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.

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.

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
can’t wait 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

Toshi

The gig’s over Toshi, idealism’s dead

The devil wear’s Prada, and fucks with our head

The star that we followed, has died in our bed

The gig’s over Toshi, it hangs in the shed

The gig’s over Toshi, I wish it weren’t true

the cruelty has grossly been poured in the brew

and drank with a gusto by the poisonous few

then shot out as arrows at both me and you

The gig we were chasing was as false as the sky

the horizon was crooked, and we couldn’t pry

the truth from the Wellstone, that was you and I

the gig’s over Toshi, in the blink of an eye

No Kings

Oligarchal Kings

are here to clip your wings

to tell you how to pray

what to feel and what to say

what to teach and who to love

who to push and who to shove

to curb your speech and cuff your hands

to make you kneel or make you stand

to make you see and make you hear

to make you stay or disappear

Oligarchal kings

are here to clip your wings

strip the marrow from your bones

make you bow before the throne

control the information flow

on what to learn and what to know

to kill the spirit of the free

to kill the truth of you and me

The oligarchs and kings

are here to clip your wings

Tipping Point

A squeaky tank rolling
embarrasses Donny
Israeli aggression
all flexy and brawny

Assassin in Sota
a lawmaker dead
Handcuffs and facemasks
and ICE in our bed

Elon says Donny
and Epstein
were besties
Donny says Elon
is overly testy

Tucker warns Donny
about going to war
While Benny and Donny
keep settling scores

Tulsi tells Donny
The nuke story’s bullshit
Donny tells Gabbard
to get off her pulpit

Padilla gets bullied
and pushed to the floor
Cosplaying Himmler,
Noem shows him the door

Don asks the G8
why Putin is missing
The G8 tells Donny
to stop the ass kissing

Donny gets angry
and leaves in a huff
When will we say that
Enough is Enough?