The killick that he bore upon his arm
was who he was and also what he was
a badge, a rank, a sanctioned state of mind.
The discipline the powers sought to bear
empowered men like him to bully boys
and so rank them according to their tastes,
social whims, or fiscal given favors
as is the life, the mothers sold their sons
The killick that he bore upon his arm
was who he was, for now, but that could change;
for willing boys were hard to press to feed
desires of those who stood upon the bridge.
Should he succeed, then he may make first mate
less able, demoted back to Able.
For ’tis the boys that tug upon the ropes
that Captains need and Killicks train to be.
Damn it the planet’s on fire
Concerning..right down to the wire
Burning on its funeral pyre spire
I’m for turning.. where’s the messiah?
A heavenly choir…so we can aspire
That learning will finally inspire
An endless yearning desire
Of spurning this friendless quagmire
Discerning things are rather dire
Churning of the palaver and ire
Mother nature does surely tire
Should be the crier & trier
Of another returning frequent flyer
Corporate pariah..or so called high flier
Deranged global warming denier
You can tell its hotter...getting dryer
The climate’s changed.. you liar
Mining anything shining..find a buyer
All about earning..will just retire
With their bounty…a comfy county squire
Or dicey fiscal rascal friar
Got devious egregious previous & prior
Pampered dining on pricey lobster & samphire
Us out of luck..stuck in the muck & mire
Tampered temperatures soaring higher
But no ruck ..chuck the entire earth in the fryer
They’ve scampered…we’re hampered in the briar
Does appall …no truck with their gall…yet remain a complier
Insane what they pluck.. yet we all still call them “Sire”
If
you say
Adam Schiff
should have his day,
maybe get a whiff
of power, making hay
on the nation’s fiscal cliff,
then you’re bright. You know Chick-Fil-A
(not the same thing as a secure SCIF)
is where bit-coin investors go to play,
the merest capitalist hieroglyph:
Coca-Cola, too, has feet of clay.
So, Socialism: jpeg? Gif?
Develop it in your tray:
to know the truth, just sniff.
This won’t go away.
You’re cool? You’re stiff?
Straight, or gay?
One riff –
PAY.
If you get a list.? Means you go to shop.' That one things
Mostly true.'
If your boat has a list, well thats not good.? Give her a trim Is what you do'
And if you were the president.? And a list just came your Merry way' A rich one so to say.?
It could be a (sort of vice?) I mind.? Which would give you
Maybe some mighty say.?
And cash could be quite accessible? when it arrives that very shopping day? or hour.'
Now would you want to loose.? Or give away such a thing
Like a Wonka's zonka..Thats bonkers fiscal power.'
(I hear the tills (say ding a ling )
Mr Churchill strolling nude, around his house and gardens
Include, servants inured to such displays. Getting on with
Work many bills to pay' Friends with alister crowly when
Young ( black mass rituals flirting with hell and some?) Pressing the
Flesh of many world leaders..?? Or were they really just
World feeders?? Tough enough in war and fiscal matters
Never paid the grocer whose buisness got battered.'
Con-fidant of presidents and field marshalls; popes and bishops galore..
A bricklaying pastime and whatever more.??
Painting the music on a bow
The lure fashioned a form
The engine and a circuit
A pinning of a crucial phenomenon
A policy by allowance
A permission into wheat
Each probable wind opportunity for sketch
Probability be the ghost of a denied greed
Fingers to the bees and failing fads
For picking and choosing and refusing the swarm
In the best indiscrete
Such the creatures a vase of future
The thick plague and reminiscent of the times
So great the heavy patience by the creators deny
Tissues and torment of entertainment
By gods throwing the marked shot
As grave and lingering to what they succumb
The excavators eating cherries in the snow
So veil the limited permission
So cruel the probability by its course
How shallow the visit and such fiscal acid
Some touch of a weak wild guess
Preening, posing, mouths always in motion
jabbing your fingers high in the air
Shouting and yelling, and screaming an ocean
of high-intensity rubbish and verbal warfare
O, progressive politicians, you make my day
you never let fiscal reality get in your way
You cut dashing figures in your pin-striped suits ~
as your 'tax-base' you fleece and you loot
Boldly I exhume exclusion, a badge of sacrifice
Milestones shunned, money’s usual manoeuvre
Cultural flimsy stronghold, servant’s fiscal price
Top tier requires slaves toil all day for approval
Nonetheless, pleasingly, I hail our lucky country
Offers safety, anonymity, hovel unacknowledged
No need to solidify alliances, desperately hungry
Primed pilferers for immediate advantage pillage
Supplementing streetscapes bolster unsold soles
Trove tumbledryer drums cook my new costume
Accesses babyboomer tower, to fire escape stole
Secure deep sleep from moonless cement room
Adverse to version of
us who refuse to assimilate
A new season - Winter
Begins today
Take me to church.
I'm here not to find God.
but to see the carcass of littered stink
in the altar men raised above God
where fiscal appraisal justifies spiritual enlightenment
Take me to church.
This isn't where God lives.
but an abode of jackals waiting to devour unsuspecting prey.
whose only offense is finding solace where it no longer exists
whose end will be in the belly of the beast
Take me to church.
I seek no refuge,
but to ride high on chariots of chaos
taking on the mantle dropped by previous prophets
banishing the demons that dwell in
Take me to church.
to the graveyard of silence
Let me give it a voice.
one that lasts forever
one so loud to the celestial
blowing the trumpet
Let there be rapture.
for I come now
I am the Messiah.
T-Rex, T-Rump both have small hands
and small pituitary glands.
In waving arms, you thought he did
an imitation of a kid
who had a disability,
But he’s a Rex, down to a T.
With stunted emotional growth,
he mocks, insults, and waves them both.
And now DeSanctimonious...
the best this has-been can give us?
I liked him for a while; I did,
but he’s a toxic little kid.
I long for fiscal policy;
DeSantis is the one for me.
Some of us gonna throw red
Others are going to cast blue
We’ll have some shade of purple
Before this mess is all through
I’m a fiscal conservative
Likely a social one too
I haven’t had many options
In the past decade or two
Some of us gonna throw red
Others are going to cast blue
Donkeys and elephants going to vote
For who is in charge of the zoo
The thing I least look forward to,
The root of my financial ills,
Is the vile administration
Of my monthly pile of bills.
You'd think a single guy like me,
Whose needs and wants are all but nil,
Could whiz through funds manipulation
When it comes to paying bills.
It's the interest on the principal
Of credit card accounts that kills
And perpetuates extenuation
Of MasterCard and Visa bills.
Man cannot live by cash alone,
Hence the propensity of credit mills,
And the gross accumulation
Of large revolving charges bills.
But when statements say there's naught to pay,
Oh, how that "zero balance" thrills!
No refund as remuneration,
Just dismissed from that long list of bills.
My credit's good, I shouldn't brood
Upon this fiscal tribulation,
But if I had my druthers,
I'd druther hide out in the hills
Than face the monthly calculation
Of my bills, bills, bills.
Think of the man,
Imprisoned for his faith,
Think of the dead,
who no longer have a face.
Neither, can alter,
Their future or their fate.
Many of us, may falter,
before reaching, heaven's gate.
Ponder on the refugee,
Deemed to have no right,
Dwell on the suffering
Of innocents in flight.
Condemned by yet, another war,
Forced to leave their home,
It has happened, Many times before,
They all are forced to Roam.
Children, mother's, babies,
With nowhere else to run,
Crippled, dead, or dying,
By the bomb, or by the gun.
Our country's make those weapons,
Can we justify our role,
They sear the flesh, of all our sons,
And blast our very soul.
We salve the guilt, by saying,
We cannot be held to account,
We don't count the dead or dying,
Only the fiscal amount.
It was not us, who pulled the trigger,
Well that is a feeble excuse,
Go tell that to the graveyard digger
Who buries the bodies, from war's abuse.
Somewhere over Thames River
condo fees fly high,
So do taxes
and maintenance expenses,
My
Oh my
Oh why?
We chose to co-invest
in this former industrial mess,
I must confess
I don't know why
except our windows
reach for the sky...
Somewhere over Thames River
birds still fly high
so do beauty
and fiscal duty,
So why then
oh why can't we?
Can't we see,
Earth's harmonic integrity.
It’s a tryingly featured world to be in,
In which every restless heart minds
Pleasant principal affairs of its own;
Where spurned soul no solace finds.
It’s an unresting space to occupy,
Where every stirring brain thinks
Of its own idiosyncratic concerns;
Where tired limbs totter on brinks.
It’s an interesting place to have share
In unique diaries of fellow sojourners,
Sparing oneself yet giving some part
To other mortals of diverse manners.
It’s a pretty striking existence to pass
Best seasons doing stuff you’ll leave,
And still feel okay despite knowledge
You’ll lose all fiscal efforts that peeve.
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