They changed their flags before sunrise,
and called it weather.
By noon the microphones were blooming
like plastic flowers in dust.
Reporters asked straight questions;
answers arrived sideways,
oiled and smiling,
wrapped in patriotic ribbon.
A man declared himself the nation,
the worker, the owner,
the speech, the applause,
the hand that signs its own praise.
He wore green glasses in famine
and praised the harvest.
He wore dark glasses in fire
and admired the shade.
Truth stood outside barefoot,
waiting to be invited in.
No one heard her knock
above the cutlery of ambition.
Wherever the platter was fullest,
there rolled the faithful.
Principles were folded neatly
and kept for ceremonial days.
Someone asked why the hen
still sat upon the egg.
The minister promised progress,
a cushioned chair by evening.
We laughed, because laughter
is cheaper than revolt.
We laughed, because the room
was wired to record our silence.
And still, every season,
the chair arrives before justice.
Mother let out a sneeze in the henhouse again
Out of every opening flew a squawking hen
From the drama
Came my mama
Basket of eggs feathers in hair and a sheepish grin
I'm compelled to view some media, such as,
FAUX NEWS, like an illusion they portrayed.
Since their deception is masterfully crafted,
With multiple diversions . . . & truth is belayed.
As if by magic, they've given an audience,
Tasty morsels of manna, to satisfy heartache.
While they coddle and cradle those of privilege,
And true by definition, it's all FAKE!
The fox in the henhouse
The settlers are burning down Palestinians olive trees,
No main newspapers care to report the truth the settlers are conniving
With the Israeli government to do this unopposed.
What we a witnessing is the destruction of a people who had
their land was stolen and hounded to elimination by those who chose
to believe what a scribe said.
There have been many massacres over time like what happened
to the Albanians and other minorities such as the Rohingya people
In the hands of the Buddhists.
We have had the Holocaust, but it is the first time we are seeing
The oppressed are becoming oppressors, and they are so successful
That if we protest, they are calling us anti- Semitic.
The chook house was found in disarray;
eggs were broken in a manic affray,
there were playboys galore;
drunk chooks on the floor -
the police are suspecting foul play.
Meet the mother - old Miss Jenny
She gave birth to chicks aplenty
(Never dreamed she’d have so many)
But sly Wiley, a hungry fox
Was more threatening than the cocks
Tummy growling, he picked the pen’s locks
As her chicks began to shriek
Jenny pecked Wiley with her beak
And he was dancing chick to cheek
“Aaach!” Wiley cried out loud
As into his fur Jenny plowed
A fox in the hen house -- not allowed
The chicks were saved
They tauntingly waved
Fur a-flying, Wiley got shaved
From the pen fur-free Wiley broke loose
Because Jenny’d cooked his goose
And it was too late to call a truce
*A children’s poem for Gwen’s “Dr. Seuss Is on the Loose” contest.
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