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Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Last Night I Had an American Dream

Oh, there's lots of talk about the sad end
Of what we call the American dream;
About the fast decline of our morals
And that we're not all we once were or seem.

Yes, the enemy is outside and in
And most are betting that we're about through;
It seems religion just keeps withering
And that patriots are too far and few.

Not long ago leaders were respected--
They told us the truth and they were not stealth;
Now we doubt their word and their intentions
With smiles and slick phrases like “spread the wealth.”

Oh, they slowly take away liberties--
Tell us what to eat and how we should talk;
Call us fuddy-duddies and out of touch--
It's our traditions and culture they mock.

Yet, nothing is sadder than old liberals
When they go and wrap themselves in the flag;
Make those empty red, white and blue gestures
And say hollow things and put on false brag.

We know that they're just all so full of it
And we never believe a single word;
Leaving unintended consequences
While behind our backs they flip us the bird.

And if we should oppose same-sex marriage--
We're old and just behind the times, you know;
Seems our constitution and God's own book
Aren't enough to stop our nation's garbage flow.

So now they say police are the bad guys
And that they're too brutal and leave folks dead;
But if there's a robbery or riot--
You never call a criminal instead.

Yes, they keep saying our economy
Is just dandy and really quite a pip;
As they still lie about unemployment--
It's just mostly lives and burgers we flip.

Oh, there is no real war on our women
But there is a long one on the unborn;
And we're told transgenders now have their rights
While our own rights are met with stone cold scorn.

Our borders have become a suggestion
And illegals glut our land and just laugh;
We're told there's no such thing as terrorists
And we can't separate wheat from the chaff.

Oh, say we can see by dawn's early light
That we have fell down and long lost our way;
Heroes are now villains and wrong is right--
But cowboys aren't gone and will have their day.

Last night I had an American dream
About our hopes and not just our demise--
Yes... our America will never die
As long as freedom shines in one child's eyes.

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Fifth Season

There is a fifth season as real as rain.
It storms the earth with rash incivility.
What time has held as decent and sane,
Its loud voices now disown acceptability.

Putting hand on heart as the flag passes by
Is damning proof you're behind the times.
And having faith in God is an act to decry.
In fact it counts as the worst of crimes.

Relying on Uncle Sam to do what you could
Is a fashionable practice by millions today.
To do differently it is commonly understood
Reveals you're naïve about a wiser way.

Breaking marriage vows is absent of shame.
Some even celebrate their acted-out lust.
"Just being human—nothing worthy of blame."
Thus, they mock the foundation of marital trust.

Some quickly say it has always been this way.
Honest history suggests they have a point.
But the past can't excuse a fifth season today.
Otherwise our learning curve is out of joint.

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

yo,mama

being still,makes me ill.the feel i get when girls are wet and wild,is ooh child,things are gonna get easier.the theme park crossed my mind.so did your behind.your behind the times if you think im perverted.we worried?the poet laureate thing,its a total mess,and unblessed.we confess,lest,we take the place.love the lower case.

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Genethliac

Carpe diem? sweet, yet meet?… whimsical? smart? how do I start?…
On a birthday, it’s worth saying something special from the heart.

While I’ve penned all kinds of rhymes— ahead, behind the times, a range—
Some in verse that’s terse, some florid, others horrid, stanzas strange…

Here are couplets spare, to share a word about aesthetic voice
And tell of those who, heaven knows, feel impelled. These have no choice.

Force driven, from a passion given or a pull linguistic,
They have to make their plea— to make us see— by means artistic.

To psyches nourish with a flourish to seek heights where dreams dare—
Souls entice through words’ device— takes more than mere inventive flair.

Although Joyce’s knack most lack or Molly Bloom’s, yes, claim to fame…
Still a spark might light that could ignite a literary flame.

When in dim creative burn, one struggles just to turn the page—
Push on to… and puzzle through… a painful poem’s final stage.

Midst seas of jocund companies, I would seek to speak from shore,
Hope to leave behind a line of mine that wasn’t there before…

Meantime delight in what is left, each strophe deft… to the end…
Where we blind may find someday someway unwinds beyond that bend…

I’ll stop the Harley parley now— sing appreciation ‘cheers’…
For encore add, ‘many more birthdays galore… and relished years!’

~ Harley White

[While this was initially written for the birthday of someone in particular, I have found it to be appropriate for my creative friends and acquaintances in general.]

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Behind


 Behind the times

My heart was looking for a place

Behind homelands

My soul was looking for safety

Behind sorrows

My tears were looking for a smile

And behind your heart

I was looking for my self...

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

To Terry My True Friend

To Terry My True Friend

They always are nice people though
But just behind the times, you know;
Better then them would always be
But my way never seemed to see. 

Went into Life Insurance for a while
Was not my thing or even style
Pay was poor and pocket hardly dented;
Many of them must have been demented.

Never would ever give me good guidance;
Can forget about trust and reliance;
Often people thought I was rather odd
Except someone whose name was God.

Been married and happy for many years;
Enjoyed hopes and afraid of my fears;
All of my spirits up high were lifted
When my wife June said I was gifted.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Am I Not an American

Am I not An American?

I listen to the news
I hear all the political views
The analysts give numbers and statistics
This is all really, quite fantastic
They don’t even ask me
I don’t matter personally
I am just a statistic it seems
Insignificant in the larger scheme
I just don’t understand
Why do I live in this land?

Am I not an American?

We’re sixty five years behind the times
Our healtcare in the naiton is a crime
People die because insurance they cannot buy 
Just as the politicians why
The have all kinds of excuses
To then you and I are useless
Unless of course they want our vote
Then suddenly we are in the same boat
Why do I live in the land?
I just don’t understand

Am I not an American?

The Supreme Court said Healthcare was constitutional
But politicians are just too damn institutional
Why should they get healthcare free?
It’s a conspiracy, don’t you see
It’s that that they’re against the law
Therein lies the Congressional flaw
The institution of politics
Play cheap partisan tricks
Why am I in this land?
I just don’t understand

Am I not an American?

It won’t matter when we die
They’ll just get a vote from some other guy
Why should they care?
It just isn’t fair
Why do I live in this land?
I just don’t understand

Am I not an American?

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Angel Wings In Halves

Slashed and burnt to golden brown
Frowned upside down, prithee now
Come diagonally to get here clown
Romp in delight as you were never found
Wanting, were you?

Wanton greedy bastard, turn back now
Carry on then in your mortal sin, how
Do you do it darling? Tongue in cheek
Take a peek into your shadow, we'll 
Not find you meek, will we?

Peasantry, just busy yourself elsewhere
For you are half the man you used to be
Half a sentence.

Just does not do you justice, betray me
For a dollar and a dime, walk behind the times
You spit on me as you past

Willows on the ridge in a hurricane, spent
More time with I, I implore you to look above
Before you too, find your wings lying there 
On hallowed ground, soggy, muddy, 
Halved

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Creating Chimeras

If a book has footnotes, though it is fiction,

How do you classify it?

Historical fiction has made some inroads

To this chimera crossroads

But science fiction

Ironically, is behind the times

I’ve kept writing vigils like Virgil.

I muse ‘neath the stellar stars at night, I sure hope you do, too.

Perhaps a mix, writing while wundering under stars is next on my list To Do

I don’t mean to be egotistical

but I hope to revolutionize literature fictional

A melding of deep research and deep imagination is my objective.

Thank you for being part of this voluntary experiment. Collective.

To cross bloodlines of logic and creative

Though she personally likes them, this avocational teacher thinks

For students, textbooks and research papers can be dry

Entertainment is currently a current vapid like air

But rippling vibrant characters could add life and water

I’ve heard people say ‘no man is an island’

and ‘standing on the shoulders of giants.’

Reading and citing

giants’ thoughts are excellent.

You’ll tower among the peaks

And enjoy their “views.”

But you can create even

small things

with your equals, also.

Long distances of space and time are fine.

Someone who is dead- a slight seance

or someone on the other side of a screen.

But you can turn to the person next to you, also.

The “joyful burden” of creating does not solely fall on your shoulders.

If each “man is a universe unto himself,” two universes combining- how much larger are the infinities?

Yet, most celebrities’ songs are sing-ular singing.

Yet, most books have but a single author. I mourn for all the lost possibilities.

And as they yammer on with their plastic faces and artificial voice sounds

I can assure you, someone in your own classroom or neighborhood has written something more profound.

And, if you look, another person in reach could sing the pants off them, hands down.

Spawn beautiful ideas and solutions and skills and combinations of knowledge and rhyme.

Ideas spawn other ideas, ad infinitum down the line.

Chimeral caleidoscopic chords.

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

New Year 366 Page 51a

Commandment Number Six

I'm feeling a little confused
Not to say mildly bemused
If into heaven you wish to get
Then killing for religions a good bet
Unless of course on judgement day
The good lord looks at you to say
You are not coming in, it’s no fix
For you broke commandment number six
Though shall not kill but this you did
Your hatred inside you should have hid
The pure souls you killed will enter here
Your soul must rot in hell though I fear

When Friends
When friends get you down
When they make you frown
Get them out of your life
Get rid of that trouble and strife
For these people are not friends you need
For those who are friends are real friends indeed
So look to them to lead the way
So look to them every single day
Waste no more time on people who try
Waste no more time and no more will you cry

Poetry Land

Is poetry land real or fake?
Is it over the moon or under a lake?
Is it in the rhythms of words?
Is it in the humming of birds?
Is it on a paradise isle?
Is it were only wordsmiths smile?
Is it likely in the soul of each woman and man?
Please poets tell me if you can

Willing I Am

Willing I Am to share each part
Views of My Gardens Heart
Natures Art will be on view
Beauty's Eyes beholding you
Hold it close for it would be a shame
Not to glory in God's Loves Flame

One Bowl

I'm back from my hols and hot on the trail
Of a villain who must go to jail
So Dan Drake is on the case
That will make the villains heart race
 So again it's down to me 
The cops no use to me will be
Another case I'll solve alone
The case of the man with one bowl
A common cleaner it would seem
In Wimbledon he would be found committing crimes
When he's not behind the Times
Uncle Bulgaria is wandering free
Just a Womble of Wimbledon common is he
Not a criminal at all just cleaned up after the policeman's ball
They got it wrong he's no crook at all

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

Mirrorred Clocks

I was patiently maronating
In what we meant
and found
confusion
Alone and lost
in what
i wanted for myself
to feel loved
to be loved
to see something i wasn't
to understand
who and what I am

I needed no more time
i was distracted
so I flew alone
yet highly defined
and wanted
and encouraged i led
and encouraged i bled
and encouraged i shed
and encouraged I left

behind the times reflected in the mirror
of a once shattered soul
now healing
crying like a banshee

Details | Behind The Times Poem |

A Teacher

 am a teacher

Eager beaver

Full of beans

I build bridges

And burn the candle at both ends

I am a teacher

Cap in hand

Full of the milk of human kindness

I fight tooth and nail

To make my pupils see reason

I am a teacher

As hard as nails

Face like thunder

I resent cheap shots

And the breaking of every rule in the book

I am a teacher

With a carrot and a stick

I bring my pupils to heel

I reward who reach for the moon

I clip pupils’ wings

If they go far and off the rails

I am a teacher

Not a mouse potato

And not behind the times either

I am all ears

I bare my soul to my pupils

I make them explore all avenues

And go the extra mile

I am a teacher

I have my heart set on giving

It is a long row to hoe

I will make headway

Pull out all the stops

And hang in there

That’s what I have on the brain.


December 17th, 2015