Public Dinner Conversation

Where’s this country going to?

I demand to know!

Every day it’s something else;

A freaking horror show!

All them snowflakes yammering

About equal pay for equal work,

And all them women going nuts

Because some businessman’s a jerk?

God damned libtards raising hell;

He’s just trying to have some fun.

Mark my words, this won’t end well;

They’ll come next to take our guns!

One day soon, they’ll pay the price

For quitting our lord, Jesus Christ!


Ode to Silicon

What silly substance seals your engine

While it lubricates your brakes,

Also keeps your hands from burning

And won’t stick to baking cakes?

What magic metal polymer

Helps to make your dry flies float

All while doing double duty

Shedding raindrops from your coat. 

When it’s in its other form

A partner at both work and play

This stuff makes computers work

And lets you use your phone all day.

You can’t escape this silly stuff; it’s always within easy reach

In every sky high satellite and under foot on every beach.

No Child’s Mythic Mystic Journey (version 2)

Through this driving, bitter, rain,

Off to Grandma’s once again.

Sadly muted Christmas songs-

No one wants to sing along.

Only mournful background sound,

Dragging all our spirits down,

Drowned without a hesitation

By adolescent recitation

Of somber death, poetry

From the nineteenth century.

Perfect mirror for my mood-

Spending hours with this brood!

I must ask you, my old friend,

Will this winter ever end?

America: beaten black and blue

I saw three young men clad all in black

Except for bright white tennis shoes.

I’m rather pleased that my first thought

Was “They could use a fashion muse!”

No sense of dread came rising up

From deep within some hidden core

Of long forgotten biased fears.

No deeply planted racial lore.

Just three young men clad all in black

All wearing bright white sneakers

Out for a stroll this Saturday

Not some heartless violence seekers.

Perhaps they want more festive dress.

I pray they avoid unpleasantness.

Who Let The Droogs Out?

Three times now, since Tuesday,

They’ve been there with their guns,

Four young men in camo tees

Lounging against the tailgate.

Their presence isn’t new; they’ve been there many days,

Lounging against the tailgate

Rapt in friendly conversation;

There without their guns.

I see them now in different light

Than I did those days before;

These four young men in camo tees,

Lounging against the tailgate,

With their pistols on their hips,

Rapt in guarded conversation.

Shock and Awe

From ragged verdant verge

Eruptes a freckled fawn

Frightened into flight

Not long after dawn

By the sudden sight

On the lower lawn

Of, clad in crimson bright,

clumsy human spawn,

Who, in turn, was shocked

By the sudden charge

Of that tiny fawn

That seemed so very large.

Peace replaced by peril in a single instant,

A unity of terror in the minds of infants.

Senses and Senselessness

See those bloody shirts a wave,

lying us the reasons for?

Hear those shiny sabres rattle,

their deathly, hollow, call to war?

Feel the ache of frightened souls,

for whom living’s now a chore?

Taste the bitter widow’s tears

as she greets you at her door

to receive the tragic news

of husband dead on distant shore?

Smell the acrid tangy fumes

of burning corpse and scattered gore

drifting from the battle field;

is that enough or need you more?


Rise Above The Dung Heap

Brothers, heed my call!

As our sphere becomes a cesspit,

Where intolerant effluent flows,

Blooming like opinion’s night soil,

Let us keep our sacred hall

A place of rest from petty shit

Free from vile intemperant glow

Supplanting our harmony with moil.

So brothers, please, I beg you all,

For this time we rest and sit

Let’s keep our chamber pots below

Lest our tempers seethe and boil.

Brothers, please, let’s keep this space

A harmonious place of restful grace.


Institutions are not evil.

That resides within the men

Or at least, the man-like weasel

Who bends it to his every whim.

Trust not the man who deigns to tell you,

In a voice sonorous and proud,

All the things that you must do

To buy your place within his crowd.

And once you’ve paid your pound of flesh

To decorate his house of lies,

He’ll slander you with his next breath

Without a care for hows or whys.

No, evil’s not an institution

It’s just well packaged soul pollution.

MOpen Eyes and Open Minds

Nature makes no false distinction 

Between a flower and a weed

Both of them serve their purpose

And they also meet a need.

Nature makes no demarcation, 

Either, between shrub and tree.

It’s the myth of human naming

That shapes the differences we see.

So remember, as you wander,

From the safety of your fold

You’ll likely stumble over beauties

And many wonders to behold.

Just leave behind those preconceptions;

They often offer misdirections.

Workplace Woes

One does not sprint a marathon

Neither does one race a bus

But in the work place, so it seems,

That’s exactly what they want from us.

Every task is critical;

Each of highest priority

Expected quite some time ago

Before it was assigned to me.

With ever present implications

That failing to meet some magic metric

Will carry vast recriminations.

It all makes my work life quite hectic.

I will seek self-preservation,

Time for an endless vacation.

That’s All Folks

Here I stand, waiting,

Calmly anticipating

The casual negating

Of these fifteen years.

A professional life spent

Helping those the masters sent

Through each horrid life event,

Just more grease for endless gears!

Guess I’m done trotting the globe,

Loaning out my frontal lobe.

Bet I’ll shed narrie a tear

For the end of this career.

And so I bid you fond adieu.

I’ll find better things to do.

The Novice and The Sage

Cried the novice out, in fear,

“The road is all down hill from here!

But thrice my age you are, at least

And yet, it seems you still find hope.

How have you slain this fearsome beast?”

Spake the sage, in voice most deep,

“When the hill you’re on is way too steep,

Must you never surrender hope.

You can always bend the curve

And, in so doing, change the slope.”

“But that would mean a longer path,

How ever will you get there fast?”

“Life’s not about a race to run;

It’s about a journey that can be fun!”