The Whiching Hour

Which shall it be? Democracy or tyranny? The approaching election will decide which type of government we will leave to our children and grandchildren; a Constitutional Republic or a Leftist authoritarian kleptocracy. The Obama administration has already politicized and criminalized the Justice Department and the FBI, has already politicized and criminalized the IRS, and a Clinton administration will further the leftward pull of tyranny and continue and enhance the criminality of the Clinton Foundation.. Which shall it be, a government of laws or a government of whims? An independent Justice Department and an independent and incorruptible FBI or the KGB? Government agencies run on democratic principles or government agencies that punish critics of the State? A Supreme Court that believes in the Constitution and the law, or a Supreme Court that says the Constitution is a racist document written by dead white slave owners, in fierce denial of the fact that the Democratic Party, from birth to the current day, has been and is the Party of slave owners. Which kind of government shall it be? Government of the people, by the people and for the people, or government of, by and for the political and victim classes?

The FBI, not what it’s been
She broke the law, the fix was in
Top secret docs, for sale or rent
The secrets sold, but no intent
The Clintons get what they are owed
A charity and money flowed
Obama sicced the IRS
On enemies, but I digress
The witch rides high upon her broom
The houred time that marks our doom
Perhaps this time the broom won’t fly
But if it does, well then, goodbye

Mr. Lucky

When the Roman Senate selected a Consul, the deciding factor in their decision was the answer to the question, Is he lucky? If they answer was yes, he was confirmed. But can a whole country be lucky? I’m not so sure. Can an entire country of three hundred million be willing to take a risk? I don’t think this is in the consciousness of the electorate. If Trump is elected those voting for him will not consciously be taking a risk, because if they thought it was risky to have a President Trump very few would vote for him. No, I don’t think it is luck or willingness to take a risk that has made America what it has been, it is the men and women who lived under a nation of laws, constitutionally guaranteed and protected rights and agreed upon obligations, that made this country what it was and is in the process of losing because of the insidious shredding of the law and constitution carried out by the Left over the past seventy years. A President Donald Trump cannot reverse this cultural destruction by himself, regardless of time in office, even with a compliant Republican congress. But we must start there. I am not one who believes that a Hillary Clinton presidency will mean the end of the United States. Far from it. But it will delay the inevitable revolution.

The country is more than its lakes and streams
A country is people with hopes and dreams
A people who know that come the test
It will be passed, like all the rest
The country’s had is sad travails
Brief journeys down some darkened trails
But in the end it comes out right
We are the brightest star at night
The beacon on the rocky shore
We are all that, and much, much more

The Museum Of Leftist History

The museum of leftist history is not a shining alabaster building sitting proudly on a gently sloping swath of brilliant greenery, surrounded by majestic shade trees and brilliantly colored flowers in immaculate beds. No, the leftist museum of history lays like a massive block of rough cut sandstone in the rigid locked minds of the Left. I spoke to a Lefty friend recently, and he said the curators had installed a new wing, beautifully adorned with wall hangings bearing the ancient sayings of the racist, misogynist, birther Donald Trump. When I looked skeptical he said:

He is a man who cannot see
That women are a good as he
That color’s not a mark of shame
And liberals are not to blame
For many horrors over time
All due to massive right wing crime
He called a cute young woman fat
A ruined life that he begat
He wondered if our Saint Barack
Were not a common Mex wetback
He cries the Clintons both are crooks
And yet he won’t produce his books
He made his billions from the sweat
Of others who walked in to bet
On crooked games in dens of sin
Yes that’s the business he is in
Our president he cannot be
Excuse me now I have to pee
I get to choose, biology
Is just so much mythology
It matters not what is disclosed
Excuse me please, museum’s closed


I just want to say a few words about October, the eighth month of the year, at least by Roman reckoning, and the tenth and most beautiful and wonderful by the reckoning of a later age. October foliage setting the woods ablaze, crisp air resounding to the sound of football played with rough abandon, apple cider and hay rides with a pretty girl, Hallowe’en and mischief night for the kids and those of us still kids at heart. October, summer’s end but not yet winter. Enjoy the golden wonder that is October, for each is granted only so many, and when they are done they are done.

October football, pretty girls
Falling leaves and shining curls
The smell of wood smoke in the air
And sad that trees will soon be bare
But until then with golden blaze
The leaves turn red in mist borne haze
Tart apples ripened on the bough
And life is good for me and thou
Though not for those where vase is vahz
And not for those who live in Oz
Where they awake to springtime’s call
With naught to do, no bat, no ball

It’s Probably Nothing

Putin orders all Russian children who are abroad to be brought home, cancels a diplomatic trip to Paris, stations nuclear armed missiles in Kaliningrad on the Baltic coast, within range of all of Western Europe, and orders a countrywide nuclear war evacuation test. Meanwhile, US Air Force drops dummy nuke bombs in Nevada desert test run as Russian television warns United States not to engage in provocative action. But it’s probably nothing.

But surely Putin cannot mean
To start a war, or make a scene
He merely needs attention so
He blusters, not to mention Joe
Q. Russian public do not want
A paranoid and crazy little runt
To start a war that might well end
The life of every family, friend
And so it’s best to ignore all
At least until the big ones fall
So lazily from obscene heights
And turn the days to winter nights

Geezer Culture

We are living in final times, witnesses to  the final paroxysms of the radical culture of the 60s and the 70s, a culture of drug induced dementia and the willful destruction of the common values we once held dear, all foisted on an unsuspecting populace by Che Guevara loving twenty-something radicals determined to tear everything down. Everything takes seventy years to work its way through the intestines of a society, because it lasts so long as its founders are alive, and happily, the radical leftist twenty-somethings of the 50s are leaving us. What we do next is the question. Do we continue to keep alive that destructive culture with the election of Hillary Clinton or do we say goodbye to all that and elect a new vision for America in the person of Donald Trump. The latter will not be easy, for the 50s radicals and their successors have burrowed deep and are not about to give up power without a fierce and bloody fight.

For many years the country has
Been ruled by 50s geezers
And so corrupt could only be
Picked up with sterile tweezers
Originals are leaving us
In ever greater numbers
Succumbing peaceful in their sleep
To lie in gentle slumbers
As such as Hillary press on
Determined to destroy us
By sending all the jobs abroad
With none left to employ us
By making sure that all is rigged
To come out in their favor
With laws just for the little folk
And Left the only flavor
But revolution’s in the air
Be gone these Lefty strumpets
We’re shoving off the 50s Left
With blaring, blazing trumpets


Bethlehem Royal Hospital for the Insane, in London, Bed’lam in cockneyspeak, would never have had the reputation it has earned if they had had Josh Earnest, the press spokesman for the Obama White House, to explain what was going on inside.

Josh Earnest might be crazy too
It’s just so hard to tell
He knows the press is lazy too
And what he has to sell
Is taken at face value by
Each lefty ink stained wretch
Who never stop to ask Josh why
The sell is such a stretch
Inside they’re banging on the doors
And screaming at the night
While rolling frothing on the floors
And running round in fright
But all is calm outside and so
We know that all is well
Josh wouldn’t lie, that much we know
And while the country fell
Behind the White House counting rooms
Where votes are stashed in piles
The patients cower as their dooms
Are locked inside the files
Where staff has placed them all on hold
Until election day
When out they come, the dead and cold
The daft and all who play
At being sane and competent
While screaming in their sleep
As demons screech, Repent! Repent!
As Josh earns well his keep


The Left comes bearing gifts of poverty, disease and death, and the people, refusing to heed the warnings, have wheeled the wooden horse inside the gates. Adam and Eve rejected the Garden of Eden, and the very real paradise of modern Western civilization has been rejected by the people of the West in favor of the Leftist gifts of poverty, disease and early death, only to find, belatedly, that the gift horse was filled with snakes.

The Left it seems just loves to take
The road that leads nowhere
But to the crumbled worn out bridge
That simply will not bear
The burdens of the Leftist state
Piled on the working class
While cronies of the ruling Left
All seem to get a pass
The Left loves people who are poor
And easier to please
They herd them into ghetto camps
A Leftist run disease
The system works well for the Left
For poverty and crime
Results in votes for Lefty pols
Cashed at election time
The herded votes of third world folk
Are bought with stolen cash
From working folk who pay the tax
That fattens Leftist’s stash
The Eden that we thought we had
In which we all had stakes
Was stolen by the Left and now
Has died from bites by snakes

A Rodent’s Tale

Researchers have developed an anti-aging drug called Rapamicin that in tests has been seen to extend the lives of mice. All well and good for the mice, but wouldn’t outlawing mouse traps be cheaper and just as effective? I spoke to a mouse recently about Rapamicin and he said,

I like the whole idea of extending all our lives
Though I suppose they’ll give it next to rats
I’m cool with that but there’s one thought that tends to give me hives
And that is that they’ll give it too to cats
I’m not afraid of cats but I confess a mild dislike
I’d hate to see them live an extra day
I’ve felt this way about those buggers since I was a tyke
We mice much all prefer the cat’s away
That said I’ve had my shot of Rapamicin and I’m good
I plan on living long and having fun
I’ll keep my distance from the cat and meanwhile knock on wood
I think I’d live much longer with a gun

Searching For The Dolphins

One may, on command, leave his corporeal body and take wing, for howsoever a length of time he may desire, and return at the instant of his leaving, for time is elastic and life is malleable. A summer day, a young man, a high rise on the beach. The calm Atlantic Ocean stretches effortlessly to the curving edge of the Earth and the beginning of the sky. In the distance a rhythmic series of sunlight flashes betrays something on the water. Binoculars, and the flashing sunlight becomes a pod of dolphins broaching the surface, traveling south at speed, the sun bouncing off the droplets of water like tiny diamonds in the rain. As I watch, I wonder where they are going and why they are going there, what they are thinking and what they are saying. I watch them until I can see them no longer, and I close my eyes and wish with all my heart I was with them.

The sea is the entirety of my world
Timeless, without limit, undefined
Salt rivers travel constant in their course
And such as I and others of my kind
Like caravans of old we make our way
To where the boundless rivers deep and wide
Flow swiftly just beneath the surface sea
And carry us with Neptune as our guide
We pass the seacoasts of the world at large
And wonder at the lives of frantic pace
The crowded cities pressing on the verge
And thankful we are free of time and place
We sing because we love the life we live
The waves laugh with us in our joyous dance
Our journey never ends for time is still
Upon the restless sea of sweet romance