Don’t care whom it ravages:
this land was always Thine.
Circle wagons, shoot all savages,
and things are (once more) fine.
The Swaggarts, Bakkers and Miscaviges
will soon be judenrein.
For far too long we’ve been contrite.
The best of cleaners scours.
We’re gonna give them fight or flight
(for far too long, they’ve gotten flowers).
There’s nothing wrong with being white:
or claiming what is ours.
Remember when Strom Thurman ruled?
A time when men were men.
For decades we’ve been wrongly schooled:
the sword subdues the pen.
Though King and Evers had us fooled,
we don’t get fooled again.
America was always mean,
until we lost our way.
The atom bomb, the mud marine –
Pacific equals prey.
You’re eighteen? With an A-15
you’ll always get your way.
We don’t need Confucian.
We’ve got Roger Stone.
Disregard the Constitution –
we’ll do this on our own.
Clear Catullus? Lucid Lucian?
Our wisdom is home-grown.
We bow, but only to our owners:
faceless, taxless, they:
they’re so rich, they give us boners:
they never leave LA:
we worship them. They’re known as donors:
we gave the store away.
Lucian of the famed Freud family
powerful portraits were his u s p
The human figure made him sing
often pictured sans everything
I am not my grammar
My English may be poor
But I am a straight talker, woman of my word
My speech conveys much meaning and wisdom
I do not mispronounce words, I put a St Lucian twist on them
I like to drink, dance and smoke
I love men but I am not a whore
Not your whore
Your woman friend perhaps
But I am no scarlet woman
I am not my grammar or lack thereof
English is a medium of communication
And I have no problems getting my message across
I have no shame coz my grand-parents raised me with dignity
I work hard and pay my way through life
I like to look good and take care of myself
But I am not my hair, my nails, my perfume
My grammar
And I am certainly not a whore
(not your whore)
There is more to me than meets the eye
I am not a whore
Unlike the shoes on most men's feet
My daddy's shoes were not so neat
Though myself and sisters dear
Wore good shoes we need not fear
And mother's shoes on tiny feet,
Unlike my father's were always neat
My daddy's shoes were like a book,
Telling the story of the steps he took
From hill to hill and row to row,
Another chapter each time he'd go
Just like his life his shoes did show
The way he lived and made things grow
Always dirty and torn and tattered
A hand me down all worn and battered
He lived his life helping strangers and neighbors
His shoes a witness to his labors
And by his shoes his works be told
A long white robe and shoes of gold
In Memory Of
Lucian Franklin Adams
A Man Of Greatness And Honor,
May We All Be Richer In Heart And Spirit,
Because He Walked Thru Our Lives,
Written the night my father died
Daddy I misss you!!