One of the clowns in my circus
wants to be ringmaster and crack the whip
one of the sailors on board my boat
wants to be captain and steer the ship
but there's only room for one
under the big tophat my dear
so they're both out of luck
and the buck stops here
I have the last and final say
tho' not one to overwhelm
to maintain a steady course
there can only be one at the helm
The struggle for America’s soul
now almost 250 years old
Shoulder-to-shoulder at her border
freedom contends with law’n’order
From ‘Give me liberty or give me death’
to defenders of slavery’s last breath
From ‘In order to form a perfect union’
to ‘The buck stops here’ of Harry Truman
From Chicago’s Haymarket Massacre in 1886
to the violence of this century’s politics
Tempers flare, the gloves come off, and ~ no surprise
~ Our unsure Republic’s been Monarchized
The promises fell
as excuses became,
the voice of the man
who is casting the blame
While off on vacation
these moment to share
Informing the masses
he hadn’t a care
“It comes from another
who made this design,”
he mumbles and stutters
in televised time
“Do not look at me
for I haven’t a clue
It is obvious now from
the scenes out on view”
“The pipeline I stopped
and the border is free,
but this is much different
you cannot blame me”
So now as they die
harshly falling from planes
Their old way of life,
not a fraction remains
The enemy now holds
the key to the vault
Yet still he insists
it’s another man’s fault
“I’ve stopped everything
he had put into law
But this I choose not for
you can’t have it all”
He has no regrets,
the one truth he has told
While winking at China,
his soul quickly sold
He sits in his chair
with a beady eyed leer
Counting his yen for the
buck does stop here
The Afghan people have been betrayed as this weak and ineffective President vacations.
I searched for a Penny
So I could hear her thoughts
Sadly there weren't any
My heart was left in knots
Perhaps a wooden Nickle
Or maybe a thin dime
Would help me in a pickle
So this girl could be mine
I was determined to pass Buck
For he seemed to have her ear
He possessed that Irish luck
So I cried in my green beer
This girl I wanted to hold
Was enamored with his gold
"Penny for your thoughts"
"Don't accept any wooden Nickles."
"All he had was one thin dime"
"The Buck stops here"
"Luck of the Irish"
"The one who has the Gold gets the girl!"
It's always there.
And it would speak with eloquence
if I would simply stand aside--
out of the way of anything
besides my clamorous self...
that much beloved (and hated) fellow
who cannot seem to recognize
priorities.
It seems to have some consciousness,
and works its way into my dreams
sometimes, when I am indolent.
And then it briefly has a voice,
stimulates my curiosity,
and may inspire a poem
or a thought to nag at me,
particularly when another soul
is at my side to listen.
Ah, but then it tends to dwindle,
fade and disappear.
No, the buck stops here
and it is mine alone.
Mine to give the care it needs,
and mine to carry
into war, and peace, and consequence.
Mine to rumble with,
and mine even to celebrate--
then,
and now,
and to my own demise--
perhaps beyond for all I know.
I hear it, feel it,
love it helplessly.
Now pardon me, for I must spend
a little time to know it
better still.
~
If it were up to me,
I would like to change the world's views;
On who it can afford to keep,
and who it can afford to lose.
If it were up to me,
People would pay dearly for their crimes;
Including many lawmakers,
who never obey their own signs.
If it were up to me,
not one child would ever die;
And I would raise them with dignity,
and teach them never to lie.
If it were up to me,
I'd make unhappy people smile all the time,
It just seems so much better,
than listening to them whine.
If it were up to me,
all marriages would forever last,
And people would kiss and make up,
instead of rehashing the past.
All these things I desire,
have to start somewhere you see,
So I'll step forward and go first,
and start things with me.
"News Flash"
Bambi is under arrest
The Associated Press stated this morning
That he had failed the polygraph test
He's been charged with murder one
With the death of his own mother
He was a suspect in the case for years
But always blamed it on his brother
But DNA doesn't lie
And his hoofprints were on the gun
The authorities have been looking for him
That's when he decided to run
They say that he's been hiding out
Somewhere in his daddy's field
Trying to look inconspicuous
Ever since his mama was killed
Anger was the buck's only motive
According to what the authorities say
Thumper wanted to play a game
But she wouldn't let him go out and play
As soon as we get more updates
We'll pass it straight on to you
So stay tuned to your poetry websites
Until I can tell you something new
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