Ode to Taco Bell

I thought it air, 
I gave a push
and molten shart
shot from my tush
I clenched my cheeks,
Alas! Too late…
The dam, once burst,
I could not abate!
Like a duck I waddled
to the closest loo
The shat then spread 
as liquid shats do.
I waddled quick,
but the shat ran down
My pants, white khaki
Now streaked with brown.
A line of shat
left a telling trail
in my wake
to tell the tale:
One of misplaced faith,
a poor fool’s blunder-
How I ruined my day
and blew my skivvies usunder.

Holy Week

I sit in horror as I watch the flames
dancing around as they lick at her stones…
The smoke billowing from her sacred  bones…
Paris…the West…will never be the same.
And in the city streets, the moslems cheer
Declaring their bloodthirsty god is great
And that the infidels deserved this fate!
While all of France weeps, the moslems just sneer.
Suspicious, a fire on Holy Week...
I can’t help but wonder what they will say
To try to make the outrage go away...
Will we ever find the truth that we seek?
What scapegoat will they find to take the blame
For the fire they set at Notre Dame?

Rest Stop

I stopped by a rest area today,
Even though it took me out of my way.
I sat in the lot a moment or two,
Not really sure what I wanted to do.
Eventually, I just walked around
Taking in all of the sights and sounds.
I found a wooden bench by a old tree
Surrounded by flowers and buzzing bees.
And I sat down there, and I closed my eyes.

Memories swirled in my mind like a mist
Of times when we stopped at places like this
To rest, to play, stretch our legs or eat,
Or just to explore: a traveler's treat!
We’d talk to other folks on their own trips
Forming fast, yet fleeting, sort of friendships.
As all these memories around me swirled,
I opened my eyes, fell back to the world,
The present one...and I sat there and cried.

I sat on that bench near all afternoon.
Though I knew I needed to be going soon,
I couldn’t really bring myself to leave
When this patch of land was helping me grieve…
Finally, when I could no longer stay,
Without a good excuse for my delay,
I walked slowly back to get to the lot,
Abandoning there some of the pain I brought,
Finally feeling as though we’ve said bye.

1

Vindication

For twenty-two months, they hunted their prey,
Swore to the heavens there would come a day
when proof of his crimes would be brought to light,
and end, what they claimed, our nation’s plight.

They’ve roared in rage since after the last vote
“Foreigners and traitors upset the boat!
There’s treason afoot, and we must impeach!”
This was the sermon the medias preached.
In that time, the FBI fell from grace
from its once almost untouchable place
as pinnacle of American law.
Now, steeped in corruption, they’ve lost us all.

The medias once held honored positions,
have now become a source of derision,
having come together in the attempt
to sow among Americans contempt
Of President Donald Trump and his base,
seeking division class, faith, and race.
Fanning the flames and turning up the heat
encouraging folks to take to the street…

Then they gathered, their torches all lit,
This was the end! Oh yes! This would be it!
Their mouths watering for the coming treat:
The Grand inquisitor’s report:  complete.
The report summary: no collusion!
After howls of outrage and confusion,
Lo, and behold, my fellow red hatters!
Now we’re told the report doesn’t Matter!
They cry “Cover-up!”  and “Conspiracy!”
and accuse our leader of Tyranny.

But we’ve stopped listening to what they say,
for now its time to do things the right way…
Now it is our turn to investigate
those who have betrayed these united states.
Politicians, actors, or media’s voice
their treason the result of their own choice…
We’ll give them a trial that they are due,
Should take less than a month, not twenty two
before all of their crimes are brought to light,
revealed and removed as our nations blight.

Now is our time, to put it so bluntly,
To tell the world: This is MAGA country.

Haiku on a poet's role

Forgive me my words
If you find them abhorrent,
But they must be said:

We are expected
If we think ourselves poets
To be true to self...

Honest observance
To what goes on around us
Regardless the view

Should be put to pen
For our fellow citizens
To see as report

Of the times we live
Outside the realm of the news
For those that come next.

If you hate the works
That talk about what you hate,
Why not ignore them,

Instead of forcing
Poets to watch what they write.
Have we come to this?

Let angry voices
Write out their angry verses
And vent frustrations

And happy voices
Speak of flowers and the like
And read at your choice...

Our integrity
As poets and as readers
Demands nothing less.

Old Friend

What gives man comfort in his time of need?
Consoling him like no lover or friend?
Opening his mind to new line of thought
Allowing him to finally defend
Against the suffering of his poor heart
Or the sorrows that threaten to drown him?
There is only one immortal ally
That always shimmers when the world grows dim.
When lovers and friends abandon their post
Or family pass beyond that starry veil,
And stricken by that realization:
You have but one life...half over...half failed...
Who is it that rushes to fight your blues?
Your old and unfailing friend, Mr. Booze.

An age old musing

King of Ephyra, you clever old fool...
How could you expect a happy ending
After betraying the trust of Lord Zeus,
Trading the location of Aegina
In return for a spring from Asopus?

When Lord Zeus decided to punish you
You refused to accept what you were due...
With your deceitful wit, you chained Hades
(or Thanatos, depending on the tale)
And thus mortal man became immortal.

You deprived Ares of Wartime fun,
And all the Gods of their sacrifices
Which they are much deserving from all men,
All so you could try to escape your fate.
Until they convinced you to unchain him.

And when you finally were called to death
You couldn't help but try just one more trick.
Escorted by the fleet footed Hermes
To the Underworld, the realm of the dead,
You Dishonored Hades' beautiful queen.

With aid of your wife, who left you to rot
Without burial at your own request,
You lamented to Queen Persephone
Who, moved to great compassion and pity
Allowed your return to the mortal realm.

When your vile trickery was found out,
And  you were ordered to return, you fought,
Forcing Hermes to once again find you
And drag you back down to the Underworld
Before the thrones of Hades and his queen.

But Zeus, in his fury at your deceit,
And the dishonor you came to display
In the selfish quest to avoid your fate
Brought you a fate more terrible than death,
A lesson for all mortal men to see...

He gave you a stone, stood you on a hill,
And then gave you what you desired most:
Lord Zeus blessed you with immortality.
Though given an eternal life, it was cursed.
You were cursed. Eternal struggle your fate.

Though...I can't help but to wonder something:
Are you a lesson to all mortal men
To the rewards of misused cleverness?
Or are you a reflection of mankind
And our fight against our impermanence?

Though I don't pity you, King Sisyphus,
I can not deny that I sympathize.
For all men struggle and scheme to outlast
The years they were given upon birth
And to be ourselves like the Gods we serve.

The Human race struggles to rise above
our station, using our cleverest minds.
We push the boundaries of what we know
Like you push that burdensome stone of yours,
Wondering just how much further we have...

Before we reach the summit of our hill,
Or before our stone begins rolling down...