The Nuanced Man

The foreign policy of the Obama administration has been described by his lapdog press admirers as ‘nuanced’, somehow missing the obvious, that it is not so much nuanced as it is an utter and complete catastrophe. It isn’t his policy that’s nuanced, it is Barack Obama who is nuanced, so nuanced it is difficult to see where the nuance ends and the man begins. Like Horus the falcon god of the Pharaohs, he soars over the mountains, his intellect flaring in brilliant orgasmic colors, enveloping the breathless stars.  

He sees with focused blinkers
He dines with his own kind
The artists and the thinkers
To sharpen up his mind
His intellect is fright’ning
He’s smartest in the room
So quick his mind, like lightning
Whose flashes light the gloom
The man’s a ceaseless wonder
A man to give us joy
With ringing words like thunder
Our own nuancey boy

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The President’s Advisors

The president has three advisors. No, not Wynken, Blynken and Nod, as policy might suggest, but Samantha, Valerie and Susan, who, contrary to rumor, sit around a conference table and not a bubbling cauldron. The principal item on the agenda is how to resolve the Middle East conflagration that Obama has gotten the world into. He has installed our enemies in power in Libya and Iraq, sent arms and equipment to our enemies in Syria, and now wonders who he can attack in an attempt to restore the status quo ante.

The president’s advisors
All so cuddly and warm
Insist that black is white and white is black
Samantha Power, true to O
And also true to form
Suggests there’s simply no one to attack
Except those damn Israelis who
Will not accede to her
Suggestion that they love their neighbors well
Despite the fact that missiles landing
In their midst occur
With frequency and make their life a hell
Then Valerie, with narrowed eyes
Says Iran is the key
The Mullahs know there is no sense in war
I swear Iran wants peace by all
The Persian blood in me
My country is pacific to the core
Then O smiled broadly at his favorite
Commie, Susan Rice
Who smiled and said whoever one anoints
To be our friend and ally is
Just rolling of the dice
You don’t know if they’ll use the talking points
The president said thank you all
And left to play a round
Entrusting the Free World to witches three
His conscience clear he grabs his clubs
His policy is sound
It’s burning Middle East or Burning Tree

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Ripples In A Pond

The question of reparations for slavery has again risen its ugly head. Do we owe reparations to people who owe their very existence to the existence of slavery? Shouldn’t they be thankful they’re alive? Every time a Republican president addresses a hostile black audience, I long to hear him say, “Slavery was a terrible thing, but if it hadn’t happened none of you would have been born, and neither would any of your parents, grandparents, great grandparents and great great grandparents. Louis Armstrong and Willie Mays would never have been born, and Greensleeves would still be in the top forty.” But it never happens.

The real question is what would the United States now look like had there been no slavery, and the answer is everything would have been different because hardly any white people of European descent alive today would have been born. Six hundred thousand young men died in the American Civil War, most before they married and had children. What happened to the women who would have married them and had children by them? A small number likely remained spinsters and childless for life, but the majority married someone else and had children by their second choice. Think about a single case and multiply it by six hundred thousand over seven or eight generations: In a world where there was no US slavery, Alice married Aaron and had children survive to adulthood. But in the real world, the world we inhabit, Aaron died in the Civil War, and Alice married Barton. The children she would have had with Aaron were never born, replaced by the children she had with Barton. But in the world without US slavery Alice married Aaron and Barton married Nancy. So what happened to Nancy when the Civil War intervened and Barton married Alice? Nancy married Jacob and another stone was thrown into the pond. These ripples in the population pond begin as small circles but expand to include almost the entirety of the white population of the US of the latter half of the Nineteenth and on into the Twentieth and Twenty-first centuries and beyond, in accordance with the iron rule of the exponential nature of an arithmetical progression. At some point in that relentless arithmetical progression most marriages and children born are the result of Aaron and six hundred thousand young men being killed in the Civil War. Had there been no Civil War it is not only Willie Mays and Louis Armstrong who would never have been born, it is me and most people of European extraction. Any speculation about what the US would look like today without slavery and without the Civil War must begin with this question: At what point did the history of the country begin to change because the majority of the people then alive were born because the Civil War never happened. Or maybe it happened before that. Would Washington have commanded the Army had he been born to a dirt poor farm family?

We’ll never know what might have been
Had Louis not been born
Would music be the same as now
Without that magic horn?
Would Washington have been in charge
To save an army torn
Had he been born and raised dirt poor
And not plantation born?
Would the Great War been not so Great
Had history been bent
And August ’14 White House said
The AEF be sent?
Would Lindbergh ever have been born
To fly to Le Bourget
The Wright brothers, would they be here
To show Lindberg the way?
I know determinists will shout
That someone else would fly
That someone else would make the same
Decisions where they lie
But I don’t know if everything
Is predetermined, so
I will confess the answers to
Those questions I don’t know

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Vlad The Inhalor

Vladimir Putin has visions of being Peter the Great, or maybe Stalin. His attempt to recreate the Soviet Union by inhaling nearby former mostly unwilling partners in that unholy, murderous union, will ultimately fail. The Russian bear of Vladimir Putin raises its head, sniffs the air, and tries mightily to make us believe he is the Golden Horde. And yet, when looked at more closely, the bear is revealed to be a wolfhound pup, wanting nothing more than to lie on its back and have it’s belly rubbed.

He turns his eye unto the south
A tasty morsel there
A quick inhale into his mouth
And no one seems to care
Ossetia now is no more
Just one more near abroad
A quick inhale, run up the score
The West is less than awed
He eyes the morsels to the west
Crimea, where ‘tis said
At Balaclava laid to rest
Are many British dead
But that was then and this is now
The time of hope and change
A time for hoping that somehow
Though ‘twould be passing strange
The Russian bear will change its ways
And walk, like man, upright
And yet, alas, the bear still stays
A doggie who will bite

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The Lemonade Stand

There are those who lament that the history of the country is being forgotten. They are correct, it is being forgotten, but the forgetting of the past will be resolved in the fullness of time when, as the scientists are happy to tell us, Western children already born will live to the ripe old age of 150 or so. I can make this prediction in full confidence knowing that I am in the process of forgetting a good deal of my own past, as may be seen from my wife’s reaction when she recounts a recent trivial event and asks, always with feigned astonishment, “You don’t remember that?”

I remember well when as a lad
I climbed the front yard tree
Aware the freedom that I had
To see what I could see
The vacant lot where I played ball
The house where I did live
My memories complete recall
But now a battered sieve
Oh I recall things of the past
The stand my father made
The table top that seemed so vast
Where I sold lemonade
And I recall the whole darned cast
Of the Johnny Carson show
I watched it all from first to last
And sad to see him go
Apart from that the past is mist
Dim shadows faintly seen
I fail to see why some insist
That mem’ry must be keen
I do all right as I sit here
Unbound by passing time
Thesaurus and a mouse quite near
To make of life a rhyme

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Their Fathers’ Dreams

“If what used to be called ‘America’ is replaced by affinity groups based around races, beliefs or sexual orientations, the Left will inherit nothing but a broken, Balkanized world, not the shiny New International Order they were counting on.” – Richard Fernandez, The Belmont Club.

Two or three times over the last dozen or so years I have started a sci fi novel with this theme, but have never finished it because the plot outline always ended in indescribable carnage. I believe we are headed for balkanization, with our major cities turned to crime ridden third world cites run by black and Hispanic gangs in perpetual warfare with each other, too dangerous for a white person to venture into. I believe the Southwest will be de facto Mexican though still nominally a US territory. White America will retreat to the Southern and Mountain states, where a political party will arise that advocates cutting all ties with the third world rest of the country, including stopping all payments for government entitlements. It is at this point the country ceases to exist as a nation state and descends into anarchy. I believe we are headed in this direction, but I also believe we will not get there, though not because everyone realizes the error of his ways but because the white tribe will take charge and place its foot on the necks of the other tribes. Superior culture and superior smarts and superior firepower wins, but only if there is superior will. I may be unduly optimistic, but I believe when crunch time comes the will to keep one’s country is found. All it takes is one man and one white horse.

The rolling plains, the good black earth
The forests and the streams
Belong to those who hold them dear
And live their fathers’ dreams
The land they conquered, land they farmed
Will not be thrown away
Will not be given to the tribes
Who came the other day
The Left has riven some of will
But there are those who’ll fight
For dreams their fathers gave to them
They will not say goodnight

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The End Of The World, Part 2

Events in the Middle East. Alarums and portents. As soon as they all get nuked up we’ll have Twelfth Imams popping up out of wells all over the place. I asked friends and family which day they would prefer the world to end, and there was no agreement.

Some said that if the world is ending one day
It might as well be on a rainy Monday
While others said if there’s a get to choose day
They’d much prefer it happened on a Tuesday
Some shrugged and said it really all depends day
As long as it is not an Ifs but Whensday
But many thought there couldn’t be a worse day
Than have the world be ending on a Thursday
The fatalists chose not a reason why day
But hoped it would not happen on a Friday
Some felt there really couldn’t be a badder day
That ruining the weekend meant a Sadderday
It seems that if the world is ending one day
We’ll all be sleeping in some gloomy Sunday

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Thousands of unattended children from Central America are crossing our southern border and are being given asylum, food and medical treatment, joining the millions of Mexicans crossing our border unimpeded. Hundreds of thousands of North African Muslim boat people are coming ashore in Italy. Western civilization is imploding before our astonished eyes. The Third World is coming ashore, and uninvited at that. And if that weren’t bad enough, the Middle East is imploding, the Obama administration is imploding, and the economy is imploding. All the result of decades long Leftist rule, and one day soon that too will implode.

Once it’s put in motion
We see the very ocean
Deposit migrant people on our shores
The Western world is filling
With people who are willing
To leave their lives and embrace western lures
To them there are no borders
Defy policemen’s orders
They risk death just to find a place to stay
A place where they’re looked after
A place with children’s laughter
And best of all the taxpayers will pay
As well we now are learning
The Middle East is burning
As Sunnis fight the Shias to the knife
With casualties mounting
And bodies not worth counting
To be in Iraq now is worth your life
At home the raging scandals
Brought by Obama’s vandals
Have seen the VA and the IRS
Dispose of vets and disk drives
A world they know no risk thrives
And couldn’t care ‘bout public ire less
Our paper money’s worthless
The White House clearly mirthless
Although they laughed as freedom swiftly died
The tipping point is coming
And when it comes the humming
Will stop and tumbrels take them for a ride

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The Twenty Percent

The country once believed in real life heroes who stormed machine gun nests and took them. But no more. Oh, the country still has heroes who will storm machine gun nests, but they are not revered among the Leftists now running the country, any more than working men and women are held in much esteem by our self-styled elite Lefty leaders. It is said that 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people. That was always true and always will be true. And we twenty percenters are still here, maybe not heroes, but machine gun nests come in many guises.

I’m proud to say my working life
Was spent among the twenty
Percent of those who built the USA
We built the towers, laid the rails
That gave a life of plenty
To everyone who lives here yet today
We built the ships and built the planes
That guaranteed the freedom
Of millions whom we never even met
We didn’t care who they might be
Be tweedle-dee or dee-dum
And never thought to put them in our debt
But we’re still here and going strong
Though not among our leaders
Who seem to think that they’re the world’s elite
But you and I, we know full well
That they’re just bottom feeders
Without us working stiffs they’ve naught to eat
We need to understand that heroes
Are alive and kicking
Machine guns still are there and oiled and primed
We’ll take that nest again and smile
And come out safe and ticking
For everything is measured, weighed and timed
This too shall pass, the gauntlet run
So goes the ancient saying
Incompetents and harridans alike
Will slink away, the White House cleansed
They hear the bloodhounds baying
And very soon the midnight chimes will strike


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The nation has elected a vampyre to the highest office in the land, a man who lives by magic and drinks the blood of our forefathers, intent only on draining the lifeblood from the country and throwing away the husk.

Mozart had his magic flute
And Jason had his fleece
Obama has his magic suit
Cleaned, pressed, with sharpened crease
The suit conceals the truth inside
Conceals the shadowed form
Conceals what O prefers to hide
That he is cold, not warm
There is no pulse, no beating heart
The magic does it all
He sleeps all day, light, sun depart
And wakens at the call
Of those like he he’ll rise and meet
And smell the nightshade bud
He’ll prowl the darkened narrow street
And drink the nation’s blood

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