Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Centuries Go by in a Flash

Centuries go by in a flash, then they crash
Into clichés.  I recall reading about today’s strife

In a book from caveman times.  Can it last,
Is the first thing you think, can it thrive?

Seven days a week the drunkard ups his drink,
While machines wear themselves out, sink

Into abuse.  Looking forward is looking back,
Since for trouble, we have an old, natural knack.

When I’m asked about what will happen tomorrow
I tell the asker yesterday’s tomorrow’s sorrow,

Unless it isn’t. But you have to put the drink down
And commit to a different path, you have to drown

Your love in an instant, and keep your head high
Above water until you reach a side that’s dry.

Friday, August 25, 2017

Trumperlick 2

There once was a peacock named Donald
Who traced his roots to bonny Scotland—
He wanted nothing else
But to grab beaver pelts,
Before his huge feathered head goes bald.

Thursday, August 24, 2017

Trumperlick

A tycoon buffoon by the name of Trump,
Talking shit in a goldplated dump;
     The people called him forth—
     Celebrity trumps worth!—
For whom the world is a thing to hump.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Intelligent Design

Such monumental mulling went into it
That any reversal of fortune implies a bid
Against a house of curtaincalls, accordingly
Carded for the timeless therapy of a spree;

Such purposeful pain and purity went into it
That you’d think none of us trim and fit
To gainsay the dead for the utility of bread
Among hordes envious of those who fled

Shadowside. Credibility marooned, bereft
Of tantalizing foolery to foul a dreamer’s yield;
It builds seascapes to sail, a pagan’s point

To parse the sky’s failure to repair. I’m left
All alone, ozoned bones brittle, mis-healed,
Paying the sharksuited to sue the joint.