I was born here in the Heartland,
And the good life calls to me.
And my roots grow ever deeper
Here in this Land of the Free!
Never take us at face value;
There is much we never show
And without us as the backbone…
Well, the country cannot grow!
I was born here in the Heartland,
Hearth and home of all the brave,
And my liberties and rights I
Will maintain unto the grave.
It might not be for everyone
But this is just who we are.
Free and equal under the law
From our roots up to the stars.
I was born here in the Heartland
And it’s here I’ll prob’ly die.
Is there reason for my living?
Maybe I’ll never know why…
But, by grace I’ll keep on working,
And on Sunday, take a knee,
That my children and grandchildren
Will continue to live free!
So, don’t diss us or dismiss us,
‘Cause you’ll miss us if we’re gone.
You might hate us or berate us
But we’ll keep on keeping on.
You can sneer or you can smear us
But right here we make our stand!
We are strong for we belong
In what you call Flyover Land!
The Carrousel of sex
My sister held a party. She lived across the road from us
My wife wouldn’t go; she was not on speaking terms with
my sister, as they often did.
There were many women there, and one was especially and
charming laughed at my feeble jokes, and when it got late
I agreed to follow her home as it was dark and autumnal
We had sex on a park bench, but it struck me as sordid and
I pulled away, said sorry, and walked home.
I was riven by guilt and also anger. This was a trap I, a man,
had walked headlong into. I cursed my stupidity.
Back home, my wife was fast asleep. She had been at the gin
We had breakfast at ten, it was a Sunday, and I was sad
I was still tired and waited for her to berate me, but she didn`t.
In the affairs of the heart, it is better to tell an untruth
because women will only believe what they have decided
to be the verity
Years later, after we divorced- for another reason- she said
She told me she had been sleeping with the man who collected rubbish
every week, and I thought of the woman in the park and my
sister who had a reason for disliking my wife
"There is so much that you don't know..."
That is my sadness, and sorrow.
Carrion, drape about the crow!
River inferno, may ye flow...
O blistered heart, the truth ye see?
Care for a love in fancy-free.
Musician, write thy melody!
O constellation, guide the. sea.
Heaven and Hell, thy armies call!
Go to the battle, one and all.
Autumnal maiden, in the fall?
Tympani, beat. Funeral, pall.
Yellow eyed, young, and wild at heart?
O for the two who now must part!
Beast, pick thy prey. Archer, thy dart.
Melee, mechanic, taut and tart.
Doom, answer well the needs of fate!
Hie from the hinterland, O hate!
Golem and ghast, thus guard the gate!
Small is the mind to bad berate...
Silver as sunlight off the mirror?
Mercury, message. Road, just clear.
Voyager, trickle. Cliff, be sheer.
Doubt and dismay, and dole, be drear.
Rabid as thought in frenzied fine?
Dark fire, thy blossom. Stars, to shine.
O belladonna, be my wine!
Dynamite, explode. Death, we dine.
There once was a little boy,
Whose imagination would not rest --
Cursed or blessed?~ was difficult to say.
Some journeys were only fantastic-play:
Sliding down waves, shaking tentacles
With friendly octopi – but there were those, also
Instructive, like the flying fish, who could not fly --
Sort of on the surface, would just lie~ and cry. Try as
He often did; not one scale would elevate...even
Garnered Gale’s windy' berate. Proud of her churning,
Dislodging force – with that little fish, like whipping an
Expired fish-horse.
Then a trumpet, from an angel on high:
Opened in the sky, a bright, sunny eye. No sense to
Tear, little brother – one added drip to an ocean, cannot
Not change a dip, for more of the same slop – one more salty drop will
not lift aloft a repetitious, soggy flop. Realize, from the top, a new world to see –
Now, will yourself some real wings...as did the crab his legs, and go for eternity!
You anchor your rancor, a cancerous canker,
Not just any mole
Your hatred you hide it, you split and divide it,
It's soured your soul
The women, you bait them, you date and berate them,
You're no kind of man
You're just out for the kill and you spill out your swill,
Like nobody can
Their hearts beating faster, they race towards disaster,
Watch out for that curve
The dark he is seeking, it weakens their beacons,
But strengthens his nerve
They know they're in trouble, his efforts now double,
Not just a bad dream
Unable to match him, they kick and they scratch him,
And let out a scream
He's vain, so he's flattered, they're raped and they're battered
And left there to bleed
In his warped little brain, all their terror and pain,
Will then fill his need
Through hell and high waters, must teach all our daughters,
To stand up and fight
It's horrific but true, it could happen to you,
And happen tonight
Hate me slate me or berate me
call me names it's all the same I don't care
to my mind it's no more than
hogwash simply put just hot air
the proclivities of others
I don't judge
and their predilections
I won't begrudge
I live and let live
as I too do have mine
but tresspass on my territory
there's where I draw the line
tho' non-violent
step on my toes
and believe you will receive
a black eye or bloody nose
I'm a poet
And I don't know it
My rhyme destroys
My pen is poised
To trickle out
Some tale about
A butterfly
Or sunset sky
As sweet as jam
With rhythm slam
Dunk in your tea
My soliloquy
I'm a poet
Happy to show it
So on your bike
As I drop the mic
You may have guessed
If you passed the test
As you peruse
This lyrical muse
That no comp will claim
This shot at fame
My Shakespearean blooper
Hardly 'poetry super'
When the quill is dry
Or my muse is shy
Or the peripatetic
Pen pleads "pathetic"
I turn in shame
When love's words are lame
Yet in hopeful reason
This may be the season
Of drought, no doubt
It may be a good shout
Though my lack I berate
Truth is; seasons rotate
To conclude, I am hopeful
I can re-shape the doleful
Convert all this stressin'
I'm a poet.
(no messin')
Hyperbole hubris
Venal penal
Avarice abyss
Bucolic tonic?
Ironic…sardonic
Or
Vitriolic bliss mate!
Mendacious salacious
Algorithm schism
Audacious outrageous
Vicarious or nefarious
Whatever geography
Clever hagiography
Moderate.. no berate
Generate..venerate hate
Casting various sordid spells
Schadenfreude morbid void
Everlasting..well..it sells well (swell)
But
Despotism urges Nepotism
Surges of Plutocracy
Merges with scourges of Kleptocracy
Purges meritocracy...dirges of Democracy
So
Resist narcissists trysts
Reminisces.. enlighten..persists
Sagacious benevolent gracious times
Redolent without malicious vicious
Murky mucky malevolent mists
We together can change the way
our moral tendencies do stray.
Yet we build walls round our estate
and over parapets berate
the way that others go to pray.
Nation on nation joins the fray
some indignation to repay.
What harmony we could create;
we together.
Sweet dreams the children have who play
oblivious that they one day
will fight a war of unjust hate
their fathers wish to propagate.
It is a fate we could allay
we together.
Of then,
Smoke of a squandered summer morn
The barrel of a summer afternoon
And the spittle of the soundless shots of the stars within a summer eve
Homeless homage, tainted talent awaits to watch and berate
Wilting wonders to wound a heart the size of a horse
Hoarse to mourn the drowning drought of the mellow monnow
To drown the blessed sapphires of summer fever
With fevor and bloodied weather
And sleep on a velvet throw
Turn these demons and paralysis upon the stars
And stitch and tie and tighten
And wear aware of the consequence
And ensnare the stars aware of the darkness
Pay the fare to the ferry
And pretend not to hear the merry walks and dreary ends of life
Pretend not to tighten without the enticement of and ending life
Pretend not to sleep
Away and away and away
Further than the astral splurges of this
Life
Sleep with the intent of death
So death may bless the creaseless crown of my forehead
And sleep with his singular kiss forevermore
2//5//2025
There is a love that does not speak
But gazes silently on the lover’s forehead peak
It rests in the knowledge that there is rest
In fewer words that remain caged in the breast
In its silence you will feel a calm
So soothing like cologne or a cooling balm
But to others it might seem to frustrate
The boredom leading one to berate
So my dear friend make your choice
A silent one or a garrulous voice
Whatever it be don’t break the vow
Till life is over accept with a gentle bow.
Is Calvinism the cousin of Providence
And Mystery the brother of Fate
Does Liberty relate to Religion
And do Laws protect or berate
Can Unity support Division
Or Loves opposite other than Hate
Can Truth be hidden from leaders
and multiply the problems we face
Can Time be suspended
By the simple act of Faith
Can Salvation find the Needy
Before it is too late
Bugging Out
Alone, watching the logs burn—
sizzling, like my heart after your words.
Betrayal hangs, breath lingering and swaying.
My eyes crackle with the fire and the brokenness.
Where does your emphasis come from—
to berate, humiliate,
to call me lower than a bug,
invisible as the squashing.
Sloth-like, I move toward the shower,
turning the water on with practiced grace,
trying to drown out those uncomfortables.
You, callous in mimicry,
throw confetti insults at my face, my head, my body—
but I duck like a child playing tag.
You can’t catch me.
I hide behind an insult.
And then, with sadness, I watch you gather—
bow and arrow in hand,
no concern in your eyes
as you casually aim,
and release
the last piece of me.
I used to sing, "My country tis of thee..."
Now, a 'Once upon a time' use to be
My allegiance was pledged
But to Trump never fledged
'Not my president,' with those, I agree
Where life was once so simple, no fires fanned
There were no worries for a future planned
Now it's gone to the dogs
Those power hungry hogs
Are in need of the nation's reprimand
Other countries have problems of their own
But I don't chew on them like a dog bone
So why excoriate
Berate and objurgate?
As Americans, WE have the right to groan
There’s no decorum or respect
Within the White House walls
And cameras let us witness
Some behavior that appalls.
Invite a foreign dignitary
Then berate, insult, accuse –
That’s the playbook for a bully
Desperate to be in the news.
Why would any other country,
After seeing that display,
Send a leader, knowing he or she’d
Be treated in that way?
Every day brings more examples
Of outrageousness and shock
Which, at one time, simply seemed like
Acts of bluster we would mock.
But the stakes have gotten higher
And if all the guardrails fail,
Someday writing such a poem just might
Have me end up in jail.
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