The Pendulum

The pendulum’s amazing grace
Is captured in its steady pace
It swings a measured arc in time
Steadfastness at its most sublime
And yet the pendulum disturbed
Can act in many ways perturbed
Once set in motion to correct
A perceived flaw that leads direct
To acts that cause the weight to swing
In greater arcs that soon will bring
A dislocation of the way
In which affairs of man obey
The laws of nature as defined
By mankind from time out of mind
For pendulums don’t ever rest
They do what they always do best
The pendulum is never still
It swings eternal, always will

History And The Man

I don’t know what the future holds in detail, but I know that all futures, and therefore all histories, are determined by the actions of the indispensable man. In the Spring of 1940, as the German panzers raced across France, driving the 300,000 men of the British Expeditionary Force onto the beaches at Dunkirk, one man changed the course of history. Led by Foreign Minister Lord Halifax and Lord Beaverbrook, owner of Britain’s most influential newspapers, the British elites urged Prime Minister Churchill to come to terms with Hitler. Had Churchill done so, the history of the world would have been quite different. We do not know what the terms of surrender would have been, but would very likely have included placing Egypt and the Suez Canal in German hands, giving access to Asia and Axis partner Japan, as well as giving Hitler complete control of the Mediterranean with access to Middle Eastern oil and a southern route into the Soviet Union. The Russian campaign would have been different, with a German victory a likely ending. The French fleet would have fallen into German hands, though the Royal Navy might very well have fled to Canada. There would have been no World War 2 as we know it, and it is fair to ask if Japan, probably the recipient in the peace treaty of British and French possessions in the Pacific, would have felt the necessity of attacking Pearl Harbor. In short, if Churchill had accepted the advice of every influential Englishman, our world would today be completely different. But Churchill did not accept that advice, and rallied the English people to fight, and to prevail.

Today, under completely different conditions than faced Churchill, there has arisen another indispensable man. Donald Trump, a billionaire businessman, has, like Cincinnatus, laid down his plow and saved the nation. The Democratic Party of today is not the Democratic Party of yesteryear, when its ruling Southern elites were more conservative than Eastern Republicans. That Democratic Party was swept away by the pro-communist radical left wing of the party after the presidential election of 1968, becoming more leftist as the years passed, culminating with the election of Barack Obama, the first anti-American president of the United States, leaving, or so he thought, the country in the hands of his successor, Hillary Clinton, to continue the destruction of the American Republic, as well as the destruction of the white middle class and its replacement with third world Mexicans and South Americans who would guarantee a permanent radical socialist governing party that would turn the country into another Cuba or Venezuela. But Trump, like Churchill, now stands athwart history, and the future will record that Donald Trump, singlehandedly, saved the American Republic from destruction at the hands of a radical, America and white people hating Democratic Party.

Thick oily smoke obscured the signs
Directing men with dirt-cracked lips
Through knee high water in long lines
To board the waiting off shore ships
But that was far too many years
And none today recall their names
And few recall blood, sweat and tears
Or London nightly lit by flames
Today on a new Dunkirk beach
America had drifted left
Her gloried past seemed out of reach
As Democrats the country cleft
To warring factions at the throat
Of each the other thought as foe
‘Twas then that Trump took off his coat
And battled leftists toe to toe
The country safe, she took his arm
And with him strode the silent beach
Like Cincinnatus, to his farm
The stars once more within our reach

Mighty Croesus

The king of Lydia was the richest man in the world, yet he lost it all in a quest for power. The tale has been told of how his wise men told him that if he crossed the Halys River into Persia he would destroy a kingdom. Misunderstanding the warning, he crossed the river, and the kingdom he destroyed was his.

What is that which I should turn to
Mighty Croesus asked the sage
Have I gold that men should dream of
Have not books on every page
Blazed my name in crimson letters
Boldly drawn and edged in rime
With such wealth from yon Pactolus
River’d gold bequeathed by time
Gold is gold, the sage did answer
But for greatness more must come
Cross the river, fell a Kingdom
Count thee not the mounting sum
Then upon the gentle Halys
Croesus walked with shoes of gold
Into Persia with his army
Herodotus the story told
Captured by the mighty Cyrus
Croesus begged that he might live
For his life then he would give him
All the gold he had to give
There the story ends as often
Golden stories end not well
Gold is but a shining metal
Worthless if your soul you sell

Youthful Days

When I think of my youthful days
And of the very many ways
I diced with danger, laughing at the game
I climbed tall trees and billboards too
I truly did enjoy the view
Up high where eagles soared and called my name
I rode my bike at breakneck speed
And even when I’d start to bleed
From falling down or running into trees
I’d laugh it off and go on home
And douse it with mercurochrome
And put a bandaid on my bloody knees
But what at six seemed fearsome height
In retrospect it almost might
Seem not so far from ground and less than mild
And bike rides where I thought the hills
So steep they caused tremendous spills
Were little tiny bumps and nothing wild
Today when I am gray and old
I find that I am less than bold
And pleased that carefulness is now my style
I think of when I climbed those trees
And rode my bike swift as the breeze
And have to close my eyes and nap a while


Foreign governments complain that the United States is violating international law by leaving the Paris Accords and renewing trade deals and such, but international law is whatever the big guy says it is. Twentieth and twenty-first century institutions of international law were always a means to constrain Colossus, who was constrained only to the extent to which he agreed to be constrained. When Donald trump decided Colossus would no longer be constrained by institutions, laws and agreements inimical to Colossus, Colossus was unconstrained, and no one could do anything about it, any more than Thrace could constrain the Roman senate.

Colossi always strode the sky
Some for good and some for ill
And lasted for the blink of eye
The Hittites, Carthage, dead and still
So too Colossus makes the rules
And does what’ere Colossus deeds
Be not in conflict with the tools
Colossus feels Colossus needs
To keep the peace and maintain law
For that brief time the goddess gives
And when he dies then nature raw
Will rise again and chaos lives

Wheel Of Fortune

Is it all just chance? Carthage was at the height of its power at about the time Romulus and Remus began suckling at the teat of the wolf. And so it goes.

The laden ships, the Inland Sea
Mighty Baal, thy kingdom be
Bestride the world, thy ships for hire
Adventurers who left old Tyre
To start anew in western lands
And carve a city with bare hands
And now you call the west your home
Still knowing not the infant Rome
The Punic language spoke by all
The Latin still an infant’s squall
And yet the scales were trembling now
The Carthage gods with troubled brow
For they foresaw the future clear
The end of Carthage drawing near
The universe is never still
Who climbs the mountain, crests the hill
Will find that on the other side
The slope is steeper, and the ride
From top to bottom’s but a blink
No time to act, no time to think
And so it is with tide and time
The world doth speak, and speak in rhyme
To tell of others who before
Laid up their riches, filled their store
With goods and gold and heady wine
And saw each day as good and fine
That all must end, the circle made
And time to rest in blessed shade

The Rhodes Less Traveled

Ben Rhodes was the principal advisor to President Obama during the negotiations on the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action with Iran, the deal that gave Iran everything it wanted up front, including permission to build nuclear weapons as soon as the deal ran out and 150 billion dollars in cash which it promptly used to fund Hezbollah, its terrorist partner in the Middle East. The deal was so one sided, so favorable to Iran, that even the Mullahs were astonished at how easily they had conned the naïve Americans. But with the current anti-Mullah, anti-government protests in Iran, the American media and the Obama sycophants are claiming that political unrest in Iran and revolution against the government was what Ben Rhodes and Barack Obama had planned for the deal to accomplish all along. Yeah, right. Any plan or deal that Obama made that turned out to favor the United States was purely accidental, and not at all desired or intended.

I think that we can all agree
That planning by Obama
Would always turn out not to be
As good as what yo’ mama
Had told you back in second grade
That tying your shoelaces
And never thinking club a spade
Would likely take you places
That being careful what you say
And being nice to others
And working hard for honest pay
And honoring your mothers
Obama scorned such good advice
For chosen Rhodes less traveled
In consequence we paid the price
When all of it unraveled

The Old Ways Are Best

My friend Og sat in front of his cave, chewing on a piece of a large hairy beast slowly burning on the fire.

Why not, I said, use forks and knives
To help your many kids and wives
Consume yon hairy beast with some dispatch?
He grunted as he turned to stare
Into the flames as burning hair
Produced a stink that’s awfully tough to match
He said he had no use for those
And had contempt for folks who chose
To elevate themselves to what they’re not
There’s nothing wrong with using hands
To rip a carcass, veins and glands
And eat it even when it starts to rot
Technology will be the end
Of everything, now hear me friend
And listen when I say the old way’s best
At first we start with knives and spoons
And then after a few short moons
There’s dinner parties, place cards and the rest
And then I’ll have to wash my hands
And we’ll invite the other bands
With small talk sipping something on the rocks
Then candlesticks and table cloths
And bread bowls filled herby broths
And wifey will insist I change my socks
Where will it end, if once we start
For once we and the old ways part
Our lives will never be the way we were
I left him there on seeing that
The fire blazed with flaring fat
And the large smoking beast began to stir

A World That Was

The American Civil War had its moments of glory, but mostly it had sadness and homesickness.

The campfire low, the men in gray
Sat in the dark, as still as stone
Intent upon the fiddler’s play
The mournful notes, the sorrowed tone
Beyond the trees, blue pickets lie
Enraptured by the haunting tune
That said tomorrow some will die
And lie in fields forever June
Brothers once, but now at war
They dream upon the world they had
The world of home, and love and more
A world so suddenly gone mad

A Pre-Christmas Gift

Obama gave the Mullahs their Christmas presents early, hoping to receive his presents sometime down the road, but an election intervened and Obama’s future Christmas presents have been lost in transit.

And so there he was, in a pre-Christmas mode
With presents for Mullahs, with his down the road
His reasons far-reaching, his mind crystal clear
A long road he’d traveled, with victory near
The presents he’s giving were set to one side
Full knowing that Santa’s not starting his ride
Until that bright future when all fairly gleams
And arms are laid down in his fondest of dreams
Of Santa and reindeer and bright Christmas trees
As he lies in bed trying to catch him some Zs
While downstairs the adults drink mulled Christmas wine
While waiting for Santa to give them the sign
That Christmas was here by the sound of his sleigh
And nuclear treaties ‘neath tree he will lay
For years Barack waited and hoped for white snow
On that bright golden night when he’d hear  ho ho ho