He wandered into a fantasy of the prairie,
a silver spoon child with such a cute scowl.
He was going to be a cowboy, a spaceman,
a pirate. Pirate was in his genes.
He won all the Monopoly games because
his crying and tantrums made other options
much too painful for the players involved.
He said, "Big blocks good." He loved adjectives.
He would mumble, "Pretty, pretty," as he
stroked the skin of thin young women.
He had trouble reading and cheated at math.
He had no friends and he scared his enemies.
He bullied and lied his way into power.
His handlers claimed his tantrums
made him more interesting and ‘real.’
He pulled many strings and broke promises.
And yet his hangers-on hung on.
He was orange. He was red. He was fuzzy.
He was a muppet in wolf’s clothing.
Develop your dexterity
in practice of sincerity.
Achieve internal parity.
Such balance is a rarity.
Resolve the mind’s distortion.
Remove outside extortion.
Learn how to reapportion.
Become one with Frank Gorshin.
The squares have all been rounded up,
a universal wrangle.
While life has lost a certain edge,
there remains the triangle.
The stars have all been taken down,
no mention of a spangle.
The artists are all up in arms.
Their aspirations dangle.
An arcade in the wilderness
has plunged our eagle into debt.
He thought he’d rule the wildlife pool.
But that was one bad bet.
His chips were down on common ground.
His talons lost their grip.
He flew too high and from grey sky
he spied a sinking ship.
With big bucks down on swim or drown,
he watched it all go under.
His realm was once our freedom’s wave.
But that’s all torn asunder.
Massive staircase to minimum space.
Shuttling between orbits of gum.
Sticking to the outside of the inside pages.
Words pink and puckered by habit.
There is no recourse to history’s racecourse.
The favorites will win. The scrappers will show.
The course is long and designed as unending.
The bending of rules is assumed.
There is nothing here within to survive the great without.
Breath is an adventure the living assume.
Nothing says the door cannot come down and end the play.
It’s time to bear the pall.
The pendulum is still.
The pit is split. The world is small.
The wind is cold and chill.
To deep holes in our sacred ground
are lowered profane veins.
The black blood flows through them unbound.
The earth will wear the stains.
The sounds of prayer hang in the air
and mix with tear gas fumes,
the body snatchers unaware
the curse their hoe exhumes.
The blue spot fades to heartfelt red
as the sun broils my eyelids.
This is a hint of spring, even behind
the cool glass veil. The dogwood barks.
Cat o’ nine tails wag. Even a hint
of birdsong on the softening breeze.
Soon all will be green again,
and, if not well, at least warm.
There is, then, one good thing to cherish.
This White House will undoubtedly go down in history.
The president’s our first ever to be on PCP.
The madness doesn’t stop at that; it’s all been quite consistent.
The vice president named a fetus to be his assistant.
The presidential spokesman had a problem with his rage.
And the chief advisor had been said to kill a page.
Education’s secretary never went to school.
Head of double talk was either batty or a fool.
Secretary of state’s favorite state was in Ukraine.
Chief of HUD was slow as mud, delay built in his brain.
Security adviser was dismissed and judged a spy.
Attorney general, once a racist, now says that’s a lie.
Even the first lady model once posed in the raw.
Administrations ministrations just defy the law.
Current fake news outlets are reporting
our good spies with their bad are comporting.
They say this chicanery ‘cross the ocean
violates some democratic notion.
They don’t recognize that in these times
government needs leeway for its crimes.
Liberals are up in arms and churled,
whining all about a ‘brave new world.’
We say they had best give us our say,
or we may have to put them away.
Our good God cannot this nation bless
and abide their fancy of free press.
While inside the ring of this existence,
one must rely often on persistence.
Without it and some loving insistence,
there will be no way to go the distance.
Yes, life is like a fight to do what’s right.
To succeed, you must keep goals in sight.
In your time before the final bell,
do what’s in your heart and do it well.
When you find yourself backed to the ropes,
keep in mind your path, your dreams and hopes.
If you’re down, then get up off the floor.
Courage to go on is at your core.