Going, Going, Gone
A poet can see
the past, present and future.
Then write all the wrongs.
In time we all green,
some blossom, others jaded.
Most just get moldy.
Pocket Full of Poesy
We’re going to hell
in a hand-basket held by
The longest day’s here.
The sun’s warm and the night short.
Cold hearts have no place.
A Bushel of Pecks
Chemistry is the
solution to inertness
Fanatical & Finesse
require zealots but not zeal
The Me’s huddled tightly with family alert.
The We’s frolicked freely enjoying dessert.
The Me’s distrustful, their interests first.
The We’s collaborative quenching their thirst.
The Me’s too aligned ruled by a book.
The We’s had comforts the Me’s came and took.
The Me’s dispersed hiding their joy.
The We’s shared all with each girl and boy.
The Me’s sought power devising the divide.
The We’s found solace in a land far and wide.
The Me’s dictate that all is for “Me”
The logic dictates all me’s become we.
It’s the bluest of days in this U.S.A
A college of yellow gave our future away
Now a con man’s been throned
And we all are now owned
The reds gold having its sway
There was a false prophet of profits
Their preaching not worth two bits
They spoke in forked tongues
From the greatest of lungs
Yet the crossed didn’t give two shits
With children in charge
locking up the cabinet
will be sobering
The only outcome
is a three ring circus when
voting for a clown.