Tag Archives: political

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Don’t Tell Me Why We’re Waiting

My favorite radio show
is Wait…Wait, Don’t Tell Me!
on NPR near you.

But, it has bothered me,
over the years,
a snagging voice in sign-off background,
threatening the host will see me again next week,
as if that was the answer we had awaited,
and so hoped he would not tell us.

Why does he lie to me?
Deliberately or otherwise?
Did he not notice his is a radio show?
Isn’t the point that I don’t have to go anyplace
to be seen?
Nor need I look in his direction
to enjoy his show and tell.

This untruth could be like Ray Charles
telling his audience he will see them next time.
Either an embarrassing mistake
or a revolutionary news story
so dryly understated
it went almost without saying to his death.

Although at least he might truthfully say:
I will smell you with your money again next week,
or even hear you.
Although with Ray
I think my hearing point
would be the other way around.

Why not the truth?
We’ll be back again next week,
same time,
same station.

A little traditional.
Perhaps a twitch of self-promotion.
But, at least not an outright threatening misconception.

Which got me thinking
about how I kept hearing Trump’s campaign promises
as both personal and environmental threats
for way bad climates to continue
on all of these tired stations,

And whether he now has any idea
that each time he reminds us
of what a great job he and his beloved are doing
and please tune in again next week,
we continue hearing that as menacing reassurance
that he is insanely unattached,
detached in absence from,
unavailable for processing
how scary we find his anti-healthy outcome standards
for public sector administrative leadership performance,
usually more WinWin,
and considerably less about covering one’s own
Win some-Lose some
private bought and sectored butt.

I’m not so sure he’s doing such a good job
compared to,
well,
most any processor of information
of any multiculturing species
including those who claim they saw and actually listened to me
again last week
about how his comedic success both promises
and reassures us
of further tragic despair
as I think and feel what’s already not left of healthy wealth
for my own special needs and opportunities kids
trying to live in healthing climates,
and not quite so much pathologizing,
who may not reassure anyone
about what a great job they are doing
taking care of even themselves,
but that is honest;
this family is about and for transparent integrity.
At least we know when we’re sucked up
to by psycho-phantic
‘non-political’
moneychasing machines,
more mindful of badnews robotics
than goodnews gospel teachers.

We will also not be fooled into believing
we can be seen and heard by a public sector self-promoter
just because he threatens to come back again next week
to do this same monoculturing elitist thing again
that we know has only one-badway happened truthfully,
same time,
same sad and not quite true
yet still
kinda funny
spacetime NPR station

Playing
Wait Wait,
Don’t Tell Me
public sectors can’t really quite see private ears,
can you?
despite all our weeks
of mindfully listening
to our tragic comedy
threats as promises
together?

 

 

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Wind Whispering CoMessiahs

Mentors of the BeeTrees

From NorthWinds
come darkening winter
as newborn discontent
waiting to spring forth.

From SouthWinds
come summer’s diastasis
climax of full-born wisdom
of contentment for and from all four directions
spread across sleeping hearts
of each nighttime regeneration.

From normalizing WestWind toward East colonializing
patriarchal harvest
comes abundant fall in grace
of grace
from grace fulfilled in heartier summer,
for grace processing
through deep long winter winds
of (0)-souls abundantly newborning.

From EastWind springs
nondually co-arise
good news as Easter strawberries
full and blood-red regenesis
well ahead of co-redeeming dreams
for other berries to come after white lillies lead
around green connifers
promising full summer’s heat
by learned lighttime
on this first day
of all gratitude
yet to reborn come
leaders of berries
and birds
and baby bodhisattvas
of all four winds,
each with their season,
reasons
rational Tao gratitudes
and irrational Confusion platitudes
of sacred yet secular ecology.

From NorthWinds
winter water darkens
within discontent
newborn,
dreams dawning
future seasons of gratitude
with summer’s fullblown positive attitude.
———————————————–
As I awake this morning
I remember a song I taught my more oppositionally disposed daughter:

I love you
and you might love me
even if I couldn’t
re-align my four B’s,
brain,
and branches,
and belly,
and butt
these four aligned
good government.

If you do
then I will too.

It was part of a dream
as I awoke this morning
I remembered EarthTribe is no longer the same population
living within that song
as when I went to bed
last night.

A few of us have died.
A few have been new born.

And so it goes each morning
since I was that new born
overwhelmed by all the collective Four-B wisdom
of older dreams
awakening each morning
to discover a few more have joined us,
coming along behind,
and a few more ahead
are now beyond any further potential
for re-alignment leadership
or even long-lived Fractal-B hums of silent listening.

And so I will go that last night
now leading those who listen
for a swelling population of EarthTribe Crystal-B Voices
greeting each new born pioneer
who joins us for this Earth training turning journey,

Vocation for wiser co-aligning Elders
as just normal-aptic naptime for others
just now begun
for whom we join our minds as one
in and with and for and of
peace-filling co-gratitude.

I wonder if our purist unity as EarthTribe
is only RightBrain known and felt in dreams
where reptiles and mammals and amphibeans
like beans and corn and squash
all process more alike than separate,
more interdependently than empty,
without distinctions arising sexism,
without separations co-arising racism,
without asseverational appositions causing self-righteous violence
unless we know these as unruly nightmares
begging to grow more restorative mercy
and thereby less necessity for retributive harsh justice,
patriarchal vengeance is ours!
as EarthTribe slowly shape-shifts repopulation
between each daily-nightly evolving frame
roundly rolling along spacetime’s polypathic avenues
becoming not exactly who we were yesterday,
as there is not sufficient time to quite grasp it all so much
in one timeless time,
just as, in RealTime,
unlike Common DreamTime,
we cannot quite get back
to (0)Sum original habitat
of spacetime’s full-blown diastatic revolution,
still home, disappointed yet again.

But,
maybe tomorrow night
this resonant resolution
may yet come to last
for tomorrow’s recast EarthTribe,
polyprotagonists
yet perpetually interdependent underdogs,
(read: bitches, eco-witches, Sacred EarthMothers, and MotherTrees,
no anonymous underdog identities undemocratically meant to be
unpolitically correctly excluded)
depending on your preferred bulldog or the b-word identity
of protagonizing ecojustice dreams
where Paradise Lost
looks more same than different
throughout today’s reborn
post-creolizing,
millennializing,
degenerating still,
then through this timeless multi-speciating dream,
more double-binding than simplistic (0)Sum LoseLose
degeneration with regeneration
for no one wakes up tomorrow
to re-create gratitude for dawn’s newborn delight
in FourB eco-alignments
more interdependently flying together
than degeneratively coming apart.
———————————————————–
Up from NorthWinds
comes darkening winter water
as newborn discontent
waiting to spring forth.

 

 

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Social Climbing Jacob’s Ladder

I wrestle with against vulnerable boundaries
to invasive intimacy,
left unlanguaged yet right felt dismay
could not sustainably remain
without being said outloudlyish
in some bicameral bilateral bipolar balancing brainiac
polypathically left merely cooperationalizing,
creolizing Sacred Elders feeling self-righteous
matriarchal nutritionisms,
spiritual and diminished secular scientissues
falling failing OtherWise,
hypothetical proofs of co-incidence.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Not not coincidentally here.

I wish.
Go notnot away.

Where dissonance grows troubling
such dismay’s source is left label searched for
within economic causes
secular with sacred ecological effects
to become biologically expected
in and through bilateral regenerational returns,
depending on the faith systemic word choices preferred
by All EarthLives Matter
sacred ecosystemic recoverers,
co-listening
deep mutual learners
comfortable in tranquil ponds
of lucid equal harmonies
ringing double-boundaries
singing
winging
flinging not here not now
invisible hypotheses
of Zero-Core bicameral bilaterality.

Rich loving mentors,
teachers,
but please,
not another preacher
of cognitive patriotism
against affective ecofeminist intuitive self-defense
began against
lunar-scheduled matriotism,
offense against solar Yanger
wanger
bangers,
Pi to pay
the multiculturing pipers,
ecofitters,
multiculturing quilters
and organic happy, sometimes a little high,
farmers
of antiquity,
herstoric myth tellers
and legend gossips
and polypathic paradigming architects
exforming evolutionary incarnations
as revolutionary reverse-notnot
evolutionary
yet as now appositionally bilateral
absence of cognitive-affective dissonant
boundaries of vulnerably echoing reiterative transparency,
both ego threat of rightwing dominant terrorism
and eco-opportunity,
left with right wing ego/eco-dominance
as positive psychology
and EarthTribe EcoJustice
complicated redisunprecovery
of often deep dense politics.

All about atomizing power
both/and wavey-linear flow.

Wherein we wrestle with,
but preferably not against,
vulnerable boundaries
about too invasive double-binding intimacy
left unlanguaged
yet right felt dismay
sung in
and through thin
diminished dissonance.

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So Let Me Tell You

So let me tell you,
if I’m looking between lives
with multicolors
and gentle genders
and green cards
in one graceful hand,

And Trump-heavy President fixation
away from restoring
Earth’s ecojustice for All
on the other RightWing denomination,

Then let me tell you
seeking Trumpish twitters
of self-congratulating trumphalism
as more patriotic
then loyal honored deep Yintegrity

On Gaian liberated knee
as if too matriotically humbled
to stand for Yangish
and self-righteous thee,
then let me tell you
I am so very quite sure
your poppa raised White elitist you
to spell anti-matriotism
with a positive patriotism Peee
only while standing up
as royal Thee.

And let me vice versa tell you,
if you find loyalty
and honor,
civility and mercy
and compassion taking on a matriotic knee,

Then your Momma,
well let me tell you,
she spelled patriotism ecologically right
with left,
bicameralishly.

Which, if you spell justice
with domestic peace of clear blue mind
you suspect dipolar
co-arising
matriots
of bipolar disarray
too wild left,
and let me tell you,
no way we’ll move love with Mother Earth diminished
down to a way out somewhat sleazy loose-lived girl
only good for lunch.

It just might become our hunch
hanging out with a more permaculturing bunch.

 

Note: For me this piece works best as jazz riffs rooted in the melody for

When I Fall In Love…

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Same Ol’ Song and Dance

As I look back across my more musical times
of rhythmic reflections,
ceremonies and commemorations
of each dawn and dusk eremitic liturgies,
if that is not an oxymoron
of sound and sight,
song and dance,
tragically sad, yet also bilaterally bound with happier chance
of liturgical comedies
reflected upon together.

And as we look out through all our co-diva taoist days
like pages of leaves we have co-written,
we grow one primordial Tipping Point,
that we are each both tragic
and most abundantly comedic
when held together
through mutually revolutionary
Bodhisattva Warrior eco/ego-identity.

And,
with our ends held together,
what matters most
to and for and of all of us,
is when we have fed tragic
and where we have bled comedic
into the transparently naked (0)Remainder WinWin Othernest
as soon as therapeutically possible.

When was the last time
you turned to whomever, always present,
sitting next to your Leftsaid,
with at least one exclamation point,

That was totally Yang-awesome!

It might have been at the end of a song
heard for the first time
in a particularly deep and rich,
and possibly a bit also high,
way.

Or maybe during a dance
that was totally radical,
perfect to each beat
each lyrical swell and ebb
filled with athletic grace
of freakishly limber space
and centered
like a linear 4D pivot
we each potentially arcingly are
as we become this music’s dancing story,
beautifully
exquisitely reincarnating
us down
into your stage of life’s most recent crippling bow,
with tragic-comedy final statement,
tragedy of each end
with comedy of wonder
for each protagonist opera
in which our only antagonist
was perfect meeting of lyrically rhythmicizing here
with timeless now’s completely committed integrity
of ego/eco-consciousness
reweaving

Personal tragedy of missed integrity closes
to further comedies of dissonant clumsiness,
stumbles of feet and hands and mind
and pens
about dancing through life and death ourselves
as totally awesome
tragic-comedic ecopolitical choreography
with public sector lyrics
for what started out as a deeply personal
intimate
vulnerable liturgicalizing matriarchal-wombed life.

Or maybe Wow!
was when you were leaving church,
and mosque
and temple
and synagogue
and generic everyday BusinessAsUsual faith family,
smiling about
how to better dance
our mutual resonant opportunities,
to feed the juice
and starve the monoculturing weeds.

Wow! Totally awesome
love,
grace,
synergy,
creolization
Thanks for singing and dancing
and taking us to church
with you,
where we each belong
multiculturally YangHere with YinNow
bilateral balancing
and limber spiraling
together.

I awaken
to both the parent of special ecopolitical needs
and ecological opportunities,
but also the part-time Taoist hermit diva,
totally co-investing in WinWin liturgical planning,
each multiculturing day
within dawnspace harmonic singing Yang
through Yin dualdark
co-arising lyrics
with Bodhisattva EcoFeminist Warriors,
First Native International Cooperative Networks
each ego-anonymous
collegially remembering co-protagonists
of Earth’s tragic-comedic multiculturing sad despair
with silent democratic
solidarity
liturgically ecological matriotic
YangSong with WinWin dance,
here and also now
(0)Soul rhythms
of long slow stealthy blues as also green
balancing creolic outgoing choreography.

Antagonizing local people about their malingering protagonist rights,
their song as dance resources,
and their musically harmonic knowledge,
does not patriotically rest unchallenged.

Forest struggles
continue resisting buying and selling and renting of protagonist
song and dance forests,
including stories internal to India,
yet not in Asia alone.

Forest resacralizations resist secularizing diminishment
of forests for tragic exploitation
by patriarchalYang commodifying not (0)-interest profits,
and dipolar co-gravitating transubstantiation
from liturgically abundant ecological resources
for tragic song and comedic dance
back into a bad faith commodifying community.

Villagers sang and danced our tragic removal
demotion of rich ecoforests to mere positive productions
from notnot negatively dwindling reserves
asserting ego/eco-justice rights
to satisfy our basic
continuing together tragic-comedic needs.

Feeding critical tragedy for underdog lyrics
while bleeding sad danced systematic allegiances
against monocultural demands for fake-patriotistic choreographed events,
non-violent protests
were crushed by One Nation Don’t Mean First Nation,
cause I wasn’t born yesterday
or the day before that,
or before doing a really great job
of making more money
for some really good people
who just got caught up in the right place
in my best time
Trump,
among the USA evangelical faithful;
as crushed by British colonialism,
among Central Asian Bodhisattva ReForesters
and Eastern American First Nation PreForesters.

In the Himalayan mountain bioregion
the Chipko women’s movement
began liturgically embracing living MotherTrees
as their protectors,
their own source
of food
and fuel
and fiber
and fertile habitat.

The Onandaga First Nation School
reimagined how children might non-violently speak and move
their dawn hugged liturgies to remember alleged thanksgivings
for MotherTrees,
their hugs
hugging ours in music and danced liturgies
of Earth-allegiance gratitude,
basic positive cooperative
matriarchal song and dance
with Tipping Points
of taoist divas
dipolar co-arising
(0)-soul long slower bluesy terms
of jazz rhythmic
creolizing
song as dancing attitude.

As I look back across more musical times
of rhythmic reflection,
allegiance ceremonies and gratitude commemorations
of each dawn and dusk danced liturgy,
I look forward too.

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Voraciously Reading Writers

Hey!

Who?
Me?

Yes!
Do you remember back
when you were reading The Human Comedy
and thinking you would always live on a planet
where a few great writers
lived royally and with vast wealth
comfortably above yet among the huddled hungry masses
just waiting to buy your supremely great literature words
of eternal wisdom
and Pulitzer Poetry Prizes?

If you mean
Do I remember when most people did not daily,
or even monthly, write,
much less self-publish,
while only a select few
were gainfully employed as full-time writers
of scripts
and screenplays
and contracts
and constitutions
and poetry
and stories
and parables
and even designs
for polycultural healthy outcomes–
Yes, I do,
or did,
or whatever it was we both noticed
about ratios of democratic readers
to plutocratic writers.

Well,
I went on WordPress
this morning,
thinking I would read the democratic plutocrats first,
then probably add my own commentary
on my blogsite
when done with reading others.

And you can’t read that fast,
can you?

Exactly.
Now all the democrats are writing
and cooperatively self-publishing
and my dreams of becoming a plutocratic writer
have drowned in a sea of voices
in which there is no longer sufficient time
to hear each other out
before also entering something in.

So what’s your big take away
for this revolutionary turnaround
in now democratically growing co-investments
in broadcast writing
and emerging plutocratic readers?
Would-be writers
but we no longer live
in or on a RealTime 4D publish or perish world.

Right.
Now its publish,
no one bothers to read,
and perish
while still cloud-published
perhaps eternally, somehow,
with no one bothering to open
a closed for self-publishing mind.

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The Ambiguous Apprentice

When does ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically political verse?

I was emphatically reading pieces,
ambiguously written
about my sons,
to my oldest son’s girlfriend.

The longer I read
the more she cried.

Now it had been my hope
and passion
to become the next Kurt Vonnegut
of PolyCulturing Healthy Outcome Design,
or at least John Irving
at his all ecopolitical lives matter, and not, satirical best,
and so I finally had to ask,
Are these tears of sadness?

Yes and no.
Sometimes, says she,
mostly happy that someone else
sees him as I do
when I am at my best,
but sadness too
that we live in your world
of our own re-creation
about what you write
is too often left unsaid
uncreated
or even thought about.

I thought this might be a compliment
and so I read bravely on
through her quiet tears
of sad happiness
until she asked me to stop.

Could you teach me to write
like you?

No.
I doubt I could even help you write
like you.
Why,
are you having trouble writing by and of yourself?

Yes.
I worry I have nothing to say,
no place to safely yet nakedly live.

About half the poets
and novelists
believe that is a prerequisite
to great literature
and becoming an authentically mature artiste.

Having nothing to say.

Yes. But saying whatever very well.
And the other half,
what they mainly have to say
is to have something to say
which you would be wiser through hearing
yourself say
what you just said.
And if they believed
as does the opposing mindless half
then they would not embarrass themselves
by writing any no thing at all.

Well, which is right,
do you think?

More to your point,
which is right
about your writing?
If you can trust each empty page
longs to fill with your good humor
and best wisdom,
then you might begin
by having nothing on your Left languaged mind
except some brief turn of lyrical phrase
or return of some event
devoid of context
which musefully incarnates as content
as your pen rolls along each shaping word
and returning phrase
and 4 dimensional as seasonal
reasonal harmonic lines
and sentences for joyful life,
not just lonely sad death.

Next thing you know
sad death cooperatively together
restores joyful life justice
where lived sad loves lived evilly alone
and you are editing in search of paragraphs
to create sufficient spaces
between maturing lines of thought
you heard as one compare/contrast before
you’ve always said
and hoped someday to read,
then editing through pages of ego/eco-logical content
about…
what?
We’re not sure
until we’re done.
———————————————————–

She was crying again.
So I found an old barely used notebook
and a fresh pen,
a nearly full box of gaily pure white tissue
and handed them to her,
Suggesting she might write about tears
of sad yet lovely joy.

Where might I best begin,
she wisely asks.

At the top,
either left or right
depending on which hemisphere you most speak,
I not so wisely answer.
And, the first principle of multicultural story telling
is to be sure your reader
continues to understand and appreciate
and feel gratitude for
your protagonist
inevitably our favorite underdog,
because life’s a joyful sad bitch
but what are we going to gratefully do
with it?
The pen and notebook?
In your left and right hands?

So, I just start at the top
and re-imagine us
whether protagonist-in with antagonist-out,
or potential future solution
within a vexing co-present problem,
ways we choose to fold and unfold
sad space
as also joyful time of opportunity?

Spoken as a true tragic-comedy loving physicist
pretending to become a metaphysical teller of history,
your story,
written as we speak together
in domesticating yet still wild imaginations,
political thought experiments,
narratives,
prose as also poetry.

Precisely as I see our sadly joyful situation too.
All we have are protagonist underdogs
and antagonist overlords,
and each lies both sadly and joyously
across each bicameral heart and mind
singing
When I fall in nondual co-arising love,
we will be forever,
Reading stories of favorite sons
to tearful joys of future daughters
for revolutionary story telling,
more cooperative
than my damnably antagonistic
overlording sons!

When did ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically democratic verse?

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Flag Waving Challenges

Dearest,
you men are too much alike.
You confuse
your flag waving patriotism
with what you really want,
our indivisibility, unless you say otherwise,
our thoroughly domesticated liberties,
our matriotic climaxing justice
and compassion
and mercy
and therapy for all your most fragile male
egocentric flag waving patriotic needs
for unquestioned loyalty,
right or wrong,
you own my everything.
You are self-sanctified and jealous gods.

I know nothing about that.
We learned nothing about matriotic cooperative economics at Wharton.
I’m doing a really good job
of remembering where I thought we were talking about.

As anti-patriotic
equals anti-MightySupremacist USA
in a WinLose ecopolitically quasi-rich,
yet not too rich to be a bitch,
incorporation for growing short-term political wealth
of debt by robbing future generations
of long-term economic and ecological health.

Someone has to pay
the Great PiperLine of Perpetual Economic Predation,
better our grandchildren
than us,
wouldn’t you agree?

Not at all.
But I do agree that patriotism
is less about iconic flag waving
and more about grateful co-pledged commitments
for which flags stand,
One First Native BioRegion,
indivisible,
with liberty
and ecojustice
for All.

We’re doing a great job
of reducing patriotism
to loyalty by tests assessed belligerent
through body positions
and tone of voice.

But then authentic patriotism,
rather than fake strains,
is most associated
with the position of minds and hearts
of sacred patriarchs and matriarchs
of all species
through all (0)Sum spacetime,
RealTime
4D fractal,
double-binary bonding octaves
spiral soul of health
as sacred wealth
trends and co-relations.

Perhaps I misunderstand.

You don’t say that enough.

This patriotism you support
is assessed
by our national indivisibility,
and freedom and justice outcomes
equitable across all cultures
and species
and genders
and genetics
and regenerativity ourselves?

And all integrated time
both RightWing traditionally backward
and LeftLeaning progressively forward.
Real eco-patriotic time
right and left now
about which you are absolutely rightwing off target,
concluding First Nation has not the first (0)Soul cooperative clue.

Dear,
you women are too much alike.
You confuse
your First Nation waving matriotism
with what you really want.

Which is alpha through omega multi-nations
eco-waving Earth’s therapeutic matriotic integrity.

Integrity
outscores patriotism?

Every both here and now spacetime.

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I Pledge Gratitude’s Revolution

I pledge FirstNative gratitude
for unfederated,
unmitigated
positive local through global
regenerative attitude.

I pledge gratitude to this Sun
and EarthMothers
from whom we come
into trusting democratic wombs
and eggs
and seeds
for which these continue to revolve life’s harmonic ecology,
one uniting species MotherTree of Life through Death
under and planted within God
as Gaian Goddess Principle
of ReForestry,
between glacial deforesting climates,
indivisibly polypathic,
with regenerative liberty
and authoritative egohealthy wealth of ecojustice
with
and of
and for
and from All EarthLives Matter.

I pledge gratitude
for unmitigated
positive local
as global cooperative
trusting attitude.

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The SpeechWriter

Not too many decades out of college
I finally landed my first full-time job,
as a White House speech writer.

I know,
you would expect
I would not start at the top
and then claw
and grab
and snatch my way to the less immoral bottom
of a Certified EcoTherapist career ladder,
but apparently the President preferred
to abuse and neglect someone with no more public sector experience
than he had accumulated to this sorry state
of deforesting a nation’s wealth,
and I was clearly the least experienced applicant
who bothered to desperately apply
for a patently thankless job.

I was broke
and I thought perhaps I might wrestle a Presidential Pardon
for my therapeutic student load of toxic debt.

My first assignment
was a ten minute stand up comedy piece
to be delivered to the Press Club
by the least good humored non-politician
I had yet to meet
in ludicrously self-incorporated personage.

To my amazement
he did not stray off teleprompter
more than on
and did acquiesce to my suggestion
he could only be funny,
rather than tragic,
as a cross-dresser
who had simply forgotten to change
before leaving his rompish bedroom,
thereby transposing
his deadly public sector lack
of comedic hopelessness experience.

He chose a pastel blue chiffon maid’s uniform,
a Big and Beautiful Girl’s minidress
with matronly white apron
all gathered at the waist,
or at least doing its best
under stressfilled circumstances.

Where he found the fishnet stockings
with seams intended to aim straight up and down
the back of his hairless white calves,
I should not say.
But his seams tended to wander off to his dominant right,
should there actually be such a lonely place
as a gratefully suppressed left
in the mercifully unseen forest
of his meaty thighs.

While I couldn’t see
his party platform pumps
on EarthTribe network coverage,
I later heard this was not by accident
and I should feel fortunate
to have avoided fascinated allegiance
to their ruby red,
scuffed white,
and sky smoky blueness.

After pandemonium subsided
he began:

Under-dressed ecofeminists
and junk-brained gentlemen
of the fake press,
thanks so much for this utterly predictable
and distressing invitation
to speak over your heads tonight
about the profound merits
of New Reactionary Republican
reproductive resonance
and replete regenesis
of religious right remains right,
although sometimes a bit tight
around my rapidly expanding middle.

Leftist liberal libertines
like to quote that notorious drug addict
Janis Joplin:
Freedom
is just another word
for nothing left to lose.

Reactionary Republicans
have some of our own definitions
for new economic and old political values.

Justice
is another merciless word
for no one left of Jews.

Speaking of which,
isn’t my son-in-law
doing a great job
of being a quality not all that Jewish Republican?
And possibly the only Republican Jew
east of the Mississippi
and north of the still contested Mason-Dixon Line.
Although he is now trying to steal his sister-in-law’s gentile inheritance.

Let’s see.
Oh yes,
Peace
is just another word
for being between wars.

Patriotism
is just another word
for nationalistic loyalty test jargon
where all the supremacist lyrics
rhyme with juicy jism,
like monoculturalism
and racism
and sexism
and currently trendy anti-democratic totalitarianism,
where once resided MotherLand Libertines
cynically quoting Janis Joplin.

Liberty
is just another word
for nothing left worth stealing,
and grabbing,
and snatching,
and rubbing up against,
and preferably eating, eventually.

Virtue
is just another word
for robbing integrity
from future generations because,
as my Elders taught me,
it’s better virtuous us
then plundered them.

And,
last and maybe least,
love
is just another word
for nothing left to hate
and monger fear about
at least until my next election,
another corporate raid on pubic sector treasures.

Thanks so much
and may God bless the sacred FatherLand.

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