Sunday, February 26, 2017

Oh, O.J.

He really had it made,
Charisma out the butt,
A natural athlete across the board,
Good looking and well-cut,

He constantly said he was just O.J.,
He was not black or white,
The movements, the riots, he snubbed them all,
Yet his success was a boost for black rights.

Then his wife and a waiter were slaughtered,
The blood led straight to he,
He then said he was framed for being black,
Then was freed for Rodney.
But he forgot,
Many thought him guilty,
He lost sight midst a new crowd of yes men,
Got thirty years for a crime of conceit.

Saturday, February 25, 2017

The White House's Fascist Face

How else can one explain,
Another White House move
Presented as guiltless, but following,
Trump's rumbling of fake news,

The exclusion of certain agencies,
From Spicer's press gaggle,
Which changed from what was to be a briefing,
But as an autocrat's finger-waggle?

Even Fox News joined in the obloquy,
This must be serious,
To achieve complete power, you must repress,
The freedom of the press.
This is no joke,
E'en I'm afraid to write,
This Wath of Investigative Po'try.
What an innocuous act to wrest fright!

Friday, February 24, 2017

That Noise

Can't get that fucking buzzing,
Out of the sound's background,
Sometimes I wonder if its main target,
Is to dirty my sound,

So no one can focus on the message,
There's something just not right,
How can such a meaningless distraction,
Mean the barrier to any real height?

Unless there's a process to work with it,
Herald it, brandish it,
Surrender the message and I might find,
The true message in it.
What could it be?
For me to stay in place?
The next time I see that little buzzer,
I will stand up and ask it to its face.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

The Smile Commute

Sitting on the subway,
Seeing all the faces,
Ev'ryone of them completely neutral,
Staring out into spaces,

It's hard to believe one of them smiling,
They think the same of me,
These morning automaton commuters,
Will be turned on at th'end of their journey,

Seems to me it might take less energy,
Once offset by the joy,
To smile and let others' happiness,
Be remotely employed,
That is, sucked up,
Processed and recycled,
What kind of world would then nat'r'ly arise?
If you can't imagine, I bet I could.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

My god

Is there really much left?
Should you stay much longer?
Would it make a diff'rence if I promised,
You don't have to wrong her,

That the steps to where you want to end up,
Could take another route,
Longer, harder, with less time at the end,
Less soil and blood and sweat left on your boot,

Less cold, less tears, far lesser solitude,
In which to do your work,
No uncertainty or dangerousness,
No deep laid thoughts to jerk?
Nothing at all,
Or maybe, ev'rything.
My god, in your own sad, darkest moments,
Do you have power over your thinking?

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Stand By

If you have woken up,
By sunlight or alarm,
Not quite aware of where you are as yet,
Afraid to not be warm,

Reminding yourself of the place you're in,
Admonishing again,
A daily ritual of self-control,
To protect the position you are in,

It's not your dream, but it's not your nightmare,
Why risk one for th'other?
It takes a special person to chase dreams,
Most of us don't bother,
And are alright,
Like all beasts of the Earth,
We are not special, homo sapiens,
Let those who believe they are do their worst.

Monday, February 20, 2017


Trump is now president,
Many are asking how,
Poor, white, disenfranchised voted for him,
Because they need change, now.

But there are not enough to tip the scales,
E'en with th'usual right,
Or the elderly or police state fans,
Or the supremely white,

As Dale Beran writes, there's another group,
Holed up in mom's basement,
Whose first rule is to be anonymous,
Then make trolly comments,
Talking 4chan,
Who may have put Trump in,
As a joke played on the United States,
The pastime of hacking Americans.