When you think the obvious
May have been stated,
Search for a reason
It was articulated.
On His Trumpness
He labeled every Mexican a rapist,
And blacks and immigrants as murderous tramps;
He mocked a disability, will stay pissed
At Muslims who he wants to put in camps;
He said a fellow-candidate was ugly,
And spoke about a moderator’s menses,
Said P.O.W.’s were lesser, smugly,
And wants to stand up walls and barbed wire fences;
He quoted Mussolini; he has stated
He’d lose no backing if he’d kill a man;
I could go on about the stuff he’s hated,
But wonder in conclusion if he can
Convert the greatest nation on this earth
Into a land of negligible worth.
Driving
The time we spend driving,
Instead of conniving,
Should be more deriving
A means of arriving.
The Hearing Dead
No more can I see,
Touch, smell or taste,
Death strikes to free
All I’ve embraced.
But know: I can hear
The flow of a tear.
Rancor
Sludgy rancor lines
The bottom of the crucible
Wherein tongue lies bridled,
Hand idled,
Strength forged.
Roads
Roads are the city’s veins,
And we, commuting corpuscles,
Coursing through them,
Keeping the city alive.
Alone
The joys of solitude
Only reveal themselves to you
If you can take yourself
For company.
Old Time
Time gasps at the mention of war,
She grasps her old head, bracing for
Another filthy dance of horror.
The Path Forward
I’ve walked this road for long, but now
I don’t know what to do
When on the way I find my path
Diverging into two:
One filled with thorn and bramble bush,
The other barren, dusty;
The former floral, beautiful,
The latter grim and fusty;
Now neither path is beaten yet
For both are solely mine,
And I can’t turn around to stem
The forward rush of time;
I see the paths join up ahead,
But first I must declare
Which one will be the one I tread
In order to get there;
I take my time and think about
The purpose of my quest,
And find that neither path can be
A place for me to rest.
And thus I choose the dusty path
And let the bramble be:
The lesser of two troubles is
The better choice for me.
There’s more I have to see.
Inspired by the prophetic exhortation to always choose the lesser of two evils.
Pasha’s Parrot
The featherbrained Pasha of Ghaali
Adopted a parrot named Polly.
He taught her times tables and hundreds of fables
Until in a moment of unguarded folly,
She flew through the stables in manner so jolly
And squawked of her hate for the Pasha of Ghaali.
It was the last thing that she said,
The next day, poor Polly was dead.