The Left in Britain and Europe is setting up to deny the British public their Brexit victory by any means possible. It is almost as if British democracy, having hit the iceberg and survived, is now faced with a second iceberg. But icebergs are a shifty lot; they move, slowly to be sure, but they move, and it is not at all clear that the Labour Party knows exactly where that second iceberg is. Is it in Edinburgh, where the Scots threaten to torpedo the move out of the EU? And if so, where in Edinburgh? Perhaps it is in the house once lived in by Robert Louis Stevenson where it is reading, in manuscript, The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde.

How sweet the noble Mr. Hyde
The Leftists would appear
As long as you are on their side
You have but naught to fear
But cross the line and you shall see
The Dr. Jekyll leer
The maddened eyes that say that we
Are charged by God to steer
The ship of state until she sinks
On yonder icy floe
And if a single peasant blinks
Then overboard you go
And then before their very eyes
The transformation came
The voters wished their fond goodbyes
And meant to change the game
And Dr. Jekyll in his wrath
Grabbed sweet Britannia’s throat
And cackling led her down the path
And ‘cross the castle moat
And to the dungeon she was sent
Until she abject yield
And British voters did repent
And Brexit was repealed
Yet even as the Left rejoiced
They thought that they would win
The sudden scream of “Ice!” was voiced
And icebergs did them in

The British have voted to leave the European Union, and good riddance. The European Union was always a shotgun marriage. We all remember countries that voted No being badgered and threatened into voting again and again until, wearily, they voted Yes, at which point the vote was final. The EU was always a French dream to tie the hands of Germany, and the dream lived for many years, but now it is ending. What will happen next is anybody’s guess, but the days of totally disparate European countries being ruled by unelected Brussels bureaucrats is clearly at an end. Britain has said No!, or maybe Enough!, and European nationalism has come awake, wondering how the heck that EU business could have happened. But even with shotgun marriages, a breakup leaves feelings of guilt and regret, because the marriage wasn’t uniformly dismal. There were the kids, of course, and the times we walked the beach under the stars on warm summer nights, the trips to the theater with laughter and drinks at intermission, and those cold winter nights we kept each other warm, so a certain amount of sadness is to be expected. But the Marxist/Leftist Blue Model of governance is kaput, or as Bob Dylan might say, it’s all over now, baby blue

The times we had to bail out ancient Greece
Who yearned for gods and Jason’s golden fleece
Complaining of their treatment without cease
And giving to us not a moment’s peace
But it’s all over now, baby Blue
The time the Eastern Bloc clamored to join
They gave us paper marks for golden coin
The happy times we fished the Irish Boyne
Incoming cash we’d laughingly purloin
Well that’s all over now, baby Blue
We Brits are on our own, like good Queen Bess
Empire, Drake and Hawkins is my guess
Though guilt and some regret I will confess
I wish the breakup movement much success
Yes it’s all over now, baby Blue

As Britain exits the EU, the European Union sighs for its lost love, and sings softly to itself of the sad parting, but mindful too, that life goes on, comforting itself in the thought that mindless progressivism will triumph in the end. In its wounded sorrow it sings

I think of the love that we made
Think of the kisses that fade
All the sweet moments I’d trade
To be still with you
Remember the warm starry nights
The silly unreasoning fights
The passions that rose to the heights
When I was with you
Our love was unending it seemed
We loved and we laughed and we dreamed
Together our love is redeemed
Through love that is true
I’ll miss those sweet kisses you gave
Your sweet tender touches I crave
I’ll cry but I’ll try to be brave
Though you say we’re through
Remember the love that we made
Remember sweet kisses don’t fade
Remember the promises paid
When we said I do

Just when you thought history had come to an end comes the tumultuous upheaval of Britain leaving the European Union. We have not seen the like since Agincourt. I grieve for Englishmen yet unborn, who will not see again such a day as this. The beginning of the end of the Marxist/Leftist model of governance that has done to the once indomitable spirit of the West what the Huns, the Saracens and the Persians could not do; they have reduced the West to trembling ladyboys, who flinch in the face of adversity. British nationalism, born at Agincourt and midwifed by stout yeomen and stout yew longbows, has risen from the dead hand of Marxist Brussels.

The Midlands felt the deadly lash
Of EU bureaucrat decrees
That set their jobs in jeopardy
As goods poured in from overseas
The working man in England saw
His life and neighborhood go down
As Calais trains brought Arab mobs
To rape and bleed the British Crown
They saw the open borders crowd
Tell Britons they must kiss the ring
Of Brussels with its foreign law
That Charter Oak meant not a thing
They rose this day, the yeomen did
And showed the EU toffs the door
Declaring Britons shall be free
Just as they did at Agincourt

When you love someone, the day is full of brilliantly gorgeous colors, so vivid they would make the rainbows blush and cry with envy.

The dawning streaks the night sky palest rose
With golden splashes of an amber hue
And in a moment dawn will sudden close
And tell me that the morning loves you too
The rising sun climbs swiftly in the sky
And lights the world with gilded rays anew
So beautiful and glorious that I
Know that the golden noontime loves you too
As sunset draws the purpled curtain low
And rose-gold sky turns dusk from shimmered blue
The brilliant bursting sunset colors glow
And evening says goodnight to loves like you
And as the daytime colors gently close
My thoughts and dreams are always, dear, of you
And watch the sky turn black from amber-rose
And know with all my heart I love you too

From the viewpoint of Islam, the Sweet Used To Be was the glorious days of the Caliphate, the bygone days of beautiful Andalus and the magnificent Alhambra, of the wonders of Baghdad on the Tigris and the tales of Ali Baba. And so it seems, to the thoughtful Muslim, that the days of the Sweet Used To Be are again upon them, revisited, and delivered by an all-powerful and all merciful Allah.

The distant day of golden sweetest dreams
Draws ever closer with each passing day
The West will hear the horrifying screams
Of children torn from mothers’ arms at play
The slaughter of the men is blest by god
The taking of the women blest by man
The ease with which we did it must seem odd
To those who do not see it is god’s plan
The crescent flag now flies from sea to sea
From Britain to the Indonesian shore
The sword of Islam has brought to the knee
The infidel who deigned to not make war
The day is soon upon us, my dear friends
When Islam bursts its shackles and is free
And uses all the means to gain her ends
And take us back to the sweet used to be

We are witnessing the destruction and death of Western European civilization, the cradle of art and science, because of unrestrained and pernicious multi-culturalism. The glue that holds any society together is language and religion. The scourge of multi-culturalism, which has gripped the West for many years now, insists that all peoples are alike, and therefore a multi-cultural society is not only a successful society but a better one, and to a degree this is true. The United States is a good example of a successful limited multi-cultural society, where various ethnic peoples were assimilated despite differences in language and religion. But the United States was and still is a limited multi-cultural society in that learning English was demanded of its immigrants and the immigrants were, in overwhelming numbers, Christians. The problem with unlimited multi-culturalism comes when people who are let in do not speak the language of the host society, and are not required to learn it, and who are, moreover, of a different and antagonistic religion. When such people are permitted or invited into a society whose culture is viewed by the immigrants as illegitimate, the nation, as the numbers of those immigrants increase, becomes threatened. Thus the recent flood of Muslim immigrants into Europe will ultimately result in the destruction of European society, since the immigrants have no language, cultural or religious relationship whatever with their hosts, and thus, when the Muslim population achieves numerical superiority, as they will due to declining European birthrates, they will change the European culture into their own distinctly different culture. In the United States, the Latin immigrants will ultimately learn the English language on their own, for their own economic advancement, but they are already of the same religious culture, and thus the immigration problem for the United States is not the destruction of the culture, but a political problem, in that the politics, but not the culture, will change significantly.

The siren song of cheap imported labor
Combined with multi-cultural decay
Will soon set a war neighbor ‘gainst neighbor
And those who have the will will gain the day
The Muslim immigrant knows he is fated
To rule in Andalus and he shall strike
To topple people passive, sick and sated
By dogmas that proclaim all men alike
And so the end is near for once great peoples
Who ruled the world by trade and law and guns
Who watch the Muslim burning of the steeples
And giving up as slaves their girls and sons

Millions voted for Senator Barack Obama under the very much mistaken belief that the election of a Black man to the presidency of the United States would bring an end to the difficult race relations that had grown in size and bitterness over the years. Instead of pouring oil on troubled waters, the elected savior proceeded to inflame race relations to a high not seen since the race riots of the 1960s. The disillusioned shrug and say there was no way they could have known, but of course there was, for many of us did not believe for one moment that the slick talking Black man was a hearer of hurts and unifier of races.

He charmed them all, the ladies most
The smile, the cool, the practiced charm
Bright hope and change was his proud boast
His message soft, with no alarm
As president he made the choice
That he alone defined the law
Disdain for whites was in his voice
Delighted he in rubbing raw
The cops when he always excused
Black criminals as being wronged
By racist cops who then abused
The innocent who just belonged
To people who looked just like him
And had a perfect right to live
Without the cops taking a dim
View of the gun and sharpened shiv
Found on the suspect as he ran
From the police when they arrived
Just as the robbery began
Two cops got shot, sadly survived
One thing I know that is for sure
Obama thinks that his side wins
His legacy will be race war
And he can’t wait till it begins

In mythology the raven is associated with death and destruction. The country, in its wisdom, has elected a black winged raven as president, and he has brought death.

Against the deep dark blue and purple sky
Against the cratered moon of palest pale
The shadow of the raven
May be seen with naked eye
But none who see the shadow tells the tale
For on the eyes of newly dead
The raven daily feasts
Cares not the raven that the head
Be human or of beasts
It matters not the eyes still blankly stare
From empty sockets bloody and picked clean
The shadow of the raven
Will be gone as never there
And yet will still be felt and still be seen

I remember my father almost every day, but since today is Father’s Day I thought I would write down some of the things I remember most.

The time I was a little kid
Seven, I would note
The kitchen and a block of wood
He built a toy sail boat
A kite he made me at that time
The frame some scraps of wood
Newspaper and an old worn tie
But could it fly? It could
Then later, I was older now
The piano, dinner done
He’d show me ukulele chords
With music, father, son
I close my eyes and hear him now
Each evening he would play
That old upright piano
In his own distinctive way
I see that old piano bench
He knew most every song
That ever had been written
Oh it seems a time so long
He left us on a winter day
Almost thirty years ago
We gathered by the mounded earth
The winter clouds so low
But I still see that kite and boat
Piano keys still play
I see him as he’ll always be
And miss him every day