Way back in 1957 a science fiction magazine called Fantastic Universe published my short story No Bems Allowed, for which I received the munificent sum of a penny a word. A BEM, incidentally, is a Bug Eyed Monster, and the premise of the story, as I recall, was that no alien invasion of Earth could be successful because we had been conditioned by science fiction stories to expect a hero to emerge and save us all. I think this is still true. So long as there are white horses and shining armor there will always be heroes.

 

The silver ships came drifting down

As silent as the clouds

And landed softly in the fields

Surrounded by the crowds

Of curious who came to see

What it was all about

When suddenly the doors flung wide

Erasing any doubt

That here were monsters in the flesh

Antennaed and bug eyed

Who calmed the crowd with noxious gas

Except for those who tried

To rush the ships and save the world

Defiant unto death

While in the crowd one steel eyed man

Remarked under his breath

That –well you know just how it ends

The hero finds a way

To jam the Bems’ antennae that

Left them with naught to say

And after that he – well you know

With germs or something worse

He left the Bems a rotting heap

Their ships a waiting hearse

Their hyper drive he figured out

And sent the ships back home

A message in their language told

Them never more to roam

This part of Galaxy six eight

Four twenty two N A

For if they did he’d see to it

They’d not live out the day

Your heroes come when they are called

One knows not who they are

Until the day the monsters come

Then Katy bar the door

 

All right, so Obama won. Now what? Will he see his re-election as a mandate to install a Marxist dictatorship? Probably not, though I’m sure many of his inner circle, and likely Obama himself, fervently desire such an outcome. Nonetheless, whatever the next four years holds for the country, one thing is clear: no one knows what will happen, or when, or why. The future, as always, is cloudy. Except, of course, to Waltradamus.

 

The Bear will rise

As mischief heightens

Red star at night

Whose passage frightens

 

The turbaned king

With threats and bluster

The pointed star

Will stand to muster

 

The sainted one

Now re-anointed

Vows swift revenge

On those appointed

 

The Eastern state

Of ancient being

With open eyes

Bent not on seeing

 

The Kingly states

Invite the turban

Night riders flit

To rid the vermin

 

Electrons flee

As watts and joules

Rush from the storm

Amid wind howls

 

The workers lie

Abed at night

To look for work

At dawn’s first light

 

At mid-term dance

That shakes the walls

The upper chamber

Sways and falls

 

Der Tag. The Day. Election 2012. In an honest election Romney would win in a walk, but Obama has a very good chance of taking Pennsylvania on the strength of likely massive voter fraud in Philadelphia, where the Black wards routinely cast many more votes than they have voters, and where the Democrat machine gets to count the votes. So while I believe Romney will win 300+ Electoral College votes, we all know Obama has a puncher’s chance, especially since there has already been widespread voter fraud in Ohio. Gallup and Rasmussen both say the national race is a dead heat. Are we to assume Romney and Obama are tied in California, New York, Massachusetts, Washington, Illinois, Delaware, Connecticut and New Jersey? I think not. Therefore Romney is ahead in all the rest and will win it all, the final tally dependent only on holding the voter fraud down to a manageable number.

 

In an honest election

Mitt is the selection

With fraud vote detection

And women defection

We make the connection

Without an objection

Obama’s confection

Has lost its protection

So from this direction

On sober reflection

There’s no re-election

Just big time rejection

 

 

 

On the day before one of the most momentous elections in our history, many pundits profess to be uncertain as to its outcome, throwing up their hands and saying nobody knows. But I wouldn’t say nobody knows how it will turn out. I know, and have been saying so for weeks. It will be an Electoral College wipeout for Romney. My only caveat was that I didn’t know if the country had reached the tipping point yet, the point where the non-productive outnumbered the productive and so voted their thin slice of government cheese. Happily, we seem not to have reached that point as yet, though it will be upon us eventually. For now though, we have been saved from going over the cliff by some last minute heroics

 

In looking back on the trajectory of the last four years, I realize I was right to be suspicious of the slick talking cool black man and vote for John McCain. Nonetheless, after the verdict was in, I hoped, for the sake of the country, that the new president would be what he said he was, and what his supporters believed he was. In this I was disappointed. He turned out to be simply a smoother talker than Al Sharpton or Jesse Jackson, and every bit as divisive. He took more pride in his basketball game than he did in his country. But Idi Amin played basketball too.

 

I think I thought back in oh eight

That something good might come of this

Our first black POTUS might be great

And bring a time of racial bliss

I think I thought I heard he would

Unite the country more or less

Behind him as we understood

That understanding meant success

I think I thought he wouldn’t be

Divisive and a hateful man

But soon enough we came to see

That racial bliss was not his plan

I think I thought he’d be above

The gutter creatures of his past

But when the pushing came to shove

He showed his colors true at last

I think I thought he felt he’d earned

A second shot at the brass ring

He never thought that he’d be spurned

But looked upon himself as king

I think I thought as defeat loomed

That he would lay it on real hard

And as the Romney fortunes boomed

He’d play the last ditch doomsday card

I think I thought I’d heard he’d try

The race card as a dying gasp

But honest men will damn well pry

That race card from his dying grasp

I think I thought I heard him say

Revenge is sweet , the taste is keen

And so we will election day

Reject our own Idi Amin

 

The Democratic Party is a cancer, and, like cancer, the only cure is death, for them or for us. The slightly left of center Democratic Party of my youth is no more, having been captured by the hard left in 1972. The Democratic Party was the party of slavery, and was put down for several generations after the Civil War, but re-emerged as a political force in the wake of the calamity of the Great Depression. And now, after eighty years of slow drip socialism, the election of Barack Obama has changed the slow drip into a full out sprint for the cliff. There is still time, but if Obama is re-elected the United States as it was is gone, possibly forever, certainly gone for the lifetimes of our children and grandchildren, gone until the inevitable financial collapse of the socialist model and resulting anarchy. We are now two countries, two societies, the workers and the non-workers, the productive and the non-productive. The goal of the Democratic Party is the creation of a plantation class of voters subservient to and dependent upon the Federal government, whose votes will keep the Left in permanent control of the government and country. And they have succeeded. Why, in the face of the worst economic times in memory, in the face of one disaster after another, in the face of a president who bows to foreign kings, is the race even close? Why is Romney not ahead by fifteen points? In a rational world he would be, but this is no longer a rational country. The Democrats have used the Federal treasury to build the world’s largest slave plantation, and the rest of us feel the whip. I am praying for my country while I am still allowed to pray.

 

The overseer sits on his horse

His whip lays close to hand

He thinks the plantation he serves

Is built on rock, not sand

He knows the whip will keep in line

Those kept in bondage now

He knows the checks will keep the slaves

In thrall and they will bow

To Left wing socialists in charge

Of stealing all the gold

While others not so fortunate

Are left out in the cold

But he is wrong, this overseer

Who does as master bids

For he will be the first to hang

When all this hits the skids

 

President Obama and Vice-president Joe Biden discuss the Middle East and other vexing questions, though the president was not amused when Biden told Newsweek that the Taliban were now our friends.

 

I tell you Joe, Obama smiled

Al Qaeda’s dead are being piled

In heaps and mounds all over this fair globe

Our drones are taking out the guys

Who think they’re safe but quel surprise

We see them for there’s no where we can’t probe

But then of course there’s the stray cat

Who somehow stays alive and that

Is something we are working on right now

We’re winning, Joe, just stay the course

The world sees we’re the strongest horse

And for all this I just might take a bow

You’re right, said Biden with a grin

Benghazi was a happy win

We blamed it on some unknown little boob

And everyone who’s on our side

Lined up and truly helped us hide

The facts and helped us blame it on YouTube

That Newsweek now, Obama frowned

I tell you Joe, it left me browned

You said the Taliban were now our friends

Now how can I send in the drones

The only way I make my bones

I use those means to justify my ends

Agendas, Joe, means what’s in store

The world is watching, keeping score

They see the Middle East is coming down

I want Iran to get the bomb

I watch events with calm aplomb

And Joe, I like you much but you’re a clown

 

The Democrat big tent seems big on the outside, but on the inside there is only room for cronies and hustlers and mountebanks, the aggrieved, the angry and the haters, the militant and the feminist and the Luddite, the grifter and the con man. There is no room anymore for the working man. The big tent is all three ring circus now, and the clowns are in charge of the country.

 

Across the waving field of grain

Outlined against an azure sky

A giant tent rose strong and plain

No signs or banners raised on high

But all who saw it knew quite well

That it was refuge from the storm

A mother’s arms when ill befell

A place of comfort, snug and warm

And so perhaps it once was so

Back in the day, before the One

Filled up the tent with friends of O

Till space for workers there was none

The promises that once were made

From lips and tongue that seemed sincere

Were seen to lose their shine and fade

And so as voting time draws near

The working men who once believed

The big tent was for them as well

Are now upset and much aggrieved

And angry as the pollsters tell

The story of the coming rout

The landslide Romney has in store

As working men who’ve been shut out

Stream to the polls and cry No More!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had a birthday recently, yesterday as a matter of fact, and the occasion caused me to reflect on how the years affected my youthful dreams.

 

When I was but a child my dreams were never

Without a playful laugh, and without care

I knew it all would last somehow forever

I knew my parents always would be there

My teens I spent adrift like many others

With sports and girls and dances then my life

The neighborhood good guys were all my brothers

And from my sister’s friends I’d choose a wife

My youth was filled with plans of life tomorrow

It mattered not if dreams were small or great

Like most of us our dreams lead but to sorrow

For dreams are overtaken oft by fate

My children came and filled my life with lightness

I dreamed not that their lives be filled with gold

But only that their lives be filled with brightness

And bless me with a grandchild when I’m old

My dreams have all come true and that’s a blessing

I have a wife I’ve loved since first we met

My children gave me grandkids and I’m guessing

My life’s about as good as it can get

My childhood dreams are still as bright as ever

My parents are still young and always near

The dreams we dream through life we cannot sever

They stay with us as long as we are here