The Eve

‘Tis the season for an Eve of Christmas poem in iambic pentameter as it might have been delivered in elegantly ringing Elizabethan tones from the hallowed boards of the Globe Theater in late 16th century England. On stage, the Companions rise as the King raises his glass and exclaims

‘Tis Christmas Eve and midnight draws apace
We raise a bumpered glass to what’s to come
With joy upon each red and merry face
We count our fortune numbered by the sum
And so my friends I bid you all goodnight
And cast our slumbers deep upon our beds
To waken in the golden morning light
With trinities of angels in our heads
‘Tis Christmas morn and all the world awake
To celebrate the birth of Christ the King
Born of the Virgin and died for our sake
In praise of which the thrice-blest angels sing
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL

 

The Untroubled Man

He softly walks the forest of his mind
Each bole the storehouse of his threaded thought
The leaves and branches supple, intertwined
His life full laid upon what he’d been taught
He rests beside the freely flowing brook
Each pebble washed to brilliant diamond shine
The dancing light to him an open book
The air upon his tongue like new made wine
The evening light grows dim and day’s events
Are catalogued and filed as bird calls cease
He lights a lamp and knows without pretense
That at the end of day he is at peace

The Virtue Scam

Global warming/climate change was always a virtue scam, designed to make guys like Al Gore very rich by selling virtue in the form of carbon credits to captains of industry desirous of staying on the right side of the leftist political establishment. It made no difference to the scammers or to the scammed that there was clear evidence that the earth was considerably warmer a thousand years ago than it is now, made no difference that Greenland ice cores told an entirely different story than the one they were peddling. From a scam designed to make Al Gore rich to a device to destroy the West in general and the United States in particular was a short step, as the left seized on global warming/climate change to gain their cherished dream of destroying capitalism in general and western civilization in particular through the medium of massive wealth transfer to the third world. Climate change, once embraced by the radical left, never had anything to do with climate, rather it had to do with destroying the West. And to the left, destroying the West was its greatest virtue of all.

The Vikings sailed the Arctic sea
A thousand years ago
And found it to be quite ice free
With not a single floe
They farmed a Greenland lush and warm
Wild grapes provided wine
Stout houses proof against a storm
And were abed by nine
But no one cared what Vikings did
A thousand years ago
All evidence was quiet hid
‘Mid cries of no more snow
The scam worked well for many years
Al Gore got very rich
Yet nothing came of warming fears
Complexity’s a bitch

Hysteria

Hysteria grips us and drives us insane
No proof is required, the guilt will remain
For daring to say that a woman is cute
And holding a door is the act of a brute
Assault is what anyone wants it to be
And feminists cry men must sit down to pee
Where maleness is toxic and must be erased
And gender is sexist and must be replaced
The world I grew up in has gone out of style
A world where a pat on behind drew a smile
Or maybe a frown and a slap in the face
But that was the end, everything in its place
The cops were not called, assault charges not filed
But everything now causes some be riled
It just isn’t safe to be men anymore
We live in the midst of a feminist war

Shiloh It Ain’t

The Democrats are giddy with excitement about the results of the recent Alabama special Senate election, won by a Democrat for the first time in 28 years. But before you get your underwear all twisted up, the Alabama special election was not Shiloh or Cold Harbor. Yes, the country is at political war with itself, but the election between Moore and Jones, taken as an incident in that war, was simply a case of one candidate being accused of dating teen aged girls some forty years ago when he was in his early thirties. No crimes were alleged, no indictments issued, no trial ensued, no evidence presented, no verdict arrived at as to the truth or falsity of the charges. The allegations may very well have been true, and if so it shows Roy Moore was a pre-dater, not a predator. The result had nothing to do with national politics. In 2020 Alabama voters will elect a Republican to the seat now temporarily held by Democrat Doug Jones, and nothing strategically has changed or will change over the next two years because of this election. What IS important about this election is that for the first time, but not the last, a candidate has been defeated by allegations that he behaved inappropriately forty years ago. Not criminally. Inappropriately. The feminist mob is screaming with delight, but this will not end well for the feminists or for the country. Politics is a copy-cat league, and the criminalization of alleged inappropriate behavior has only just begun, and the accusers are in charge of determining what is inappropriate.

Men are men, but let’s be kind
We pat a lass on the behind
She smiles or puts you in your place
By slapping hard your grinning face
Whichever, man, your goose is cooked
If all goes well you’re only booked
But politics? Not on your life
Not even if she was your wife

The Road To Brussels Fair

The crossroads beckoned up ahead
The weary traveler stopped
And looked about in fear and dread
Which path should he adopt?
One road led on to Brussels Fair
Bright roses lined the way
The other led to who knows where
What price be there to pay?
He chose the road where roses in
Profusion did proclaim
Bad weather never closes in
And one wins every game
And so it was for many miles
Bright skies and weather fair
While in the distance Brussels smiles
And becks the traveler there
A gleaming city on a hill
Aglow with golden light
He bade his racing heart be still
And walked on through the night
Oh at first ‘twas as desired
On the carousel, content
Even unemployed were hired
And the city paid the rent
But the wine soon left the fountains
Some folks worked while others played
And the debt grew high as mountains
And the city grew afraid
As the leaders wept and dithered
While great fissures were laid bare
And the roses died and withered
On the road to Brussels Fair

The Wizard

Against the dark forbidding sky
Competing with the distant stars
The flickering yellow tower light
Aligns with red ascendant Mars
The Wizard, lonely and unseen
Is hard at work, his spells uncast
While in the tower minions toil
To craft new versions of the past
The Wizard takes no company
His life is hard, his pleasures few
He sits alone in tower high
Entranced by his own brilliant view
Unseen by those inside the walls
Unfelt the tremors grow apace
Until the tower stone by stone
Disintegrates, and in its place
Another tower climbs the sky
Another wizard treads the stair
To gaze at stars beyond his grasp
And never know they do not care

Human Nature And The Typing Pool

We are in another of our frequent feeding frenzies, this time destroying men who have merely been acting like men have been acting for the entire existence of the human race. Their crime? Patting a woman on the ass. Sexual assault is one thing, patting a woman on the behind is another, and yet the two have become the same thing. Feminists have criminalized fooling around, something formerly enjoyed by both sexes. Get the predators out, put them in jail, but ruining the life of a man who did no more than pat a woman on the behind is insane. We all know that the female praying mantis kills and eats her lover after sex, and that is where we now are. And no matter what we do, you cannot change human nature. There will always be guys who pat women on the behind and there will always be predators. And there will always be willing women in the typing pool.

Once secure in certain knowledge
That the right tie and right college
Will protect him as he treasures
Life in all its many pleasures
The celeb who once so ruthless
Finds himself now weak and toothless
As the women he once fondled
Whether red, brunette or blondled
Are now rising to denounce him
And his boss turns to pronounce him
As a cad and loathsome being
Only now he’s truly seeing
But of course he’s one of many
Who’ve been waiting for just any
Chance to show he’s good at mating
And the typing pool is waiting

Blinkers On, Changing Lanes

The car in front of me kept switching lanes, blinkers flashing, first in front of me and next one lane over. We both pulled into a diner and I asked him why all the lane changes since we were the only two cars on the road. He shrugged and said,

I’ve been progressive all my life
Progressive kids, progressive wife
But now I practice what I preach
And fear the dangers of free speech
I used to think dissent was good
But now it seems it’s understood
Dissent is just disloyalty
To our progressive royalty
And so I drive with blinkers on
And wonder why deep thinkers fawn
On black masked rioters who’ve learnt
To cheer and laugh at buildings burnt
Professors teaching to despise
Their country with the darkest lies
And so I my friend, my tale of woe
I know not which the way to go
I do not know the dusk from dawn
And so I drive with blinkers on

A Brave New World

In early April 1862, P.G.T Beauregard’s Army of the Mississippi had pushed U. S. Grant’s Army of the Tennessee back to Shiloh Church, threatening to destroy it, when Don Carlos Buell arrived with reinforcements, announcing his arrival with the words, “If stupidity and hard fighting are what you need, here we are.” Contrast this with the news that scientists will soon be able to create a baby from human skin cells that have been coaxed to grow into eggs and sperm and used to create embryos to implant in a womb. Think about this – two men could have a baby that was biologically related to both of them, one man producing the egg and the other the sperm. Who is the stupider? Don Carlos Buell or a 21st century biologist? That may be unclear, but we know who is the more dangerous.

A stupid man is dangerous
And mostly as a bore
But things can get insanegerous
When brilliant minds explore
The meaning of creation
And become as star-lit gods
And without hesitation
Turn us all to mindless pods
The more brilliant mind a man has
Will set fires their minds fuel
Yet I’d rather have a man as
Stupid as Don Carlos Buell