Liberal Racism

1 Reply

There is a reason the Left treats guys like Herman Cain and Justice Thomas as they do, and the reason is the Left cannot abide a darkie leaving the plantation. To the Left this is not racism, this is generosity, and idealism, for where could life be better than on the plantation?

 

 

Oh what a tangle web they weave

When they say that they don’t believe

The color of men’s skin should be in play

Their words and attitudes both show

That racism is all they know

And tell us all about it every day

It’s all part of the liberal mind

Though some will think me most unkind

For saying that the Left thinks guys like Cain

Are traitors who don’t know the facts

Or must be dumb because he lacks

The brains to understand that he’s in pain

Of course they like the Blacks who vote

For Lefty masters who can quote

The reasons why the Negro should be pleased

That all their lives have been enhanced

By left wing programs that just chanced

To lock them all in bondage till deceased

They see the world through prism’d eyes

Where all not them they do despise

And men like Cain they hate since time began

They cannot see because of hate

That neither color, breadth nor weight

Is ever the true measure of a man

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

Conspiracies

Leave a reply

I spoke to a friend just the other day on the subject of conspiracies, and he said only a fool would believe the lies the authorities put out to cover up the truth. “Why can’t you see the truth?” he demanded.  “You can’t see it because you don’t want to see it, for the truth is too painful.” And then he broke into rhyme, if you can believe it.

 

 

What seems to you conspiracy

Is white hot truth to me

You’re told the truth but will not see

That who killed Kennedy

Was not that lonely, some say fey

Disturbed man, who that day

Was not in Dallas anyway

‘Twas done by CIA

And Lincoln, if you knew the truth

Would vanish quick, forsooth

If you accept someone uncouth

Had shot him, not poor Booth.

Pearl Harbor now, I’ll go so far

To tell things as they are

That whole gosh darn Pacific war

Is laid on FDR

And nine eleven, it’s not news

Poor Arabs we abuse

Believe or not as you may choose

It was done by the Jews

Conspiracies are more than that

They’re truth upon which sat

Authority that likes things pat

And keeps truth under hat

So don’t believe a word they say

Upon truth they do play

Authority lies every day

The truth gets in the way

So saying then he said goodbye

And winked, a little sly

And said the truth would make me cry

But not to wonder why

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

The Road To Brussels Fair

Leave a reply

The European socialist experiment is about to end, and end badly, as predicted by many. Capitalism, nationalism, and wealth, or socialism, poverty and death. Those are the options. After WW2 Europe had a choice. Which road to take, the road to life or the road to Brussels.

 

 

The crossroads beckoned up ahead

The weary traveler stopped

And looked about in fear and dread

Which path should he adopt?

One road led on to Brussels Fair

Bright roses lined the way

The other led to who knows where

What price be there to pay?

He chose the road where roses in

Profusion did proclaim

Bad weather never closes in

And one wins every game

And so it was for many miles

Bright skies and weather fair

While in the distance Brussels smiles

And becks the traveler there

A gleaming city on a hill

Aglow with golden light

He bade his racing heart be still

And walked on through the night

Oh at first ‘twas as desired

On the carousel, content

Even unemployed were hired

And the city paid the rent

But the wine soon left the fountains

Some folks worked while others played

And the debt grew high as mountains

And the city grew afraid

As the leaders wept and dithered

While great fissures were laid bare

And the roses died and withered

On the road to Brussels Fair

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

The Wooden Horse

Leave a reply

He Greek debt crisis is spreading across Europe, infecting country after country, like a malignant and infectious disease. Italy is the latest to come down with the malady, and it looks like there will not be enough money to stave off disaster. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, someone once warned, a reference to the wooden horse the Greeks wheeled up to the gates of Troy.

 

 

A wooden horse before the gates

The Greeks are bearing gifts
From pensioners and young ingrates

Who work four hour shifts

And take two hours out for lunch

And call it a good day

Then off they go, the whole darn bunch

To sit in some café

Demanding that the Germans come

Up with the money fast

And not just some small piddling sum

Enough that it will last

Until the next debt crisis looms

When Greeks will once again

Insist that talk of fiscal dooms

Is far beyond their ken

And so once more the wooden horse

With Euros thus gets filled

And who is stuck, why us of course

When Uncle Sam gets billed

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

Bovaglie’s Plaid

162 Replies

Anyone who has a collection of American Civil War songs will recognize the Celtic tune, Bovaglie’s Plaid. Not the melody, perhaps, but the plaintive notes, the mournful sense of longing, longing for home, longing for the world that was and may never be again. Listen to Bovaglie’s Plaid HERE.

 

 

The campfire low, the men in gray

Sat in the dark, as still as stone

Intent upon the fiddler’s play

The mournful notes, the sorrowed tone

Beyond the trees, blue pickets lie

Enraptured by the haunting tune

That said tomorrow some will die

And lie in fields forever June

Brothers once, but now at war

They dream upon the world they had

The world of home, and love and more

To sleep, to dream, Bovaglie’s Plaid

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

The Drill Instructor

Leave a reply

American policy in the Middle East is coming unglued. The Arab Spring is not giving rise to democratic governments but to radical Islamic governments. The Obama policy of removing secular dictators who were more or less friendly to the United States, or at least not openly hostile, has resulted in turning those countries over to religious dictators who yearn to kill us. Obama has just done a complete about face on keeping troops in Iraq to forestall a takeover of Iraq by Iran, and has announced he is bringing all troops home in two months. Obama believes in speaking softly, but in the Middle East speaking softly is seen as being weak. Many, many years ago, in Basic Training at Lackland Air Force Base, sixty of us 18 year olds were being marched down the company street by our assistant drill instructor, a quiet young man with a weak voice. Calling “Halt!”, his voice did not carry to the first 5 ranks, who continued down the street while the back 10 ranks, including me, came to a snappy halt.  Screaming “Halt!”, the DI raced after them, got them stopped, and screamed “About Face!”, whereupon the first 5 ranks about faced and at the order “Forward March!” came striding toward us.  The problem was, the back 5 ranks had also about faced, and at the order “Forward March!”, were now marching away from those of us in the middle 5 ranks.  We collapsed on the road in laughter, guys were falling out of barracks laughing, and the DI ran screaming down the street after the disappearing back 5 ranks.  Such is our policy and policymakers.  Weak voices lead to chaos, not all of it a laughing matter.

 

 

Unfortunately, the toughest guy

At State is our gal Hillary

Which says a lot and tells you why

We’ve put away the pillory

We stamp our feet and make moues

Grand bargains we attempt to make

Without a clue to Arab ways

Or what it takes to buy a sheikh

O whispers Halt, or Forward March

None hear and no one changes pace

O’s voice needs quite a bit more starch

For only he hears his ‘Bout Face!

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

It’s Peaceful In The Barnyard

Leave a reply

A recent report stated that the 21st century has so far been the most peaceful century in thousands of years, and many are claiming credit. The United Nations says their peacekeeping operations are responsible, NGOs and other peripheral agencies claim credit, and so on. Nobody seems to want to say what everybody knows, that it has been the United States that has kept the peace since the end of WW2. Funny how when all is quiet and peaceful every little pissant claims he’s responsible, while when the barnyard comes apart in storm and strife it’s always Uncle Sam’s fault.

 

 

It’s peaceful in the barnyard

Said the chicken to the sow

There’s naught to fear and this I hear

It’s duck who takes a bow

He says that it’s because of him

That peace is all around

And so what luck that we have duck

To thank for peace unbound

Well I dunno, the sow demurred

Some think it’s that big guy

Who tends the locks and shoos the fox

Who slips up on the sly

There’s lots of critters who would like

To make a lunch of us

But they’re afraid to make a raid

They dare not make a fuss

‘Cause that big guy has got a gun

I’ve heard it, it goes BAM!

So sows and geese, we all have peace

Because of Uncle Sam

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

Youth Must Be Served

Leave a reply

Crown Prince Sultan bin Abdulaziz al-Saud has died at age 86, and King Abdullah, 87 as of this writing, is in poor health, setting off speculation as to who will be the next (or last) King of Saudi Arabia. In line is the newly deceased Crown Prince’s brother, a youngster at 77. Saudi Arabia is a dark and secret place, but there are reports of rumblings that the Kingdom needs some younger blood.

 

 

In Saudi Arabia youth must be served

It’s time for the old ones to go

The line of succession once straight is now curved

And those who once quick are now slow

The difference right now ‘twixt the quick and the dead

Is measured in months and not years

So Long Live The King is not sung and instead

They whisper in case someone hears

That someone much younger than those now in line

Would answer if given the call

A comely and handsome young man would be fine

Though a camel would be best of all

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

Before The Wire

Leave a reply

My head hurts. Defense Department robots cruising space raising dead satellites from the grave, 75 trillion dollars of toxic assets in the FDIC, and the Sec of State threatening to sic the drones on whoever might be listening. And this just the tip of the proverbial non-melting iceberg due to non-existent global warming. So I’m going to recommend a book for those whose heads also hurt. It is magnificent, beautifully written, and it happened a hundred and fifty years ago, in a different age and to a different people. I refer to Empire Of The Summer Moon, by S. C. Gwynne, the story of the rise and fall of the Comanches, the finest light cavalry on the planet, the most powerful Indian tribe in American history. It has it all: Texas, Comanches, a captured 9 year old white girl named Cynthia Ann Parker who is raised by the Comanches, marries a chief and gives birth to Quanah Parker, who grows up to be the last great Comanche war chief. It begins with the Texans and the US Army losing the technology fight with the Indians, rapid fire arrows against single shot muzzle loaders, and ends with the defeat of the Comanches by the Texans and Army armed with repeating rifles and revolvers. Sometimes bravery just isn’t enough.

 

 

If I could climb to the top of the world

And see the past and all that was

I’d want to see the western plains

Before the wire.

The buffalo in their vast herds

So many that the dust lay thick

In air that would admit no sun

Before the wire.

Horse tribes wandering the knee high grass

Travois dragging all they owned behind

Horse herds all the wealth they cared for

Before the wire.

Villages along the streams

Raiding parties setting out

Painted dancers, fire lit

Before the wire.

The scene grows dim from the top of the world

The buffalo, Comanche fade

‘Til all is gently waving grass

Before the wire

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE

 

 

Behind The Curtain

Leave a reply

Well, Khadaffi finally said goodbye, though the administration admits it didn’t know he was in the convoy that was hit by the Predator, so I suppose you could say Khadaffi’s death was accidental. And now it seems that tiny Qatar, our ally in the Gulf, is distributing weapons and money to various rebels throughout the Middle East, and bids to become a big time player. All of this, the so-called Arab Spring that is rapidly turning into the Iranian Summer, seems to be happening outside our keyhole sized window onto the world. Is it possible that the seeming ineptitude of the current administration foreign policy masks a cunning, behind the curtain wizardry? Is it possible we are doing something fiendishly clever, while only appearing to be clueless? I don’t think so either.

 

 

The Middle East is just the least

Of State Department worries

For here and there, front door, back stair

Our Sec of State she scurries

Meanwhile the Wiz, this moment is

Behind his curtain smirkng

He waves his wand, while old le monde

Knows not his wiles are working

What seems to be, to you and me

A failure of first water

As Arab Spring, quite soon will bring

The sudden rise of Qatar

Now who’da thunk, that little punk

Khaddafi coulda held out

Amid his palms, as Nato bombs

Presumed his doom was spelled out

Ah well it seems, the fondest dreams

Of State Department winnings

Will surely just, turn into dust

So much for new beginnings

 

 See my novels and collected verse at Amazon, paperback and 99 cent Kindle HERE