The time is fast approaching.  Israel will attack Iran before they get the bomb, but the Iranians have already nuked up with purchases from Pakistan and North Korea.  They are waiting only for the Israeli strike to uneash a defensive war the West, and the United States of Barack Obama, will see as wholly justified. Tel Aviv will be destroyed, but in return Iran will be no more as Israeli nuclear tipped missiles respond, the twelfth Imam remaining hidden out of fear for his life. The only question is, is this the end of the movie?

In the darkened space the empty seats

Seemed shadows in the gloom

While in the pitch black something stirred

In the projection room

A click, a whirr, and came to life

A far off silver screen

And fuzzy figures moved about

While playing out the scene

A swarthy man with sword held high

Swung hard a fearsome blow

Then grinning held the head up high

For all the world to show

In scratchy sound, the music bleak

Vast armies marched in time

While overhead the missiles raced

As crowds cheered on in mime

A mushroom cloud then filled the screen

The flash in black and white

As grinning figures flashed the sign

That they have won the fight

The movie stopped as broken film

Showed figures frozen fast

In postures set in concrete

For as long as time will last

As with a roar the empty seats

Were filled with rough debris

And buildings all around came down

As from the nearby sea

Israeli subs released their birds

Who flew both straight and true

And led the few survivors

To the Ark in two by two

In Dante’s Inferno, the ninth circle of hell is the last, the hell of traitors, who are encased, not in fire, but in ice. And who is more deserving of being encased in ice than the coolest guy in town?

Thus guided by the spirit mind

I left the circle eight behind

And there before me did I see

Foul traitors bound in misery

By chains of guilt and bonds of wrath

Accused of selling what they hath

Of trading in their country’s soul

Their torment racked as distant toll

Of somber bells announced the death

Of traitors who with dying breath

Cried out in horror and in shame

That they had only played the game

I watched as giants held aloft

A president, who crying soft

Was lowered into binding ice

And frozen solid in a trice

A sec of state stood on the ledge

As giants moved her to the edge

And weeping she was hurled below

As others took their place to go

I turned away as one by one

The traitors paid for what they’d done

Back through the circles I did pass

Through ice and fire, flame and gas

Emerging once again on land

Where good men deigned to make their stand

Where sun and gently falling rain

Again blessed this, our fruited plain

If Obama is re-elected, we will need to find a soft place to land, if at all possible, for he will have been re-elected to destroy the United States as it is and has been, destroyed in order to raise up a new country in his Marxist image, ruled by the radical Left, our freedoms gone, our country gone, perhaps forever.  If Obama is re-elected we will need to find a soft place to fall.

Are we still falling, three years in

Do we know really where we’ve been

Harking  to Obama’s siren call

We need a soft place to fall

We have been driven to the brink

No time to cry or even blink

He’s put us up against the wall

And we need a soft place to fall

This coming Fall will tell the tale

He wants our freedoms all to fail

His very shadow casts a pall

And we’ll need a soft place to fall

The world is in crisis, and we have an administration that has no clue as to what to do beyond kicking the can down the road in hopes something will turn up. The Middle East is about to blow itself up in a nuclear Armageddon, and we do nothing to prevent it. It was said post Sarajevo that the lamps burned late in the Chancelleries of Europe.  They burned late and then they went out for four years, never to be relit.  Five Empires perished during those four years, the Turkish, the Russian, the Austro-Hungarian, the German and the British, though the British Empire hung on for another war.  Fortunately, the lamps at Foggy Bottom are not, in the present crisis, burning late. Hillary, our best Secretary of State EVAH, never turned them on.

Oh my, she cried, just look at this

It’s such a lovely light!

Just see how bright and cheerful things now are

With Barack as our president

All things will turn out right

We’re fortunate to have a shining star

Who knows apologies will calm

The fiercest Muslim heart

And food will make the North Koreans smile

He leads not from the front because

He loves to play the part

Of team guy which he does with wit and style

Iran will soon nuke up and then

The holocaust begins

But what’s another million Jews or so

Compared to what we’ve done to others

Counting all our sins

We can’t complain if others hoe that row

We here at Foggy Bottom have

It all under control

Our lamps are on and things are looking bright

We’ve signaled to just everyone

That peace will be our goal

I’ll turn the lamps off now and say goodnight

Hillary Clinton, our greatest Secretary of State ever, has gathered a group of diplomats in Tunis, calling themselves Friends Of Syria, to convince the Syrian government of Bashir al Assad that they are not friends at all, but determined to drive him out of office. Of course, they don’t intend to use force, that would be too scary. Soft power, leading from behind, that’s the ticket. The Middle East is in turmoil, soon to be nuked up from Saudi Arabia to the Atlantic ocean, all because the Obama administration has not a clue as to how to resolve the mess it has created. And so we wait, as the proverbial flightless fowl return to the coop.

How they cowered in the bushes

Hidden deep inside the shade

Of the overhanging branches

Both bedeviled and afraid

We must all hang tough together

Said the nation’s foremost mind

We shall lead you all to safety

From positions far behind

Then a small voice from the benches

With a quiver said, “I think

That if we send him a letter

Of displeasure then he’ll blink.”

Then the sky began to darken

As they flew in, newly loosed

From the bushes cries of horror

“It’s the chickens, home to roost!”

Gas is now above five dollars in many parts of the country, and slated to rise higher. And as the economy sinks lower and lower, states and cities find themselves in a bind, unable to pay the exorbitant salaries and pensions they gave to the public employee unions in the happy times, the times of ever expanding economies and taxes.  And now, these states and cities, facing large deficits, look to gasoline taxes to bail them out. Lotsa luck.

The politicians surely know

That taxing us to death’ll

Result in very angry guys

Who are used to pumping ethyl

To get to work and pay the bills

And put food on the table

And now they’re faced with rising costs

And asked more than they’re able

To pay for such as gasoline

And food and shoes and health care

While lefty pols smirk and demand

You hand them you fair wealth share

The most prosperous, the freest, the most technologically and scientifically advanced society the world has ever seen is committing suicide, by choice. The advent of feminism, the sexual revolution, and most importantly, the invention of the birth control pill, has given women of the first world, for the first time in the life of humankind on earth, the ability to decline to have babies. And they have so declined.

The playground stands there, hushed and stilled

The child not there was coldly killed

His mother killed him, killed her child

It’s legal, charges won’t be filed

The swings sit idle, seesaws rust

And chairs and benches gather dust

The state has issued its decrees

No child will feel the cooling breeze

The state proclaims a woman’s choice

And thus the playground has no voice