Tag Archives: politics

Election Day: an acrostic

E ach of us would make some change:
L eave off those evils of the past,
E mbrace some thread of common good,
C hoose what is best for all, not one.
T his thought in mind, we cast our vote
I n hope that it will do some good:
O ne straw can break a camel’s back, or
N urse to health a dying dream.

D ecide: will you in silence grant
A stranger rights to make your fate?
Y our life is yours. Choose for yourself.

03 NOV 2010

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Blue Monday

I’ve never met a President, I doubt I ever will;
In recent years, the only likely one for that was Bill.
They never seem to be much like the people that I know:
they have more money, that’s for sure, and travel to and fro

persuading and attempting to convince me what is real
in case I haven’t figured out the truth of the whole deal:
it doesn’t really matter, in the end, who claims to run the show
or who claims some authority based on some need to know,

I’ll do what I believe is right, just like I’ve always done,
and won’t require one law to change, nor need to purchase guns,
nor back my claim with scripture, nor intimidate with threat,
nor count on anyone to help me but my work and sweat.

You see, it doesn’t matter – ’cause if the whole world’s insane,
the only thing you’ve got to fear is what’s in your own brain;
and if you need approval from the masses for your truth
you might as well forget it. It won’t be from voting booths

that your redemption will come forth; no, it will never be
so long as there need to be laws to give you liberty.
You’re free already – it’s your choice to stand or else to kneel;
you’ll be convicted either way, so which has more appeal –

to live the life you know is right, be kind, and just and wise?
or wait for some new world to dawn? If you think that these guys
who look to be elected, either one, can make things right
and turn approaching twilight into dawn by skipping night,

can with some magic heal the wounds we’ve spent years making sore,
can get rid of depression, terrorism, hate and war,
can counter greed, and selfish interest, and make people care,
then you’re off in some other world, and I wish you luck there.

But here, real change is up to you and me, and no one else;
there’s only one who’s fit to change your world, and that’s yourself.
Unless you work to make this place, this time, worth living in,
you might as well vote with a blindfold. Don’t bitch if you win.

03 NOV 2008

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Stale Yellow

This morning my country’s on orange alert;
or maybe stale yellow, if you feel perverse:
the color of bullies, who’re cowards, in fact,
who put down in others convictions they lack.

The war is on terror, they’ll loudly proclaim;
but killing is killing, no matter the name.
Nobody learns nothing by point of a gun,
‘cept when to stay hidden, and which way to run.

Freedom’s a journey, not some point in time
when your way of living is the same as mine.
Truth is an ocean and peace is a verb;
How we each get there shows what we deserve.

This morning my country’s enmeshed in a war
financed by the rich, fought by the young and poor
who trust in their leaders and will pay the cost
regardless of who we say has won or lost.

The war is for freedom, those leaders will say;
the world is our oyster, let’s keep it that way.
But force just accelerates, it won’t evolve;
making more problems than it ever solves.

Freedom’s a journey, not some future point
when who we like has the run of the joint.
Truth is an ocean and peace is a verb;
How we each get there proves what we deserve.

This morning my country’s on orange alert;
or maybe stale yellow, which may be much worse.

22 FEB 2007

Stale Yellow (demo)

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Do Unto Others

I was minding my own business, at the bar nursing a drink,
when a big old boy slid onto the next stool;
he ordered a cheap, cold one for a buck fifty, I think,
then turned to me and said, “I’m no one’s fool.”

Now, I’m of the opinion that a bar in a small town
is no place for a liberal point of view;
and so I simply grunted in a noncommital way
and tried to figure out what I could do.

He wanted conversation, so I gathered from his tone,
on politics in general, and the war;
he waxed on philosophic while I tried hard not to moan
for nearly two full hours, maybe more.

The gist of his opinion, if you want to call it that,
was that world was too big for its jeans,
and those old fashioned values he prized were being left flat.
I finally had to ask him what’d he mean.

He said, “I said it once before, my mama didn’t raise no fool:
the answer’s pretty simple, seems to me.
It’s only application of that saw from Sunday School,
that’s what America needs to be free:”

Do unto others; make it a pre-emptive strike.
That way they won’t talk back and make you do things you don’t like.
Apply the golden rule and we can keep the world in line;
and freedom’s light will continue to shine.

Do unto others; pay it forward, so to speak.
If they say something you don’t like, just knock ’em in next week.
Apply the golden rule before they sneak one in on you;
Now that’s what this great country ought to do.

I’d had about enough of this, as you can understand,
when he slid his bar stool back and took his feet;
He said, “nice talking to you, I can see you’re a good man.”
I nodded to the barman — whiskey, neat.

The good old boy departed, and I lifted up my glass
to toast his shadow as it slipped away.
It was obvious in our debate, I’d simply been outclassed;
or overcome with silence, you might say.

I said to the bartender, who was an old friend of mine:
“I wonder where they come from, these great fools.”
He said, with a big grin, “They wander in here all the time,
from hunting, chasing skirts or buying tools.”

They all say …

Do unto others; stop that terror in its tracks.
That way no one will argue, and we can all just relax.
Apply the golden rule and we can keep the world in line;
and freedom’s light will continue to shine.

Do unto others; pay it forward, so to speak.
If they say something you don’t like, just knock ’em in next week.
Apply the golden rule before they sneak one in on you;
Now that’s what this great country ought to do.

14 FEB 2007

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The Louisiana Post-Katrina Right Wing Blues

This used to be a quiet place northward from Baton Rouge,
a sleepy set of boroughs where no one became confused;
but now the world is changing thanks to Katrina’s deluge
and Louisiana’s really learned the blues.

It used to be there was a place to send off ne’er-do-wells,
that deserved all our outcasts who were surely bound for hell;
but now who’s right and wrong it’s getting very hard to tell
since the levees let the water come and swell …

The zipper on the Bible Belt has rusted, that’s for sure;
and the muddy water’s backed up all these troubles to our door.
Where will we send our deviants, our crazies and our poor,
since we can’t count on New Orleans anymore?

This used to be a safe place, even-keeled and quite discreet;
when someone got an urge, we sent them down to Bourbon Street.
Their systems purged by Mardi Gras, they were docile and sweet;
but no more — now decent people must retreat.

We gathered in the money from the bars and tourist trade;
now that our golden cow is gone, we really are dismayed.
And what about the music? Some of us are quite afraid
that our towns will need more places it is played …

The zipper on the Bible Belt has rusted, that’s for sure;
and the muddy water’s backed up all these troubles to our door.
Where will we send our deviants, our crazies and our poor,
since we can’t count on New Orleans anymore?

This used to be quiet place, a tidy Christian spot,
we’d send our heretics off to the place that care forgot
but now it seems our apple cart is suddenly upsot …
will Louisiana all now start to rot?

In Shreveport and Monroe, they wonder, how will they survive?
Will folks out in Coushatta have to learn how to speak jive?
How will we pay for schools, and jails, and roads in Lafayette
now that the state’s big moneymaker is all wet?

The zipper on the Bible Belt has rusted, that’s for sure;
and the muddy water’s backed up all these troubles to our door.
Where will we send our deviants, our crazies and our poor,
since we can’t count on New Orleans anymore?

P.S. … now we won’t miss the Saints, because they never were much sport,
but what about the income from the world’s third largest port?
And those artists, intellectuals and tarot-reading sorts?
We don’t want them back up here skewing our demograph reports

So what’s the best solution to this problem that we’ve found
now that the water’s pushed our trash back up to higher ground?
We’ve tried reaching the Lord but he’s not uttering a sound
and doesn’t seem to mind these heathens back in town

The zipper on the Bible Belt has rusted, that’s for sure;
and the muddy water’s backed up all these troubles to our door.
Where will we send our deviants, our crazies and our poor,
since we can’t count on New Orleans anymore?

18 JUN 2006

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Let the Other Fellow Be

I don’t talk politics down at the honky-tonk;
doesn’t seem to make much sense to me:
stirring up a hornet’s nest with some of ol’ Milwaukee’s best
and finding out just where we disagree.

We both want the same things, besides, more or less:
love and understanding with some happiness.
What’s the point of splitting hairs on points of law?
Let’s agree nobody wins, and call this one a draw


This is a free country: we each pay for our own drinks
it doesn’t really matter what the guy next to you thinks
If you don’t like my politics, don’t saddle me with yours
we’ll get along while the beer’s cold and the malt whiskey pours
What’s good about America is folks like you and me
Can put aside our differences and behave civilly
Besides, the hardest part of freedom is, it seems to me,
Being smart enough to let the other fellow be.

I don’t talk religion from a barstool seat;
doesn’t seem appropriate to me:
mixing sin and righteousness like tonic and bad gin
seems to me a recipe for trouble to begin

We both want the same thngs anyway, my friend:
Love and some security for what’s beyond the bend.
What’s the point of arguing on some old books?
Let’s agree nobody’s right, and most of ’em are crooks.


This is a free country: we each pay for our own way
it doesn’t really matter what the guy next to you says
If you don’t like my point of view, don’t saddle me with yours
we’ll get along while the beer’s cold and the malt whiskey pours
What’s good about America is folks like you and me
Can put aside our differences and behave civilly
Besides, the hardest part of freedom is, it seems to me,
Being smart enough to let the other fellow be.

30 DEC 2005

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Bipartisan Blues

The fascist right … the commie left … the accusations fly,
with neither side, in truth, much worried ’bout the little guy;
they do not represent him, even though that’s what they claim,
’cause behind all their rhetoric, they’re pretty much the same:

Both sides make heartfelt speeches to a captive audience,
who, face it, have eschewed most logic and good common sense,
in thinking that these politicos, who speak of some gesalt,
have anything in mind but finding someone else at fault.

Just once, I’d like to hear a politician state the truth:
that they’d said anything to get you in their voting booth,
and that the numbers they rely on are in fact just lies,
manipulated to reduce their opponents to size.

And further, I’d like congressmen, and senators, to boot,
instead of claiming justice is their sole end of pursuit,
to simply say they’re sorry, but the way that things are now,
free speech, fair play, and honesty they simply can’t allow.

At least then I know where I stand, as if I couldn’t guess:
a once-great country trying to deny it is a mess;
a people proud of learning less and less each day in schools,
whose main interest is money-making, educated fools;

a flag that isn’t fireproof, because it does not wave
for truth, justice and liberty for all, free man and slave;
instead, by some selective wind, it chooses its flagpoles
by special interests, narrow vision, and pretense at soul.

I wonder, as I hear them speak on C-SPAN or the news,
if anyone who is in office really knows my shoes.
They do not know my first name, that I’m sure of. After all,
it’s never them in person making their fund-raising calls.

Bipartisan, bischmartisan; blue, red, and purple hues;
Republican or Democrat; evangelist or Jew —
why don’t they get it? Why not look beyond such simple lines,
and think what’s best for the whole country, while there is still time?

12 MAY 2005

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