Hatred is learned, and once learned is not easily discarded. Race hustlers like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton glorify hatred, and have been instilling hatred in black children for decades, to the point where there seems little chance of bridging the ever widening chasm between people who wish them no harm and have gone out of their way to move them into the middle class, and those who have followed the call of the race hustlers who have succeeded in poisoning the well. Black America and white America are two separate countries, and growing further and further apart. In fifty years every major American city will be Detroit, with the Other defined forever. But which will be the Other?

I hate him so, that horrid Other
I hate his father and his mother
I hate his sister and his brother
And they hate me in turn
I dream of him awake or sleeping
Down darkened hallways he is creeping
And then upon me he is leaping
His eyes with hatred burn
I pray sometimes that his entire
People are consumed by fire
With millions marching to the pyre
Their tears shed I will spurn
What is it then about this Other?
Has he not father and a mother?
Why then this hatred for his brother?
I guess we’ll never learn
Just why we hate and why we love it
And why we snarl and tell him shove it
And why we feel we’re all above it
We see but not discern

Why is it there are people who sail through life, and then there is you and me. Why do some people hit the fairway with every tee shot, but we always wind up in the rough? It just doesn’t seem fair. I can understand it happening to you, but why to me?

In bridge we play a killer card and get a ruff and sluff
In golf our tee shots land in places that are rough and tough
For some life is a fairway that plays always straight and true
Then there are fairways lined with woods just built for me and you
Not only woods but traps and bunkers lined along each side
And greens that are a long way off and seem like two feet wide
And cups that move like magic make us miss the tap in putt
And though we try and try again we never make the cut
Our every move turns out to be not worth a tinker’s dam
Our Aces all get trumped and we just never make the Slam
We go through lives of bridge and golf with people who are friends
We never win but never cry at how the damn game ends
Some people sail through life and smile a toothy jaunty grin
While others such as you and I just want one lonely win

If the jury had convicted Zimmerman there would have been no protests, no arson, no looting of liquor stores. We all know that and understand that. We also know and understand that the people who do the looting and firebombing can stick their fingers in the eye of the law abiding public only so many times before the law abiders decide to take the law into their own hands. The elephant allows the ants to bite his ankles only for so long before he stomps on them. And when the stomping begins the country will have changed for the better.

The elephant, that silent beast
Seeks only peace and quiet
The jackal on the other hand
Seeks only loot and riot
But elephants while phlegmatic
Will stand still for an hour
When roused to act the jackals quail
To feel the awful power
Of free men who obey the law
But see the law betray them
Then fiercely take a flensing knife
To jackals and then flay them

The Middle East is aflame, the torch applied by the Obama administration’s embrace of America haters like the Muslim Brotherhood, an embrace that has turned the region over to al Qaeda. The Obama administration has driven a bloody stake through the heart of the United States, and in its intended process of killing a free society in order to turn it into a radical left mirror image of their distorted selves, has let loose the fiery legions of hell, who with unchecked laughter and unconcealed insolence, are even now preparing the final immolation of the Middle East and of an inept and malevolent Obama administration.

The hegemon has hedged its bets
“Let’s not” has now become, “Sure, let’s”
Once stern “Not nows” are now “Why nots”
And simmerings now boiling pots
The hegemon at journey’s end
A weakling ghost without a friend
A White House cased in bubbled hope
With staffers unprepared to cope
Incompetence at every turn
A children’s room where none will learn
But is it all just artful guile?
Demise intended all the while?
Elected we a man unknown
Who now believes that Caesar’s throne
Is his by right of knighted birth
Where color is a man’s true worth
And honesty a foolish dream
The highest art a winked at scheme
Oh yes the hegemon is dead
The heart thrust stake a bloody red

In Chinatown the other day I ran into an old friend, Mee Hung Lo, and he said Snowden went to Hong Kong because he loved cabbage soup with cellophane noodles, and not because of any desire to give US secrets to China and Russia. He did admit, however, that since China was the center of the universe it stood to reason that all computer traffic should be routed through Beijing.

“Is all of piece,” he smiled and said
“Remember some long time
The Falcon and the Snowman they
Committed perfect crime
For Soviets they work and so
For long time they no caught
And now another Snowman comes
And who knows who has bought
This Snowden Snowman and who has
Employed him in a place
Where secrets flowed like hot green tea
Into his working space”
“An inside job,” I said at last
“And though suspicions mount
Barack’s appointees swing hard left
Too many thus to count”
With enigmatic smile he turned
And slowly walked away
And said, “As fortune cookie says,
The snow may come today
For snowmen stand for little while
When sun begin to shine
But Chinese patience knows that soon
On cabbage soup all dine

Obama has said many things, and we have learned, to our sorrow, that in order to understand what it is he’s saying we have to apply to his words the exact opposite of their meaning. A nuclear free world means American disarmament. The most open administration in history means the most secretive and intrusive. For Obama, peace means submission, and the only truth Obama ever speaks is when he says he seeks peace with Islam.

He said we’re safe with gun free zones
A nuke free world the goal
We need no army, only drones
And trust would make us whole
He said that leading from behind
Gave us a wide sight line
And if to enemies we’re kind
Then things would turn out fine
The Arab Spring, he said, would lead
To human rights and wealth
And so he urged the utmost speed
So Qaeda could, by stealth
Submit the region to the sword
Of Islam raging red
Thus bringing peace of one accord
At least that’s what he said

The clearest lesson of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries is that we are always in a time of war between wars, and this time the war between wars is Syria, a continuation of the war between wars that was Libya. The removal of Saddam Hussein and the conquest of Iraq that would have led to a permanent American armed base in the strategic center of the Middle East was torpedoed by the treasonous and now in power American Left, whose policy is to arm our enemies and to so weaken the United States that we become vulnerable to those enemies, thus leading to domestic tyranny under the carefully scripted and false imperative of homeland defense. What comes next, after Syria? Immolation of the Middle East, not by us but by Israel, in self defense upon being attacked. So far evident to all. But even the immolation of the Middle East is but a war between wars, and at some point the United States will be faced with transcendent peril, as weak militarily, thanks to Obama, as we were on December 7, 1941. Only this time the oceans will not save us, for it will be a come as you are war, and Obama, by design, will have left us naked. It is no coincidence that Obama announced he would arm the Syrian rebels only hours after those rebels declared allegiance to our sworn killer enemy, al Qaeda.

Well warned we were of enemies
Come boring from within
Of elements here on our soil
Who claim to be our kin
But who in fact do wish us harm
And work to do us ill
And burrowing beneath the soil
Have managed with great skill
To capture all our campuses
Our media and youth
And turn our very honor in
To lies that once were truth
They’ve opened up the borders to
The hungry third world mass
And give to them the earnings of
The working middle class
And in return the illegals
Then fill the voter rolls
And at the party boss’s word
They’re marched off to the polls
Eternal power is the game
And it’s within their grasp
They’ve turned our freedom’s scepter in
To Cleopatra’s asp

Barack Obama. Curiously, no one from his reputed past has ever remembered him. Shortly after being elected in 2008 a reporter interviewed several hundred former students at the various schools he reportedly attended and not a single person remembered him. No one has ever seen his college transcripts, and of those presumed classmates at Columbia not a one recalls ever seeing or talking to him there. Churchill once characterized the Soviet Union as a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, and that is an accurate description of our current president. There are those who remember him as a child, and those who remember him as an adult, but no one remembers him in the years between. What was he? Who was he? He was and is a phantom figure traveling a circular stair, seen at the bottom and at the top, but not on any of the steps in between.

 They saw him as he climbed the stair
At Punahou that elite school
For kids of Indonesian kings
Who know they have by right to rule
So many risers, many treads
The balusters smooth worn by hands
The distant landing softly calls
The future king of distant lands
And yet as Barry made his way
The carpet registered him not
And those who saw his upward climb
Saw for the moment then forgot
Upon the stair and midway up
The figure dimmed and seemed to glow
With further steps he disappeared
Unseen for good to those below
The landing saw him change his name
As upward strode the Kenyan king
As now in sight the promised land
Within his grasp lay everything
No one at college saw him there
No one remembers him at all
Till at the top, that one last step
Saw him in the mirrored Hall
Passing by them all unseen
Not a motion did reflect
Till before him stood the door
Opening out of respect
In he strode without a pause
Scepter, crown and golden throne
Seated now he looked about
Seeing he was not alone
Visible he was at last
Smiling as the masses knelt
Flowered love lay at his feet
Glorying in tingles felt
But all is not quite as it seems
In Punahou the children there
At times see shadows on the wall
That looks like someone on the stair

Obama’s catastrophic Middle East policy of leading from behind, effectively opting out of the decision making process and leaving decisions up to others, has led to a once relatively stable region aflame with violence, with friends removed from power and enemies in their place. I spoke to a fly recently, and he told me he just happened to be on a wall in the White House situation room, minding his own business, and overheard the following conversation between a  man named Obama and a group of nameless, faceless yea sayers.

He said that he heard it as clear as a bell
The big man sure seemed so composed so
He said that his workings were going quite well
Then smiled and said that he supposed so
He said that his policies seemed quite so grand
When first they were then implemented
But things then got crazy and so out of hand
That things that seemed sure and cemented
Have now come apart and are tearing things loose
And soon will be laden with sorrow
A crisis there is and without an excuse
We’ll tackle this problem tomorrow
I wondered what else it was he might have heard
He shrugged and said there was a mumbler
I saw some lips move thought someone said absurd
So I silently lit on a tumbler
The big man had left saying that he was late
His party was now on the fairway
The others at table then went tete a tete
Suggesting that had things gone their way
The world would be well in the sweet bye and bye
And then they just started to bicker
I left then and while I am just a small fly
I couldn’t have got any sicker

There are unintended consequences, intended consequences, intended unintended consequences and unintended unintended consequences, and the Obama White House seems incapable of determining in advance just which consequence they prefer or desire. Everything they do turns out to be a total surprise to them, which they conveniently blame on an obscure film maker or on George Bush.

An unintended consequential
Flowing from the non-sequential
White House policies and tortured twists du jour
Is the ouster of friend Morsi
From his high and mighty horsey
By Egyptian army and the Cairo poor
Morsi was a White House favorite
Now he’s gone and though they flavor it
As a nothing unforeseen the White House grieves
For their cutthroat Muslim raiders
And the Jew and Yankee haters
Tears for Morsi glisten brightly on their sleeves
Some of course are quite intended
Though they laughingly pretended
That Khaddafi was a looming deadly threat
Now he’s gone and fierce Jihadis
Roam the sand dunes and the wadis
Quite aware they’re in Obama’s iron clad debt
Syria was Barack’s baby
Stick a finger in there maybe
Never say which way that you may one day go
Now Iran and our friend Putin
Stuck not fingers but a boot in
And the Middle East aflame is set to blow