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
?

Violence doesn’t solve anything, except….

I abhor violence, but the “violence doesn’t solve anything” lament rings hollow in a country that was born out of violent revolution and resistance, and a country that fought violently to prevent fascism from spreading across Europe and the world. Opposing tyranny and a love of freedom are part and parcel of the American experience. When an individual or government threatens our right to speak and live freely, we resist, protest, and, if necessary, we fight.

The American Revolution did not explode spontaneously into violence – it grew over time from protests, pamphlets, and reasoned arguments. When all of that failed, the only thing left was to either submit to tyranny or to fight.

We celebrate the success and ultimate sacrifice of the American Revolution every Fourth of July and Victory Day every second Monday in August. We pump our fists and fly flags to the rallying cries of “Live Free or Die,” “Give me liberty, or give me death,” and “Don’t Tread on Me.” The activities associated with these sentiments are rarely free of violence.

We humans haven’t evolved as much as we pretend. We struggle to sustain a lasting peaceful coexistence with one another; we’re unable to live-and-let-live, often because of the ginned-up fear around political, religious, and cultural differences, which keep us divided and fighting amongst one another. And make no mistake, leaders like Donald Trump understand that if we are fighting one another, we’re not fighting them.

America is marching towards fascism, and many Americans seem okay with the path we’re on. Maybe it doesn’t feel like fascism when you share the political, social, and religious ideology of your fascist government? Regardless, most Americans (across the political spectrum) do not want conflict, yet we find ourselves on a dangerous precipice of violence with one another, fueled by the assassinations of Melissa and Mark Hortman and Charlie Kirk.

And what makes our current situation even more perilous is that our President is not calling for calm or trying to defuse things.

Why do you think that is?

It’s because the President sees anyone who does not share his authoritarian views as the “enemy within.”

We shouldn’t kid ourselves about the character and nature of the individuals who sit at the highest levels of our government. Our government is awash in fascists and Christian nationalists who have no intention or desire to sit down with secularists, progressives, or even moderate democrats because they view them as a direct threat to their authoritarian designs on America.

If you cherish freedom for everyone, now is the time to speak loudly and to push aggressively (and peacefully) against a government that is trying to strip freedom away from your fellow citizens.


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.

Tipping Points

Israel says there is a safe zone for civilians in the south of Gaza. 

Israel suggests that Hamas is preventing civilians from going to that safe zone because separating Gazan civilians from Hamas means fewer civilian casualties, which is terrible for Hamas because (according to Israel) Hamas relies on civilian casualties as fodder for their propaganda machine.

So, who do we believe? 

How do we, the ones watching this conflict from the outside, get to the truth to form an opinion?

It is hard to trust the controlling parties on either end of this conflict, and in that scenario, everyone in the middle gets obliterated.

And let’s not forget that our struggle for truthfulness is nothing compared to what Gazan civilians are facing hourly. Gazans are struggling to live and breathe just long enough to bury their dead.

Americans understand the raw rage that Israel holds towards Hamas. It mirrors what we felt towards Al-Qaida on September 12th, 2001. We understand a desire for payback that originates from the gut – it’s what drives our support of Israeli efforts to uproot and destroy Hamas.

But I’m guessing there’ll come a point where support for Israel tips in the other direction – when our gut reaction to the sheer number of civilian casualties forces us to say, “Enough!”

Who will be the last Israeli soldier, Hamas terrorist, or Gazan civilian to die before we reach that point, and will it matter? 

How can civilians in the “political middle” of this conflict affect change now when they couldn’t affect change before the conflict? – Isn’t the task of effecting change way more difficult today? 

Gaza is in ruins. Survivors filled with rage and hopelessness will be looking for payback, and the peace and security that many Israelis seek has become less of a possibility. 

It’s hard to find hope in any of this.

Crackling Fires from Funeral Pyres

Digging holes with metal poles

Earth hanging by a string

ember coals and smokey souls

our hearts refuse to sing


Nostril flares and double dares

blood coursing through our veins

no one cares or fires flares

to save us from the flames


Rubber necks on splintered decks

missiles pierce the sky

the crackling fires from funeral pyres

sparkle in our eyes


Mascara streaks on dampened cheeks

as quiet fills the air

we crawl across a floor that creaks

to waken our despair


Stars explode and fade to black

the darkened sky above

stretches far from east to west

obscuring peace and love