Happy Days are here, my commie friend
Iran holds America hostage again
In ’79 the embassy, now the Hormuz
each time Uncle Sam sports an ugly bruise
Ah, but happy days are here, my commie friend
DSA's* ascendant; freedom’s gonna end
Only question's ~ When?
*DSA - Democrat Socialists of America
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Each day begins with pain refined to grace,
the body bent but never breaking—yet.
The mirror has no room for soft embrace.
A leap, a turn—each muscle must erase
the doubt that lingers like a hidden debt.
Each day begins with pain refined to grace.
The music calls, a strict and silent chase,
no step misplaced, no ragged breath to fret.
The mirror has no room for soft embrace.
Blisters bloom where satin ribbons lace,
yet pirouettes refuse to pause or let~
each day begins with pain refined to grace.
The stage demands what training can’t replace:
a will that burns but never leaves a sweat.
The mirror has no room for soft embrace.
And when the final curtain starts to close,
the ache remains, a ghost the dancer does not forget.
Each day begins with pain refined to grace.
The mirror holds no room for soft embrace.
The accompanying memoir vignette can be found at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/turning_pointe_13606
The first king-size bed was fashioned nearly two thousand years ago,
Not by Thomasville, Broyhill or Bassett, producers we all know.
There was no pillow-top mattress made by Sealy or Simmons for the bed,
Nor a chenille bedspread or foam pillow upon which to rest His head.
The bed was not located in a cozy Hampton Inn or Embassy Suites,
But in a lowly stable upon a bed of straw sans snowy-white sheets.
The First King-size bed was a simple manger for a Royal destined to rule!
The King of Kings was born whose birthday we celebate this joyous Yule!
Whittled skittled Bazball skint
Belittled lost the glint of Clint
Have a dig make my day big hint
Whatever they say never skinflint
In every stint we will always sprint
Hope dope blueprint trope's mint
The jibber jabber about the Gabba
White knights or ghoulish frights
Stagefright day night under lights
Highlights or more foolish flights
In the ascendancy have that tendency
Heresy or do they deserve clemency
Jealously let them preserve their legacy
Lose again barricaded in the Embassy
Stokes blokes smokes with their high jinx
Ben’s mens sneaky kinks find the chinks
Bazball minx in sync with cheeky winks
Glasses clinks as fans sinks their drinks
Nearly boys ploys bring us back from the brink
What do you think ..will our envoys annoy shrink
Another pity ditty in a sweltering city.. sh**ty stink
Or blink ignore the noise....spurred on by the slurs
Purrs like the Psychedelic Furs..joys of Pretty in Pink?
Press briefing sonnet
A journalist walked into an embassy
where he was killed, stripped naked, and
liquified washed into the sea that is
inviting at that time of the year
The one who gave the order is a dear guest
in the White House
In a city where thousands of homeless
People live in a painting by Gustave Klimt
was sold for millions, art made into
commodity, packed away for no one to
See before it is resold
Youthful Israeli embassy couple,
almost engaged,
gunshots fired in the May DC eve,
murdered sweethearts,
hate, it never pauses,
almost had hope,
shalom to the world. ~
It’s tattooed lightly on my upper arm
“I love my mom, and she loves me”, it reads.
A squad from Space Force dragged me in the weeds:
“We’ve nailed you, boy. You’ll do no further harm.”
I woke in Guatemala, feeling calm:
I knew that an American who pleads
such stuff as ‘habeas corpus’ oft succeeds,
and sought me out a lawyer, without qualm.
But asking for the consul caused alarm!
They deemed it, ‘most nefarious of deeds’.
The embassy said, “Out of all the breeds
of poison snakes, you lib’rals take the palm!”
“That mother-love thing brings no saving balm,
applying pressure to unanswered needs:
we’ve got your measure – tie-dye shirt and beads!
The type that once protested Vietnam!”
“You’re lucky that you didn’t buy the farm,
since MAGA’s down on surreptitious creeds.
Whoever hurts the orange leader, bleeds.
It’s anti-presidential, that there psalm.”
The Middle East
When the persecuted became persecutors
chaos followed; what a mess the Middle East is
Both sides of the conflict like killing one other
up pops more fanatics with eager knives
If you are an Arab Christian, your life is short
if you are a Muslim, they will give you the key
to London and the neighboring locals
Is there such a being as a Christian Jew?
There are Orthodox Jews, men with braided
hair, wearing black hats and dark suits
round glasses make them look scholarly
Their women stay in the background when
on their back, giving birth to yet another
anti-war Jew
In Syria, Assad has fled, prisons are emptying
people are jubilant, but hang on, prisons will
be full again of the new regime's enemies
I read, but can it be true, that the Saudis are the Jews
of antiquity; one can say they love money
and kill their opponents, whether in an embassy
or in a café eating lamb chops
In the meantime, we ask ourselves, will Syria be
Afghanistan, where women get beaten for showing
not a leg, but a pale face of suffering
All is not lost,
the Syrians in Sweden and Germany
are heading back to their homeland
For S and G, a burden lifted
White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree,
Their waxy bells, a whisper in the air,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
A single stem, a graceful embassy,
Where light and shade in subtle hues compare,
White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree.
Their petals hold a promise, calm and free,
Of beauty born, a fragrance soft and rare,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
No thorns, no prickles, just a smooth decree,
They stand aloof, a silent, silent prayer,
White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree.
In fields of green, a whisper of the sea,
Their ivory forms, a vision to declare,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
They speak of grace, of peace, and harmony,
A gentle touch, a whisper in the air,
White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
In Cape Cod’s quiet, Aaron was born,
A life of promise, soon to be torn.
From chess and robotics, to skies so wide,
He joined the Air Force, with honor and pride.
In San Antonio, his skills took flight,
A cyber defender, in the digital night.
But his heart was heavy, with the world’s plight,
Injustice and pain, kept him up at night.
He saw the conflict, the cries for peace,
In Gaza’s land, where wars never cease.
A voice for the voiceless, he chose to be,
To protest the suffering, for all to see.
On a February day, in twenty-twenty-four,
He stood at the embassy, his heart so sore.
With flames of protest, his message clear,
“Free Palestine,” he cried, for all to hear.
His act was bold, his life the cost,
A beacon of hope, for the lives lost.
Some called him a martyr, others in dismay,
But his message of peace, will never sway.
Aaron’s legacy, a call to unite,
To end the conflict, to make things right.
In memory of him, we strive for peace,
For a world where love and justice never cease.
Oslo
I was in Oslo once and saw the old king
riding a horse, but I was a painting of the Danish king
the king of Norway is more moderate
he drives Bentley
The king and I are of the same age,
he looks stylish
in his admiral uniform with gold tresses
I wear a black T-shirt. shirt it has a pocket for my glasses
The t. shirt hangs on the balcony to dry
while I sit bare-breasted on the sofa, waiting for
the t. shirt to dry
it is the only shirt that hides my sagging stomach
The king was in Lisbon two years ago
the embassy
had a garden party, I was not invited, despite
I was the only true seaman among the lot
I blame the posh people at the embassy, who thought
I might ask the king for a bigger pension
As I said,
I was in Oslo many years ago, invited to read
poetry, which I tried to do, but next door
a horn music orchestra was training words that came
out of my mouth, died in the horrible noise
Yes, they had a flight to Lisbon this very afternoon
when the plane landed, I could have kissed
the tarmac, but being a Norwegian, I'm reserved
Whatever you do in life, you can't forget were
you were born
When 1953 began
Iran’s oil annexation plan
Meant seizing our stuff
But the CIA’s tough
And installed the Shah as he-man
Since Iran’s parliament was dead
And Muslims brutally bled
The people rebelled
But what came next spelled
By an ayatollah they’d be led
When exiled the Shah became sick
The U.S. was his treatment pick
The prick of this deal
Our embassy did feel
Where the hostage taking was quick
YouTube and Chis Hodge
It came as a surprise to me that Chris Hodge
has been banned on YouTube, a man of knowledge
worth listening to
He is an honest intellectual; as such, it is hard
not to be critical of the Jewish negative influence
in the world we inhabit
Of course, I see on Facebook that I have become
skeptical of, the wiseman Chomsky often appears
his criticism of Israel doesn't plow a deep furrow
The Iranian attack on Israel was a warning
as they couldn't let the Israelis bomb their
embassy go unnoticed.
I fear, since the Jews are always righteous and hard
done by, will retaliate, thinking by pushing the envelope
further, will get the USA involved
This will not be too difficult, as the Jewish lobby
practically runs the US's foreign policy, and for us
who have a dim view of Israel and are not optimistic
Fallacious wars
The war in Ukraine disturbs me greatly
Russia invaded and invasion is as we know illegal
with few exceptions like when NATO attacked
Serbia, Bombed Belgrade hit the Chinese embassy and laughed about it.
Not to forget the invasion of Iraq and Syria and other smaller forgettable wars where the people got what they deserved.
But that's the way it is, two fractions can't be telling the truth at the same time and when they try to it is called propaganda.
Russia today will not tolerate NATO troops which
are The US, foreign legion, a war machine looking
for a war where peace might intrude.
The problem in the western hemisphere is simply due to our greed, wanting the minerals other countries have and scheming how to destroy these
places in the name of the political system we erroneously call democracy.
As we know, all wars a wrong, but some wars are
are wronger than others.
I danced with an Alien
At the Diplomat’s Summer Ball
Though I’m not sure Dancing
Correctly described it at all.
A dancing partner with six feet
And thirty six naked toes?
Trying to be graceful while avoiding
Kicking or stepping on any of those.
I’m not quite sure I appreciated
The appeal or the charm
Of dancing with a creature with
Tentacles instead of arms.
I was so grateful when
It mumbled its thanks
Then wandered off to recharge
The gas in its breathing tanks.
Another one was waiting
To step up in its place
And I had to accept
With a show of grace.
We mooched around in silence,
We shambled round and round,
As out Universal Translators
Had both totally broken down.
They say silence is golden
But it doesn’t help pass time
When your dancing partner
Exudes a green sweaty slime.
The next time I’ll throw a sickie
If I’m given the chance
Rather than be on duty at
The Aliens Diplomatic Dance.
Diplomatic Dancing
A duty to avoid
But then life is boring
On our little asteroid Embassy
At least we’ve made progress
We’re not the only sentient race
As we practice our Diplomacy
Here on the fringes of Outer Space
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