Tag Archives: Poem

The Glen

Remember when

we walked the Glen

down to the Manor

and back again

just passersby

to grass and sky

with inlet smiles

and sunlit eyes

Cicada rhythms

danced through the trees

the Sakonnet rolled

out to the sea

that world embraced

both you and me

Remember when

we walked no more

stopped skipping stones

along the shore

we buried secrets

in closet walls

dodged each other

in narrow halls

Glen strolls replaced

by trips to malls

by all-day meetings

and late-night calls

We lost ourselves

and raised the kids

crossed some lines

and hit the skids

then peeled apart

as our parents did

Mundanity paved over love

harsh words gave way

to push and shove

our home became

a handless glove

Does love lie dormant

at the Glen

under rotting leaves

and muddied Zen

or is Wolfe’s

“You can’t go home again”

as true as dirt and oxygen

where the fireflies

we choose to chase

are snuffed

by Moirai’s cold embrace?

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my book, My Paper, My Words: Rantings from a Progressive Boomer and Peeved Parent, from Amazon. And if you feel moved to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

My Paper, My Words is a collection of essays, stories, and poems that reflect the challenges of a middle-class husband and father trying to navigate a rapidly changing political, religious, and technological landscape of post-911 America.

The Aftermath of Our Bloodbath

“Hey Fascist, Catch”
has lit the match
and opened up the door
his hateful speech
had a long reach
see Charlie hit the floor

Kirk had a right
to spit his spite
and stir the grievance pot
but in the land of guns
for everyone
Tyler took his shot

Kirk was no saint
he lacked restraint
always punching down
crass and loud
he played the crowd
and hyped the orange clown

“Hey Fascist, Catch”
has lit the match
America is burning
In the aftermath
of our bloodbath
is anybody learning?

Now a nation mourns
with hate and scorn
temperatures are rising
no call for calm for the five-alarm
fire on our horizon

We ought to run
from martyrdom
not pin it to our chest
not canonize
the hateful guys
who scream
that they know best

With much at stake
it’s time we wake
and embrace our better angels
not reach for guns
and act like Huns
or rage like a deranged bull

“Hey Fascist, Catch”
has lit the match
America is burning
In the aftermath
of our bloodbath
is anybody learning?

Stephen Hawking Talking

I heard Stephen Hawking talking

to a mirror on the wall

about dust-dance-chaos in tornadoes

and wheelchair wheelies at the mall

I heard Stephen Hawking talking

to Rip Vanwinkle on a plane

about a theory he’s been stalking

around the surface of his brain

I saw Stephen Hawking talking

to dark shadows in the rain

about bending atoms in the Balkans

and mending Jacob Marley’s chain

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my book, My Paper, My Words: Rantings from a Progressive Boomer and Peeved Parent, from Amazon. And if you feel moved to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

My Paper, My Words is a collection of essays, stories, and poems reflect the challenges of a middle-class husband and father trying to navigate a rapidly changing political, religious, and technological landscape of post-911 America.

American Graffiti

Cast your eye

ankle high

to the message wall

six inches tall

an instructive blurb

from the stony curb

inflicting think

with paint and ink

about a world

that’s on brink

Don’t be led by the moronic clown

who doesn’t know

what’s up from down

who sows the seeds

of discontent

and puts our feet

into cement

Don’t be fooled by the moronic clown

who doesn’t know

what’s up from down

who creates the chaos

in the street

then sends in troops

to “keep the peace”

who says that he’s

the only one

who can fix the shit

that he has done

Don’t be led by the moronic clown

who wears his lies

like a crown

who proffers hate

through Russian bots

while sending fascist

forget-me-nots

Shift your view

below your shoe

to the message wall

six inches tall

to the good advice

for one and all

inflicting think

with paint and ink

about a world

that’s on brink

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my book, My Paper, My Words: Rantings from a Progressive Boomer and Peeved Parent, from Amazon. And if you feel moved to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

My Paper, My Words is a collection of essays, stories, and poems that reflect the challenges of a middle-class husband and father trying to navigate a rapidly changing political, religious, and technological landscape of post-911 America.

Robber Barons and Bullies

Marble-toothed titans
with sneers caked in madness
greed-fed on blood bags
in sweatshops of sadness

Kingpins with linchpins
thick carrots and sticks
deft robber barons
are up to their tricks

The morally crippled
gerrymander in Texas
felonious punk-thugs
that hate and perplex us

Gun toting douchebags
in Home Depot lots
promoting a fascist
while twisting the knot

The clown at the helm
of this powerful nation
is steeped in decline
and reverse escalation

Whitewashing history
attacking the truth
a maniacal misfit
both rude and uncouth

He creates chaos
to hold onto power
commanding the guard
from his fake ivory tower

Targeting cities
that are mostly all blue
a pig who gropes kitties
and pays porn stars to screw

Visions of heaven
black heart full of hate
He’s never come close
to making us great

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my first book, My Paper, My Words: Rantings from a Progressive Boomer and Peeved Parent, from Amazon. And if you feel moved to write a review of the book on Amazon or elsewhere, I’d be honored.

My Paper, My Words is a collection of essays, stories, and poems that reflect the challenges of a middle-class husband and father trying to navigate a rapidly changing political, religious, and technological landscape of post-9/11 America.

Paint It, Black

Read to the cadence of “Paint it, Black” by the Rolling Stones.

I see a brown wall
and I want it painted black
if you have brownish skin
I want to send you back

I see brown men walk by
dressed in their working clothes
I tell my ICE agents
It’s time to make them go

I see the Ukraine fry
in Russian drone attacks
the bombing raids and tanks
that turn their cities black

I see our democracy
begin to fade away
a thousand starving kids
in Palestine today

When I look inside myself
I see my heart is black
the orange spray-on tan
can’t cover up the fact

’till that day I fade away
you’re tied onto the track
I’ll make you suffer days
while turning this world black

I watch the climate change
from here to Timbuktu
I smile at the heat that’s
burning into you

If you look hard enough
into my soulless eyes
there’s only room enough
for all that I despise

I see a brown wall
and I want it painted black
just like my darkened heart
too hard to even frac

I see brown men walk by
dressed in their working clothes
I tell my ICE agents
It’s time to make them go

My feeble mind is tainted
tainted black
Black as night
Black as coal
I wanna see the hope
Blotted out from your eyes
I wanna see them painted, painted, painted
painted black, yeah

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my first book, My Paper, My Words: Rantings from a Progressive Boomer and Peeved Parent, from Amazon. And if you feel moved to write a review of the book on Amazon or elsewhere, I’d be honored.

My Paper, My Words is a collection of essays, stories, and poems that reflect the challenges of a middle-class husband and father trying to navigate a rapidly changing political, religious, and technological landscape of post-9/11 America.

I Want to Bomb Iran

Read to the cadence of “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” by The Beatles.

Oh, yeah, I’ll tell you somethin’
I think you’ll understand
When I say that somethin’
I want to bomb Iran
I want to bomb Iran
I want to bomb Iran

Some, Jews, say to me
that I’m their kind of man
church pews are the key
to get the promised land
they want to bomb Iran
they want to bomb Iran

When Bibi hugs me
I feel happy inside
It’s such a feeling that I scream
genocide!
genocide!
genocide!

Yeah, ole Bibi said to me
Let’s take the Gaza Strip
Trump casinos by the sea
I say we let her rip
I want to bomb Iran
I want to bomb Iran
I want to bomb Iran

When Bibi hugs me
I feel happy inside
It’s such a feeling that I scream
genocide!
genocide!
genocide!

Hamas has that somethin’
they’ve got a shitty brand
But I’ll say the dumb thing
I want to bomb Iran
I want to bomb Iran
I want to bomb Iran
I want to bomb Iran

A Mouth Full of Scripture, A Heart Full of Hate

Donny sells his Bible,
his MAGA hat and tees
a crypto-grifting-sneaker-whore
devoid of dignity

A grievance crowd
of dumb and proud
stand in line to pay their fee
to the seditionist-exhibitionist
The king of bling chotchke

What trickles down
ain’t money
it’s hatefulness
and greed
no “love your neighbor”
sentiment
you’d rather
see them bleed

With a bible wrapped
in stars and stripes
and anger as your creed

A mouth
that’s full of scripture
with a heart
that’s full of hate
isn’t Christian
as you claim
and doesn’t
make us great


And so, I wonder
what God will say
When you’re standing
at his gate?

The Ballad of New Bobby and Joan

This is the ballad

of new Bobby and Joan

Fender guitar-lords

with truth microphones

a daredevil’s mission

to gather us all

to shake us, and wake us

to answer the call

The pressure’s been building

at a pace that is steady

our ship has been drifting

now the people are ready

New Bobby and Joan

are taking the stage

with fine-tuned stringed weapons

and words dipped in rage

Bob nods at the drummer

to get the show started

he counts the band in

to the dark and uncharted

They follow Bob’s lead

tag along for the ride

Joanie plays rhythm off to the side:

“Gather your courage

for a darkness awaits you

take aim at the hate

and the man who berates you

beware of cracked shadows

and words made of hay

of crowned jokers with pokers

who demand that you to pray

The pols and preachers

can’t show you the way

their pockets are lined

by the players that pay”

The crowd gives applause

and they nod in approval

they know what they need

it’s not change, but removal

Bob sets the tone

with a sneer and a growl

stalking the stage

like a tank on the prowl

Joanie steps forward

and smiles at Bobby

she’s not just his muse

and she’s more than a hobby

Bobby sees Joanie step up to the mic

she covers terrain, like a train on a spike

“We’re zip-tied and tongue tied

by Silicon Valley

Kidnapped by agents

who crouch in the alley

we live in a land

that is free of the brave

led by a felon

both cruel and depraved

The dream we living

turns silkweed to ashes

torched by the rich

and the market that crashes

Elon and Donny

are having a spat

while democracy dies

in a GPT chat“

Bobby steps forward

his guitar is smoking

there’s blood on the frets

of the Fender he’s choking

Joanie steps back

away from the light

Bobby’s a star

that eclipses the night

“The system ain’t broken

it works as intended

in the times we’re living

the truth isn’t rendered

when God taints your money

the peril is real

there’s no milk and honey

just poisonous zeal

where the rich just get richer

the poor get to bleed

just to get stitched up

and ground into seed

Joanie steps forward

and together they sing

the sad but true story

of men kissing the ring

“They tip toe through crypto

and heap praise on their king

in the land of bent knees

and the home of the bling

They take jets from Qutar

and cut aid to the poor

plan missions to Mars

and sell weapons for war

I don’t know about you,

but I can’t take anymore

It’s time to take names

and kick down the door

The last chord rings out

the cheers earn them their wage

they turn away from the mic

and they walk off the stage

This is the ballad

of new Bobby and Joan

Fender guitar-lords

with truth microphones