Republic Canned
They went on
A bout cleaning up
But they maid the mistake
Of knot knowing
The deference
Between complicity and cooperation
Proffering sick a phony
Over solidarity
Trumped up charges
Over forward moving
Backwards throne
As republic canned
They maid their bad
And they’re going
To lie
In it
We live in foolish times, with unbelievable creatures totally full of shit.
Doctor Doo Little’s Pushme-Pullyou
Are we awe living
Doctored doo little’s life
In hour pet beasties
Trapped in 100% proof
And believing is seeing
Stuck with sharp mines
And pierced hearts
Awe most as weird
As a pushme-pullyou
That tug of war
A kind of wore hoarse
Knot knowing
Forward or backward
Weather strange a traction
Or compelling awe
Possessed by our own holed
Over others
And how and when
To under stand
The deference
In the thick it
Orthodox
Heterodox
A paradox
Beyond me
Hit it in efface
Or aloud enchant
With the perfect words
Leaving spellbound
Or sum other authoritative doo
Just
Perhaps
Silent action
Speaking volumes
Embody language
In the mettle
Of comical forces
Mine, mine, mine
Verses mime, mime, mime
It’s a small whirled after awe
Can wee survive our selves
Make it
Happens
As we peer
In finitude
Dude
And still
It’s never
Enough
How doo we
Surrender
Steeped in that inclination
To hill and back
That Sisyphean pinch
Too relieve us
Of awe assholes
And live side by side
In accompany of mythical creatures
Dam well full of shit
And miss red
Anger
Over what is
Peace
And over what is
Hole
The Braking of the Whirled
To whom
Put the spin
On the whirled
And how made
A brake
For it
As rein
On the rich
And poor temp
To dis patch bad luck
Wanting
What they halve
Mirror bits
And peaces
Between war out
Shaky wrests
In the thick of thinness
Far-fetched closeness
A mist
Exclusive clubs
Bad manors
And limousines careening
Coming to
A fool stop
What might be
The solution
Stuck in the same owed ship
Over aheads
Waters
Still
With deep a motion
Yearning to breathe
At the bottom of the see
What seams the impassable
To inspire without heir
More than litter
Beyond fishy schooling
Emerge
Onto landing
Beyond species arguments
Anew creation
Playing in a chord
With won and awe
As no longer band-ish
To the hinder lands
Billionaires will not protect you or your interests. In particular, the malignant narcissist billionaire in the White House will not protect you. Selling protection IS what The Don is experienced at — though it’s only a grift.
Tyrant Spring
“This and no other is the root from which a tyrant spring: when he first appears, he is a protector.” –Plato
That deathly
Will
Protect you
Whether you like it or not
That authoritarian gambol
That grotesque tell
The libs
For your own
Good
Regard less
The quiet part
Out laud
Scarfing his hole piety
With his flagging fealty
And public preyer
For telling his gold in age
As the loot plays
That guardian angle forever more
The utter most keeper
As if
Posed to peer
Into his patron eyes
As owed sum thing
Sow grate
When as a madder of fact
A predator
Destroyer of awe that is woke
As others offer their hearts
He comes for nothing other
Then your blood
In spite of children of God
Youth in eyes
Parently a minor accost
Fore his will
And our will
As well
And mass grave
Unite
As won
I see judgment free zones. It’s kind, of a sixth sense.
Free Judgment Zone Out
I wince herd
Entreat me as a dog
“Free judgment”
And what due I hear
My squirrelly years
And dyslexic soul
“Judgment free”
Knocking things down is always easier than building things up, weather it’s a two-year-old or a second term of a president (if you can tell the difference). Still, even amidst wanton destruction, building things up is ever important. Being obsessed with knocking things down may be a developmental phase for two-year-olds, but it is existential weakness for any president claiming to love his fellow citizens.
Achilles’ Heel
The mob cries
He’s a fighter
His back to the win
The posed heeling
Of a nation
A tack
A tack
A tack
Sow little knowing
The biggest heel ever
Awe a bout
Accumulation
Of the means of power
Not seeing it
That
The littlest things
Madder
As shit mushrooming
In the dark
And never doubt
Stepping on it
Sooner or later
Learning to Lego™
The hard way
As easier
To knock things
Then bill them
Uugghh-ly!!!
The Ugly American
The ugly American
Has broken
Its mirror
Reflection
Of values helled
Over generations
Of good will
Like shuttering glasses
Half fool
Half empty
Making no deference
To who is questioning
The fare-est of them all
As would not trade
For anything
His precious
Agin everything
And whoever
Might take their leave
From impossible asylum
From the maniac-in-chief
Meant and de-meant id
De-institutionalized
Roving in-tents
A clown on the throne
US circus made
The Don John
Trumped
Where does won go
Talking shit
And waste deep in “fertilizer”
Lying wile taking
A stand
The bully
Pulp it
In efface of the whirled
As sneer as possible state
There is no makeup attest
Fore such epic failure
Of mythic proportions
As the Orange Narcissus
Stares into abetting pool
Of limpid infatuations
That is his
Own
Made in
The image of god
A world wear
No one loves
Donald Trump like Donald Trump
Know madder
How revolting
America becoming
When effacing the unspeakable…
Bully Silence
I was bullied
Into silence
And it was hear
That I found myself
Listing to trembling voices
And leveled
By that still, small voice
A priceless stash of courage
More than a mountain of cache
To sum it
A given
Not won ascent by my feat
But sores brought to heal
Sow fly
Beyond words
Who can say? I’ve awe ready placed my abets. Bettor too due.
God’s Will?
How due you know
It’s God’s will
Someone said
God is dead
And I read it somewhere
There is know God
Awe the same
It’s a bout
Hear say
Sometimes you have to dig deep to find them gems…
Razing Up the Unbelievable
Bared at the source
Of awe being
Is the treasure of awe treasures
Deeper than any earthly mantle
Gems among gems among gems
And sow on
And sow on
Beyond what counts
Even surpassing recountable
Sow grounded
Razing up the unbelievable
Unearth
As it is
In heaven
I suspect that if we are scared into simply protecting what we have, then we will lose much more than if we are all in fighting for everything we want. It’s awe in the risk.
So So Long
They
We’re
Caught looking
For a Faustian bargain
An easier weigh
Throne to the win
Blown away
Like sow much chaff
As ditched anon
In that age owed battle
So so long
Be the change you want to see, oh beautiful unicorns and unifying characters.
The Odds Rising
They were wading
For others
Too due
What
Make the whirled
A bettor place
A casi no
Of felt safety
As others razed
Only taking ship in harbor
Wear the percentages play us
Prospecting on deferent grounds
Survival of the fit
As just
A posed
To a wholly different seeing
Where the odds
Are rising
How many to won
For getting
It’s awe in the risk
As kin in the game
Wear there is know law
Abut conscience
Hire
Then what
Virtue
Morality
Even just propriety
And what follows
As might be
A unicorn
Or unifying character
As shared fete
As a bode
That spot
Deep incite of us
The berth
Of awe that
Incarnated in the world
“Ride on”, says Top Pun, even as hoarse.
Writing as a Righting Instrument
There are rights
There are wrongs
There is right and wrong
There are rights wronged
There are wrongs righted
Write de-ployed rightly
Is a righting instrument
Illustrated hear
Mightier than the sword
The pun
Word
Play
Luigi Mangione is the suspect in the killing of the CEO of UnitedHealthcare, Brian Thompson. The U.S. Justice Department is seeking the death penalty. If nothing else, America seems good at killing. Of coarse, the sensational nature of this killing is the epic discontent and rage generated by a sick care system, particularly insurance companies, that is far better at generating profits than health. Weather we like it or not, this killing has struck a chord and is giving voice to this rage. Like Martin Luther King, Jr, said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” Chronically bad health care public policy that literally kills tens of thousands of Americans every year from preventable conditions, not surprisingly, creates unrest, not always civil. This poem is a tip of the hat to the inescapable reality that “policing” goes both ways, top to bottom and bottom to top, when illicit behavior persists. Healthy caring results in health care; sick caring results in sick care (sic). If nothing else, Americans seem well schooled in tragic side effects.
Who Polices Who – Owed to Luigi Mangione
“Killing one person is murder. Killing thousands is health care policy.” –Stalin-ish
I shot the sheriff
Who polices who
Gets health care
Who would Jesus deny
Care to
Speculate on some stock answers
Weather a tsunami of paperwork
Or targeted bullet points
Different forums of violence
As want to, three times denied
Then dying cross
In the thick of blood
It’s all relative
A kin to taxes
Where nothing is certain
Accept death
At a pointed time
Aside from corporate persons
Which know no death penalty
And really can’t serve
Time
And time again
Let alone actual people
As pleas cop
On occasion, I might preface a statement with “all other things being equal,” I believe this or that. I find this is a profound limitation on any statement, since in real life all other things are never equal. This seemingly scientific speaking, trying to control for one thing and trying to make all other things equal has a distinct sterility to it. In short, it tries to declare a “context-free zone” that disregards countless connections and relationships in the ecosystem of reality. Functionally, in a discussion, the statement, “all other things being equal,” is often a call to ignore these myriad of interrelationships. Typically, if I do use such a preface, it is merely a prologue to a longer attempt to exhume such lifeless premises and reductionistic cognitions. This is awe the more true when the discussion alludes to some action to be followed in real-whirled conditions. Articulated much more briefly, this poem:
Just Encase
All other things
Being equal
I’d probably do that
Just
Let me no
Till that
Is the case
For freedom
For awe
What new can be borne
Temporary in convenience
Not for the hard headed
Standard baring
A poem for when grievance politics meets white supremacy.
That Huge White Wail
They glowered
That wince
They once possessed
Would never be their own
The largesse
Of a great society
Had made them
The hugesse victims e’er
That huge white wail
As mo’ be richered
Without a leg to stand on
That vintage whine of the passed
In compassed by deep seeded enmities
Wreathed by grave in just us
And offence filled whirled
Turning out
Soully to be
A huge white elephant
Ravenous greed increasingly doesn’t even bother to put on the traditional sheep’s clothing. Of coarse, razing the notion that greed is good still needs to be pointed out heartily.
Clothes Enough
“Beware of wolves in wolves’ clothing”
They wore their lies
Like the wholly of all whollies
Conceiving as almost pregnant
With passability
As just a bout attire
Spinning like atop
Veiled by well-heeled hoods
Thinking they are using
Their noggin
As if
Ahead
When as a madder of fact
All butt proven
With caps in asses
Hanging out
As frocked
Embarrassingly out of joint
So illicit-ing US
To ignore apparel unmatched
Draped in stripes
And any fashion rhyming with orange
More than thread bear
With such border lyin’ personalities
Yet as awe most
Those who stand against
No such guise
At that dis quieting point
Wear naked truth
Is clothes enough
Honesty does not require brutality.
Disarming Honesty
Heed consider it
Disarming honesty
Lopping off limbs
As might right and left
As dead would
In there vary own forced
Never as well
Received
Rather in loo
The aftermath
Winsome loose sum
Frankly, hot dogging it
Every now and agin
As sin sear as can be
Even fourth Reichness
As a demonstrable hit
And down for account
Is it passable
Too heed lessness
And what might be
Just awe kinds of weighs
Entreating others
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” ― Howard Thurman
I see that which is truly productive as rooted in healthy being, emanating from a healthy soul — awe else is trying to cheat reality. Plus, I find that if something makes me come alive, it isn’t really work.
What Makes?
What do you do?
As little as possible
Avoiding work
Soully doing
What makes
Me alive
And thus becoming
Strangely productive
Here is the April Fool’s Day poem for this year…
The Joke is on US
Until more notice
April Fool’s Day
Will be
X tended
In definitely
Without end
Accept
Its many means
Enriching the rich
Representing the national deficit
Serving as tribute to the ridiculously loaded
Drinking it in
Those hims of preys
And fixation on enemas
The on going
Slap stick
Will it
Peter out
Without the humor
Short-term pleasures
Or long-term benefits
As sow base
Never enough
Impugn-y crimes
A quit
Until our renouncement
On the take
A bate
The joke is on US
