Sigmund Freud famously said “What does woman want?” Today we must ask What does progressivism want? They will tell you they want peace on earth, equality, prosperity, security and happiness. They will cheerfully agree that La Dolce Vita is the ultimate goal. Do not believe them.

Progressivism has one goal
Progressivism wants your soul
They want to put you on the dole
Thus binding you to them
They want to tell you how to live
And as a further additive
Decide how much that you must give
To show your love for them
Progressives want to keep their sheep
In shuttered spaces made to keep
Them safe from shadows that may creep
And grateful thus to them
The Left believes a tiny slice
Of leftist thought at little price
Will cause the sheep to sacrifice
Their lives and souls for them
Forever in a magic haze
Of silver nights and golden days
So wonderful it will amaze
And all because of them

A stumped and puzzled Sigmund Freud once cried in exasperation, “What does woman want?” I believe I have the answer.

The women’s movement shorn of lust
Dawned as the Pill became a must
And turned our little daughters into tramps
By telling them that sex is fine
As long as the man buys the wine
And there was nothing wrong with being vamps
The female body was a shrine
Belonged to no one, but was thine
To do with as a lady damn well pleased
No longer shrinking, sad and shy
Just walk right up to any guy
And smile to watch him squirm at being teased
Blunt language, the four letter word
That in the past was seldom heard
From dainty female lips was on display
As women swore like lumberjacks
And posed seductive on their backs
While smiling in an ingénue-ish way
Oh it was fun some little while
But soon the ladies changed their style
And politics took hold of female bods
They marched for causes they were told
Would show that women too were bold
And Steinem, Bella Abzug were their gods
So here we are, the women’s game
Where men will always get the blame
For everything that happened since the Flood
They claim they only want what’s fair
They claim they only want their share
But we all know that what they want is blood

Everything has a half-life, and the half-life of socialism is only slightly greater than that of the fruit fly. The pendulum, when it starts to swing, never stops at the vertical, but always continues until it reaches the opposite extreme. The Common Market was a good idea, but not enough for the socialists, and so they gave the people of Europe the European Union, run from Brussels by unelected bureaucrats. If almost half of Europeans under the age of thirty are unemployed and have no prospect of employment, how long does anyone believe this condition will continue? The answer is clear. It will not be long before the young look about for political alternatives, as they are now doing. Nationalism is not so quietly gaining ground, and the EU has no power to prevent the collapse of the socialist model. The only question is, Will the swing from the soft Left ultimately lead back to the hard Left, back to totalitarianism, or will it lead to free market democracy? Given the history of Europe, at the moment it’s a flip of the coin.

And so it ends, a man, a horse
With cheering crowds and joy of course
The motorcades, the throbbing drums
The doling out of misers crumbs
The strong in charge, the weak on knees
With bird pecked bodies hung from trees
The rule of law a notion scorned
No memory, the past unmourned
But all was calm, the old way gone
The continent the strong man’s pawn
But then, by chance, the coin may light
On heads and all may be all right
But socialism, when it dies
Has always led to whimpered cries

Science can explain the facts, but it cannot explain the mystery. Scientists will tell you that rainbows were explained to everyone’s satisfaction by Descarte and Newton, who determined the rainbow is formed by the reflection of light from the surface of a raindrop, the reflections separating the light into its separate wavelengths, thus creating the bands of color. Do not believe them.

Late morning, sun-laced misty rain, the river bank in bloom
With flaming dogwood mirrored on the quiet flowing stream
I chanced to look beyond the bend, and spied the faery loom
Transparent and as gauzy as a dream
Around the loom the faeries danced, I listened, but in vain
The tableau silent, faery wings, so blurred with motion bled
And as spellbound I watched the dance, I saw that they had lain
Upon the grass a brilliant bow of red
That slowly rose above the trees and formed a flaming arc
Then anchored by the flurried wings into its chosen place
A phantom bow of colored light, so red it turned the bark
Of dogwood into dancing flames of grace
Now from the loom came orange light, with orange shadows cast
By faery wings as light emerged in gleaming colored bows
As weavers crafted yellow, green, each larger than the last
And quicker paced came blues and indigos
All hastened to the growing bow, and set atop the first
By swarms of hurried faery wings intent on building well
While at the loom a violet, came tumbling with a burst
I held my breath, afraid to break the spell
Into the air the violet bow now gloriously crowned
The shining rainbow fashioned of the purest spectral light
And as I watched, the faery wings dropped slowly to the ground
And with their loom they faded from my sight
Again I saw the river bank, the dogwood, sun-splashed mist
The rainbow shining quietly above the river’s banks
A mystery that I believe shows God has truly kissed
Our world with wonder, all without much thanks

The great anomaly is that time is an illusion but the calendar doesn’t lie. And so, having attained a certain age, I occasionally wonder where I’ve been and where I’m going, and what, if anything, is the purpose. We are all of us bounded by the twin illusions of space and time, much as a property may be bounded by the woods. Which leads to the question, is the boundary woods real, or is it, too, an illusion? If space and time are illusions, and if the boundary of our lives is an illusion, what then are we experiencing? Is all an illusion, and if so, to what purpose?

We live our lives in certitude that all about is real
That memory recalls the past, and rain and cold we feel
That time flows past at leisured pace, the future yet to come
Time’s flowing stream depositing the past, that is for some
The distant future and for others pressing present times
But all is an illusion and what’s real is unmatched rhymes
Where man and sparrow think the world is what it is he sees
But what is seen is different for the mantis shrimp and bees
The bounding woods we enter at our birth and leave at death
Are ours to walk about alone until our final breath
And so alone we live surrounded by all that we love
Till in the woods we hear the singing of the mourning dove
And yet in the illusion we seem real to those we leave
And in the woods that binds them they stand quietly and grieve
While we unbounded by the woods discover that the whys
Of life is that free of the woods that nothing ever dies
For man and sparrow, mantis shrimp and bee alike shall live
Beyond the woods and know the joy that Providence will give
To all who enter into life and walk the wooded trails
To those who journey through the woods to lifting of the veils

The Left reacts violently to the words Clash of Civilizations, but of course it is, and the Left is complicit in the destruction of Western and Christian values and traditions. But values and traditions are hard to kill, as the would-be killers will inevitably discover, to their sorrow. Do Muslims kill Christians for no reason other than that they are Christians? Of course they do, but the Left has gone to great pains to see to it that we will not ever see it that way. But some of us do see it that way, and the tipping point will be reached and that will be the end of it. Islam is a killer religion, and throughout history Muslims have killed all they deem as The Other.

They push old wheelchaired men off boats
They smile for cameras cutting throats
They kill at weddings, brides and grooms
They drag young women from their rooms
And stone them, laughing as they kill
While shouting it is Allah’s will
They dress young kids in vests and bombs
And send the pictures to the moms
They cheer in streets as thousands die
As terror kills them from the sky
An embassy is no safe place
From this disgusting, vilesome race
They kill on Christmas holy days
And now it’s time to show the ways
The West has found to kill a man
As quick and dirty as we can
We’re slow to anger, but we will
And one day soon there’ll be a kill
A thousand suns will burn the grass
And all the sand will turn to glass
For only then will terror end
We never break, but sometimes bend
But bend enough and something gives
And now awake the Cruzer lives
To don his helm and sharpen sword
And send them all to hell’s reward

The Democrats believed that they could attain a permanent governing majority by being the black, Hispanic and women party, blissfully unaware that telling white people that they weren’t included anymore was a losing strategy. White people are still the majority ethnicity in the country, and when it became clear the Democrats were prepared to make white people second class citizens in their own country, white women, to the shocked surprise of the Democrats, voted white. As a result of this miscalculation the Democrats are now a failed political party, controlling virtually nothing but a couple of very blue states. Nationalism has been unleashed by the Democrats, and nationalism will keep them in the cold and the dark for a very long time, and if, in the wake of the Trump triumph they turn further left, to Sanders or Warren, they may very well disappear forever, and join the Whigs in the footnotes.

They played the race card but were Trumped
And lost to their surprise
They did not think they would be dumped
Could not believe their eyes
Election night the votes rolled in
With Florida the first
To show the totals that scrolled in
Proclaiming Trump’s big burst
That took the Dems’ last firewalls
And Pennsylvania too
The Trump borne winds now heavy squalls
As states turned red from blue
The country that’s between the coasts
Flyover, Dems still sneer
Despite the tone deaf leftist boasts
The country is now queer
Identity and gender make
Us what we are today
But white folks said you will not take
Our fathers’ land away
Now free men have their country back
The winds of change a gust
As red state folks force Dems to pack
And turn the Left to dust

My grandkids, in the wisdom of youth, oft times say to me that I should get out more. Little do they know that I have spent a very large part of my life among the stars.

In fancied flight I take to wing and dance among the stars
And hail a passing comet destination yet unknown
We fling ourselves into the gap twixt Jupiter and Mars
And into deepest silence yet unflown
Surrounded by a stygian dark that pressed on every side
We flew until the firmament exploded into light
Revealing gods and goddesses so beautiful I cried
To think that I should witness such a sight
Through galaxies that spun before a solemn golden calf
Through ancient cities turned to dust but gloried in their times
With figures scrawled upon the walls their only epitaph
And in the wind the sound of distant chimes
Into the void until we reached the edge of all we know
The boundary that held us all inside its fenced array
A sign upon the fence warned this was far as we could go
Beyond lay knowledge that could lead astray
The mightiest of nations and the humblest of kings
That some had dared the fence and left in shambles his estate
And that it was too dangerous for man to know all things
That knowing all would come but now must wait
I disregarded warnings and proceeded through the fence
Into the void we sped intent on our forbidden search
The darkness and the cold at once oppressive and intense
To find a snow white dove upon a perch
High in a pine so tall it seemed to reach beyond the sky
Of diamond studded velvet that bathed all in glowing mist
And looking at the dove I whispered softly, Tell me why
And in response he said, If you insist
And told to me the answer to the meaning of it all
That comforted where once I was afraid
Alas he smiled and said what’s told you never will recall
Until the day the final dance is played

A few weeks ago, before Donald Trump was sworn in as the 45^th president of the United States, the political leadership of the Cathedral of Information and Assassination, the CIA, made public an entirely false hit piece that portrayed then president-elect Trump as a sex maniac and stooge of the Russians, subject to blackmail. The attempted political assassination failed in its attempt to destroy the president-elect when the complete falsity of the document became instantly apparent. A cathedral still, but the glass is stained. However, the attempted political assassination served its purpose, which was to serve notice that it is the CIA that rules, not the president. What President Trump will do about this attempted political assassination, now that he has the power, will surely be swift and certain.

The Cathedral sits on hallowed ground
In Langley close to Heaven
And from the choir comes the sound
Of Matins at eleven
Intelligence or so the claims
The truth is what they pray
As sunlight through the stained glass frames
The goddess Leucothae
But politics has entered church
Directors bend to winds
As high above the pigeons perch
As punishment for sins

Today is the inauguration of the 45^th president of the United States, Donald J. Trump. The new president will attempt to undo the damage done by the previous president, who has shown, by his every action, that he believed implicitly that the United States was evil, and needed to be weakened in order to protect the rest of the world from us. In the early 70s, T-rex released a hit song called Ride A White Swan. We all know that during President Trump’s eight years in office he will be faced with a black swan or two, but we rather imagine he will handle them with intelligence, competence and dispatch.

The swan glides smoothly and with grace
Upon the mirrored lake
And carries he from place to place
Whomever fate will take
And thrust him fierce into the fray
The placid waters foamed
Upon which coal black swans will play
Their feathers sleek and combed
The placid lake turns flaming red
As crisis fills the air
And ghostly figures of the dead
Cry out in black despair
It’s then that leaders earn their name
For every moment counts
The outcome will be flame or fame
So from his swan dismounts
To slay the coal black feathered beast
His shield and armor don
And with the beast now dead, deceased
Returns to his white swan
The country saved, the people weep
For joy, for they know when
Out on the lake the swans all sleep
The country’s great again