His Master’s Voice?

They must think us dogs

salivating to their bells

doing tricks for tiny treats!


And how can they not

when we drool at every cue

playing games they tell us to?


Is there any choice?

After all, they hold the cards

and set the rules we must regard.


Why must we regard

their arbitrary edicts

when their only care

is their self-serving interests?

Bite the hands that feed, I say!

Ignore their strident bellows!

Exercise our every freedom!

Let us run across the meadows!

Rondeau (experiment)

Caution! I’m beginning to play with a 13th century French poetic form. Read with care!!—

“On The Border”


Beneath early autumn sun

Across crystal azure skies

A solitary owl flies

And tiny, frightened, vermin run,

Homeward, nightly battle done.

Under ever watchful eyes

Beneath desert morning sun 

Frightened desperate people run

From the torture and the cries

As the wounded die beneath.


From high above the “shining” shun,

Mouthing, loudly, lofty lies

As, far below, the “vermin” flies

Hiding from the haughty gun,

And gilded boot they shy beneath.