Saturday, December 31, 2011


America’s “best” politicians,
Deep pockets all with bucks to burn,
Get television’s expositions
And yet the voters never learn.
A TV spot is so confining:
Can hide a pol who’s always whining;
And yet he’s never gloomy Gus,
As PAC men fill our heads with pus.
Gorged bank accounts will win elections.
The Court has made this dream come true
So now there’s nothing we can do 
To stop the rich from their selections.
Democracy takes megabucks,
So pols treat us like we're  “hockey pucks.”

Friday, December 30, 2011


I say we tax religion’s churches.
If they refuse to pay their tax,
Then we should knock them off their perches
And give their preachers forty whacks:
Because they foster inequality
Among the members of the polity:
For tax breaks serve the superrich.
This is the megachurch’s pitch:
“We preach the gospel of prosperity.
To do that we need ten percent
Of gross. If you can’t pay your rent,
Rely upon faith, hope, and charity.
And if you’re still stuck in a mess
Why you should give us more and God will bless.”


It’s time for re-evaluation
Of how progressive Hollywood
Is when it comes to advocation
Of voting for the just and good.
It’s not to say some aren’t progressive
’Gainst policies that are repressive;
But Hollywood as a town is
Concerned with one thing: that’s the biz.
As businesspersons they’re rapacious:
Fight union contracts; female stars
Are forced to suck on their cigars.
In short, it simply is fallacious
To think they’re from the 99
When all they really fear’s their bottom line.


Does politics need more philosophy?
The answer I propose is: yes.
I gladly pay a Mafioso fee
To “hit” on those could not care less.
Who cannot make informed decisions
But rather judge by television’s
Ads who’s the better qualified
I’d have them taken “for a ride.”
This is a drastic intervention;
But voters need to understand
That when they vote they take a hand
In how the country’s run. Prevention,
Of who won’t vote the common good,
Is just. A dunce must be withstood!

Saturday, December 24, 2011


Evangelical Christianity
Will always put religion first
Because they think that all humanity,
Without their God is surely cursed.
And so they know there’s impropriety
Allowing for devout variety
Because religion and the state
Are one. Of that there’s no debate.
And none, therefore, dare call it treason
Eliminating all non-whites,
For they’re the ones who’ve brought these blights.
And so it simply stands to reason
You cannot worship foreign gods
Without deserving their death squads.


I don’t see why our superstitions
Can’t be the bases of our law;
With courts and lawyers as magicians
Enchanting us with blah, blah, blah.
In church we let our charming preachers
Conjure away all evil creatures;
And Jews, from out their magic book,
Say what we can and cannot cook.
Not only in the God’s communities
Do we search out what’s wrong or right
To keep us safely through the night.
The state, too, orders opportunities:
The LAW bewitches bankers’ loans
Transmuting them to our home groans.


Why do we have such bad reactions
To any mention of the poor?
Is it because we think our actions
Are always anything but sure?
In other words, we just got lucky
And that’s the reason things are ducky.
Why do we think they’re beasts of prey
Who pray for handouts from our pay?
Or is it our most Christian nation
Forgot their homeless Jesus was
Accounted by His “betters” scuzz?
At any rate, our allocation
Of hatred for the poor won’t bide:
There’s more of them than us worldwide.

Friday, December 23, 2011


For God we challenge evolution,
Politically a savvy move,
And would amend the Constitution
(And know our Lord God would approve)
To force who think that our Creation
Derived from some four-eyed crustacean,
Or monkeys swinging in the trees
To beg His mercy on their knees.
And once they’ve made a good confession
They’ll join us in the Ranks of Love
Who glorify the God above;
Then help destroy all whose profession
Is science based, for we’re resolved
To finish off the uninvolved.

Thursday, December 22, 2011


Incompetent decision-making,
Defined as “what will float my boat,”
You’d hardly think would be earthshaking
Except when it comes time to vote.
For voters have an obligation
To give their vote some cogitation;
And figure in the common good.
But voters’ heads are made of wood!
Not grounded in facts or morality
But mostly ignorant and base
Without a sense of common place,
They cannot use impartiality
To help them make decisions that
Are rooted in the democrat.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


Political decision makers
Should use the Bible to decide
If humanists and God-forsakers
Should be condemned and crucified.
They should be held for trial and stoning 
For arguing the Virgin’s boning;
Denying Christ the Risen Son
As Jew would or Mohammedan.
The Bible is the one Authority
That we can count on to command
America, the Holy Land.
We are the God’s moral majority:
So Christians say who’s friend or foe 
Because “the Bible tells us so.”    

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


Tea Party voters are diminishing
Because they’re lunatics who are
Off mission such as really finishing
(And this is truly so bizarre)
The chances that the Dem Obama
Would fail the economic trauma.
He has. But now the point is moot
Because of Perry, Bachmann, Newt.
Who doesn’t know that this election
Is all about the unemployed.
Their candidates are all schizoid
And totally have lost connection
To anything but spending cuts.
And dunces vote to kiss their butts?


The members of the Grand Old Party
Have argued it’s illicit for
An immigrant who is a smarty
And fought our latest foreign war
To go to college on tuition
That citizens pay for admission.
(A truly useless exercise
When all tuition’s on the rise.) 
It’s meant to fluster immigration
Which never ever will be done
For lives in constant 911.
So why encourage aggravation?
When what you want is someone’s vote,
It’s stupid not to float their boat.


The terrors of the Inquisition,
Says Coren, weren’t the Church’s fault;
But says extremes in its ambition
Lay squarely in the bankers’ vault. 
The Scientific Revolutions
Indeed had Catholic contributions;
And as for fighting in Crusades:
To take their homelands back from spades.
But most of all and most “compelling”
He says the Holocaust of Jews
Was fought against. That’s surely news!
What I don’t get is underselling
A problem (that leaves Catholics awed)
Is proving that there’s any God.
* This is my review of Michael Coren’s book Why Catholics Are Right.

Monday, December 19, 2011


One day a dauntless cyber warrior
Sat down at his computer screen
To seize and hold Helen of Troy. Her,
Whose likes the world had never seen.
When suddenly from his reality
A cyber door, to her locality,
Was opened and it sucked him in
Her captive now, to his chagrin.
“Who are you fools who keep intruding
To fight the wars fought long ago?
You haven’t had enough gung ho?”
He whimpered, crying “My transmuting
Was not my doing. That I swear.”
But, turning, saw his empty chair.
And as he looked the door was closing
But not before he saw his wife
As she walked in, saw him transposing.
She shouted, “Fool, not on your life.
You can’t escape from me that easy.
You never even tried to please me.
Who is that bitch that’s sitting there?”
The queen slid from her royal chair
And standing said, “Oh stop your bitching!
How is it that he doesn’t please?”
“His dick is to the nth degrees.
Go look and see. It’s so bewitching.”
So Helen looked, saw his big ten
And welcomed it inside her den.
A cyber door from this reality
Was opened up to get him back
From out the Trojan principality
But failed. The aphrodisiac
Of love slave to the gorgeous Helen
(Though held in chains as if a felon)
Was too much for him to resist.
“Who’d think of giving up a tryst,”
He thought, “With one who’s so adorable . . .”
When suddenly he heard a snore
That sounded like a dragon’s roar;
And thinking that this was deplorable
Sat bolt upright but gave a scream
When he discerned he’d had a dream.


Who’d halt illegal immigration
Must build a fence so high and wide
The Berlin Wall in aspiration
Was merely commonplace bromide.
And then, of course, you’d need sharp shooters
To take out women who’d be "brooders"
Of “anchor babies” since you’ve sworn
They won’t be to the manner born.
To make sure that it’s petrifying
You’d sow the border with land mines
To let them know they’ve crossed deadlines.
In other words, you're terrifying
The economic refugees
Who’ll do your work just as you please.


They tell me that the climate’s changing.
But what am I supposed to do
Before it starts in rearranging
The world? Is it a bugaboo?
If it’s so bad then men of science,
And women, should build an appliance
That limits carbon in our air
Before we’re in intensive care.
I’m not a climate change denier
But if we wait on politics
We’ll all have crossed the river Styx
Before the final nullifier
(Mother Nature) breathes our bad breath
And sentences humans to death.

Friday, December 16, 2011


Is it unfair a porn performer
(The stars, that is,) are always girls
Or women? What of those who storm her
Vagina? Are they merely churls
Paid pittance for their humble labors
Despite the fact their fleshy sabers
Are needed for the final act
Of all non-lesbian contact?
Imagine all the situations
That wouldn’t work because a man
Was not there in the screenplay’s plan.
A strap on might help conjugations
(But's only tempest in a cup)
Becuse there’s nothing to clean up!


Who cares for GOP contenders
For president or Democrats
(Despite their pseudo PC tenders)
Should know both parties serve high hats.
Why even President Obama,
Whom once we worshipped as the Brahma,
Created nothing to depress                      
The greed they’ve labeled as success.
So what, you ask, is my solution?
We are the 99%
Who must go further than dissent
And break the bonds of constitution,
Thus panicking the promise of
Their profits, lending us self-love.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


From out the screen she grabbed my penis
And stuck it up her dripping twat
So there was nothing else between us.
She even strangled down my, “What?!”
By smothering my mouth with kisses;
And finishing she said, “This bliss is
Bestowed on you in cyberspace
To open an account with Chase.
I said, “You mean it’s advertising?”
She said, “Hey, dude, that’s what we do
To hook a customer like you.
If you should think that is surprising ,
With your account you get an app
Gives access to my tender trap."

Tuesday, December 13, 2011


Are Lindsay Lohan’s troubles over
Means will she ever be a star
And once again roll in the clover
Of movie fame? Is it bizarre
That someone with her acting talents
Could ever be knocked off her balance?
That’s what her acting skills are for.
And yet I wish to underscore
That acting is an occupation
That brings with it just loads of stress
Can land you in an awful mess.
It makes you nervous your creation
Won’t fly again. So you do drugs;
And sell the rights to flash your jugs.


When I was just a middle schooler
I couldn’t read and write so well;
My parents thought I was a drooler
Until one day in our motel
They sent me out to do room cleaning;
And as I did I found while leaning
Under a bed a Playboy stash
And saw the model’s naked gash.
So after ogling her picture
I tried to read her interview
But didn’t have the slightest clue.
Till I remembered teacher’s stricture:
“That’s what the dictionary’s for.”
So kept them in my bedside drawer.

Friday, December 9, 2011


I make up silly applications
For folks who want to use their phone
To satisfy their aspirations
Their lives won’t evanesce, unknown.
You see them with these iPhone features
That makes them out as social creatures:
They tell you when they want a nap,
Or when they have to take a crap.
And then you see it as a posting
On Twitter, Tumblr, or Facebook,
Their very private public nook.
I’d rather this not sound like boasting,
But they, for certain, made me rich
By helping show them scratch an itch.    

Thursday, December 8, 2011


I’d rather not fight self-deception.
Since it's extremely useful for
Defending what my sense perception
Tells me won’t happen anymore:
Like fooling with a female hottie
Whom now I download for a body.       
No longer young, I’d not assuage
The fact that I can’t act my age.
I’m like the dreamer, Walter Mitty;                                     
And like him I prefer my dream
To liven me with self-esteem,
Like having sex and being witty.
And so I’ll go with self-deceit,          
If I must beat a fast retreat.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011


A hacker, knowing his computers,
Was so absorbed downloading porn,
Especially those with girls whose hooters
Were double Ds and native born,
He didn’t notice when these sirens
Invaded his mind/brain’s environs
Until he felt a silky mouth
Begin to suck him off down south!
He knew that this must be a virus;      
But where the devil was it from
He asked himself in clouds of cum?
The sirens said, “You may acquire us
And live with us in paradise
By joining us in this device.”
He knew somehow (by intuition?)
That what the women said was true:
The virus granted him admission
Into a world he’d not eschew. 
Gone would be days when all his wanking
Would be performed by his hand-cranking
His penis. And the very best
Would be to feel each lovely breast.
But knowing virtual reality         
Was like an image in a mirror:     
You moved away, you’d disappear;  
And so his individuality                    
Would live somewhere in cyberspace.
But who could fight a porn star’s grace?
But still the hacker hesitated,
Afraid forever he’d be lost;
Though he’d escape what he most hated:
A world where everyone was bossed.
It so offended his mentality,
That bossing helped define reality,
He stopped and thought what he might do
To reconstruct the world anew.
Not giving up for lack of trying,   
He thought the world could go to hell.
(It was a place it would know well.)
And so he joined them, occupying
A special site in cyberspace
Was free for work he could embrace.

Sunday, December 4, 2011


We praise a God Who’s homicidal
Against those who oppose commands
(That some might think are genocidal)
By doing as our Lord commands:
Like giving over to His slaughter
Who wouldn’t rape a heathen’s daughter;
Or giving up, for His bloodshed,
A man who’d share a marriage bed
With other men. We’d gladly torture
All people who won’t praise our God
By giving them a cattle prod,
That’s heated up till it’s a scorcher,
And plunging it in their behinds.
The Bible simply blows our minds.

Saturday, December 3, 2011


I went outside and was astounded
Encircled by a mist so thick
That suddenly I was confounded
When from behind I felt a prick.
I reached behind and grabbed the boner
And told him I could use a loaner;
Then stuck it in my pussy’s grot
Where right away it hit the spot.
The feeling then was so delightful
I thought that I might lose my mind
Until it moved to my behind.
I thought, if he’d been more insightful,
He would have known the GOP’s
Pols fucked me there with STDs.

Friday, December 2, 2011


In 66, I was a hippie
Did drugs, danced nude, and fought the war;
Then settled down to be a chippy
And started working as a whore.
I got the men to do my bidding
By helping me, although unwitting,
To rid them of their prudish ids
By drugs then do what Katie bids.
And then computers were invented
And with it business went forlorn,
Since these machines promoted porn.
So gave up whoring and repented.
And now I am a person who
Pied pipes for Newt, my, “Honey, do . . .”

Thursday, December 1, 2011


The old man was a junk collector.
It’s what he did when he retired.
Until he came across a specter
That gave you anything desired.
It rose from out an ancient vessel
And challenged him. If he’d arm wrestle,
And won two out of three, It would
Give unto him fulfilled manhood.
The old man though refused the bargain
But wrestled with It anyway
And won. “You’ll live another day,”
The demon said. “My name is Gargan.
Why won’t you have your wish fulfilled?”
The old man said, “Then I’d be killed.
“Unless, of course, you’re more specific
On what it means to be fulfilled.”
“You’ve got me. It would be horrific.
And certainly you'd have been killed.
Now since you saw through my deception,
I’m forced to honor your conception
Of anything you wish for now
And grant it as my sacred vow.”
The old man had an ugly daughter
Who lived with him. (His wife was dead.)
And so he took it in his head
To have her cured. And, having brought her,
He asked the jinn to make her fair
And live a life without a care.
The demon did as he requested
But not before It asked him if
He really wanted her divested
Of how she looked? “Why in a jiff,”
The old man said. “Then she can marry
And live a life that’s customary.”
The demon honored his request
And made a girl delight caressed.
But suddenly the old man’s feeling
Was disappearing with his breath
And he was certain of his death.
Disgusted at the dirty dealing,
He asked It, "Why?"  "I made her fair
And took away her only care.”

Wednesday, November 30, 2011


I went down to the Occupation
To take my fair share of abuse
And help us out from our prostration
To politicians and their ruse
Of better living through our voting.
(And all the while, of course, they’re gloating.
They know our votes are now worth less
But sometimes help, relieving stress.)
I took their clubs, endured their beating;
But slowly they forced our retreat
But mostly cause we had to eat.
One thing’s for certain: no more pleading.
And when at night I hit the sack
I know that soon we will be back!
If this seems like a contradiction,
Believe me when I say it’s true.
You might give way to interdiction
When leadership’s been knocked askew;
But slowly we will reassemble
And thinking how to make them tremble,
We’ll finally beat back their deceit,
The stock and trade that is Wall Street.
The point is we set people thinking
On how America is run,
And forced the Street to 911.
So fewer now will be lipsyncing
What Wall Street’s pols say. We’re content:
We are the 99%.


I don’t know why I get depressive
When listening to the GOP.
Is it because they are oppressive?
Would see me under lock and key?
The Democrats, too, have Obama
Who’s really helped them shape our trauma.
So what am I supposed to do?
Just sit at home while feeling blue?
What happened to the Occupation?
Where is the 99%?
Too busy scrounging to pay rent
To stand up to our degradation?
If 1% of 99
Would stand, they’d stop at our frown line.

Monday, November 28, 2011


When voting in a Christian nation,
The Holy Bible is our guide;
Because it was God’s declaration
That celebrated genocide:
So killing natives and black slavery
Were never forms of Christian knavery;
That foreign lands and cussed gays
Must suffer us till end of days.
It gave men rights to women’s stoning
If whorish women had a yen
To “do it” with a man or men,
The price for their illicit boning.
As Christian voters under God,
Our prospects need the Bible’s nod.

Friday, November 25, 2011


Here dinosaurs are wearing saddles
Because the Bible tells us so;
And women are a man’s first chattels;
Blacks still should suffer from Jim Crow.
When these “deductions” from the Bible,
Writ when we humans were still tribal,
Are still believed by people here
It shows their minds have stripped a gear.
And, too, because the politicians,
In their relentless search for votes,
Will pander to what floats their boats.
In fact, encourage dispositions
Where cranks are puffed with self-esteem
And imbeciles are now mainstream.


“I do not have the slightest feeling,”
Said Randall Terry*, “for men who,
Instead of practicing their healing,
Kill babes.  Operation Rescue
Demands an end to this atrocity.
We do not kill with animosity
But do it with profoundest love
Commanded by our God above.”
When this was brought to God’s attention,
He asked when He’d made manifest
That Randall Terry was so blessed
“That he can make known My intention?
I’ve killed some babies in My time.
Who claims Passover was a crime?”

* Randall Terry founded the “pro-life” organization Operation Rescue.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011


I woke up with an armadillo
Was snoring soundly in my bed;
Then I recalled, beneath my pillow,
My .45 and shot it dead.
This roused the peasants in the village
Where I’d been helping with their tillage.
They, seizing me, brought me to court
And asked me just what kind of sport
Would do a thing like that. I answered
And what would you do if you knew?
They scratched their heads. They had no clue.
I said because their heads were cancered,
They thought that words should make some sense.
Now go set up the circus tents.


I want to take a trip to Heaven
But only in my mind to see
If Heaven's better than the 7-
Eleven or filed with ennui.
And then I’d visit with the devil
To see if Hell is on the level:
Will I be punished for the sin
Of giving all the boys my yin?
I closed my eyes and concentrated
And tried to see what my mind showed
But saw a number, my zip code.
I saw its meaning as it faded:
It meant that Heaven’s Hell’s on earth
So go and get your money’s worth.


I used to be a girl, immodest
In everything I said and did;
And thought that I was just the hottest.
I know now it was just my id
That made me think that I was cuter
Could get away with acting lewder
Than any girl. Showed camel toe
But really all it was for show.
But couldn’t change. As I got older
I thought I could put this to use
So did a film. It cooked my goose;
And I was hooked, played fast and loose.
And suddenly a star was born.
I make a fortune doing porn.


It’s funny how he makes me giggle
When I find that his finger’s in
To probe the spot that makes me wiggle
So that my pussy wants to sin.
I want his cock to take my pussy
Because he is a glamourpuss. He
Once asked could he fuck my ass.
I asked about the shit morass
That if he did he might encounter.
An enema was what he said
He’d used once on his sister’s spread. 
And thinking this, I saw him mount her
And pump away at her butt hole;  
And hoped they used the birth control.


The Newt will give Social Security
To anyone who asks for it,
Providing they don’t lack the purity
Of sacrifice to take a hit.                          
So all your work is beneficial,
You still might end up sacrificial
Because free markets don’t protect
From bankers’ greed and its effect.
And savings always means the bankers
Whom we must give our money to
And hope deposits don’t skidoo.
For banks, like ships, will weigh their anchors
When payouts that they can’t afford
Will sink them if you get on-board.

Monday, November 21, 2011


I never got enough affection
When I was just a little boy;
And had to make my own protection
The object of my pride and joy.
At school, when I got ganged or bullied
I saddled up, got wild and woolied;
And when those fuckers turned their backs
That’s when I gave them 40 whacks.
This may not seem to be essential
But shows I’ll never back away
Before I make offenders pay.
It comes with being presidential.
As you can see, from when a kid
I’ve always led off with my id.

Sunday, November 20, 2011


The Chinese are self-advertisers,
And money men, so you’ll believe
Me when I say they’re subsidizers                      
Of anything that will deceive:
Like giving Russia’s Mr. Putin,
A far worse man than was Rasputin,
Their Peace Prize for pursuing war
Against the Chechens, gone hard-core;
And countless human rights abuses.
For what the Chinese want to do
In rendering their dream come true
Is show that torture has its uses;
And show the world it must succumb
To torture as a rule of thumb.


I try to write with vim and vigor
And say what’s really on my mind;
And do it with a kind of rigor
But bounded by how I’m confined:
By lines are measured out in syllables
That rhyme as well. They can be thrillables
As only rhyme and verse can do
While prose displays a dull IQ.
I wouldn’t have you think I’m snobby.
But poetry was meant for verse
Invented as it was to curse,
When Simmonides, Hammurabi
Of poets, first laid down the law
That poems work like a power saw.

Saturday, November 19, 2011


We must establish our position
On all of OWS
Because we need the ammunition
To stop these students’ full court press
Against the money that we’re making
Which they claim’s stealing, merely taking.
We wouldn’t want the GOP
To get so scared they cut us free.
Let’s claim that when they knock free markets
They’re killing off democracy
In favor of autocracy.
Then we’ll paint them with that black mark. It’s
Our inerrant ace in the hole
So we don’t have to show control.

Thursday, November 17, 2011


I met a girl, a glamourpuss,
Who questioned me on watching porn;
I said I had an omnibus
That we could watch from night to morn.
And so we settled in to watching
A crew of men who were debauching
A creature very like a sylph.
I said that I preferred a milf.
She said, “Then, sir, your wish is granted.”
And when I looked a woman who
Sat next to me in my church pew
Appeared before me. “I’m enchanted,”
She said. “Sent down by Jesus Rex
As my reward. So let’s have sex.”
I said, “My God. Sent down by Jesus!”
“Well . . . yes,” she said. “He won the war
In Heaven’s realm. And so, to please us,
He sent us down so we could score.”
“By watching porn?” I asked. “No, silly.
By learning how to guild a lily.
The porn I thought to watch with you
Will teach me what I need to do.”
“Who are you?”  “Call me Angelina.
The Testaments, both New and Old,
Divided all of Heaven’s fold
And turned the place to an arena.
The Father argued with the Son
That sex was wrong. But Jesus won.”
“So you’re an angel?” “Newly landed.
And Earth is such a lovely place . . .
I wouldn’t care if I were stranded.
Of course, I’m not.  In any case,
Can we engage in fornication?
I promise there’ll be no creation.”
“Why not?” I asked. “So you want kids?
I’m older than the pyramids;
And couldn’t stand to see them dying.”
“But what about our immortality?”
“When humans die, they’re really dead.
We traded sex to flee that dread.
Now please indulge my sexuality.”
So fucking till her time to go,
They dragged her screaming from death row.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


When Earth had had its first encounter
With asteroid YU55,
It quickly took a body count. Her,
The Earth, had grown to be a hive.
It noticed, too, all man’s oppression
To fellow humans. Their aggression
Would soon destroy the planet Earth
And turn the bountiful to dearth.
Too late to make a course correction,
It thought about what it should do
To folks who didn’t have a clue.
Then thought it would make a connection.
“When I flyby again I’ll whack
Them good. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”


When God heard candidate Santorum
Pronouncing what he thought of sex,
He gathered all the saints in forum
Who voted it to be Brand X.
One said his wife was so migraial,
It calmed her when they did it anal;
Another said that he was gay
And he, too, used that passageway;
Another said that masturbation
Was what she really liked to do.
God thought and said, “He has no clue.
That pleasure’s for ejaculation.
Why does he think I gave them holes?
To use with all their hearts and souls.”


Herm prayed to God said, My Lord, he
Was questioning if he should run?
And God, who was a little bored, He
Bethought Himself to have some fun.
“So Pizza Man beseeches favor
To be the GOP’s flag-waver.
They, all of them, are second-rate;
Not fit to guide a ship of state.”
But God said, “Yes. When you’re debating
The moderator will ask you
As president what would you do
If you caught your wife demonstrating
That marriage rights be had by gays.
And you will say, ‘I’d throw bouquets.’ ”

Friday, November 11, 2011


A soldier who was decorated
For killing of his country’s foes
Has ended being deprecated
For fighting back his country’s woes.
The shrinks told him he was a fighter
Who acted now as an outsider
By joining Occupy Wall Street
Which only argued for retreat.
The soldier said, “We were oppressors.
Those people didn’t do to me
What bankers did, the powers that be.
Wall Streeters are the real transgressors:
Because I couldn’t pay their loan,
They stripped my family to the bone.”


Observe the liberal after voting,
Contentment beaming on his face.
It’s hard to say he isn’t gloating
His liberty is based on race?
Although they would deny the knavery,
Their fortunes were derived from slavery:
A country built on coloreds’ backs
Of both the natives and the blacks.
The natives were exterminated;
The blacks, of course, lived on as slaves
Who found their freedom in their graves.
The Libs must be congratulated:
They built a land where rich whites bud
When planted in their victims’ blood.

* Liberalism is the reigning political ideology in the US whether it is expressed by the Republican or Democratic parties.

Thursday, November 10, 2011


A “liberal” is one wants justice
For anyone is white and male;
And who demands, if others cussed us,
It is the last breath they inhale;
A white man who upholds black slavery;
And hangs the poor for their depravery;
Who thinks a woman is a bitch
Is meant to scratch his every itch;
Who has no feeling for the “other”
In places white men don’t control
Because the “other” has no soul;
Who rails and fights against Big Brother
Unless, of course, Big Brother’s white
And helps promote the “others” plight.


The teacher was so busy testing
She’d very little time to teach;
And so was charged when manifesting
Her indignation with a screech.
Before the Board of Education
She let loose with her indignation
And claimed with testing paramount
She couldn’t teach the kids to count,
Do reading, writing, history, science.
Just what was she supposed to do
When taking tests was all they knew?
The Board of Ed said noncompliance
With policies that they desired
Left them no choice. The teacher’s fired.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Michele Bachmann Would Add . . . To Mount Rushmore?

Mt. Rushmore needs another model:
The face of Jesus on the Mount
While preaching to us at full throttle
About our mounting body count.
He’d say to us, “Your Christian nation
Has fallen into degradation
Participating in the wars
That your Almighty God abhors.
You would be better represented
By Satan for the Indians killed;
Or slaves and workers you've  treadmilled.
All these and more should be lamented.
A Christian nation helps the poor.
Ms. Bachmann you’re a certain boor.”


When Herm and I went out together
I asked his help to get me hired.
He took his hand and touched my nether
And said I’d get what I desired,
If I unzipped and sucked his penis
Then stuck it up my open Venus.
Well I was shocked and looked at Herm
And said you mean that little worm?
He shouted all you little bitches
Want something from me but won’t give
Enough to live and to let live.
And I replied with all your riches
There must be someway that you could
Be doctored so you could raise wood.


I try to write with authenticity
About the world in which I live;
But cannot help my eccentricity
Of writing my rhymes with a shiv.
I’d slit the throats of politicians,
And preachers with their expositions
Of what it’s like to live in hell
Without a clue that’s where we dwell.
If rhyming verse proves insufficient
Especially in satire’s form
Then we will have to take by storm
These clods who mostly prove deficient;
Or else they’re lying. Come what may
We’ll slit their throats on Judgment Day.

Monday, November 7, 2011


The White House said on our home planet
No ET’s have as yet been found.
I beg to differ. If you’ll scan it
You’ll find that they’re preparing ground:
They’re organized. They're hale and hearty,
And call themselves the Grand Old Party.
They’d do away with all controls
Like dirtying our water holes;
And work promoting air pollution
And all the things that humans share,
While denigrating good health care.
The Democrats have no solution
Because they’re equally ET’s
Who, like The GOP, spread sleaze.

Friday, November 4, 2011


In US schools, sex education
Should only be taught by the pros;
So I suggest those whose vocation
Is making porno videos.
Especially the female actors
Who can discuss familiar factors
Like how a girl slacks her crevasse
So she can take it up the ass.    
The age of virtual reality
Demands no less for kids watch porn
In which the male with his longhorn
Could easily cause some fatality.
Then all of those who pass the test
Appear in movies as a guest.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011


The men behind the war on women
Are Catholic bishops.  That’s not news.
The Bible says it was Eve’s sinnin’
That brought this on: no right to choose.
Of course it’s not a sin suffusing
Their priestly semen when it’s oozing
Into the holes of little kids
For all know priests have outlaw ids.
But when they argue that abortion
Is sinning, what of their pastimes?
They’ll rank in Hell the worst of crimes.
Abortion though gives them a chance
Of dodging victims in knee pants.

Thursday, October 20, 2011


One night the devil was conversing
With his expectant Herman Cain,
When suddenly he started cursing
And Herman thought, “I’m down the drain.”
“Please, Brother,” Herm said, “on the level
I promised you I’d raise the devil.
And you can see I’ve kept my vow.
What more can I do for you now?”
“You promised me a devilocracy,”         
Old Satan said.  “With me in charge.
And you ambassador-at-large.
And so I curse you for hypocrisy.”        
“But, Satan, in our politics
You can’t flat tax at 6-6-6.”

Tuesday, October 18, 2011


The trouble with all this dissenting
Is that they think we’ll go away
Because there’s been no time cementing
What we mean when we holler “nay.”
We need a focal adversary
And rise up revolutionary;
To show them that we’re not effete          
And kick their asses on the Street.
By that I mean the wealthy bosses
Whose money powers Democrats,
Republicans, and all high hats
Who cut us loose to save them losses.
Who doesn’t know when they’re done for
A “nay” will mean no rich or poor.

Monday, October 17, 2011


A union president was freaking
About demands his workers made;
It seems as if what they were seeking
Was more than pay that made the grade.
They wanted lives where insecurity
Would far outlive their kids’ maturity;
Were willing to fight civil wars
To make the bosses dinosaurs.
The president said inequality
Was what a job was all about.
But he was drowned out with a shout
That argued for a workers’ polity.
The president begged they’d retreat.
They clamored back: “Death to Wall Street.”

Friday, October 14, 2011


 A grave in which some politicians     
Were buried, we thought they were dead,
Was opened by academicians
Who found what can’t be left unsaid:
Each surly pol had long been waiting
To get a chance at advocating
Ideas which, when said and done,
Would set the world back to square one.
Among the living dead: Rick Perry,
Obama, Romney, Bachmann, Cain,
And others who were inhumane.
When asked how they’d survived Death’s ferry,
They said the ferryman could tell
Politicos who’d ravage Hell.

Thursday, October 13, 2011


I won’t stay past his next election,
Which any fool can see he’ll win.
I must allay my disaffection
Or else I’ll surely pull the pin.
You just can’t help this guy, Obama.
His hero is the Dali Lama!
You try invoking this and that;
But how to be a Democrat . . .!
Can you imagine . . . Democratic,
The party of old FDR
Who used to be our guiding star.
Obama thinks the diplomatic
Will help avoid a World War III.
It goes against our pedigree!

Sunday, October 9, 2011


If we are banded all together,
Then we will be above the law;
Because our Lord says He’ll untether
Us all and help us spread His awe.
We’ll force the liberals to start praying
Or liquidate them for nay saying
About our call to instigate
The union of the church and state.
A theoconic manifesto
Will help uphold at any cost
This stand of ours to see who’s bossed
By whom.  And if they are, then presto,
We’ll show the liberals who’s boss;
Or slaughter them upon a cross.

Saturday, October 8, 2011


How can a man who’s just a poet
Be honored with a Nobel Prize?
If I were he, I’d tell them, “Stow it
Till you can look me in the eyes
And tell me that what you’ve been reading
Has changed the world and stopped its bleeding.
Till then all words are merely mud
That covers life, nipped in the bud.
To see the nature of reality
Your words must free the people to
Eliminate the class snafu
That’s left them drudging in banality.
Accepting prizes for a game
Is one thing but . . . the other’s lame.”

Thursday, September 29, 2011


When God looked down and saw Rick Perry
Was preaching in His name He said,
“That man is totally gooseberry
For no one knows what’s in my head.
Not even Me.”  And calling Jesus
Said, “Tell that man he will displease us
If he presumes to speak for God.”
So Jesus vanished in a nod.
And when returning, he reported.
He said all Perry did was laugh.
This pissed off God.  He said, “This gaffe
Will cost him dearly.  Make him sordid.”
No sooner said than it was done.
But even so Rick Perry won.


A college started its Extension
In writing, granting MFAs;
But wasn’t getting much attention
Since other schools were, nowadays,
So busy granting their diplomas.
“You’d think we’re selling carcinomas,
For all the business that we get,”
A writing teacher said.  “It’s debt
And interest that the banks are charging,”
Another said.  The Dean, fed up,
While drinking from his coffee cup,
Said, “We’ll begin then by enlarging
Our writing program.  What’s forsworn?” 
All looked confused.  “Why . . . writing porn.”
“But, Dean, we are a Christian college!”
“Exactly.  People of the Book.
The Bible’s full of carnal knowledge.”
And so the panel took a look.
And when they finished, they detected
The Bible stories they’d inspected,
Although it’s true they were complex,
Were all conspicuous for sex.
At this they settled in to thinking,
When one, the writing teacher, said,
“But porn’s just fucking, giving head.”
“Then what we need is interlinking
What happened with what’s apropos:
That most were scourged with a stone’s throw.”
Their writing program proved successful,           
Once it got passed the school’s trustees;
Who thought at first it might be stressful
To those believing porn was sleaze.
But when convinced that Bible stories
Displayed their God in all His glories,
They offered prizes for the script
That showed their God as all unzipped.
In truth was plot and conversation,
And characters that were hard-core
That stopped a porno from a bore.
From then, screen writer’s education
Began by subbing porn’s brute force
With what excited intercourse.


The CEOs of corporations;
The bankers who’ve sucked people dry;
The politicians of all nations
Who promise peace then shout “banzai;”
The mega-church broadcasting preachers
Who rail at numb nuts in their bleachers
And claim the Bible is a book
Shows Darwin needs another look;
The president whose one ambition
Is rendering health care for all
And sends us home with Tylenol,
And says it’s just an intermission;
Reporters from the mainstream pressed
To write what publishers want stressed;
The companies who pump pollution
Into our water and our air,
Then just before their prosecution
Endow a “scientific” chair
That proves these claims impossibilities,
Just theories not infallibilities;
And so a court finds it’s their right
To drill and pump to their delight.
More deaths, they say, are caused by swilling
The spirits that make people drink;
Or suicides from Facebook’s ink
Than have been caused by oil drilling.
Therefore, drill on we won’t abide
What’s far from proven cut and dried;
The patriots who hang Old Glory
Outside their trailers make me gag . . .
These good ole boys don’t know the story
Why other people burn their rag:
So why not start with Indian killing
That movies made so awfully thrilling;
What slavers did so long ago;
And, recently, the South’s Jim Crow;
And worse, illegal immigration:
In which they think they’ll lose their jobs
(It’s foisted on them by nabobs)
And stop this country’s jubilation
At being white.  Well that’s not bad
Since race has driven us quite mad.



I wish that I could write like Horace;
But is America like Rome?
Both sets of leaders’ heads are porous.
It may be leadership syndrome
That sets in when a politician
Has risen to a high position:
They all forget what they were taught
In civics so they’re easy bought.
So politicians are generic.
But what of poets?  Are they too?
Indeed.  The difference is milieu.
The Romans, closer to barbaric
Ways of life, put them to death.  Here?
You could be talking to your mirror.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011


It follows from our exploitation,
No matter gender, race, or creed,
That working people have no nation
So are best placed at routing GREED.
Like capital we’re international;
Unlike it though we can be rational.
If we can put class in first place
We will arise a human race.
But only after revolutions
Have turned the world all upside down
And capital has lost its crown,
Will workers’ co-ops’ contributions
Make any sense; but then you’ll see
What turns an “I” into a “We.”

* This “poem” argues that, as Marx argued, despite all differences working people, the world over, have ONE BIG THING in common: their exploitation.  It does not mean that we are not divided by a host of differences.  But unless communists bring this ONE BIG THING to the forefront we will never have a basis for overcoming these differences. This is the special task assigned to communists.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011


A cleaning crew began its sweeping
When others in the office left;
A cleaner heard a cell phone beeping,
Had slipped into a couch’s cleft.
She groped it out and thought to answer;
But didn’t since she thought she’d chance her
Job and then what would she do so
She walked away and let it go.
When, later on, it still was ringing,
She answered it and someone said,
“Your stock will rise tomorrow, Ed.”
And then hung up.  She started singing.
Had thought to phone the SEC’s
Hot line.  Thought, “No. Kids' college fees.”

Monday, September 26, 2011


I stand for economic justice
But not the Democratic way;
For, like Obama, they will bust us,
Then laugh and say it’s A-OK.
So let’s get down to class tectonics
Of justice in our economics:
Where workers can appropriate
The profits bosses cumulate.
This follows from our exploitation.                   
(Which means that bosses really steal
What is produced by commonweal.)
And so there’s no equivocation
We’ll have to take it with a fight

Saturday, September 24, 2011


Since capital is parasitical
On everything its workers built,
Perhaps we should get analytical
And build a party that won’t jilt
The average person’s aspirations;
But fights against debilitations,
Especially one where what we’re paid
Is just a cut from what we made.
If this sounds built on economics
Alone, and leaves all else aside,
It is.  Let practice be our guide.
So let's get down to class tectonics.
In unions people have begun
To learn that they must move as one.

Thursday, September 22, 2011


He stumbled in his mid-life’s journey
And knew he didn’t have a clue
About his ending on a gurney.
It couldn’t mean that he was through.
His life, thus far, was disappointing.
His trouble was with his pinpointing
Of where he’d taken his wrong turn . . .
When someone yelled, a new intern,
“Sir, do you have your health insurance?”
“But what was that supposed to mean?”
“Sir, you have a rupture in your spleen.
You’re bleeding out.”  Then his endurance
Gave out, as he thought in despair,
“Why did I hate Obamacare?”


We are a nation like no other:
We are the City on the Hill
Where looking down we kill a brother;
Or anybody who’s too shrill.
Here we’re controlled by politicians
Who secretly approve renditions;
And we’re so blind we cannot see
That brother is a you and me;
Here we can execute Troy Davis
On evidence so flimsy that,
If he weren’t black, we’d smell a rat;
And we’d be shouting, “Someone save us.”
The people we should execute:
Republicans. Commence with Newt.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011


“I specialize in gay recruiting.
It’s over now: 'Don’t ask, don’t tell.'
All over, that is, but the shooting
By some who think: ‘Cold day in hell
Before I’ll let a homosexual
Be partner to me.  Ineffectual,
A man can’t get it up in bed
With someone who is not co-ed.’
I used to think that way, believing
I’d be alone and then was shot;
Until, who’s Johnny-on-the-spot,
This gay guy said he wasn’t leaving.
He humped me out and then went back
And turned the ‘rags’ to bric-a-brac.”


I am a teacher’s substituter
And start, almost, from day one on;
It is as if they persecute her
So that they know next day she’s gone.
The kids are savagely rapacious,
It is as though they’re born predacious.
I know if they were kids of mine
They wouldn’t act like little swine.
But subbing’s how I make my living.
It’s more like babysitting kids
Whose brains are nothing but their ids;
And ids are always unforgiving.
Sometimes when on a barroom’s stool
And drunk I think why sub preschool?

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


A priest once had a gargoyled garden
In which he used to walk and pray.
One day a servant begged his pardon,
“A woman waits in much dismay,”
He said.  The priest, a great magician,
Replied, allowing her admission.
Received, he asked what he could do.
“Please put my son here in situ.
Watched over by your statuary.”
“But why,” he asked?  “My son’s a pol.
With his election we will fall.
He helps the world’s Great Adversary.”
But no gargoyle, however hard,
Would stand a politician’s guard.


I am a witch, Jeneeba Evil,
Can occupy what form I please;
My master, from a time primeval, 
Has ordered me to seek out sleaze.
So when I tenant any body,
I’m wondering if it’s been naughty;
And, if you have, are you averse
To suffer me to make you worse.
It is the presidential season.
But what is it you really know
About the persons in this show?
Don’t think I’m speaking out of season.
My master is so sick and tired                  
Of rounding up the pols acquired.

 *Jeneeba Evil will be making occasional appearances here to expose the workings of the politicians (of whatever kind) who proclaim that that they have our best interests at heart.

Monday, September 19, 2011


My cell phone wouldn’t stop its beeping.
I knew my ex was calling me
About the money for housekeeping
And child support.  I was home free
And so decided not to answer.
I knew my daughter had a cancer
But what was I supposed to do;
And so I bid the two adieu.
It happened just as I was crossing,
Against the light, but running hard . . .
Next thing I knew my prison guard
Had picked me up and was embossing
The circle number of my hell
Where Perry voters go to dwell.


The night was sad, the rain was blowing,
As I walked to my home alone;
My mind was rushing, overflowing
With thoughts about my leaving Joan.
My wife’s brain suffered hematoma
And now she’s lying in a coma.
I wanted out of this deathtrap
And wouldn’t hear my friends claptrap
About the evil of my leaving.
If she had wanted me to stick
Why did she go and get so sick?
And then I stopped, stared unbelieving:
It was the devil.  “Dogs are cheap,”
S/he said.  “When sick, they’re put to sleep.”

Friday, September 16, 2011


The thought that god is accidental,
As brain biologists would say,
Means that our god(s) are truly mental;
Or, putting it another way,
If God’s involved in our professions
Of faith, then we have made confessions
To spirits that our brains possessed
And gave it us as their bequest.
And so began mankind’s duality  
In which a body’s on parole
While linked together with a soul.
If we would use our rationality
And made our gods a snuff film clip,
Then we could claim its authorship.


Democracy is just illusion.
That is, the people really rule
Is proffered as foregone conclusion
Because they taught it you in school.
You took it when you graduated
Which helped those who’d accumulated
The money used to buy your vote
So that you’d never rock their boat.
If people really ruled, democracy
By now’d have penetrated work
Where we are slaves.  It’s that bulwark
That testifies to our plutocracy.
So what the hell you gonna do?
Go home, and tube it, pop a brew?


When candidates appear caressable,
As does Ms. Bachmann, by the way;
(Except, of course, to her detestable
Mate, Marcus, who is really gay),
Then they’ve a better chance with voters
Especially men ignoring odors
Of what the woman really thinks,
No matter what she says that stinks.
Her trouble is her husband Marcus:
His hair, his clothes, his flirty pout
Who, shaking hands with men, breaks out
A boner from his fatty carcass.
He should stay off the campaign trails
And OMG his press-on nails.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."


No Bagger claims s/he’s altruistic
And wouldn’t try to save the life 
Of anyone.  But are sadistic:
And would as soon deny the knife            
You needed for an operation,
If it was had by their taxation.
Their formula is don’t get sick;
And at the same time vote for Rick.
For Perry’s made an institution
Of putting taxes on the backs
Of all who can’t afford a tax,
Then suffering their execution:
For any person who won’t pay
Must finally come to Judgment Day.


A Bagger in the late November
Of life, thought what a great mistake,
Now that his vigor’d burned to ember,
The pols had been. They would remake
A country plunged into impurity;
The ponzi scheme, social security;
And when they’d merged the church and state               
We could start over, be first rate.
But when he finally lost his pension,
And couldn’t pay kids’ college fees,
And definitely not M.D.’s,
His mind was filled with reprehension:
He thought that they should all be tried, 
Found guilty of his suicide.

Monday, September 12, 2011


The moneyed men met in committee
There to decide the candidate
They should support: who had no pity,
When s/he became their chief of state:
To help undo social security
And send it plunging to obscurity,
Thus helping send the public trust
Into a slough of deep disgust.
When, after Bush, they tried Obama,
They quickly moved in to attack
His policy of being black;
And stirred it to a national trauma.
Republicans were their last chance
To help the world of high finance.
But who to choose would do them credit:
Ms. Bachmann, Perry, Romney, Newt?
They didn’t like their choices.  “Let it,”
They said, “be one who’d be a brute;
Who, when he comes down heavy-handed,
Can plead he’s done as God commanded;
And who can merge the church and state;
Decry our foes as apostate;
Who’ll take away the public pensions
So we may gather their largess
And have the country say, ‘God bless.’”
But who would make these interventions?
And so they’d let Obama win;
Then, like a snake, they’d shed their skin.

Sunday, September 11, 2011


A youngster who was masturbating
Was caught red-handed by his sis;
But while she watched him flagellating
She fell into a kind of bliss.
Her teenybopper’s admiration
Adored his boner’s incarnation
Of what appeared, she would have sworn,
To be the very Matterhorn.
His hand, increasing its velocity,
Had turned his face a bloody red
Until she thought he’d lose his head;
So, charging in with wild ferocity,
She pried it from his fingertips
And shoved IT in between her lips.

Friday, September 9, 2011


Rick Perry found a hieroglyphic,
As he stepped in a men’s room stall.
He knew this was unscientific
And so he thought it folderol.
He, after all, had been to college,
Though mostly studied carnal knowledge,
But called a preacher anyway
So he could conference and they pray.
The preacher, from First Things Museum,
Said, “Rick, behold the word of God.”
To which the governor said, “ That’s odd.”
“No, Rick, it means you cannot flee Him.
It is a sign the Holy Ghost
Wants you to raze the Leftist Coast.”
Down on their knees, both men were praying
Outside the stall.  The door was locked.
“You see the figure.  It’s sashaying;
And how its tiny hands are locked
Around what is, no doubt, a penis
And chasing one of boy-like genus?
That is a sign that one is gay,
Which God forbids the USA.
It may be he’s a child molester
Though both of them are all undressed
And both of them are running west.
And God, dear Rick’s, a big investor
In your campaign so you should do . . .”
“When I’m elected, I’d love to.”


An hour before Rick Perry started
Debating he sat in a room;
Advisors who had been fainthearted,
And didn’t want to bring him gloom,
Began by eyeing one another
As if to say, “You’ll back me, brother,”
When finally one said to Rick,
“When this is done, let’s vamoose quick.”
And he replied, “Hell I’m Rick Perry.
I’ll know when it is time to go;
But why?  There’s no one on death row
Tonight."  “But, Rick, the fire is hairy.”
“That’s right,” Rick said.  “When we adjourn . . .
Naw.  Fuck it.  Let the mother burn.”

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Revealed: Human Rights Watch Finds Secret Files on British Libyan Relations

My dear, Quaddfi,
                              Our renditions
Have proved a truly great success
With help from your expert technicians
In getting villains to confess.
We hope in this, your time of trouble,
We might suggest: hide in the rubble;
And when you find the bombing’s done,
Get out of there; we’ll help you run.
Be sure to bring your oil leases
So that we really know it’s you;
And that they’re ready to renew.
You know it always helps to grease us.
Don’t fuck with us or you’re puree.
            MI6 and CIA.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


She gotten all her information
And set her goals to interview
A criminal whose concentration
Was trained by monks in Katmandu.
She pushed her chair back from the table
And hiking up her skirt was able
To give him just the briefest glance
Of pussy but no underpants.
It worked!  He grew the hugest boner
She’d ever seen.  It was immense!
Now suddenly she’s on defense.
He asked her if she could postpone her
Interview till later on so…
She said, “And where’d you like to go?” 

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