Foolish actions happen all the time.
Somebody buys a nickel, drops a dime.
Another picks a hill too steep to climb.
In life there is a reason and some rhyme.
Perhaps a wrong way taken on a turn,
a cigarette that’s left too long to burn:
there’s danger everywhere, one ought to learn.
The trouble you receive is what you earn.
There will be times when nothing turns out right,
days screaming for a chance to pick a fight.
It’s best to bypass those and wait for night.
Let bad thoughts float out moonward like a kite.
Yes, foolish is the yin of yang’s staid life.
and often proves a stepping stone to strife,
draws one down paths of battle like a fife.
In this big world, foolishness is rife.
So, do not get discouraged if you fail.
Beyond the flowers hides the holy grail.
Put foolish far behind and then take sail.
If in a leaky boat, begin to bail.
Languid Daze
Saturdays creep by as never before.
The names of the days don’t matter anymore.
It’s bright or it’s grey inside of this door.
And the sun turns to moonlight shone in on the floor.
You can get used to living life inside a box.
Overtaken by flowers and rocks.
Thrilled by the birds. Not songs but words.
Unconcerned with breaking news or stocks.
Slaughterhouse Fifty
Uvalde’s just the tip of the iceberg,
as people out in Tulsa found today.
Until we slow the sale of AR-15’s,
mass shootings in our land won’t go away.
The military instruments of killing
should not be so available to all.
And politicians in gun lobbies pockets
must be voted out starting this fall.
Guns adapted to kill hundreds quickly
have no purpose outside declared war.
Why they’re sold without qualm to the public
disavows all thought of what they’re for.
Keep your hunting rifles and your hand guns.
No one needs a clip or magazine
capable of massive execution
unless mortal destruction’s their scene.
Perspicacity Capacity
With all the sad news recently occurred,
sometimes sense of propriety is blurred.
On social sites, ignorance is the word.
They’re all wrapped up instead in Depp v. Heard.
Forget the cruel school shooting and the war.
And never mind Georgia’s primary score.
Ignore how baby food exists no more.
Let’s read about the film star and his whore.
Attention span is broken in this nation.
When something hurts, just find another station.
Forget about pandemic saturation.
Just jump on line and seek a new sensation.
Maybe Kim and Pete will tie the knot.
Tyler’s back in rehab; now that’s hot.
North Korea: ‘nother missile shot.
Musk will start a restaurant. What rot!
Who knows what it will take to make us see
we might be well erased by history?
Wake up! We’re on the brink of World War three.
Life’s not entertainment sent for free.
Clarion Octogenerian
Bob Dylan’s eighty-one today.
A man who has a lot to say.
In Hibbing, where the poet grew,
was raised up Roger Maris, too.
The gopher city we must hail
also bred Kevin McHale.
But Bob became a restless beast,
took his guitar, headed east.
When Bob showed up in NYC,
the Village scene made history.
Folk and jazz and honky tonk.
Honk if you like Dave Van Ronk.
Later, when he electrified,
some thought his career had died.
But he wrote five hundred songs.
Some are even sing-alongs.
Many anthems of our ages
are found in his lyrics pages.
No singer’s been this exciting.
Won the Nobel Prize for writing.
Maintains his air of mystery,
even after age eighty.
Happy birthday, Mighty Bob.
You’ve done one hell of a job.
Farewell, April
The last day of “the cruelest month,”
and still the war drags on.
Our super hero smells like Musk,
new Twitter Lord, Elon.
Meanwhile, in Colorado,
there’s a man who’s caught bird flu.
And at a California beach,
coyotes swim with you.
Boris Becker’s gone to jail
for bankruptcy deceit.
Suicide by U.S. sailors
has gone on repeat.
M.T. Greene’s “no recollection”
rings a warning bell.
If the right is not contained,
this country goes to hell.
Maybe May might change the tide,
but odds are pretty thin.
Fate has dubbed November
as our final chance to win.
Perhaps the summer weather
could perform some turnabout,
or else create more fires
that no water can put out.
I Pity the April Fool
Who’ll be the April fool?
Someone we thought was cool?
Someone who wages war?
Someone whose face is sore?
April fools thrive on showers,
don’t even care for flowers,
may have sought insurrection,
acted without reflection.
April fools think ‘play ball’
means hear the master’s call.
April fools will never say
what happened on that day,
hoping it goes away
any time short of May.
Impaired Judgement
Judge Clarence Thomas has a big lie pushing wife.
This distraction has to matter, ’cause he serves for life.
The fact she’s for guns and against abortion
could mean he faces bouts of thought distortion.
It’s found she went to the pre-riot rally
and signed on to the fake election tally.
Can one imagine that her husband might
be swayed by her attachment to the right?
Should he be recused from some court decisions
which blatantly involve left-right divisions?
It’s hard to leave one’s private life at home
to change one’s thinking in the D.C. dome.
High Alert
When Putin’s in his combat zone,
he’ll take on the whole world alone.
It doesn’t matter what the cost.
He’ll keep on ’til the world is lost.
Ukraine has him very vexed.
Poland knows it could be next.
A million refugees have fled,
husbands left behind for dead.
They’ll give an heroic fight,
but Russia has all the might.
There are tanks in Ukraine streets.
Night time bombs provide the beats.
If we dare to interfere,
Putin’s red button is near.
Nukes he’s put on high alert
could create a world of hurt.
Maybe even world war three.
Say goodbye, humanity.
Union Specific
The state of the union is in pain,
and not just because Russia’s in Ukraine.
We still have citizens in great division,
with not much more on both sides than derision.
It seems that since the president’s election,
the right’s taken to madness and objection.
The government is locked in this stalemate,
and crossing lines untaps a spate of hate.
There’s some who still take their advice from Q,
and hate groups who’d be happy with a coup.
Just a simple infrastructure bill
triggered animus upon the hill.
And now, with Putin’s mentioning of nukes,
the patriots must rail against the kooks.
There’s even those who side with Russia still.
The right wing media’s a rumor mill.
And if the newest Justice is approved,
it means heaven and hell had to be moved.
Just saying that our union’s state is dire
steps foot into political crossfire.
The next election cycle could just tear this land apart.
The present state of union needs a definite kick start.
Putin Free
Putin started shootin’ ‘cross the border in Ukraine.
Now he’s talkin’ nukes and it’s quite clear he’s gone insane.
He went in to ‘kill nazis,’ though their leader is a jew.
The people took up arms and said, “No, this you cannot do.”
He’s strafing, bombing, tanks amok, but Ukraine won’t concede.
We’ve only sanctions on our side to pacify his greed.
An oligarch gone rogue has not been seen since Hitler’s days
(unless you count the orange demon’s presidential phase).
After four days fighting, Russia claimed Chernobyl’s site.
Only disadvantage: now their soldiers glow at night.
Signs this war is spreading, lapping into Belarus,
are stoking fears worldwide that Putin could let missiles loose.
Third World War could put a stop to our next big election.
Leaders will rise through the waste by natural selection.
President Zelensky has accorded himself well.
His people stand behind him, telling Putin, “Go to hell.”
Nuclear Winter
Broiled friends defy description.
Nuclear cooking benefits only buzzards.
There’s a flash in the panhandle,
and Florida floats out to sea,
a theme park of ash.
Those who saw New York go
will not remember for the pain.
The west coast was all too easy
with its many faults.
Survivors flock to the midlands,
a dust-covered wastescape
where the sun is seldom seen
but the wind is constant.
Odds are the Australians
will be the last to die.
Baseball Strike
Always looking to the sky, you and I.
What we gonna count upon if baseball die?
Russia’s at the English Channel, by the by.
I feel like the backup catcher in the rye.
I’ve seen pop ups looked like they were vapor trails.
Homers long enough to become holy grails.
Life’s played in a super dome of atmospheric whirls.
Those long beloved base paths have surrendered all their pearls.
Bleak Redo
Looks like we’ll live through another war.
Keeping peace since Little Boy’s been what life’s for.
Defending Ukraine is a subtle task.
Avoiding nukes now is all we can ask.
A madman autocrat is on the move,
a bit east of where Hitler got his groove.
There’s talk of cyber war and stopping trains.
It’s crucial to weigh losses versus gains.
It’s world war if Russia moves further west.
Unlock your shelter and pray for the best.
Once NATO troops enter into this fray,
we’re on the precipice of judgement day.
We faced apocalypse in sixty-two.
Sixty years later comes this bleak redo.
Incursion Aversion
“Let him reign in Ukraine.”
Orange praise for pal Vlad’s brain.
Rise, autocrats of the world.
Now your flag has been unfurled.
Democracy is on the slide.
Four more years it would have died.
Putin’s troops now pointed east,
lumbering, here comes the beast.
Spectre of an old world order,
troops amassed on Russia’s border,
harkens back to sixty-two,
back to Cuban missile stew.
Biden is no J.F.K.
This is real war, not cosplay.
Ukraine’s president, a comic,
stands upon a stage atomic.
NATO, Plato, all involved,
question how this can be solved.
Meanwhile, tanks and guns move in.
Wait for carnage to begin.
Next Morning’s Map
A thousand battered kegs
floated in the bay.
It was a holiday
and the rats were jumping ship.
Talk of treason had turned
to suggestions of war.
Every machine sounded of planes.
Thunder was guns
and then night drew in.
On next morning’s map,
we had been eliminated.
Harbor islands had become volcanoes.
The waves bore shrapnel
and shredded uniforms.
The holiday was blamed
and next time we were told
to kill all celebration.
Kinder & Gentler
Being kind and gentle
is not experimental.
No. It is just a state
we all could imitate.
Who knows?
Perhaps it might catch on,
and hatreds, woes
may all be gone.
In a world more civilized,
to look into another’s eyes
just may be the needed start:
universal change of heart.
Communion
In times of stress and sorrow, times when I feel alone,
I don’t look towards tomorrow, I simply pray to my phone.
In times when I need uplift, when I could use a pet,
I pass by fur and, in a blur, look up cats on the net.
And when I’m seeking contact, I need not take to the streets.
I just sit back and hover, with my thumbs texting out tweets.
I haven’t seen a face in years, except upon a screen.
All I need to live on gets delivered, sight unseen.
I feast on remote teaching, remote learning, on-line fun.
I play for hours at Candy Crush, until I’m sure I’ve won.
I’ve found an app that lets me look at sunlight when I’m down.
There are surveillance cameras that show what goes on in town.
At day’s end, my phone’s on my pillow, whispering goodnight.
My only friend, until the end, is never out of sight.
Cruz Control
There is no moral arc with Republicans gone dark.
They are trying to flatline society.
A union based on sanity and truth now needs our spark
to restore some sense of propriety.
January Sicks
They arrived en masse, the January sicks ,
summoned, all, to the White House ellipse.
They listened to their master for an hour,
explain that he’d been cheated out of power.
His one intention simply was to coax
his fans: he’d been the victim of a ‘hoax.’
He told them to march Pennsylvania Ave.
and show the patriotic guts they have.
He said if he was removed from D.C.,
it meant the death of our democracy.
He claimed he’d need at least another term
to make this country’s reputation firm.
And, as if it made any lick of sense,
he blamed his troubles all on V.P. Pence.
“Just hang the man if he won’t change the vote.
It’s obvious he’s become a turncoat.
I may not be beside you,
but let my spirit guide you.
It’s time, Republicans, to rock the boat.”
And then he went and watched it on t.v.,
while drinking Coke and eating K.F.C.
It was the perfect diet to watch a growing riot.
He gloated. “They are doing this for me!”
His kids and colleagues plead for him to stop.
There were a couple dead, even a cop.
But he just let it go, his favorite heroes show,
thinking he’d get his place back at the top.
He watched it for two hours, we are told,
until the insurrection was controlled.
Then, finally, pretending now to care,
he agreed to a minute on the air,
and thanked his charges for being so bold.
“We love you. Go in peace.
Looks like they broke my lease.
But I’ll be back for more.
See you in twenty-four.”
Next time, it will be better engineered,
the fixed outcome which many people feared.
This may have been the last election season
untouched by voting tricks and downright treason.