American wasteland.
It’s a party you’re invited to.
Plan on unstable conditions.
We put incompetence before security,
and disguise your losses as little things.
The corruption's open, unmistakable and court approved.
We’ve undone the shackles of constitutional checks,
and we’re steadily enlarging our jurisdictions.
Independence will be costly, but dependence is invoiced too.
We’ll watch the social thesis melt, as resources dwindle,
and everything becomes more expensive.
If you’re still uncertain of the issues,
you may have the ears of an ass.
You’re all-in whether you know it or not,
and the canaries have stopped chirping.
Is democracy still a plausible success story?
.
.
A song for this:
The Adults Are Talking by Mila Smith [E]
act like you know (feat. Muni Long) by Master Peace [E]
CANADA FIGHTS BACK
COURAGE TRUMP THOUGHT WE DID LACK
OUR TARIFF ATTACK
For egregious war crimes against fellow Australians, on fifty seven counts' injecting bio-hazardous substances, false
Imprisionment, false information terrorisomg a whole
population, creating un-law.' Denying
Recourse to medical records to ascertain
Causes of death, and how funds were
Allocated, just a few events and actions
Here, all the best to Steven Spiers as
He gets his case together, which i feel
Hardly needed, as recent history corroborates all claims that will be brought.)
"Woman, I see through your disguise,
The alimony tears in your eyes,
You swore we were forever, then came the papers,
Now my paycheck’s yours like some legal capers."
"Oh-ho, you framed it just right,
False claims in the moonlight,
One call to the cops and I’m done for the night,
But baby, you know you’re still winning the fight."
"Take the house, take the kids,
take the judge’s side too,
Tax me dry like the IRS do,
One more court date, oh, what a surprise,
You taught me the meaning of ‘settle or die.’"
"Woman, remember that ‘mutual’ trust?
Now my bank account’s turning to dust,
You swore you’d never weaponize visitation,
But here’s your lawyer’s fifth deposition."
"Oh-ho, the system’s your knight,
My freedom’s your alibi,
One more ‘he said, she said’ and I’m locked up tight,
But hey, at least you sleep well at night."
"I love you—just kidding, that ship has sailed,
I’ll be paying your spa days while I rot in jail,
Doo, doo, doo, doo… see you in court!"
Doo, well, well... da, da, doo, doo!
At Wimbledon, on Centre Court,
The players, dressed in white,
Run back and forth across the grass,
To spectators’ delight.
Of course, in the United States,
The court called Arthur Ashe,
In honor of a tennis great,
Is where opponents clash.
If it did not have Ashe’s name,
It might be Center Court,
But note the “e” and “r” reversed,
Which U.S. guides support.
The U.S. Open doesn’t mind
What color players wear,
Unlike Britain’s rules of “colour”
With a “u” that’s stuck in there.
I realize (yes, I use a “z,”
Not “s,” as do the Brits)
That language often changes after
Factions call it quits.
It’s fascinating, really,
How our long-ago “divorce”
Somehow took the centre of the land
And moved it off its course.
Daddy
where is America
the ten-year-old asked
My teacher says
it’s in Washington
on a paper behind glass
My coach says
it’s on Sundays
when the Green Bay Packers play
My friend’s uncle says
Indianapolis
during the last week of May
Grandpa says
it’s July 4th
at the Veteran’s Parade
My bus driver says
it’s the Unions
and the working man’s wage
But where is it Dad
they all say
different things
Where can I see
America
in one place — as one thing
Grab your coat
Bobby
and let’s take a ride
And to a
large mall
they both ventured inside
Are you
hungry my boy
the father said to his son
You’ve got
choices galore
and can pick from each one
And as they
sat down
the father said from his chair
Look around you
my son
— this is America squared
(King Of Prussia Mall: June, 2026)
The sky’s acid blue, and I have an idea
To be approved by you
Let’s catch a cab to Westminster Pier
We'll be standing awhile in a queue
Let’s torment ourselves with a boat ride
Like in the good old days
Watching marinas on riverside
Passing through open gates
Of many locks on the way to Richmond
And as soon as we moor
Let’s visit the Kew and the Hampton Court
That’s what we’re here for
Let’s lunch in the Privy Kitchen café
Then I’ll get lost in the maze
Smiling the silliest smile I’ll pace there
Trying all possible ways
We’ll go for a ride on a horse-drawn carriage
I’ll chat with the coachman of topics
Not so important like Royals marriage
While you’ll be taking some pics
I’ll buy a walnut brandy before we set sail
Back to the Westminster pier
It’ll be quite an outing to repeat that trail
What do you think, my dear?
I take your silence as a sign of consent
I knew you’d accept my plan
There’s just one nuance, that wasn’t meant
Hope you will understand.
.
I wake in a rush~
green, fuzzy, full of purpose
until a racket smacks me
into sudden enlightenment.
I sail, spinning,
seeing the world in fast-forward:
white lines blurring,
players grunting,
the sun cheering me on
like a loud, overexcited coach.
I hear everything~
the gasp when I clip the net,
the groan when I bounce out,
the triumphant whoop
when I land exactly
where someone wanted me.
I think a lot, actually~
mostly about momentum,
destiny,
and why humans argue
so passionately
over where I land.
But what I feel
is the court beneath me~
its clay, its grass, and grit~
a brief, grounding moment
before I’m launched again
into the bright, chaotic ballet
of being a ball
with no say
in where I’m going next.
SUPREME COURT GROWS SPINE
TRUMP TARIFFS THEY DO DECLINE
MAKES TRUMP AND WHINE
Grand Central should be welcoming,
For travelers do flock,
To come and go, from near and far
And all around the clock.
A hub of transportation,
Both for subway and for rail,
It’s a place where first impressions
Of the city should prevail.
Yet the food court is dispiriting.
The choices are okay,
But there’s a problem if you want
To take some time and stay.
Ther’s very little seating, so
When purchasing some food –
A meal or snack or drink, unless
You might be in the mood
To stand around and eat it,
You are simply out of luck.
There are some scattered tables
For those early birds with pluck.
Perhaps it’s to discourage
Homeless people who might sit
Without spending any money
And, when challenged, throw a fit.
Still, it isn’t very pleasant
For those visitors who might
Like to stop and get their bearings
And to grab a little bite.
As a local, I’m embarrassed
That this very poor excuse
For a food court in Grand Central
Is the best we can produce.
God's court has many in line, some want to proceed and live like fine wine.
God's court has many cases, some are waiting and waiting for judgment to pass.
God's court is a place where we find out how we did in life.
God's court is a place that has many looking at us and our life.
God's court will give us notice on our good and bad we accomplished in life.
We are tested each day in this life, adding a page to our life, good and bad.
We are also tempted with so much stuff, like money and love and all the stuff that we want.
In the end, when our earthly body dies, we go to God's court to have our life analyzed.
So, pray and forgive, try our best to be good.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
This poem praises a father's resolve and strength during a trying divorce process
Divorce is a storm,
A whirlwind of pain,
but you are the anchor.
Brother; do not drift,
Do not break.
Your children,your focus,
Your reason to fight
Refuse to let the bitterness
devour you.
Hope,choose strength.
Be their rock,their shelter.
You will survive this together
Their father's love is their shield.
Like blind men embracing part reality,
Not having seen a tusker in all life,
Each fraught with fractured facts sans verity,
Each telling truth but not sharp as a knife.
Like oaths in courts: I’ll tell the truth, whole truth,
Yet, adulterate facts what all they get,
Freshly fabricated and full of youth
And vitality, long innings to bat.
Poor truth, set to get dumped in time’s dust bin,
Rain shower passing by in mid-day sun,
Truth, eyes and ears half-shut, voice lost in din,
Facts filtered through bias-- a legal fun.
A wolf when once applying for a bail,
And asked for a witness: yea, here’s my tail.
__________________________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) |27.09.2025| facts, justice, truth
Burn, Baby, Burn.
I was born in flames
In the screams
In the tears of despair
On grief that never healed
On bodies left broken
On shattered glass and empty hands
Just rage
And night
Burning through their eyes
I was born in fire
Burning with city fever
On July 14th
A night when time froze
Tweny-five hours.
No light
No mercy
Just blackout
A hole with no fireworks
A silence too loud
Dark night
Dark hearts
Cardiac sirens
No trace of kindness
The heroes hid
And “Son of Sam”
Yes, “Son of Sam”
The lover-slayer
Wrote love letters dipped in venom
His poetry
A slow, cruel burn
Each word
A loaded match
Each line
A whispered threat
But even then
Even there,
Something still breathed
I was born in flames
Between a siren’s scream
And a DJ’s scratch
Patching the universe
With stolen vinyl
And holy defiance
I was born in flames...
Twenty seven years just to putt,
Court still feels it was a short cut.
The white wigs left long back,
We’re still on the same track,
The slow snail courts snore, eyes half-shut.
____________________________
Happenings |08.09.2025| humour, justice
Note: A trial court takes 27 years on a murder case. Legal formalities, two years; framing charges, 14 years; and to conduct the trial, 13 more. And still, the high court feels, the trial court adopted a ‘short cut’ going in a ‘hurried manner’. And it orders retrial. Back to square one. Who can beat that?
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