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

As the Muslim gunman walked among the crowd in the Orlando nightclub, killing as he went, a terrified young woman lying on the floor texted her mother. Mommy. Call them. He’s coming. I’m gonna die. Now.

Will Orlando change anything? Probably not. Western elites have no problem with Islamic terror attacks on innocent civilians, for they do not believe there is anything Islamic about them. They believe, as does Obama, that the murders in Paris and Brussels and San Bernardino and Orlando were the crazed and random acts of the mentally disturbed, and their calm guidance will ensure a safe and calm future. Nothing will change them, except perhaps when they themselves are faced with a Muslim with an AR-15 who is intent on killing them. Only then will they understand that Now is different from the Future. When Judy Garland sang Somewhere Over The Rainbow she was singing of the future. The tornado was the Now, and the Now is coming.

The funnel winds that blow in circles fierce
Have torn apart the narrative and pierce
The certainty of all the West elites
That says that there can never be defeats
That liberals are right even when wrong
That time is never short but always long
That wealth and riches always will endure
And safety to the grave we will ensure
Yet slowly bit by bit the winds did shift
The icy wind of death and danger drift
Into the consciousness of those who danced
To rainbows as the pus filled boil was lanced
By savages who smiled as they said ciao
To all who thought the future was not now

Philadelphia will be the site of the Democratic Party’s presidential nominating convention in July, and depending on the FBI, it is unclear who will be the nominee. Hillary cannot shake the FBI and Bernie Sanders has vowed to fight on the convention floor, and with all of that the outcome is in doubt. Will she be indicted and if so will the Justice Department act on it? And if they do, and Hillary is asked by the DNC to withdraw in favor of Vice-president Joe Biden, will she do so or will she fight? I hope she is indicted and I hope she fights. I’m all for an entertaining Democrat convention, with the streets of Philadelphia full of tear gas and gang fights between the social justice warriors and Black Lives Matter.

The Democrats convene in Mr. Franklin’s Countrie Towne
Where Liberty resides in a bronze bell
And peaceful folk live side by side no matter black or brown
Vote Hillary if even in a cell
The gavel pounds, the noise abates, two nominations made
Indictment quashed, it’s Hillary and Bern
The race is on and delegates are very keen to trade
With Hill ahead of Bernie at the turn
Down to the wire, neck and neck, loud cheering fills the hall
A photo finish and it quiets down
The restive crowd is stunned to find that no one’s won at all
And cast about for one to wear the crown
Obama rises from his seat, a shouted, ”It’s the One!”
And says he’ll run again if it’s his fate
He says that after three or maybe four terms then he’s done
He’ll save the country if it’s not too late
Old Bernie screams he has the votes and will not stand aside
Bill Clinton takes the stage and calms the crowd
My wife, he says, has given all, with nothing there to hide
And while I love Barack he’s not allowed
Vote Hillary and I’ll be there, Bill Clinton said, and urged
The delegates remember ‘92
And hearing that the delegates all rose and fairly surged
Toward an old man who stood just out of view
The Party bosses took command and much to the surprise
Of all who thought that Hillary would win
The delegates with one accord awarded the great prize
To Biden who just grinned his goofy grin

God sits outside your house, in a black car, with the motor running.

Eternity is but a fraction of the solemn spin
Of bundled pinwheels of the distant stars
That fill the blackness of the void that God and we are in
A blackness matched by countless blackened cars
That carry us from birth to death to destinies unseen
The driver asking nothing in return
Along the way the driver says, his voice soft and serene
Now look about you, tell what you discern
You say the stars are brighter than the lights upon the lake
Where swans sing of the magic of the spheres
And what was crystal clear before is now dark and opaque
And what was once our joys is now our fears
And so it is, the driver says, the swans are never wrong
They sing of what you are and what you’ve been
We’ll sit awhile in this black car and listen to their song
And after which your journey will begin

The Dunning-Kruger Effect is an effect whereby relatively unskilled people believe their abilities to be much higher than they really are. We could also, with good reason, call this the Obama-Progressive Effect. The White House inner circle believes themselves superior to the rest of us simply because their parents belonged to the Communist party and the reflected brilliance rubbed off on them. The brilliance of the Obama administration is all around us, and bears witness to the culmination of seventy years of Leftist-Progressive thought in which the heirs of Marx are entitled to rule and design a world in which all risk and achievement is removed from the dull and stupid masses.

How glorious the words of Marx
Designed to dampen all the sparks
Of intellect among the common herd
Removing thoughts of enterprise
By placing there before the eyes
Of common folk the Glory and the Word
As written thus and handed down
To make sure life was blanded down
To make the peasants docile, weak and dumb
A helmet if you ride a bike
A warning sign on all you like
And all designed to keep you under thumb
No salt, no sugar, they will kill
To walk while texting takes more skill
Than peasants have and so it must be banned
We cannot say words that may hurt
We may not frown, we can’t be curt
And one false accusation gets you canned
The world is full of thought police
For thought’s disruptive of the peace
And we can’t be too careful what we say
Or what we do or what we think
Thank goodness though we’re on the brink
Of throwing all this PC in the bay

After a series of smaller killings by Muslims shouting Alluha Akbar, officially written off by the Obama administration as workplace violence, we finally have a terror act that cannot be smoothed away with comforting words about the religion of peace. One can only hope that the insanity of political correctness is coming to a bloody end.

Why do so many people say
That Islam’s not to blame
Demanding that we not think ill of those
Who kill the innocent, beheading
Them in Allah’s name
And laughing for the camera, strike a pose
Why must we hear from those who say
Do not overreact
That Islam is about god’s love and peace
And if we will but understand
And recognize that fact
Then incidents like these will surely cease
It’s time we set about the task
Of ridding from our lives
The PC madness that allows such things
As Muslims walking into bars
Intent no one survives
And killing people while the killer sings
His praises of his god most high
Who tells him he must kill
The infidel, be Christian, Jew or gay
The time has come to end this scourge
It’s time to have the will
To kill the vermin now this very day

I spoke to a Social Justice Warrior recently, and she grew indignant when I suggested that perhaps she was a bit intemperate in her choice of words. She heatedly denied being intemperate, saying she was only telling the truth and if I didn’t like it I could shove it.

I am an SJW
My politics will trouble you
For I believe that all of you should die
Diseases of a loathsome sort
Death sentence by an SJ court
I care not which it is and that’s no lie
Your breathing does pollute the air
Your living shows that life’s not fair
And if I had my way I’d kill you all
You white men with your hateful ways
You spend your nights and spend your days
Deciding how the rest of us shall fall
Well let me tell you you fat pigs
You’re living high in your plush digs
But we are coming and you will get yours
We’ll slit you up and slit you down
And hang you with a paper crown
And laugh as you crawl bloody on all fours
Oh yes you dog meat white trash scum
We’ll show you where we’re coming from
You’ve tortured and enslaved us long enough
When you are dead then we’ll be free
And after that then you will see
That SJ Warriors are fair but tough

I am getting stomach pains. I was for Trump from day one, for all the right reasons; a Democrat victory would mean a super-liberal Supreme Court for the next three generations, the continuation of the catastrophe that is Obama and the Progressive/Marxist agenda, the further loss of liberty to unelected federal regulators and so forth. Trump has tapped into a deep well of anger and bids fair to ride that anger to the presidency, his uncontrolled outbursts excused as an emotional and temporarily delayed changeover from the slugfest of the primaries. But his impulsive outbursts have not stopped, witness the attack on a judge hearing the politically motivated lawsuit against Trump University as not being able to be fair because he is Mexican, when he was born in Indiana to American citizens. Of course it quickly came out that the judge in question had ties to La Raza, the violent anti-American Hispanic organization that waves Mexican flags and burns American flags, and whose agenda is to return the American southwestern States to Mexico, but Trump didn’t say that, and so the liberal firestorm. Yes, `the lawsuit was frivolous and politically motivated, yes the plaintiff withdrew and ordinarily that would have been the end of the lawsuit, but the judge, against all custom, ruled the case be continued, and yes, Trump has a right to be angry, but there is a far larger issue than a frivolous lawsuit against Trump University, and Trump does not seem to be able to see that. Trump does not back down and continues to do what he does,, even when friends like Gingrich tell him not to say things like that, that continuing to do so could cost him the election and the loss forever of the country to the Marxist/Progressives. Trump is who he is, and my stomach pains tell me he is off the rails, and if he doesn’t get back on the rails very quickly the election is lost, and he will have personally seen to it that the country and a very winnable election is lost and gone forever.

Is it too soon to feel despair?
It’s only June my soul to bare
My country’s in for harsh travails
If Trump’s campaign is off the rails
It’s Trump or no one at this point
There’s no one else we can anoint
And changing horses in mid-stream
Is but Bill Kristol’s nightly dream
We can but pray that Trump decides
That sense, decorum be his guides
And concentrate on what is real
The loss of jobs is what folks feel
Incompetence is what folks see
From those in charge who seem to be
Intent on bringing ruin down
On every city, every town
Just stick with these and Trump prevails
For we’re already off the rails
And if the Dems win it is plain
That we will all have stomach pain

Some plan their lives from an early age, foreseeing every twist and turn in a chaotic life, more often than not arriving in a place totally unsuited to his or her talents, though perfectly suited to ambition. Such a one is Hillary Clinton, who identified early on the man who would waft her to the heights on his flowing coattails. Every position she gained has been unearned. A United States Senator and then Secretary of State of the United States, with her only qualification being the wife of Bill Clinton. And now she attempts to parlay her unearned rise to the heights by winning the most glistening prize of all, the presidency of the United States, notwithstanding she is entirely unqualified to be president of anything more demanding than that of a small town women’s club. We live in an age where accomplishment counts for nothing and kardashianism counts for all.

She gained the heights that were by rights
Earned fairly by her betters
But she had gained what she attained
By casting off the fetters
That bounded those for whom the throes
Of life-long work had tethered
And with the guy who caught her eye
Her nest was fully feathered
She rose to where the very air
Was thin as her credentials
She takes much pride in her slick ride
Though cursed with low potentials
She loves and dotes on those whose votes
Come from the Dem plantations
Where bondage chains cement the gains
Brought forth by incantations
By salesman Bill who sells old Hill
To all the hicks who’ll listen
That old and fat does not mean that
When rubbed she does not glisten