The Winner Deals

President Trump is trying to protect the castle that is the country by building a wall and closing the southern border, but the Democrats are determined that now that they have raised the portcullis, propped open the gates and lowered the drawbridge, that the gates remain open and undefended against the barbarians.

Trump stands guard over the castle
And it’s turned into a hassle
As Democrats say they’ll not fund a wall
They profess their love for DACA
Yet they turn around and mock a
Sweet proposal that would give them more than all
That they ever dared to ask for
And are taking Trump to task for
Thinking that Americans just might come first
Dems believe to flood the nation
With illegal immigration
Will then lead to votes that makes elections burst
From Atlantic to Pacific
And while being more specific
From the White House to the lowest county courts
Dems care not eternal power
Guarantees a dying flower
It is theirs despite the blemishes and warts
But they’re up against a master
Who can turn what seems disaster
Into victory by clicking on his heels
He knows all the odds and weighs ‘em
He has all the cards and plays ‘em
And then smiles, says pony up, the winner deals

The Land Of Sparkling Wine

The failed European social experiment of being ruled by unelected bureaucrats in Brussels is coming to an end. But it was good while it lasted.

From the frozen Arctic Circle
To the warm winds of the Med
From the plains of Eastern Europe
To the Channel they were led
By the shamans and the grifters
To the Land of Sparkling Wine
Where the straw was turned to gold and
Silver Fruit hung from the vine
To the Land of Full Employment
Where the State took every care
Just to see that all were happy
And no cupboard would be bare
And the people raised Colossus
To a height that ne’er was seen
Where the clouds formed at the navel
And the cloak was always green
For the Spring was always coming
Warming days and pleasant nights
And the people took the silver
And the gold as their just rights
And they builded them a Fortress
Lest Reality come forth
Letting ice and snow come flying
And the wind blow from the north
Yet the Fortress was assaulted
By the growing Winds of Fate
And in panic and in anger
People rushed upon the Gate
Thinking safety lay in walls that
Proved the merest wisps of straw
And Colossus shook and trembled
And in fear the people saw
That Colossus lay in shambles
Pieces strewn upon the plain
Where it lay for generations
Slowly rusting in the rain

Grover’s Mill

I was 8, living in South Jersey with my parents and sisters, on the Sunday night in 1938 when Orson Welles spread widespread fear and panic with a radio play adapted from the H. G. Wells novel ‘War of the Worlds’. Well, not exactly. The fictional Grover’s Mill where Martians were landing and killing everyone they encountered was located a few short miles to the north of us, and no one in my house heard a thing, since we were listening to Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, a program whose audience by far outnumbered the audience for Welles’ Mercury Theater. Miles away from the fictional Grover’s Mill, the Martian invasion was a non-event, and so, I believe, are most of the so-called widespread panics that turn out to be entirely manufactured. A little while ago there were almost daily the press and the Internet were scaring people with stories about Killer Clowns roaming the woods. The 38 minutes of absolute panic in Hawaii caused by a false alert that a missile was heading for Oahu, but Hawaii is different from Killer Clowns because Kim Jong Un was believed to have deliverable nuclear missiles and had actually threatened to send one to Hawaii, so the threat alert had to be taken seriously. Not so Martians or Killer Clowns.

When Martians fell on Grover’s Mill
In 1938
I did not hear of it until
Already much too late
To save our neighbors and our friends
From bug-eyed Martian fiends
That still today Deep State pretends
Were just some fiction scenes
Made up for entertainment taste
Still covered up today
As central Jersey lies in waste
And dead lie where they lay
The turnpike hurries folks along
Past ancient burnt out towns
Where Martian spaceships hundreds strong
Had landed Killer Clowns
But that was many years ago
When I was only eight
It’s funny how the days go slow
And Martians come too late


To the surprise and chagrin of many on the Left, the very liberal billionaires who attended the recent meeting at Davos cheered the president of the United States, and what is worse, from the Leftist point of view, rejected globalism and embraced Donald Trump’s version of populism.

There are billionaires and billionaires
And more made by the hour
But only one can sell his wares
For only one has power
He taxis in in Air Force One
And instantly takes Davos
And leaves with mission done and done
To cheers and shouts and bravos
For billionaires are just like us
They also love a winner
And just like us they cheat and cuss
Like any other sinner
As Donald Trump knows all too well
It’s always good to visit
To just drop in and sit a spell
Just friendly talk, or is it
Perhaps the Master has a deal
And money does the talking
That shows that populism’s real
And globalism’s walking

A Valentine

In Syria, a Russian force of mercenaries crossed the Euphrates River and attacked an American backed base in defiance of an agreement that they would not operate east of the Euphrates. The group attacked, backed by some old Soviet era tanks and got lit up for their pains, losing over two hundred men

Be careful, said the wise old owl
That bears do not collide
This eagle’s more than just a fowl
So just keep on your side
Of lines we’ve drawn on all the maps
And stated in plain words
That we’ll respond and no perhaps
And so will all the Kurds
T-55s, 72s
Just will not get it done
If ancient armor you must use
Then I suggest you run
Back home and let your momma know
That things ain’t going right
She’ll hold you close, won’t let you go
Until the kiss goodnight
We hope you take this valentine
To heart, for on this day
We send a card, or drop a line
With love, from USA

The High School Grad

Here at last, sweet graduation
Time to think of what comes next
High school’s done, to much elation
Time to choose your college text
You must choose ‘twixt art and science
Math and English are a must
Lit and hist’ry in alliance
Without them college is a bust
Study hard, don’t dilly dally
But take time to have some joy
Go to every football rally
There’s a girl for every boy
On occasion go to dances
Give the social life a whirl
Don’t be shy, just take your chances
There’s a boy for every girl
If the rules sometimes get bended
Take in stride and have no care
Mom and dad won’t be offended
Because, you know, they won’t be there

Chinese Takeout

For hundreds of thousands of years then, me boy
We humans ate what lions left
And never a one with their food did they toy
Because the hyenas were deft
At grabbing the carrion right from the hands
Of people who tarried until
They found themselves fighting off wild dogs in bands
Competing for their daily fill
For thousands of years most had little to eat
They feasted on berries and roots
And then someone planted some grasses called wheat
And dining while wearing blue suits
Along came the tables and candles and such
White napkins and forks by the plates
And whipped cream and butter produced by the Dutch
And places where you’d take your dates
To dine on roast beef or a fine prime filet
With veggies and warm fresh baked bread
Washed down with a sparkling white wine or Rose
At outrageous prices a head
Or maybe a fast food or maybe Chinese
Depending on how much you earn
Your wallet determines how greatly you please
A lady who’ll please you in turn
So eating bad food’s the historical norm
A mastodon dead in the grass
Or fast food or pate with soup cold or warm
It always depends on your class

A Lesson From The Past

Political pundits continue to caution us of the danger of angering the North Koreans since all of Seoul is within artillery range of the North Korean army, and any attack on North Korea would cost hundreds of thousands of casualties among he populace of the capital city. If the pundits knew a little recent history, they would know the North Korean artillery sea of fire was a fraud. I’m working from memory here, so don’t hold me to exact details, but the larger picture is correct. In the closing weeks of World War 2, two Soviet armies surrounded a defenseless and hugely swollen Berlin filled with thousands of refugees fleeing before the Soviet advance. The Soviets pounded Berlin for about 6 weeks with approximately 8,000 artillery tubes of mixed calibers, plus three complete air armies of several thousand bombers flying lazy 8s above the city and dropping bombs at leisure, hardly bothered by intermittent flak. When the round the clock shelling and bombing stopped the tanks and infantry descended on the rubbled city. After the war, the Germans issued a report of the final battle and listed the number of civilians killed as approximately 10,000. In 1945 Berlin had enough shelters for the civilian population, and Seoul has enough shelters for the civilian population. Putting off confronting evil always leads to higher casualties than need have been the case.

The question is not what to do
Nor is it how to do it
It must be done, the choices few
Wash hands and mutter screw it
Or warn the Norks and make it heard
Be firm, don’t make it muddied
.If they don’t kneel just give the word
And smash them till they’re bloodied

Just Another Day

The dawn comes first to those who stand
On mountain tops and serried steeps
Far from the sullied land below
Where Gaia in her sorrow weeps
The land below first sees the dawn
As misty shadows growing gray
And shadow-like the groundlings wake
To find the dream they seek today
Yet by day’s end the dreamer knows
That many nights of dark and wind
Await before the silver ship
Arrives to gather those who’ve sinned


We honor all who serve our country, whether Air Force, Navy, Marines or Army, for they are all soldiers. Technology neither causes war nor wins or loses wars. Wars are fought by men, fought for religion, for tin and copper, for trade routes, for survival, for revenge, for every motive conceived by man, and even, on occasion, for freedom. It is the soldier who protects us and defends us. It has been so since man first picked up a rock to defend his home and family. There is a clear connection, a timeless circle, between a Roman legionnaire, a Hittite bowman, a Redcoat heading west through the great forest and an American infantryman. They were, and are, soldiers.

Past green trees newly leaved, new green fields on either side, we marched. Distant white farmhouses, distant dogs barking nervously, cloaks against the misty Spring rain, we marched. North Africa the rumor, Zama the town. We didn’t care. We marched. And sang. Sang because we were young, sang because we were immortal, sang because we were Scipio’s boys. Publius Cornelius Scipio. We would die, and they would call him Scipio Africanus. We marched, to the sea and the waiting ships.

The long swells laid many of us low, but finally, blessedly, we reached the bay and the river. Alexandria at last. We formed up on the quay, a bit unsteadily, still weak from the seasickness. Fifers leading, we marched up King Street, past capering boys and waving and cheering men and women. Braddock was but waiting on us, it was said, before pushing off for the great western forests. Fort Pitt was the rumor, and that meant a long campaign for the Forty-fourth Regiment of Foot, but that was all right, we were young and immortal. The long sea voyage and the longer campaign was a hardship on the married men, but for the rest of us women were a luxury of camp. But that was all right too, for we all loved the same woman, and her name was Brown Bess.

In the forest clearing we made camp, fires flaring into light, the smell of bacon on the cool night air. We thought of home, and of the coming days. The Cilician Gates was the rumor, then south along the coast to Aleppo, where was waiting King Muwatalli and the rest of the Hittite army. The weather, thanks to Tarhunna the Weather God, has been fair. Crown Prince Hattusili has told us the Pharaoh Ramses has left Damascus and is marching north, that the fight, when it comes, will be a hard one, for the Mizziri are accomplished warriors. We lay on our blankets, and in the growing dark came a voice, singing softly, an army song, a song a man sings when far from home and family, a song that reminds him of why it is he fights, why it is he dies. Welling up from the darkened field, the voices of the Tuhkanti regiment joined the lone voice, singing of home. Across the fields it spread, to the other regiments, sitting in the dark by their dying fires, until the night was filled with the sadness of young men thinking of mothers and sisters, wives and sweethearts, seeing their fathers in the fields, hearing the crickets and the birds and the wind in the plaintive leaves. The last line trailed away, the last notes faded on the soft evening air, until in the distance, from the direction of the Golden Aspens, another ubati took up the song, and once again the sad voices filled the night.

Curiously, the beach looked peaceful. Boats coming ashore as if on a summer outing, no machine guns, no mortars, no arty. Equipment rolling off and onto the beach, long files of men trudging up the beach to the exits, not a shot fired. It was surreal. I found the beachmaster, and he stuck out his hand. “Welcome to Okinawa,” he grinned. Inland, clear in the distance, lay a range of hills.

Purple hills shimmered in the heat hazy distance, the day growing hot. The muted sounds of birdsong and insect hum swirled around us. Across the field, drawn up in battle array, waited the Carthaginians. We raised our shields, and at the order, advanced.

She’s a grand old flag
She’s a high flying flag
And forever and ever she’ll wave
And we take great pride
In the men who died
To keep this the home of the brave
We’ve been tried before
In the bad times and war
And we’ve always come through in the end
For the stars and stripes
Lead the drums and pipes
In the march down the street, round the bend
To the promised land
That the brave brothered band
Left to us by the red, white and blue
Yes they died for the flag
For that high flying flag
May we always have brave men and true