Friday, January 27, 2012


Americans want equal freedom
When freedom isn’t really free.
When some live so that others eat ’em,
It sounds more like a killing spree.
It is as if all our communities,
Demanding equal opportunities,
Are calling out to scratch an itch:
An equal chance to strike it rich.
But in a land where exploitation
Decides who’s rich and who is poor
We’ll never really find a cure,
Until we shoot for its negation.
Till then who’s rich will make the rules;
The rest will, equally, be mules.


He was a man of courtly bearing
But wasted it in cringing smiles;
He thought himself to be unerring
But then, of course, he had the files.
And so it was with curt formality,
That so expressed his vile mentality,
That he demanded we should say
That everything was A-OK.
Our delicate discriminations
Produced a desolating dread
But we did as our master said.
This garnered us congratulations.
But for his diplomatic skill             
(And files, of course), we’d be made ill.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


Americans are simple people,
Exampled in our culture wars,
And worship at bell, Book, and steeple
When not out buying stuff in stores.
We’d surely ban the  prosecution
Of men and women’s prostitution,
If they displayed their wares on floors
In any of the Wal-Mart stores.
It doesn’t really seem to matter,
And hasn’t since we were backwoods,
So long as we can “get them goods.”
In fact, we’d go mad as a hatter
If we should miss out on the sales
That constitute our holy grails.    


To wake each day with no provision
That you’ll eventually be freed
Is how we treat whom we imprison;
And shows the kind of lives we lead.
There’s nothing like a complication
When you’re put in incarceration:
If you’re convicted of a crime,
You WAIT until you’ve done your time.
And if you finish, your mentality
Will, like a turtle with its shell,
Be burdened by your weighty cell;
And you will drag it till finality.
And citizens will all agree
They should have thrown away the key.


“It’s your lascivious carnality
That’s made you children of the corn;
And’s given rise to your rascality
Of doing drugs and watching porn.
But so you know it is the devil
That’s led you on this merry revel
So that forever you may dwell
With others like yourselves in Hell:
With Satan’s rappers and cross-dressers,
Muff divers, sticky finger gays
Forever burning in His blaze.
So heed me now you vile transgressors
And keep your dicks inside you pants
Or burn with your confreres from France.”

Monday, January 23, 2012


How dare we know that inequality,
However it has been assigned
But principally within a polity,
Should certainly have been declined?
Consider, first, the social prequel
Of persons who aren’t freely equal.
Take, for example, persons slaves
Were only equals in their graves.
But living all their lives in slavery,
As southern blacks did in the South,
Meant living in a dragon’s mouth.
And though the dragons thought them savory,
The slaves who gave their lives in fire 
Helped dragons gag on their desire.

Friday, January 20, 2012


It doesn’t seem a complex notion,
A pretty face will make men freak;
In fact it stirs so much commotion,
It turns a jock into a geek.
And when you add to that a body
That’s flowered to full-grown cum laude,
You’ll turn a man, self-willed and wild,
Into a drooling flower child.
What prompts this kind of situation?
Is it because men look for sex
And hope their boners won’t bounce checks
If there’s a chance at congregation?
My answer is, in any case,
It’s all about our saving face.


The consequent of retribution,
When’s held with all-consuming zeal
As in a case of execution,
Is that we lose our balance wheel
When figuring what’s good and evil
Until we’re lost in times primeval
When penalties of death were forced
And left no grounds to be discoursed.
But now the state inflicts the slaughter;
But only if you’re black or poor
Without the money to demur.
And so it seems that we still dodder
In times primeval, once again,
When human beings were barely men.


My friend and I came home from college;
But he went out and I slept in
Next morning. And, without my knowledge,
I woke with tits on my bare skin.
A hand reached round and held my penis
A mouth said, “I want this between us.
But keep your eyes shut. Please don’t look.”
Then slipped it in her open book.
“My husband’s gone and Jerry’s playing
With . . .Oh, my God . . . that feels so good!
You’re bigger than my husband’s wood.
How long did Jerry say you’re staying?”
I tried to answer when my mouth
Was shoved into a ditch down south.


How much are politicians paying
For haircuts now and brand new suits;
Or mistresses for their  gainsaying
You purchased their forbidden fruits;
Or any of the “immoralities,”
Though legal, pass as “criminalities,”
Like playing straight when really gay,
Not stating God will have a say;
Or arguing from “We the People”
And finding that the “folks” get fussed
And want to start “In God We Trust,”
Then ringing it from every steeple?
In other words, what is the price
A politician pays for vice?


Jerusalem’s the holy city
For all the Christians, Muslims, Jews;
And cannot be run by committee,
Because each faith has its taboos.  
And so we’ll lose civilization
Which only thrives on toleration;
It’s better then to take our leave        
Before profaning some pet peeve.
These beefs prepared by “holy” leaders,  
By Christian preachers, imams, scribes,
Have ready-mixed us all in tribes.
In short, it’s done by special pleaders,
The Peoples of the Book, whose chips
Are riding on Apocalypse.

Saturday, January 14, 2012


Is there objective moral order
In what we call the universe?
This question is a real ripsnorter
Which some may even think perverse.
My conscience tells me that it’s moral
To pick a theologic quarrel
With born-agains who, like the pope,
Would claim he’s got the holy dope.
It’s false I know but on reflection
The answers of an Alan Gewirth,
Which logically are more than worth
The Pope’s, can offer this conception:
The answer to our moral blights
Lies in Gewirth’s thought on HUMAN RIGHTS.

* Gewirth’s arguments for an objective moral order that is secular in nature are set forth in two books: “Reason and Morality” and “The Community of Rights.”

Friday, January 13, 2012


“Come down an’ buy confederate goodies.
You’ll get ’em at The Redneck Shop.
We’ll turn your pricks to full-on woodies,
So be a man until you drop.  
In back we got the blackest mammies
Brought back to life by double whammies;
And, boy, until you fucked a black . . .
You know it’s said, “You won’t go back.”
We got a Dixieland bikini;
And pictures that old Adolph signed,
The savior of all white mankind.
We sell a game called Eeny Meene
’bout catching niggers by the toe;
Or makin’ sure they’re on death row.”

* The “inspiration” for this piece comes from an article titled “Uneasy Neighbors in a Southern Gothic Tale”  in the NYT dated January 13, 2012.

Thursday, January 12, 2012


Mitt Romney’s has “tycoon’s acumen,”
A sickness in a businessman.
It guarantees he’s half a human,
The member of a greedy clan
That orders with calm contemplation
That workers give their resignation
Whenever bosses see a need
To pad their corporations’ greed.
He won’t be snagged by chance reflections
When profits for the enterprise
Are down, no matter our demise.
Until the analysts’ projections
Are back on track, he will, with zeal,
Defend the corporate commonweal.


It was a blustering assertion
But typical of her abuse
Requiring almost no exertion
And really damnably obtuse.
It seemed archaic in its meaning
Because it went its way careening
Off blazoned shield to blazoned shield
Until, as noise, it stood revealed.
She argued with her blunt rusticity
That they be paid blithe disregard,
Though this is often very hard:
For all her words had such simplicity
That when she spoke her own pretense
Would very often make no sense.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012


He has apocalyptic vision
And always gets approving smiles
Whenever he makes an incision
Into the liberal men of wiles.
He has an artful adaptation
Of how they’ll suffer condemnation:
If not conservative and white,
They’d be sent to forever’s blight.
And though atrocious in expression,
He has a kind of austere charm
Whenever he spreads his alarm.
He's advocated for repression
Of any who will not adore
His concept of a holy war.


She really was a babbling gossip;
But bacchanalian desire
Made Mattie’s acts the perfect toss up
That really set friends’ tongues afire.
She seemed to seek out opportunities
Where she’d indulge her importunities.
She tried averting some disgrace,
Like sharing cum from Grace’s face,
But sometimes was caught in adventures
That made her subject of discourse,
That wouldn’t quit. She fucked a horse!
And finally the gossips’ censures
Was quickened by these acts of sex
So she divorced the horse for Rex.


Democracy hangs on elections;
But what about the candidates
Who very often are infections
To women or folks gays, not straights?
Or pols who would be an annuller
Of any who are Technicolor;
Or any in the working class
Who will not kiss the boss’s ass.
It doesn’t matter what the party,
Republicans or Democrats,
They’ve all come from the old boys' frats.
Democracy is hale and hearty
When pols come from the 99;
And don’t defend the bottom line.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012


When I post pornographic ditties,
You’ll ask: How is this politics?
What’s politics to do with titties,
And bravos with their ten inch dicks?
Considering that politicians
Are power-hungry for commissions
From lobbyists, why should you scorn
When now and then I post some porn?
Pols are the really gross obscenities
Because they pander to concerns
Who pay out truly big returns
For their incestuous amenities.
So politics is no first date;        
And pornos are affairs of state.


My friend’s MILF mother just popped over,
Returning to me my lost phone;
And then we’re rolling in the clover.
She said she heard I had a bone
That’s really big, a huge ten-incher.
I pulled it out. She didn’t flinch. Her
Tight dress and panties just came off.
Her juices flowed from out her trough.
Next thing I knew, she’s on me fucking
My penis wrapped up in her tits;
Then sticks it down in her cockpit’s
Abyss and then we’re off and trucking.
I plan to lose my phone again
And use her ass while I hang ten.


He was affianced to a lady
Who ended his affrighted slave.
Too late she found that he was shady,
When he brought her into conclave
With Catholic priests who were abusive;
And rented her for their exclusive
Sex fantasies. So all night long
They gang-banged her. But she was strong.
And while they “did” her she was praying
That God would free her from their hold.
And then one day she was paroled
To nuns who petted her while splaying
Her legs wide open while they licked
Her pussy till she up and kicked.


The Bible says to love your neighbor;
But also says to kill a queer;  
It says pay justly for day labor;
And then it tells us whom to jeer. 
What if your neighbor’s gay? Or predator?
Would this get past a modern editor?
The Bible as a moral guide
Should surly be more cut and dried.
For how are we to make decisions
About what’s really wrong or right
And know that what we think’s airtight.
Perhaps the Bible needs recisions?
You’d think though an all-knowing god
Could prompt a book that’s not so flawed.

Monday, January 9, 2012


Her temper was accommodating,
Though she'd almost abandoned hope
Of ever reinvigorating
Her father who'd become a mope.
As if in clouds of anesthetic,
He daily grew more apathetic
Until he tried at suicide
And failed. Now his abated pride
Had plunged into abject submission.
But she had an adaptive wit
And struggled on and wouldn’t quit.
She took him off on expedition
And somewhere on the lower Nile
She fed him to a crocodile.


Who’d ever want to go to heaven
And stay forever as they are
Without the slightest change to leaven
Their mortal clay is just bizarre.
Don’t think that Heaven’s immortality
Would satisfy our rationality;
How much can any person take
When there is nothing we can’t slake.
To last forever means infinity;
And if you wish to stay the same
Then only you will bear the blame
For being bored. It’s asininity
To not know that each human breath
Is made the sweeter by our death.


And as for basking in God’s glory
So that you lose yourself in Him,
You’ll find that it’s the same old story,
If reasoning is not a whim.
If you’re absorbed in God’s reality,
You’ll have to lose your personality:
For totally absorbed in God,
Means that you lose your mind and bod.
For anything that’s all consuming
Would leave no room for what you are.
So, not yourself, you’d bid bonsoir
To you and then whoever’s rooming
Inside your mind gets room and board.
If not, then you’d go off your gourd.


I am your friendly debt collector
Who’s here to rid you of your debt;
So think of me as your protector.
Now listen please and don’t forget:
Don’t ever hang up when I’m calling,
Unless you want to take a mauling.
Whoever said, “Live and let live,”
It wasn’t me. I don’t forgive.
Remember we know where you’re living
And all about the wife and kids . . .
Say why not put them out for bids?
If they don’t want to help by giving,
I know a guy who knows a guy
Won’t be as friendly as would I.

Sunday, January 8, 2012


Each day she hurried home in terror
Because she worried for her kid
Who, home alone, might make an error
(“He’s only 6 so God forbid.”)
Like falling down the stairs and breaking
An arm or leg. She started shaking
Then cried because, “I work health care.
But who’ll help him if I’m not there?
I take the bus for transportation
And sometimes it’s on time . . . or not;
But, even Johnny-on-the-spot,
I’m late three hours in duration . . .
And all that time he’s home alone.
He’s more than life, my corazon!”


Is porn a form of prostitution?
For after all they're being paid
For sex; and porn’s circumlocution
In no way means that’s been allayed.
Defend it under free expression,
It’s still the world’s oldest profession;
It’s true they candidly perform
But still that won’t evade the norm.
If porn’s a legal occupation,
Then what about a prostitute
(Except, perhaps, the likes of Newt)  
Whose money’s in closed fornication?         
This double standard is complex,
Unless we “close the books” on sex.

Friday, January 6, 2012


What makes a bourgeois business leader
Is that s/he’ll give the old heave ho
To any who try to impede her;
Or, if they have, s/he calls a pro;
Has read her Marx on exploitation;
Knows her gross's expropriation
Is workers’ surplus who produce
A thing that’s valued for its use;
And so s/he screws as much production
From workers any way s/he can
Until s/he needs a new game plan;
In which case s/he goes with construction
Of new machines which s/he’ll confess
Won’t take a break and could care less.


Who gets their daily news reported
From papers like the New York Times
Will never know that it’s distorted
For people in the social climes
Of upper middle class ambitions
Who’d rather not hear of renditions;
Or how the working class will live
When jobs are leaking like a sieve.
Or go to any other section.
Take, for example, what’s in Style . . .
Is never for the rank and file.
The Book Review could stand inspection
Whenever they review the books
By hacks the likes of David Brooks.


“My God, please bless our man Santorum
So that he’ll raise Your values high;
And Christians live with some decorum.
Make him your Godly samurai
Who’ll bring the world Your application
Of what You mean by desolation,
Eliminating all the foes
Who’ve led us Christians by the nose.
Help him perform his vivisections
On foes like Islam in Iran;
Or on death panels’ health care plan.
Then let him turn to disinfection
Of marriage for the likes of gays.
Then Rick can launch the end of days.”

Thursday, January 5, 2012


Who’s seen a female action hero
Who isn’t white and paper thin,
Who, weighing almost nothing, zero,
Can always take it on the chin?
If Hollywood is so progressive,
Why is it “looks” that are impressive
And are, on balance, mostly whites
Survive, while others get last rites?
Why animals get more protection
Than women with a plane Jane’s face
Who get picked off before home base.
So they don’t suffer on reflection,
These female action movie stars
Should probably not fight in bars.


Who says the US Constitution
Was founded on the will of God,
Believes a New Year’s resolution
Can’t be a case of our self-fraud.
The Constitution’s first priority
Was to ensure inferiority
By making persons who were slaves
Unequals till t’were in their graves.
But God’s Book was egalitarian;
And broke with what the ancients thought, *
Although all that’s now gone for naught.
With help from our Tea Party Aryan,
They now assert it as their right
To damn all persons who aren’t white.

* I take this line of reasoning from CREATED EQUAL by Joshua Berman.


On what grounds would you damn consenting
Adults from having sex? Or would
You just go with that they’re assenting
And leave it there, for ill or good?
If so, then why get so tempestuous
And raise a storm when it’s incestuous?
As long as they are both adults
Why should they suffer our insults?
Consent implies it’s not abusive.
And though you think it is taboo
Because it is your bugaboo,                
That argument’s hardly conclusive.
It’s now like saying you’d more than haze
Two lovers just because they’re gays.


“I am an undecided voter
But bow to pressure from my peers.
A friend said one had body odor,
And said another favored queers.
These traits struck me as so pathetic,
Though I'd been mostly apathetic,
That I decided then and there
To be a man and grow a pair.
And so I made a resolution
That I would check out candidates
To see if we agreed on hates.
For voting is an institution
In which you finally have to know
Which candidates will quid pro quo.”

Wednesday, January 4, 2012


I swear I’ll take the oath of office
As President when you elect
A man who’ll promise not to boff us,
Thus injuring our self-respect.
I’m not a man who’s presidential
Although I do have one credential
A person needs for president:
I wouldn’t take a single cent
From CEOs or Wall Street bankers.
And when they try and kill me for
The fact that I won’ be their whore,
I know you’ll show these rightist wankers
What ordinary folks can do . . .
Alas . . . Win a few, lose a few.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012


The right to vote and really voting,
Each falls into a separate class.
The “right” needs no expert emoting
But’s granted to who’d drag their ass
To cast a ballot. For the other,
Who has no feeling for another,
Please stay at home behind your moat
If you would vote what floats your boat.
We live together in communities;   
But, selfishly, you vote the way
You want no matter what foul play
Is done to equal opportunities.
I’m arguing to vote we should
Deliberate the common good.


It is the magic of realities
That we can know what’s true or not;
From cataclysms to banalities
(Volcanoes or a drip of snot).
Reality presents solutions
Except, of course, to Lilliputians
Who preach, when things get really odd,
They must be called an act of God.
But God’s the archetype of fiction
Who was created in the days
When we lived in primeval haze
And cowered for His benediction.
But praying to what isn’t real
Is still, now, our Achilles’ heel.

Monday, January 2, 2012


Perhaps we should be sacrificing,
As did the Indians, a child *
In hopes that when we’re finished slicing
A candidate who would have filed
As nominee in this election
Will tremble at our vivisection.
Then we might get some candidates
Who keep their word in their debates.
I claim this is a good proposal:
Who ends up as our nominee
Will really be our employee.
If not, then s/he’s at our disposal,
Providing s/he’s free of disease . . .
But now to take RSVP’s.

*An article in Huff Post titled “Indian Police Arrest 2 Men For Sacrificing Child” inspired this post.


“As president, our man Santorum
Has promised he would bomb Iran
Regardless of a Senate quorum
And do it just because he can.
He thinks it is his Christian duty
To knock all Islam on its bootie.
He laughed and said, ‘If they have nukes
We’ll treat them as non-Christian pukes.’”
These words from Rick’s press secretary
Were uttered to the God of Love
Who went ballistic. “Get rid of
This man. He is reactionary.
Press angel, call the press and say,
‘Who votes for him, them I’ll puree.’”


You have no civic obligation
To cast a vote unless you think
You’re justified by cogitation
That none could say is rinky-dink.
For what’s at stake in our elections,
Deserve we give them deep inspections;
And anyone who can’t do that
Should simply stay at home, a prat.
Who claim that voting is a duty 
No matter what you know or don’t 
Are persons who would not say “won’t” 
Despite a pol’s being Howdy Doody. 
In other words, to get your vote   
They’ll say whatever floats your boat.  

Sunday, January 1, 2012


America, the institution,
Has finally woken up to class;
And put aside the convolution
That anyone can be THE BRASS.
You’ll never go from rags to riches.
If poor, you’ll keep on digging ditches;
So give it up in favor of
All who’d now give the rich a shove.
Let’s do away with differentials
Then we can build a polity
With no more inequality,
Retarding people’s full potentials.
That’s far more worthy of your dreams . . .
And’s fun to hear rich people’s screams.


When humans lived in times primeval,
A debt was what was owed the gods;
Then money brought us great upheaval
With banks and usurers and odds.
As well, with money’s first invention,
It brought us human hypertension
As debt became the money owed
Because it’s prompted by a goad.
If debt grew from our first morality 
In honor to the gods on high
For giving us pie in the sky,
How is it now the commonality
(On empty stomachs!) drudge and sweat
To be led deeper into debt?

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