Book Number 2

Hi folks,

I’ve just published “Imagine There’s No Donald” on Amazon.com.

Imagine There’s No Donald is a lyrical collection that channels the melodic cadence of (mostly) Beatles songs to deliver searing poetic indictments of Donald Trump, the MAGA movement, and their corrosive impact on American democracy.

Each poem echoes the structure and emotional resonance of iconic musical tracks—think “Rocky Racoon” reimagined as the tale of Donald Trump’s destructive path to the presidency, or Terry Jacks’ “Seasons in the Sun” transformed into a lament on Republican cowardice and lost democratic norms.

Through this fusion of pop nostalgia and political critique, the collection:

  • 🎶 Harnesses Familiar Rhythms: The song structures serve as scaffolding for verses that are both accessible and subversive, drawing readers in with rhythm before confronting them with truth.
  • 🔥 Excoriates Authoritarianism: Trump and MAGA are portrayed not just as political figures but as symbols of a broader erosion of truth, decency, and constitutional integrity.
  • 🕊️ Defends Democratic Ideals: The poems mourn the fragility of American institutions while fiercely advocating for civic engagement, accountability, and moral clarity.
  • 🎤 Amplifies Dissent: With a voice that is at once satirical and sincere, the book invites readers to sing along in protest, turning melody into a megaphone for resistance.

Whether riffing on “She Came in Through the Bathroom Window” to expose the sycophantic rot of the Trump administration or twisting “When I Saw Her Standing There!” into an elegy against oligarchs and authoritarianism, this book is a poetic rebellion—an artistic act of defiance that refuses to be silent in the face of democratic decay.

Most free thinkers, poets, and essayists are but a thorn in the side of the authoritarian regime that is running roughshod over America’s democracy. Writing and speaking truth to power sometimes feels like screaming into the void. But with critical mass and momentum, art can influence public sentiment and mobilize opposition to repressive policies and tactics, making it a powerful adversary to regimes that rely on propaganda and control.

Verbal resistance alone won’t revive our democracy. If we’re going to right the ship in America, we’re going to have to do more than sing and complain. We’re going to have to take to the streets and, as the honorable Georgia Congressman John Lewis famously said, “get in good trouble, necessary trouble” by the millions.

Get your copy of Imagine There’s No Donald on Amazon. Please feel free to share the link with others on your social media or simply by giving the book to a loved one as a gift.

Peace (and FUDT).


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.

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

Russian to Ride

Sing to the tune of “Ticket to Ride” by The Beatles

I think we’re gonna be had
I think it’s today, yeah
The guy that’s driving us mad
Ain’t going away

He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
So, he don’t care

He said that tariffs will be
they’re bringing us down, yeah
And we will never be free
when he is around

He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
so, he don’t care

We used to be a nation of laws
The constitution
used to be alright by me
But now we got this guy and his flaws
He wants us living
under an autocracy

I think we’re gonna be had
I think it’s today, yeah
The guy that’s driving us mad
Ain’t going away

He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
so, he don’t care

We used to be a nation of laws
The constitution
used to do alright by me
But now we got this guy and his flaws
He wants us living
under an autocracy

This was the land of the free
’till he came around, yeah
And all the hypocrisy
it’s bringing me down, yeah

He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
He’s got a Russian to ride
so, he don’t care

That Donny don’t care
That Donny don’t care
That Donny don’t care
That Daddy don’t care
That Donny don’t care

Slip Knot Future Up Ahead

Mascara streaks

on expressionless faces

punk-metal fills the air

a swarm of pierced humanity

hits the mosh without a care


Rabbit holes of red-hot coals

their world spinning on a string

empty souls dance to Dave Grohl

life to them, a fling


Rubber necks on double decks

Russian missiles fill the skies

distant fires from funeral pyres

the flames flicker in their eyes


Tattered seams on crocheted dreams

slip knot future up ahead

poisoned streams and noiseless memes

They’ll dance until their dead

Tangled up in Black

In the alleys of your heart

In the backstreets of your brain

from the constant buzzing beltway

under rusted lock and chain


In the pain inside your sternum

the boiled marrow in your bones

lurks an ever-growing darkness

over jagged rocks and stones


In black valleys of depression

and the not so grand delusions

In a vice grip of obsession

In your manic-plagued illusions


With a never-ending stipend

of more than you can bear

an abundant over-ripened

softened fruit

of deep despair


An undefined sad solitude

that something is amiss

always on that taunting edge

of that welcoming abyss


an open-ended sadness

a journey never-ending

exhausted by the battle plan

of constantly pretending


You’re looking for an exit

a respite from the black

An offramp from the sadness

a train that jumps the track


“I can’t believe he did it

I can’t believe he’s gone

no one truly knew

the darkness of his dawn”

Our March Towards the Gallows

Silhouettes and shadows

blurred pictures on the wall

we stumble towards the gallows

our walks fall into crawls


People start to gather

they’re screaming at the sun

hollow eyes and sunken cheeks

blinded, crippled, stunned


Cracked and hardened landscapes

fires all around

sunbaked souls

are full of holes

no water in the ground


Empty silos bellow

a sorrow fills the air

we turn to face our fellow man

to discover he’s not there


Trees that thirst for water

burnt poppies in a field

a loss of social order

a weakened faith revealed


The warning signs were present

we looked the other way

the climate climbed

and mankind fell

now we scramble for the shade


Souls too weak to whisper

our words fold into prayer

the dead feed off the living

and dust becomes the air

Chrome Covered Rosebuds and Dyslexic Daisies

Chrome covered rosebuds and dyslexic daisies

Dirt-devil divas and wombats with rabies

Blue bloodless fem-bots

that drop from the sky

Misogyny dies in the blink of an eye


Dipshits in red hats with white MAGA letters

Grunge bands with new tats of Cobains and Vedders

Palm trees and face plants

a rip in the sky

Ginger loves Mary Ann’s Coconut pie


Deep-seated distrust and misinformation

Biscuits with deadbolts and sex doll inflation

Mad rants and just cants

a flask full of lies

The truth falls asleep to our sad lullabies


Sinatra and Martin, Carson and Rickles

Bone chips on blood-stained pennies and nickels

Douchebags and despots

About to ally

To map out our lives on the wings of a fly