A very old Irish Gaelic fable tells the story of a Prince turned into a black crow who convinces a beautiful princess to marry him. Fast forward to the present, and consider that Barack Obama is the crow, and the United States the beautiful princess. Did not the black crow convince the beautiful princess to marry him? Has the old Gaelic folktale not come true? Does the United States, that beautiful princess, survive the encounter with the shapeshifter Barack Hussein?

The crow pecked softly on her window pane
And called her from her peaceful sleep
Entranced, she watched the crow her bedroom gain
In darkness deeper than the deep
She rose and followed to the tower stair
Above the battlement below
She saw from window slits her country fair
And felt the shadow of the crow
The fall seemed dreamlike to her sleeping mind
The battlement so soft to fall upon
And thought not badly of the crow so kind
As in the dark smiled an preachan

A fistfight over whose imaginary god was least imaginary broke out between Sunni and Shia Muslims during a march in London organized by Imam Anjem Choudary. It is not known if there were any casualties, but it has been reported several of the rioters had their feelings hurt.

When tempers boil on foreign soil
Like London in Old Blighty
A few get stabbed and then get scabbed
Though issues are quite flighty
One group has wells where Imam dwells
The other thinks that’s crazy
Both wonder why how hard they try
The future seems so hazy
They always lose when fighting Jews
Though Allah still commands it
On VJ-Day the Jews will pay
Their honor still demands it
And so they fight with great delight
Though blows are weak and powdery
They march along, and sing a song
Urged on by Imam Choudary

At age 10 my grandfather was a mule boy on the old Pennsylvania canal. At age 14 my father graduated from the eighth grade and went to work on a construction project, doing a man’s work. My son has spent his adult life in front of a computer screen designing new methods of doing things I don’t quite understand. My grandsons are just entering the workforce after university, and will face challenges and opportunities not yet visible. And so it goes. Did my grandfather enjoy walking a towpath leading a mule pulling a coal barge? Probably never gave it a thought. His world was what it was, and the mule was just part of it, like the rain and the snow. One generation’s present is always someone else’s good old days.

The towpath ran for many miles
The pace was walking slow
The barges, boys and loaded coal
Arrived in rain or snow
The railroad came and the canals
Had seen their better days
The engineering marvels now
Just peaceful waterways
And so it goes in the first world
The all inventive West
Where new succeeds the newly old
And good gives way to best
Lament you for what you have known
But know that what succeeds
Will startle and confuse you
And you’ll know not where it leads
But rest assured the journey from
The first made cast iron bars
To mules and towpaths and canals
Will take us to the stars

Oh what tangoed webs we weave, when first we practice to…well, you know. Barack Hussein Obama has tippy-toed through the tulips for six years, leaving behind him a sobbing gaggle of would-be strawberry blonds, every one of whom believed him to be the Waltz King, the bringer of light to a dimming world, only to find he meant a dhimming world. To the old tune Casey Would Waltz With A Strawberry Blond (And The Band Played On). The strawberry blonds, of course, are our former allies, all of whom Obama has destroyed in his fiery dance of destruction across the Middle East.

Barack would waltz with the strawberry blonds
And the band played on
He’d glide ‘cross the floor with the ‘Ranian whore
While the band played on
His dance card was loaded and when it exploded
Josh Earnest cried there’s no alarm
O buried the girls with the strawberry curls
And the band played on

There are those who believe the gods died thousands of years ago, but they are wrong. The gods have not died, they have bided their time, immortal, knowing they would be called upon again. And so they have been. The end of socialism is not communism, is not anarchy, nor is it necessarily death and destruction, unless, of course, the gods desire such things. Is it not Poseidon, the god of all water life, who has ordained that a handful of smelt be saved at the cost of the destruction of the State of California? Is it not Prometheus, the god of fire, who has convinced outraged rioters to burn down their own neighborhoods in revenge for perceived ill treatment? Is it not Hermes, the god of heralds and messengers who has clouded the minds of American statesmen that causes them to hear what they want to hear instead of what is being said? Is it not Mammon and Baal Hammon together who have destroyed the monetary system and consigned millions of unborn children to the Tophet of unsustainable debt? No, my friends, the gods of my youth are alive and well, though they have moved from Olympus to Capitol Hill, where Spites deceive all in residence, and Atalanta, the huntress of Artemis, stalks her quarry in the nighttime streets.

From the sands of Pascua Florida
To the far Pacific shore
In the sacred groves the temples and the shrines
Boom with laughter and with dancing
As the wine flows evermore
And the gods grow fat on sacrificial kines
Oh to be a god or goddess
Is to live the life divine
Even though the Left remain a noxious pain
But the gods they have the answer
God shown justice is condign
Atalanta hunts till none of them remain

In the fourth millennium BC, somewhere around 3600 BC, there occurred a catastrophe that destroyed a significant part of European life, causing death and dislocation on a massive scale. The glaciers had been melting for thousands of years, and in the middle of the North American continent, ice blocked passages through the mountains caused a massive lake of cold, fresh water to form. When the blocking ice finally gave way, the lake poured south, forming the Great Lakes and Niagara, rushing into the Atlantic ocean, where the cold surface water flowed eastward, lowering the temperature of the prevailing winds, which then dropped the temperatures across a wide belt of Europe and beyond, leading to massive crop failure. This is where we are, only at an accelerated pace. The Socialist Blue Model glacier has been melting for some time, and will soon crash through the passes and inundate all but the highest ground. And on that high ground we will find our new masters, in their fairy-tale castles, distributing crumbs to the starving masses of the displaced and the unemployable.

Castles on the highest hills
Credentialed serfs below
Some crouched around the shuttered mills
Now rusting in the snow
Blue Model life had run its course
Like models gone before
First gatherer and then the horse
The free range life no more
The chieftains gathered up the clans
And bound them to the soil
And took away their hopes and plans
And set them at their toil
For one brief moment mankind swept
Away the oligarchs
The castles they had lately kept
Turned to museum parks
But in the end the glaciers win
As life in cycles goes
In rhythm with endless spin
That ice and time may pose

Greece again has reached the bottom of the empty money barrel, and again it looks like the end. The death of Greece, and perhaps of the European Union, has been a long time coming. Will the Germans again pump life blood into failing Greek banks, delaying the burial of the corpse for a few more months? Or do the Germans, weary of propping up the putrefying relict, say the hell with it, and let the poor man die? Where are the once powerful gods of Greece? Where is Hera, the Earth Mother, when her people need her? Oh yes, she was deposed by Zeus, her son, who has obviously made a hash of things. Would you rather have Medea or the media? Tell the truth. Ruling men is better left to goddesses than to other men, who only think they are gods.

What happened to the goddesses
Blue eyes and raven hair
With overflowing bodices
And no one now to care
Artemis, Diana, sweet
Athena spring to mind
They strode the world most indiscreet
Bewitching humankind
The Maiden Huntress with her bow
The Underworld’s Hecate
It’s sad to say no one I know
Has heard of them of late
The world is poorer for their loss
Men tossed them all aside
When guys like Zeus became their boss
Forbidding them to ride
Consigning them to household tasks
Olympus was a mess
With sodden gods and dry wine casks
Sprawled out in drunk distress
It all began when Jason sailed
The Argo to Colchis
And as Aeetes’ dragon wailed
He stole the Golden Fleece
Mount Pelion, the story goes
Received the Fleece with thanks
For Zeus’s shrine was in the throes
Of closing all its banks
And thus did Zeus his mother wed
And goddess rule to cease
And so was ended, so ‘twas said
The Golden Age of Greece

“We tell America that what is coming will be even bigger and more bitter, and that you will see the soldiers of the Islamic State do terrible things.” – The Islamic State’s official radio station, al Bayan, claiming responsibility for the attack on the Curtis Culwell Center in Garland, Texas.

The Muslims do not seem to understand that at some point the decision will be made to put an end to the killings. Those who raise the green crescent flag do not understand that when the decision is made the Muslim crescent will be extinguished with a savage ferocity the Muslim world could never have imagined possible. Those who have been warned and do not heed, bleed. And bleed they shall, from every orifice and every pore, bleed until every one of them is dusty parchment, scattered over scorched and barren ground at the pleasure of the wind.

How luminous the distant stars
Across the broad ecliptic
Like fireflies in childhood jars
Foretell apocalyptic
Scenes of death and ghastly fear
Two scorpions in battle
And only one will stand to hear
The other’s death-doomed rattle
The stars look down on spinning moons
So brilliant, iridescent
Within the spheres the lyric tunes
Sing of the flaming crescent
Extinguished, buried in the deep
By those they had despised so
And entered into final sleep
A state they all had prized so
And so the phases of the moon
At full so very pleasant
Now listens to the mournful loon
Sing of the hell-borne crescent

They say everything starts in California, and if San Francisco is our future, then I long for the past. A recently published photo shows Chief Heather Fong, the first lesbian Chief of Police and Theresa Sparks, a former male, who is president of the San Francisco Police Commission, and CEO of a multimillion-dollar sex toy retailer. Also proudly shown in the photo is Sgt. Stephan Thorne, a former female, the first transgender male SFPD police officer. Their Representative in Congress is the alien lizard Nancy Pelosi.

The cable cars, the Golden Gate
Don’t be surprised to find your date
Is not the one you thought she’d be
When she turns out to be a he
The bathrooms now in City Hall
Contain for each a separate stall
For the lesbians to use
The transgendered get to choose
Nancy boys must use the parks
With fancy toys from Theresa Sparks
The future has a baleful glare
Like basilisks with stony stare
I hate to think the die is cast
And if it is I’ll take the past

After the reorganization of Yugoslavia, a three square mile tract of mountainous land containing a single shack was inadvertently overlooked by the map makers, and was bought by a young man who named it Liberland, and advertised for immigrants. Two hundred and fifty thousand people from discontiguous parts of North Africa and the Middle East are now clamoring to migrate to a tiny three square mile area in the Balkans, claiming they just want to live someplace a little roomier than where they are. The leader of these people, a discontiguous man himself, says

We all are discontiguous
Our purposes ambiguous
We only long for death but it’s our fate
To live midst unbelievers
We hate being deceivers
But we could all be happy with a state
This Liberland seems happy
‘Cause where we’re at is crappy
We’d take that three square miles and tiny shack
Right now we’re all just talkin’
The neighbors they are balkin”
As soon as we join ISIS we’ll be back