The Ties That Unbind

The United States has always been a fractious people, with deeply held differences, but always united in one thing; their love of country, exemplified in the past by the instant response to the flag and the national anthem. On national holidays flags adorned every house and every building. When the high school band marched onto the field and struck up the opening bars of The Star Spangled Banner everyone in the stands stood up and placed a hand over his heart, and thrilled to the meaning of the words and music, thrilled to see the flag gently rippling at the bidding of sweet freedom’s breeze. No more. The Left has ripped us apart, stripped us of the one thing that united us all, Democrat and Republican, believer and atheist, black and white, male and female, rich and poor, the shared unity of belonging to the same magnificent and beautiful country. The Democratic Party has embarked on the dangerous policy of dividing the country in order to gain electoral victories through identity politics, and has succeeded only in dividing us. We are divided as never before, and are, perhaps, mortally wounded. When NFL football players piss on the flag they piss on the country, and we are forced to choose sides. I know whose side I am on.

The beauty of the spacious skies and amber waves of grain
Are spit upon by those who think that they have much to gain
By tearing up the compact that the rest of us believe
And spitting on the folks who wear their hearts upon their sleeve
Who stand up for the anthem and salute the nation’s flag
While Lefty slugs insist that it is just a dirty rag
The players who piss on the flag and sit or take a knee
Complete the Leftist goal of half the country slave, half free


Children can see things and know things that others can no longer see and no longer know. Are there angels? Are there faeries? Certainly there are. Do children see and speak to those no longer here? Of course they do. For children, truth, beauty and mystery are part of their brightly lit world.

Time and Space are illusions
What was, is, and what is, was
There is an entire shimmering universe
Just beyond our peripheral vision
And sometimes a fleeting glimpse
Is vouchsafed to the very young
And spotlessly innocent

Lunar Days

Not so long ago it was settled science that insanity was caused by moonbeams, hence the word lunatic, and I’m not so sure they weren’t right. History abounds with examples of entire countries apparently going insane, and I believe the United States is doing so right now. The insanity has been building for some time, with political correctness and other insanities. I spoke to a lefty lunatic recently and she said,

Abolishing biology
Has freed up our psychology
To live without apology
As gendered as we wish
Tossed in the trash is his and her
All pronouns smashed as they occur
No more madame, and no more sir
Revenge is a sweet dish
And soon all white males will be gone
Thus bringing forth a bright new dawn
No longer we are white males’ pawn
And we are free at last
No longer bathrooms segregate
No longer need we propagate
Into the closets for the straight
And it is coming fast
I thought it better not to speak
She could not take the least critique
Her kind would win within the week
Insanity now loomed
She walked away, her head held high
I watched her with a soulful sigh
The moon has risen in the sky
And sanity is doomed

Intended Or Not

During a Greek Week fraternity retreat prior to start of classes this past semester at the University of Mississippi, a student at the retreat ate a banana, and finding no trash receptacle close by, put the banana peel in a tree rather than throw it on the ground. Three black students came upon the banana peel in the tree and immediately cried Racism! The University investigated, canceled the fraternity retreat, and even though the culprit came forth and admitted placing the banana peel in the tree and the reason for his doing so, the lack of a trash receptacle, it did not matter. Racism is racism, intended or not.

To some it’s just banana peel
To others it is how they feel
When seeing one just hanging in a tree
Reminds them of the bad old days
When lynch mobs laughed to see the sways
Of Negro bodies that yearned to be free
They say the sight of yellow peels
In trees are triggers that reveals
The racism that’s in each white man’s heart
It matters not the clear intent
There’s no such thing as innocent
By such small signs is how the lynchings start
So there you have it, in the main
What whitey does will always pain
And if you’re white they won’t give you a pass
They always see a racist plot
In words or peels, intent or not
You’re enemy to the large victim class

On Weaving A Rainbow

Science can explain the facts, but it cannot explain the mystery. Scientists will tell you that rainbows were explained to everyone’s satisfaction by Descarte and Newton, who determined the rainbow is formed by the refraction of light from the surface of a raindrop, the refraction separating the light into its separate wavelengths, thus creating the bands of color. Do not believe them.

Late morning, sun-laced misty rain, the river bank in bloom
With flaming dogwood mirrored on the quiet flowing stream
I chanced to look beyond the bend, and spied the faery loom
Transparent and as gauzy as a dream
Around the loom the faeries danced, I listened, but in vain
The tableau silent, faery wings, so blurred with motion bled
And as spellbound I watched the dance, I saw that they had lain
Upon the grass a brilliant bow of red
That slowly rose above the trees and formed a flaming arc
Then anchored by the flurried wings into its chosen place
A phantom bow of colored light, so red it turned the bark
Of dogwood into dancing flames of grace
Now from the loom came orange light, with orange shadows cast
By faery wings as light emerged in gleaming colored bows
As weavers crafted yellow, green, each larger than the last
And quicker paced came blues and indigos
All hastened to the growing bow, and set atop the first
By swarms of hurried faery wings intent on building well
While at the loom a violet, came tumbling with a burst
I held my breath, afraid to break the spell
Into the air the violet bow now gloriously crowned
The shining rainbow fashioned of the purest spectral light
And as I watched, the faery wings dropped slowly to the ground
And with their loom they faded from my sight
Again I saw the river bank, the dogwood, sun-splashed mist
The rainbow shining quietly above the river’s banks
A mystery that I believe shows God has truly kissed
Our world with wonder, all without much thanks


The demolition of American history, so far advanced in academia, has spilled into the streets, with the tearing down of statues of Confederate generals, the leftists charging that slave owners must not be honored, or even remembered. Authorities stand by and allow mobs to deface government property, elected Democrat mayors and governors encourage the destruction of American history, and it will end, as is planned, with the destruction of the Jefferson Memorial and the Washington Monument because both men owned slaves, and then on to the tearing up of the Declaration of Independence because a substantial majority of its signers owned Negro slaves. And after that the United States Constitution will be declared illegitimate for the same reason. The statues are only the beginning.

I cry for my beloved land
My grandchildren will never know
The beauty of the land that looked
So wonderful when deep in snow
Or Spring when rows of green appear
In fields as traffic flashes by
And Summer by the sea or lake
When thunderheads reach to the sky
They will not see what we have seen
They will not know what we have known
A land where we could speak our mind
Be unafraid that leftist creeds
Would triumph over sense and law
And history thrown in the weeds
The shame is ours for standing by
As leftist thugs tore up the streets
And ambushed cops and shot them down
Then celebrate with rage filled tweets
We watched in silence as the Left
The spawn of Stalin took the stage
And swept the verities aside
Destroying all with insane rage
The toppled statues are the first
Of monuments to go in flames
The Constitution and the flag
Consumed in leftist hunger games
It’s gone, I fear, not to return
For generations, many years
For communism slowly dies
And until then we have but tears

The Inflationary Universe

Are we living in an inflationary universe? Is the universe we see infinite or finite? We don’t know, and possibly will never know, because the answers are unknowable. That the universe is infinite seems reasonable to believe, but an inflationary universe is far more mysterious and exciting than the infinite sameness and seamlessness of a static universe. An inflationary universe is one in which our segment of the universe ceased to inflate shortly after the Big Bang, but the inflation continued all around us, creating universes of undreampt wonders to this day, and will continue to do so for eternity.

Borne before the winds of time
Radiation coalesced
Into matter as it cooled
And then came to rest
Stars and galaxies were formed
Flooding light upon the dark
And in time lifeforms arose
Fired by a spark
Static is not nature’s way
And inflation flowed apace
All around, creating new
Universes filling space
Every one of different hue
Complex chemicals arrayed
In arrangements never seen
Star sung music played
Life believing it is they
Who create that which is known
They who master distant worlds
They the seedling stars have sown
What a wonder to behold
And to think how very odd
Some would say in earnest tones
That there is no God

To A Ladybug

On a long ago summer day, sitting in the sun, a ladybug chanced to light upon my knee. She rested there, apparently content, and as I watched the sunlight play on her spotted wing covers, I wondered what she was thinking, what her plans were for the rest of the day.

So still she sits upon my knee
Intent on her affairs
No sign there was that I could see
Of stress or other cares
But I was sure she came to me
For help in some regard
I thought perhaps the maple tree
At bottom of the yard
Held danger for her in some way
Some monster lurking there
To set upon her at her play
But then thought, who would dare?
For lady is a fearsome threat
To aphids and to mites
And if I had to make the bet
I’d say she’d win most fights
And as I deeply thought these things
So quietly she stirred
And flipped the covers on her wings
So rapidly they blurred
And with a tiny buzzing sound
She took then to the air
Content, I’m sure, that she had found
A friend who would be there
To see her through the parlous day
Her species often see
And offer, when she comes my way
To rest upon my knee

Gopher Town

Hurricanes Harvey and Irma have spread death and chaos across the Gulf, from Texas to Florida, making believers of those who doubt the power of the ancient Egyptian god Set to cause death, destruction and chaos wheresoever he chooses to go.

The wine dark sea the leaden sky
The petrels flee the storm is nigh
We hunker down into our holes
Poor gopher town so many souls
The wind begins the sound still low
Confess our sins for death we know
And now the sea relentless rise
Comes flowing free ‘neath blackened skies
The buildings shake like shimmered light
We fear they’ll break and fill the night
With unheard screams the chaos let
While as in dreams the dread god Set
Walks flooded streets yet still dry shod
And those he meets know who is god

Disaster Relief

Benjamin Wallace-Wells, a liberal progressive Democrat writer for the liberal leftist New Yorker magazine, was puzzled by the media attention and glorification of the volunteerism of the Cajun Navy during Hurricane Harvey when there were more important things to talk about, like climate change. Wallace-Wells went on to observe, with some severity, the replacement of government with volunteers, believing that government bureaucrats should run every aspect of our lives, including hurricane and flood relief. I found my local bureaucrat disaster relief manager in his bunker, staring fixedly at his computer screen, tracking the latest path of this week’s super hurricane. When I asked if he was going to call on the Cajun Navy he reminded me we were in Kansas, but said Morgan’s Creek might bear watching.

He glanced up from his screen and said
We bureaucrats are far ahead
Of amateurs and other body types
You see those shelves on yonder wall
There’s regulations for us all
And cardboard boxes full of handy wipes
This bunker here is built to last
And if the creek is rising fast
We’re safe and sound in here all shut up tight
I’ve got my big computer screen
With isobars in red and green
And when disaster strikes I spend the night
And when emergency is nigh
And Morgan’s Creek is getting high
I know who is at fault and who to blame
Home Depot has my telephone
And if I need a further loan
The government will back me so they claim
So we don’t need no amateurs
To help us with these little chores
Like hurricanes and blizzards and the like
The teletype sends warnings out
There are things there to think about
And then I sigh and put them on the spike