion crab, a lobster and a boiling lobster pot in one, a termite, a tyrant over his own little empires. He got a boost at the beginning from the wealth handed him and then moved among grifters and mobsters who cut him slack as long as he was useful, or maybe there’s slack in arenas where people live by personal loyalty until they betray, and not by rules, and certainly not by the law or the book. So for seven decades, he fed his appetites and exercised his license to lie, cheat, steal, and stiff working people of their wages, made messes, left them behind, grabbed more baubles, and left them in ruin.

He was supposed to be a great maker of things, but he was mostly a breaker. He acquired buildings and women and enterprises and treated them all alike, promoting and deserting them, running into bankruptcies and divorces, treading on lawsuits the way a lumberjack of old walked across the logs floating on their way to the mill, but as long as he moved in his underworld of dealmakers the rules were wobbly and the enforcement was wobblier and he could stay afloat. But his appetite was endless, and he wanted more, and he gambled to become the most powerful man in the world, and won, careless of what he wished for…

…The child who became the most powerful man in the world, or at least occupied the real estate occupied by a series of those men, had run a family business and then starred in an unreality show based on the fiction that he was a stately emperor of enterprise, rather than a buffoon barging along anyhow, and each was a hall of mirrors made to flatter his sense of self, the self that was his one edifice he kept raising higher and higher and never abandoned.

I have often run across men (and rarely, but not never, women) who have become so powerful in their lives that there is no one to tell them when they are cruel, wrong, foolish, absurd, repugnant. In the end there is no one else in their world, because when you are not willing to hear how others feel, what others need, when you do not care, you are not willing to acknowledge others’ existence. That’s how it’s lonely at the top. It is as if these petty tyrants live in a world without honest mirrors, without others, without gravity, and they are buffered from the consequences of their failures…

We keep each other honest, we keep each other good with our feedback, our intolerance of meanness and falsehood, our demands that the people we are with listen, respect, respond—if we are allowed to, if we are free and valued ourselves. There is a democracy of social discourse, in which we are reminded that as we are beset with desires and fears and feelings, so are others; there was an old woman in Occupy Wall Street I always go back to who said, “We’re fighting for a society in which everyone is important.” That’s what a democracy of mind and heart, as well as economy and polity, would look like…

…Some use their power to silence that and live in the void of their own increasingly deteriorating, off-course sense of self and meaning. It’s like going mad on a desert island, only with sycophants and room service. It’s like having a compliant compass that agrees north is whatever you want it to be. The tyrant of a family, the tyrant of a little business or a huge enterprise, the tyrant of a nation. Power corrupts, and absolute power often corrupts the awareness of those who possess it. Or reduces it: narcissists, sociopaths, and egomaniacs are people for whom others don’t exist.

We gain awareness of ourselves and others from setbacks and difficulties; we get used to a world that is not always about us; and those who do not have to cope with that are brittle, weak, unable to endure contradiction, convinced of the necessity of always having one’s own way. The rich kids I met in college were flailing as though they wanted to find walls around them, leapt as though they wanted there to be gravity and to hit ground, even bottom, but parents and privilege kept throwing out safety nets and buffers, kept padding the walls and picking up the pieces, so that all their acts were meaningless, literally inconsequential. They floated like astronauts in outer space.

Equality keeps us honest. Our peers tell us who we are and how we are doing, providing that service in personal life that a free press does in a functioning society. Inequality creates liars and delusion. The powerless need to dissemble—that’s how slaves, servants, and women got the reputation of being liars—and the powerful grow stupid on the lies they require from their subordinates and on the lack of need to know about others who are nobody, who don’t count, who’ve been silenced or trained to please. This is why I always pair privilege with obliviousness; obliviousness is privilege’s form of deprivation. When you don’t hear others, you don’t imagine them, they become unreal, and you are left in the wasteland of a world with only yourself in it, and that surely makes you starving, though you know not for what, if you have ceased to imagine others exist in any true deep way that matters. This is about a need for which we hardly have language or at least not a familiar conversation.

A man who wished to become the most powerful man in the world, and by happenstance and intervention and a series of disasters was granted his wish. Surely he must have imagined that more power meant more flattery, a grander image, a greater hall of mirrors reflecting back his magnificence. But he misunderstood power and prominence. This man had bullied friends and acquaintances, wives and servants, and he bullied facts and truths, insistent that he was more than they were, than it is, that it too must yield to his will. It did not, but the people he bullied pretended that it did. Or perhaps it was that he was a salesman, throwing out one pitch after another, abandoning each one as soon as it left his mouth. A hungry ghost always wants the next thing, not the last thing.

This one imagined that the power would repose within him and make him great, a Midas touch that would turn all to gold. But the power of the presidency was what it had always been: a system of cooperative relationships, a power that rested on people’s willingness to carry out the orders the president gave, and a willingness that came from that president’s respect for rule of law, truth, and the people. A man who gives an order that is not followed has his powerlessness hung out like dirty laundry. One day earlier this year, one of this president’s minions announced that the president’s power would not be questioned. There are tyrants who might utter such a statement and strike fear into those beneath him, because they have installed enough fear.

A true tyrant does not depend on cooperative power but has a true power of command, enforced by thugs, goons, Stasi, the SS, or death squads. A true tyrant has subordinated the system of government and made it loyal to himself rather than to the system of laws or the ideals of the country. This would-be tyrant didn’t understand that he was in a system where many in government, perhaps most beyond the members of his party in the legislative branch, were loyal to law and principle and not to him. His minion announced the president would not be questioned, and we laughed. He called in, like courtiers, the heads of the FBI, of the NSA, and the director of national intelligence to tell them to suppress evidence, to stop investigations and found that their loyalty was not to him. He found out to his chagrin that we were still something of a democracy, and that the free press could not be so easily stopped, and the public itself refused to be cowed and mocks him earnestly at every turn.

A true tyrant sits beyond the sea in Pushkin’s country. He corrupts elections in his country, eliminates his enemies with bullets, poisons, with mysterious deaths made to look like accidents—he spread fear and bullied the truth successfully, strategically. Though he too had overreached with his intrusions into the American election, and what he had hoped would be invisible caused the whole world to scrutinize him and his actions and history and impact with concern and even fury. Russia may have ruined whatever standing and trust it has, may have exposed itself, with this intervention in the US and then European elections.

The American buffoon’s commands were disobeyed, his secrets leaked at such a rate his office resembled the fountains at Versailles or maybe just a sieve (this spring there was an extraordinary piece in the Washington Post with thirty anonymous sources), his agenda was undermined even by a minority party that was not supposed to have much in the way of power, the judiciary kept suspending his executive orders, and scandals erupted like boils and sores. Instead of the dictator of the little demimondes of beauty pageants, casinos, luxury condominiums, fake universities offering fake educations with real debt, fake reality tv in which he was master of the fake fate of others, an arbiter of all worth and meaning, he became fortune’s fool.

He is, as of this writing, the most mocked man in the world. After the women’s march on January 21st, people joked that he had been rejected by more women in one day than any man in history; he was mocked in newspapers, on television, in cartoons, was the butt of a million jokes, and his every tweet was instantly met with an onslaught of attacks and insults by ordinary citizens gleeful to be able to speak sharp truth to bloated power….

…The man in the white house sits, naked and obscene, a pustule of ego, in the harsh light, a man whose grasp exceeded his understanding, because his understanding was dulled by indulgence. He must know somewhere below the surface he skates on that he has destroyed his image, and like Dorian Gray before him, will be devoured by his own corrosion in due time too. One way or another this will kill him, though he may drag down millions with him. One way or another, he knows he has stepped off a cliff, pronounced himself king of the air, and is in freefall. Another dungheap awaits his landing; the dung is all his; when he plunges into it he will be, at last, a self-made man.

Pushing Buttons of Intellectual Property

I occasionally run across my graphics on the web, swiped without permission; sometimes even on products for sale.  I have yet to take much action, let alone sue anybody, regarding any such nominally illegal use.  Most of this is because the mission of my busyness is to maximize prophets, and maximizing profits is much less close to my heart.  Plus, I don’t suspect that anyone else is making much money — either —  on such efforts.  If I should incidentally be a job creator, then so be it.  I’m not actually much of a fan of intellectual property, particularly when the primary purpose of that work is the common good.  Insisting on privatizing profit in working for the public good seems like a cumbersome barrier to transmitting work for the public good.  Soul Proprietor -- Too Small to FailThis is part of my being the change I want to see in the world.  If I should find myself working for more than poverty wages, expect a tsunami of free buttons, etc.  Now, like righteousness, expect merely an ever-flowing stream.  As soul proprietor, I take pride in being a terrible businessman in most any traditional sense.

I occasionally get requests to use my graphics for a web site or other purpose.  I have had no objections yet to these requests, though I often ask for a link or some modest recognition of my work.  I suspect for every one of these requests there is a thousand uses of my copyrighted work.  If you are going to copy, copy right!My basic request is declared on my website: “If you are going to copy, copy right!”  Or, as even more congruous with my mission: “All Writes Unreserved!”All Writes Unreserved!  I find great compensation in seeing my work strewn throughout the web, whether used with permission or not.  As the unattributed saying by my favorite author, anonymous, goes: plagiarism is the highest form of flattery.

Yesterday, I got a call from Sela Moser, who was active in the Occupy movement in Kentucky.  She had made a sign (pictured) which reportedly went viral: “I don’t mind you being rich. I mind you BUYING MY government!”  Actually, I’m not a big fan of being rich in a world with so many material needs, so I’ll definitely give her primary ownership of that sentiment.  Of course, what struck a chord for me was the abomination anyone of buying a government intended by the people, for the people, and of the people.  THANKS, Sela!  She proffered some attachment to her intellectual ownership of this slogan, so I offered her 20 buttons with this slogan as recompense.  She gracefully accepted.I Don't Mind You Being Rich, I Mind You Buying My Government - POLITICAL BUTTONI searched my sales records and it looks like I have not sold any buttons with this design.  So, while electronic memes in the virtual world may be become virulent, when incarnated into the real world, incurring a cost greater than a click, they travel much more slowly.  May these first of a kind buttons in the real world stimulate productive thought, discussion, and action — even nowhere near the vicinity of a computer.


UPDATE — February 14, 2017

I had a quote in my peace/anti-war design collection, “War is not healthy for children and other living things” which I attributed to Lorraine Schneider. This quote was popularized in the 1960’s as part of an infamous sunflower graphic created by her [image not shown without permission]. My quote design was simply a solid color background. This illicited the following e-mail:

You sound like a righteous guy and your website is very entertaining. BUT you cannot use Lorraine Schneider’s work. She donated it to Another Mother for Peace and her design and words are trademarked… since the 1960’s. Please stop selling AMP trademarks. Want more info? Let us know, but you have take down everything on your website with our trademarks. Bill Donnelly, AMP Treasurer

So…I had a little fun with it. Here was my response:


After consulting my illegal department, I am delighted to obey your demands regarding the offending quote. As a long-time peace profiteer, the competitive environment surrounding peacemongers is legendary. Providentially, with the mission of my busyness as maximizing prophets, I am notoriously poor, concerning maximizing profits. You may be pleased to no that I have failed completely to transmit the aforementioned graven image on any of my products hawked to confederates. If you further judge that in virtual reality I have perpetrated some additional harm, please let me know how I may dis-harm you. I trust that your intellectual property rights will find more value residing solely in the rich environment of Beverly Hills, CA, as opposed to sojourning via the impecunious Toledo, OH. It has been a pleasure not doing business with you.

In parity,

Dan Rutt, alias “Top Pun” (it’s just, my pun name)
Soul Proprietor & Another Fodder For Peace — Maximizing Prophets

First Place - Noncompetitiveness


Only 666 Shopping Days Left Until Armageddon

POEM — Re: Siding Sells Men

God is
Way too big
For any won religion
While still
A singular grain of sand
Fore awe to see

This poem as a humble recognition that God is bigger than any won religion.  Power Thinks Doing God's Service When Violating All God's Laws--PEACE QUOTE BUTTONWhile responsibility is an inescapable facet of any religion, the transcendent response-ability of every grace, every present as gift, bids us to reflect such a generous and loving weigh of life.  God is a way, way bigger than any individual or religion might tempt to hold hostage.  The business of religion flails when it takes, sides.  Such iffy religion divides.  The image of God reflected in each of us is not meant to be a brand, burned into flesh, the mark of the but, but, but, but, but…   Religion is about pointing to the the ever more of life, and not scoring points.  Religion is a thorny means that should knot be mean.  The unkind of up your grasp attitude of religion and anti-religion serves up a paltry view of courage and costly grays.  Meditating upon, and living in harmony with, the pique experiences of God’s unbound nature should be freeing, not circumscribing. Joy is Most Infallible Sign Presence of God--PEACE QUOTE BUTTON And, still, not showing up with judgment, the eternally elusive God may be realized in a singular grain of sand.  The mystery of life and that wonder full experience carries on, fore bettor or worse, fore awe to see.  May your experience of the mysteries of life be more than you could ever bargain for…


God Wants Spiritual Fruits Not Religious Nuts - FUNNY SPIRITUAL BUTTON


POEM: Commander-in-chief

Say it
Three times fast
Presiding over
No unwounded soldiers
As sum kind
Of used scars salesman
Master of what we auto do
Protector of awe we car about
As if
Some amored vehicle
Good grief
Shock and all
Giving won’s right harm
As pumped up append age
And sport scar
As buy gone youth
The fodder of proclamations
And canonizing
A bout
How offal sorry
Know longer jumping
Through hooplas
Green to pain for grave deeds
As herein now
Head stoned
Or even
Missing inaction
That piece that passes
Under standing
An immeasurable ruler
Of the highest
Nay heavenly

Wars Don't Kill People Presidents Do--ANTI-WAR BUTTONOwed to the Commander-in-chief.  He/she/it.  Weather a man, a woman, or merely a cog in the office of the President, war is hell.  All else is propaganda.  The commander-in-chief serves as the high priest of nationalism, offering up blood and idol words, mocking the sovereign goodness of God.  Selling evil as necessary is affront enough to a loving God.  GOD: The Mother Of All Soldiers (and civilians) PEACE BUTTONOverselling military service as a sacred duty cements our feat in an ocean of hurt.  Trust in the power of war, military might, is the fodder of much of the Old Testament.  This is nothing new.  However, the power and workings of God are ever anew.  There was a time when people believed that he earth was flat.  There was a time when people believed that monarchy, the rule of royal elites, was an absolute and unchangeable reality.  I DON'T ALWAYS KILL PEOPLE, BUT WHEN I DO, I WRAP IT IN MY HIGHEST IDEALS ANTI-WAR BUTTONThere was a time when people accepted slavery as a normal, desirable, even God-sanctioned, fact of life.  God created us free.  Free to do evil.  Free to do good.  We don’t need to kill to be free.  We may need to kill to mold creation into our image, of a world free for those closest to us, and a world of shit for those far from us.  We worship a god chopped up into little peaces, and we have the body parts to prove it.  May we cast off the vicious cycles of violence and war, and dedicate, even sacrifice, our lives for a world where one side fits all.  This is awe that God asks of US.  Make it sow.

Anything War Can Do Peace Can Do Better PEACE BUTTON If we were willing to pay the same price for peace that we pay for war, we'd have peace today PEACE BUTTONI Want You To Work for Peace [Uncle Sam] PEACE BUTTON

Our Grief Is Not A Cry For War PEACE BUTTONPACIFIST - Someone With The Nutty Idea That Killing People Is Bad PEACE BUTTONNothing enduring can be built on violence. Gandhi quote PEACE BUTTON BUTTONS-Peace-Q-NECB

Peace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew. John Greenleaf Whittier quote PEACE BUTTONWeapons are like money; no one knows the meaning of enough. Martin Amis quote PEACE BUTTONSupport As Few Troops As Possible PEACE BUTTON

Violence - The Cause and Solution to All of Our Problems PEACE BUTTONYou Can Bomb The World To Pieces But You Can't Bomb It To Peace PEACE BUTTONgot militarism? PEACE BUTTON

I Support Everyone's Troops [Grim Reaper] ANTI-WAR BUTTONThere Is No Such Thing As An Unwounded Soldier ANTI-WAR BUTTONWAR - Your Doody To Humankind ANTI-WAR BUTTON

 When You Fight Evil With Evil, Evil Wins ANTI-WAR BUTTONStop Taking Life Literally--ANTI-WAR BUTTONPeace is Patriotic ANTI-WAR BUTTON

Truth is the First Casualty of War - Most of the Rest Are Civilians--ANTI-WAR BUTTON I Want You To Die a Meaningless Death To Sustain a Lifestyle that Will Ultimately Destroy the Earth-ANTI-WAR BUTTON

Browse all of Top Pun’s anti-war button designs and peace button designs.


POEM: Nazi Murder Trials, 1963

Courting the truth
Their stories were tolled
Not simply for just us
But for awe of them
Beyond monumental
To re-member
A broken body politic poem was inspired by the 2015 German movie, Labyrinth of Lies, about a young and idealistic public prosecutor in post World War II Germany learning about Nazi war crimes and their endemic impunity.  As one reviewer summarizes:

“Powerful and haunting, Labyrinth of Lies turns over a rock and watches the vermin crawl out in a disturbing and rarely talked about footnote to German (and world) history. The rock is Germany’s massive effort to forget the past under National Socialism and move on. Real Eyes, Realize, Real Lies - POLITICAL BUTTONThe rats are the former Nazis who, after the war, found acceptance and protection in comfortable positions of importance in the German government at a time when the country was on its way to reconstruction and cultural renaissance. The movie centers on the handful of brave men and women who dedicated themselves to an uncompromising search for the truth in the investigation that led to the Auschwitz trials from 1963 to 1965 in which Germans prosecuted Germans at last. It’s one of the most important and revelatory films of the year.”

got fascism? POLITICAL BUTTONThe first line in this poem, Courting the truth, has multiple references and meanings.  The movie is a prosecutorial investigation leading to the 1963 trial of Nazi war criminals for murder (which doesn’t have a statute of limitations) which was the largest trial in German history and considered the pivotal event in Germany coming to terms with its haunting past of Hitler’s reign and the tsunami of obedience by the overwhelming proportion of German citizens.  “Courting” refers to the culminating courtroom drama which the story preludes.  “Courting” also refers to the courtship of the truth and of the love affair portrayed in the movie between the lead character, the lead prosecutor, and his wife-to-be.  The courtship of the truth, which reveals reams of human ugliness, stands in sharp contrast to the love affair.  Or does it?  The love affair is romantic, even magical, until in drunken despair the prosecutor confronts his wife with the reality of her own drunken father who fought with the Nazis in Poland: “Ask him why he drinks?”  She tells her husband to get out, for good.  The allusion is that she continues in denial about her father.  The full-circle carnage is complete as the drunken despair was triggered by the idealistic prosecutor’s daring to look at his own father’s war records, only to find out that he was a member of the Nazi Party.  Resistance Trumps Fascism [Royal Flush] POLITICAL BUTTONThe literal image of his father, a picture inscribed to him with the implied command, “Always do the right thing,” was now only an idol hypocrisy.  The merciless truth of endemic Nazi collaboration couldn’t be clearer.  Or could it?  Among other revelations, he learns that the activist journalistic pushing for the Auschwitz investigation was, in fact, a guard at Auschwitz, making a somewhat-late and partially-muddled attempt at amends for his own presumed war crimes.  Courting the truth offers unsatisfying justice as the original horrific injustices and decimation of humanity could never be fully restored.

The second line in the poem, Their stories were tolled, is the best answer offered to such overwhelming tragedy and criminality.  Simply to have some of the countless untold stories of uncounted victims was the only path to honor the murdered and begin the healing of a war-ravaged nation.  The damning awe of the truth cannot be successfully covered up by however neat or sterilizing monuments over which the dead are encrypted from the light of day.  The terrible truth must be tolled — exacting unpayable pries.  Good People Disobey Bad Laws POLITICAL BUTTONThe river of denial must give weigh to the river of blood teeming underneath “A broken body politic.”  That a broken body politic can re-member at all is the only redemption realizable.

May we never forget the lessens of war and its many patriotic and cowardly crimes against humanity.  May we have the necessary courage and bounding love for humanity to empower us to defeat the scourges of nationalism and that bastard of patriotism: fascism.

POEM: A Brother Lying

Prey fore the dead
In the name of Jesus
In resurrection of those soully asleep
Getting a phallus rise
Out of Christianity
That is, US
More sow then radical Islam
In violate fundamental lists
Dissembling faith, hope, and love
As our trinity project
Our won God triumph a writ
With a Cain due attitude
Over awe that is Abel
To spill the good word
Buy blood crying out
Too me
From the ground
A brother lying
Knot knowing
The hollowed meaning
Of I am
One’s keeper

I often write about stuff triggered when I hear the news.  I listen faithfully to Democracy Now on weekdays.  It’s not unusual to stop in the middle of a show, or even a news story, to write a poem about something that touched me: a phrase worthy of seeding a poem, an issue baffling human kind, or simply a heartfelt emotion.

The literal life and death issues of war and peace, militarism and pacifism, have been close to my heart my whole adult life.  The latest flavor of this is the unending war on terrorism, which easily commiserates with virulent patriotism, nasty nationalism, presumptive racism, and irreconcilable religious bigotries.  Our unconscious privilege, convenient distance, and well-earned ignorance of world affairs is complicit with any easy alliance of violence as a lazy alternative to costly self-sacrifice as the true weigh of incarnating justice for all.  Nominal Christianity and its state-sponsored sheep, hawk a cheap grace bound only by an unequaled military budget and unquestioned reverence for a mercenary class.

I have a more generous perception of a frightened citizenry in deed resorting to violence in an increasingly secular, postmodern worldview.  Violence seems inevitable, certainly unendurable, without a resilient weigh to measure the sacred worth of an other, a brother human, who peers threatening.  I have a less generous view of normalizing violence by those aspiring to be religious, deeply commuted to any of the major faith-based worldviews represented by the world’s religions.  In the case of the U.S., the purported rock of our moral lives is Christianity.  I assert that an honest appraisal of American Christianity regarding its world military domination is that it is ruggedly cross.  War and Peace - What Would Jesus Do? FUNNY PEACE BUTTONAmerican Christians quiet reliably in efface of violence, instead of bearing the rugged cross, demand the blood sacrifice of “others” as their savior.  To this I can only say, “Jesus Christ!”  Whose image due we bear?!  What about state violence has to do with the heart, life and death of Jesus — other than the fact that it was state violence that executed Jesus.

To add insult to injury, the budget-sized war we christen as terrorism, we blame on Muslims, or worse yet, on the sacred tenets of Islam.  The real competition may be about who has the shallowest understanding of their religion: nominal Muslim terrorists or nominal Christian war apologists.  I strongly suspect that the farces of Christianity have killed more people than the farces of Islam.  Regardless, the age-old story of Cain and Abel, shared in the sacred texts of both Christianity and Islam, plays out over and over: brother kills brother and denies the essential nature of their kin relationship and how family should care for one another.  May people of faith lead the way in ending violence between all peoples.  This goes triple for “People of The Book” (Jews, Christians, and Muslims).

Browse anti-terrorism designs.

Is Killing In The Name Of The Prophet Worse Than Killing In The Name Of Profit? ANTI-WAR BUTTONTerrorism War of Poor War Terrorism of Rich--ANTI-WAR QUOTE BUTTONWar Is Terrorism With A Bigger Budget ANTI-WAR BUTTON



Here is my tribute to Veterans Day.  Please feel free to share this downloadable VETERANS DAY poster or meme.FREE POSTER: VETERANS DAY Let's Leave War Behind Not Veterans

This free downloadable poster is based on these designs, available in buttons, T-shirts, bumper stickers, laminated posters, and more:

Support Our Troops - Work for Peace - Justice for Veterans - Bring them Home NOW--PEACE BUTTON

Support As Few Troops As Possible PEACE BUTTON







Nothing enduring can be built on violence. Gandhi quote PEACE BUTTONPeace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew. John Greenleaf Whittier quote PEACE BUTTON

FREE DOWNLOADABLE POSTER: Gandhi’s Seven Social Sins

Gandhi does it again with this genius taxonomy of social sins.  Feel free to share widely and/or print out this free downloadable poster:

Gandhi Quote: Seven Social Sins FREE POSTER

This free poster design is based on this Top Pun design, available on buttons, T-shirts, bumper stickers, and of course, a laminated poster:

Gandhi Quote: Seven Social Sins - POLITICAL BUTTON







You can view more great Mohandas K. Gandhi quotes here.


This first in a potential series of Palestinian Jew Jesus comics was inspired by the latest insanity of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.  In his continuing gross caricature of Israeli domination over Palestinians, he one day claims that Palestine doesn’t even exist, then another day claims that Palestinians caused the Jewish holocaust in Nazi Germany.  In short, The United States needs to stop supporting and subsidizing such brutal insanity.  Palestinian Jew Jesus puts it even more succinctly:

Palestinian Jew Jesus: Yahoo Netanyahu

View all of my Israeli-Palestinian designs.

Justice For Palestine [Palestinian Flag] POLITICAL BUTTONOne Holocaust Does Not Deserve Another [Israeli, Palestinian flags] POLITICAL BUTTON







And if you can maintain a surreal sense of humor after the carnage of Israeli occupation and blithe U.S. support for anything Israel wants to do:

FREE PALESTINE* (*with the purchase of a 48 oz. drink) POLITICAL BUTTON




FREE POSTER: In Lieu of Building Social Trust Everything Everywhere Will Be Recorded To Be Used Against You Just In Case The Representatives of The Peephole Deem Any Behavior Unfit

I was just feeling under surveillance today.  Please feel free to share or print out this free anti-surveillance poster, or other free posters from Top Pun.

FREE POSTER - In Lieu of Building Social Trust Everything Everywhere Will Be Recorded To Be Used Against You Just In Case The Representatives of The Peephole Deem Any Behavior Unfit

More designs against the surveillance and security state:

In order to assure the quality of your patriotism, your conversation may be monitored POLITICAL BUTTON

Read The Constitution Not My E-mails POLITICAL BUTTON

1984 Was NOT Supposed To Be An Instruction Manual POLITICAL BUTTON






Edward Snowden - AMERICAN HERO - Taking Great Personal Risk for Truth POLITICAL BUTTON

We Don't Need More Cameras Aimed At Citizens, We Need More Cameras Aimed At Politicians And Police POLITICAL BUTTON

 	 The Patriot Act - Turning Citizens Into Suspects Since 2001 POLITICAL BUTTON






Transparency For The State, Privacy For The Rest Of US POLITICAL BUTTON

FREE POSTER – Black Lives Matter: Devolution of Blue Lives Matter to Corporate Lives Matter, NOT Evolution, NOT Revolution

The Black Lives Matter movement has been successful in spawning reactionary movements.  The latest of these is the Blue Lives Matter messaging going national through billboards as a so-called public service.  Here is my take on such reactions:Black Lives Matter Devolution Poster

Black BLACK LIVES MATTER [black background] POLITICAL BUTTONThat police are threatened by nonviolent social movements is perhaps the only evidence needed that the police are not simply defenders of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Police Everywhere, Justice Nowhere POLITICAL BUTTONFor no good reason, gunning down black men in the street puts in serious doubt the defending life claim.  The police as the front line of the racist and repressive criminal justice system betrays any just claim as leaders and defenders of liberty.  The police take their orders much less in the pursuit of happiness than as per suit of property owners.  Police are far better suited to protect corporate interests than human rights.  Respect Our Existence Or Expect Our Resistance with African American Flag colors POLITICAL BUTTONThus, the logical and deathly devolution to “Corporate Lives Matter,” codifying the rights of property over people.  The police serve as tools in this regressive hierarchy.  The Criminal Justice System is CRIMINAL POLITICAL BUTTONUntil that hierarchy is turned over, to the people, and a revolution completed, the police can never truly be peace officers, and they will face the honest and just resistance of masses of people.  Until police stand up to challenge their own impunity to justice and the dehumanizing criminal justice system, they will neither get nor deserve the full respect of the communities they have sworn to defend.  White Silence is Violence POLITICAL BUTTONMay the seed of Black Lives Matter take root in our hearts and lives — Let’s root for a criminal system that is just, for people, not simply persons of privilege and their monied interests.To Protect and Serve The 1% [Policeman] POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: Speaking With Spoken Sword: Owed To Hungering Fore Anew ProMedica

The profit tiers
Some how a peer
To set the captives free
Going won after the other
Like mammon and famine
As to somehow heel the ravenous
As fiend and faux
As sow appetite for the pauper reproach
With such lack luster assurance
As hungering for
Corporate solutions
Like KoolAid™
For the poor
As food desserts
Like a cock tale
Wagging the dog
For mirrorly fucking bitches
The same owe same owe
As prophets of ode
Rapiers by daze
Templars buy eve
The paltry of knights
With chicken shit
A hundred and fifty bucks
Posing as dear
As if
Doing its doody
In sum fecund foundation
For just us
As financiers of poetic justice
And diets high in irony
For its undeserving marks
And omnipresent logos
As going in kitsch in sync
With awe that cannot be stomached
Paving roads with good attentions
In know name
Butt there own
Sitting a top the whirled
Of hell care
Pennies from heaven
As coppers too familiar
To the indignant
And indigent
Of that speaking with spoken sword
Offering crumbs
Leading know where
Their droppings
As little balms
As met a sin
Requiring heart surgery
And prescribing
Take two aspirin
And call me in the mourning
And if that is not enough
Tact on
Take care
Your own
Such self-determination
Only too be food agin
As so much on won’s plate
For what is whored
As up rightness
Only to be drug
By profits of owed
Living on exorbitant feeds
As the CEO my God
And the staff buy his side
Dis cuss policy
As their weighter
Serves there well fare
Wile others
Dine in the streets

Here is my decidedly unofficial entry in the ProMedica sponsored poetry competition so unintentionally named, “Revealing Hunger: Spoken (S)word.”  While it is the Big S poetry competition they are currently sponsoring, I’ll pass — though I’m quite sure it will be a gas.  ProMedica was sure to eventually reap the madness of my poetry, sow here it is.  ProMedica is always in the running for trying to coroner the market in buying good will to which it might be able to attach its moribund name.  Though the pathetic $150 price for a singular winning poem betrays how little they truly value good will and poetry.  If my words don’t speak well enough for me, then I invite ProMedica to eat me, should their hunger for justice suffer in digestion.

POEM: For Awe That Has Been Urned

In her dreams
She is wanting
To be moved
By more than
Slumber too slumber
Mirrorly to a wake
Daze unending
With that annoying buzz
Thirst thing in the mourning
The pique of the day
The latest snooze
A stay of execution
From a commute
Never quiet arriving
In during
The same owe same owe
A mounting to nothing
Carrion on
From dead line to dead line
Only hopping
To meet your destiny
Long the weigh
Too the beat
Of a humdrum
In exhaustible work lode
Sow being a ware
Only dealing
With sum strain
Of staff infection
A little off
And on and on and on
Without a brake
For some kind
Of savor
In any respect
Of a Jōb
Succeeded by rehash for dinner
A little bit like
For awe that has been urned
From dusk to dusk
And willing succor
For a weak end
And easing into won bunk
Affording seconds of fuel’s goaled
Mine razing
At the prospect
Too due it

This is a good Monday mourning poem for all of you enduring slave wagers.  To me, work is simply doing that which you do not want to do, that which we do when we would rather be doing something else.  The conventional wisdom is that there are inescapable compromises that must be made, such as selling large chunks of our life to finance the remains.  Wee are part and parcel of this so-called American dream, which George Carlin so aptly observed, It's Called the American Dream Because You Have to be Asleep to Believe It - George Carlin Quote - POLITICAL BUTTON“It’s called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it”  — that is, if you can fit sleep into your schedule!  Frankly, I can no longer afford to go to such conventions, though I’ll meet them half way with the whole whizzed ’em thing.

Having to wake up to an alarm strikes me as one of the great bastardizations of true awakening.  If you get up and it is dark out, you might want to make a note of that, hopefully, plenty of notes, see notes!

If you are going to sell yourself, I would definitely hope that you get a good price.  Still, there is a whirled of difference between getting a good price and a good prize.  Selling your own passions, your own heart’s desires for someone else’s notion of productivity is perhaps the real idolness.  Far too often, no one can even really identify the specific person whose notion of productivity is being served.  Wherever it is, it’s the birthplace of “It’s not my job” and “I’m only doing my job” as workers serve nameless and unaccountable masters, and can’t help, but serve in their master’s apathetic and/or irrelevant image.  The bulk of so-called work in capitalist cultures represents an immeasurable opportunity accost of passions passed and hearty lusts lost.  Even awe that has been urned echoes in time off, weather having perpetual rehash as eve approaches or dread as eve withers a way in the dread of coming daze.

May you find work indistinguishable from play, an awakening without alarm, and find no idolness in site.

POEM: Are You A Friend of Dorothy?

As a friend of Dorothy Day
I wood ax
More than won quest in
A bout
Her call
As a tenet in passable saint hood
As if a priest to nun
Or mirror lay person
Aborting gaiety
As an infallible sign of God’s presents
Kneaded, sow kneaded
As abandon plays on
The Catholic work her
Inn to their starting lyin’ up
With little roam for others
As prize winning dogmas
For sake others
Worshiping sons of bitches
Of average Joes and Mary not
Engendering grace
Threw con genital souls
Full of wholes
As if litter
Miss carrion
Never coming to term
Without a hitch
Only finding one self
One to an other
Side by side
Fitting awe
For lives filled with scant do
An offering more than
Sum well
Published comic marvel
As if conceivable in a man’s world
A loan
To the wrest of us
She could never look down to prey
And yet sow much
Heaven unearth
Her whole life sew true
And in those untolled smiles spanning eternity
She most lovingly waives
It just
Saint so
Ever you due
Don’t save
Awe of the gory
Fore God
As will only
In yore wildest dreams
Hand it
Back to you
With teeming interest
As got yours
And every body ails

This poem was inspired by the occasion of Pope Franky coming to America and highlighting the possibility of Dorothy Day becoming a saint.  This is deeply ironic, since Dorothy Day explicitly did not want to be written off as a saint, but cast her lot with the poor and dispossessed of the world.  As a former atheist who lost the earthly love of her life by converting to Catholicism, which he rejected holy, she was familiar with heartache.  As a women who had an abortion, I find her consideration for sainthood more intriguing.  Her founding role in the Catholic Worker movement challenged and vexed religious folks — and people of faith as well.  Her living with the poor and downtrodden is a model of solidarity.  This poem posits questions of elite status, which she resoundingly rejected, as holy separate from her understanding of Jesus, the spirit of God incarnate.  The title of the poem — Are You A Friend of Dorothy? — is both a question and a reference to the cultural necessity of gay folks needing code words and phrases to navigate in a culture where they are rejected.  Dorothy Day, about as keenly aware of class as possible sought to transcend it.  She was an itinerant peace-monger, ever-seeking creating those sacred spaces where one side fits all. She knew that salvation was not far off, but right in front of us, in awe its gory details.  She knew what second-class citizenship was, not simply by being a woman in a man’s world or a man’s church, but by daring to embrace the poverty of more than one class and bring a bout wealth, and the privilege to serve.  Her rightness with God is dishonored by trying to capture that spirit in the form of graven images, mere token substitutes for her authentically beautiful and unique, but totally accessible life.  I don’t suspect that Dorothy would approve of a title of sainthood.  I do suspect that she would want us to walk with her.  And in this case, that would be walking among the dead and the living, and everywhere in between.

POEM: More of the Sane

Going through life
Various docks said
You are just
Going through a phrase
And heeling
Wood be
Yores soon
Finally cured
Of awe
That is
With envy
Of what might
Passably be
More of the sane

This poem is about the insanity of sanity.  This has less to do with the faults of the status quo — though they are myriad — than it does coming alive, infectiously alive, in a living world.  Security, in conventional wisdom, is sought through well-worn, predictable means.  Such security is based on a knowledge of order present in the world.  This is simply the triangulation of scientific facts, providing a coherent framework from which to navigate our lives. Yeah, go science!  Well, order is knot the whole of life.  Disorder is necessary for possibility, any veering from a determined course.  Order as the hole of life negates freedom, creation, and certainly most of the fun.  Of course, the point is not to create disorder, an abundance of that already exists, the point is to bring to life — that is, create — new order, more conducive and congruent with the higher and deeper orders present in creation.  This perpetual creation and recycling is sharing in the experience of what it’s like to be God, perhaps God’s greatest gift.  We are meant to play with creation, as God’s children, not be some play set for God or other humans to manipulate to their own — and our — constipated end.  Our creation is not a disorder that needs to be cured, it need only respect life by infectiously creating more life.  Such disorder is not a threat to the well-ordered physical world.  However, such disorder is a metaphysical dis-ease with existence being reduced and lived (sic) out in simply a mechanical weigh.  In truth, such disorder is a higher order that cannot be reduced to mere mechanics, lifting up the hood and fixing it.  Such disorder is the infectious need to sail life’s oceans.  Of course, this is vastly aided by abundant knowledge of shipbuilding, navigation, etc.  Even greater though, it requires a love of discovery, a love of the feel of the ocean’s wind and spray in your face, and the courage to risk the vagaries of the wild, the powerful, and the unknown.  While boldly and infectiously sailing life’s oceans may strike many as much less secure than, say, building ships for others, I strongly suspect that one of God’s deepest desires for us is to freely be the captains of our own lives.  However exquisitely we may craft tools for others, God does not desire that we simply be tools for others — that would deny God’s exquisite craftsmanship.  God is a crafty one, peering behind the veil of indeterminacy, which many consider a disorder itself.  This thorniness behind creation results in much anguish and pain, the inescapable fareness of a free life.  The thorny crown atop God’s craftiness is unparalleled, except perhaps among humans, made in God’s image, where an irrepressible willingness to pain the prize is billed in.  May your inborn desire to create be guided by an abiding respect for life and it’s infectious nature seeking know cure.

POEM: Gimps of Heaven

To the skies lifted
The lairs of heaven unfold
In speechless beauty
That would deify description
My eyes and hands
Razed freely
Embracing awe
That heaven was packing
In mirror seconds
To be
That God
Of the quick
And the dead
Thou sparest cell
And crampiest image
As vision screened
Buy a second hand whirled
Apple in hand
Head hung
Feat dangling
Amid heir
Too emotion picture
Only taken
Buy ahead in the cloud
Captured in eternity
Likely never experienced
As real eyes
That in which a head
Re-mining me
That eye
Made only slightly
Less than angels
Of what missing
Gimps of heaven

I wrote this poem riding the Megabus to Chicago.  I was staring into the heavens, struck by the majesty of the clouds and the ethereal feel that they emanated.  Likely nobody else on the bus was available for such an experience, because most were busy on their assorted and sundry electronic devices, interfacing with a different sort of cloud.  I pondered the notion that the heavens could open up and a tsunami of angelic forces could grace us with their presents and nobody else would notice, not at least until possibly published online with a few seconds delay and displayed on a less-than-majestically-sized screen.  I view our obsession with electronic paraphernalia as disabling our souls, a sort of anti-prosthesis that instead of making us more whole robs us of ever-present presents.  Being a “gimp” of heaven is not some defect wrought upon us by some cruel and enigmatic God.  There is a better life beyond our reliance on coping with life through electronic prostheses.  Even with all the pain and befuddlement in life, I strongly suspect that simply experiencing such realities directly is better than obsessively tuning into some post-game show after the fact for some crowd-sourced analysis. On that bus, my lonely gratitude pined for a world where there was more face-to-face presence in the now — which, of course is present now, and quiet certainly lacking luster in beeping re-runs.  So, may you stand up and walk without your prostheses, and if you find this awkward or even painful, it’s OK people to walk with glimpse.

POEM: Wee Lives

Wee live
In a whirled
To be
Or not to be
Making head weigh
At an impassable gait
In effable hustle
A jeer of our peers
That hurry can knock us down
Or give momentary flights
Holding out that portentous raze
And awe that can be done
As one
Sounds off
The I of the storm
Effacing hail from above
Heavin’ from bellow
It’s awe too big
Can’t hold it
In feudal urgency
To pee or not to pee
Is not the quest in
Prefiguring some wiz in the sky
Or spitting into the tempest of all
Expect or rating too much
As how many angles can you fit in a pinhead
And still idol minds alike
Sow ponderous
As wee plot a long
Master-full ark
Buoying our grave undertakings
Measured in feat (customarily half-dozin’)
Oar how many pee-wee leagues under the see
As wee under go
The vicious cycle a loan
And presumed raging above
Wile all else
Holy beneath me
Hour lonely consolation prize
An unending stream
Of I cons and effigies
From mobile chimeras
Re-cording virtually everything
Still life un-more
As colored in millions of weighs
Marooned, blue, and doggedly yellow
Leaking buckets of stout meanings
Full only of those flipping angry birds
As we pass on
And piss off
As a gust in this fare whirled
In league with one an other
In choir
How won might
Myth the point
A mist being
Sprayed and neutered
Engendering duplicity
And obscure human rites
From witch
Sow many
Must ultimately depart
A reluctant re-treat
In urgently having to go
And having flailed
In countering a wind wind situation
Must still
Won on won
With our spitting image
Convinced that in what is wasted
Is a 95% solution
Worthy of imbibing
And mirrorly a tad yellow
Satisfied in its reigning from above

This poem juxtaposes many common yet seemingly incongruous themes.  This poem may be prototypical in melding daily life with divine ponderings and cheap jokes related to urination.  I delight in the interplay between such themes, ultimately pointing to the paradoxical reverence of irreverence.  I have little interest in a God distant from everyday life.  I have more interest in the plight of creatures vainly trying to escape their wee lot in life. I root for creatures to find their truest roots.  For me, I find this as a decidedly spiritual project tempered by kicking the buckets of piss and vinegar I find so abundantly.  Go deep or go home…but I repeat myself.