Defense of freedom
takes a courage
rare and dearly won
Through wars endured
with tyrants scourged
and despots on the run
The words in place
by Founders Ink
on parchment
closely held
As children roam
the halls of light
with precepts
— deeply felt
(The New Room: February, 2025)
Categories:
founders, freedom,
Form: Rhyme
We’ve abused our great freedoms
to reap the results
with school and church shootings
hate speech a new cult
No respect for the flag
or sacrifice made
ignoring our veterans
despoiling their graves
Our streets wait in ambush
where the enemy hides
to prowl in a wasteland
where evil decides
The constitution a weapon
to pervert and inflict
traitorous courts
with laws nondescript
And blindly we run
(toward the cliff)
greed our marching song
narcissism the battle cry
—America is gone
(Ardmore Pennsylvania: April, 2023)
Categories:
founders, america,
Form: Rhyme
We are inviting you to join our club of sixty- two.
I was surprised, excited, and honored, by Miss Lou.
You are our type, she assured me. We all want you.
I believed her for sure; it gave me a big head too.
You even look like the founders, the Ticket master said.
I did not catch her name, something like Rover Fido Red.
And will they be there? I asked, curious. I thought they were dead.
They might be, he agreed, if they wake up and get out of bed.
The door open wide and the dogs came running in.
One gave me a swift sloppy lick on my chin.
Another one sniffed me all over, until Rover made him stop.
“Now let’s introduce you to the founders, the top.”
The founders were gray hounds, Miss. Hiawatha and Miss Dirk.
They were old maid sisters, who never had to work.
Their father gave them money, so they could play all day.
I looked like these dog? No bow! No wow! No way!
Categories:
founders, dog,
Form: Rhyme
It’s uncanny. . .
How right has become wrong.
How whites don’t belong.
How living by rules
is only for fools.
It’s uncanny. . .
How believing in God
makes one rather odd.
How our nation’s flag
is a burnable rag.
It’s uncanny. . .
How telling the truth
is blatantly uncouth.
How taking His name in vain
is absent of shame.
It’s uncanny. . .
How statues of the great
are toppled with hate.
How the press
is unfailingly Left.
How being put behind bars
makes protestors stars.
How America’s founders
were racist bounders.
It’s uncanny. . .
How killing the unborn
has become a norm.
How breaking laws
produces standing applause.
How those in military attire
are mercilessly under fire.
How officers in blue
are targets of spit and spew.
Yes and alas, it’s uncanny. . .
how so much we have cherished
seems today to have perished.
Categories:
founders, 12th grade, america, community,
Form: Rhyme
You return every year and the same month
That is what I remember as I bid you farewell
Six months ago;
Riding on an old short-legged shoe
In the parameter of being a White or Hispanic
Or just a dead Indian instead I listen in full
To the lengthy story of a Black President;
The fumblingly sound of hope
While the leeks sway me.
Categories:
founders, culture, emotions,
Form: Free verse