As they say, Socialism is great
Until you run out of other people’s money.
It’s the economic model
Of small children, happily oblivious
Where all the good things in life come from.
Meanwhile their parents toil all day long,
That is if they work at all,
Knowing exactly where the good things
Come from; them, but gladly
To support the good the children bring.
Socialists on the other hand think
It’s the government’s job to give US all
Whatever we need to live a dignified life,
Disregarding for the moment
We lose our dignity when we accept handouts.
But if we’re going to have magical thinking
Then let’s go big
And imagine our dignity has nothing to do
With how we live, the decisions we make
And who we take from.
This is the Age of Abundance after all
The age of having our cake and eating it too,
Again and again without depletion.
But where does all this goodness come from
If not others, the responsible parents in the room.
(10/5/26)
Before the light comes, her hands are already in the wet dark. She works the way a thirsty field works: it knows the rain is coming long before the sky admits it. There is no name on her badge. Her mother taught her this over roti dough: press slow, stay warm, trust a thing to give before you ask it to. So she presses, and the water wakes. Like her, it has no name, and like her, it moves anyway.
before the dawn wakes
her hands and the water move
as one quiet stream
On the roof, others hold her work up to the light. Their smiles are borrowed rain, bright for a moment and then gone. Their badges are puddles pretending they once fell from the sky. The crowd claps for the puddles. Nobody looks down to where the real rain runs.
puddle-badges shine
a sky they never came from
mirrored in their smiles
She walks home with mud on her knees and the smell of her mother's roti in her mind. A monsoon forecast glows in someone else's palm, unread, the way her work shines where no one looks. But water keeps its own accounts. It remembers every hand that set it free.
nameless as the rain
still the river learns to read
her hand on each stone
Deals in a bookstore are the steals
I hoard on bookshelves—dull old stories
I borrow from a boring book.
Look at my life—an open book
That begs for life support and steals
Each day, each night as hum-drum stories.
I worry that my forty stories—
The high-rise building of my book—
Are just as cheap as all my steals.
My life steals stories from a book.
If I had my hammer the blows truly and swiftly would land.
Bereft of implement overlong and injurious my task.
The deed, parting and depriving me of it, from your need or greed?
—When Seeing Turns Upon the Seer—
One look—no more; I ask no arms of thee;
Look, and let sight pronounce what words conceal;
I came not here to sue for sympathy,
nor bare my wounds that thou mightst call them real.
I came not for the holiday of hearts,
where love makes sport of what it cannot keep;
I came with nothing borrowed from the arts
by which the weak make treaties with the deep.
So look: what thou hast witnessed alters thee;
The eye, once opened, hath no backward door;
What thou hadst thought was yours to name or see
may stand beyond the judgement given before.
I asked no love; one look shall take its toll—
Now win, if thou canst, the self thy seeing stole.
Eight
hundred
indie
fringe godfath-
ers stole thunder from
forty frayed dandies who thought they
were today's trendy
answer to
tonight's tiny fright-
ened finger
toads but in fact were
only dreadnought friends
of the hidden thrifty fudge in-
ferred from a rougher runty third
of the grounded ruddy roundheads
remaining defi-
ant 'til notified not to
be
and
to return to fraught infight-
ing at their always
well funded freehand orgies.
-
Rumple Stein locked the
bedroom door and grinned,
his eyes reflecting the pale
moonlight outside.
"Beneath your very
mattresses lies the Shadow
Snatcher," he whispered,
pointing a crooked finger
downward.
"This skinny, faceless
monster stays awake forever,
hating the peaceful dreams
of sleeping girls and boys."
The children pulled their
blankets up to their noses,
freezing as the bedframes
creaked softly.
"He creeps out into the dark
because he desperately
wants to fall asleep like you."
A cold breeze swept through
the room, through all the
windows were tightly shut.
"Since he cannot rest, he
reaches up to steal your soul,
hoping its warmth brings him
sleep."
The youngest child
whimpered, realizing their
feet were hanging off the
edge of the mattress.
"If you close your eyes
tonight, he will snatch your
spirit right out of your chest."
Rumple Stein blew out the
lamp, laughing into the pitch
black, "Better stay awake forever!"
Who am I?
Am I the glittering pink eyeshadow pallet I crave?
Or is my sparkle dimmed by the hurt that swims amongst dull green
and fading tanned blotches on my face?
Can they see through my veil,
Through the very thing I am not?
Sharing is good, a basic lesson
I learned in pre-school
And it’s what most people
Both rich and poor go on to do
But when it’s forced, coerced
Taken without consent
It’s not sharing
It’s just theft
Something I also got lessons about
When I was just a child
(1/10/26)
Let's steal a country
That's easy to do
We have the recourses
Our Military forces too
Other countries do it
We should too
Take their land
Until they're through
Who can stop us
Their rule is through
This is a Kingdom
That's what we do
Who cares
What's right or wrong
We'll make them slaves
Take their homes
And if they fight back
We'll show them wrong
Make them suffer
Until their resistance is gone
We're planning what's next
When this is done
Where are other places
That need to be won
As the New Year is almost upon us
It’s becoming clear just how rotten
The smiling face of our nation is,
So what better time
To set it straight.
Everywhere you look waste, fraud and abuse
Overflows, as it has for many decades,
But now that the Somali day-care fraud
Is being unearthed,
Not only are the molars seen as totally rotten,
But the gums gingivitis infected as well,
To the extent all the teeth
Now need to be pulled.
And where does that leave US?
Toothless and sore and helplessly vulnerable,
And yet we’d still be alive.
Which is more than it will be
If we don’t root out the rot
Tooth and nail.
(12/28/25)
Mind theft occurred
It was a kind of stealing
Geneivat da’at
Hebrew for deception
Capturing it for the abuser’s empty self
Placing it in its own circle of Hell
Ripping apart the fabric of life
It created one mind between two persons
A terrifying harm was done
Cruel and brutal surgical control
Then Looking out from poverty
We saw nothing that belonged to us
Where all promise once existed
There was now just an empty husk
….
The King’s chest of treasure lay bare
Devasted by the cruel jealousies
Of the madness of commoner’s warfare
For dominance in power heresies.
But, finally God’s glory was restored
And all the former graces and strength came in
On fluttering wings the Holy Ghost bestowed
The wealth and riches of heaven carried back within
In an afternoon of providence’s reconstruction
In the perfumed mist of apple blossoms
And Italian boxwood topiary structures.
The angels were its witness with tearing eyes
They started singing Glorias and Hallelujahs
We live in savage times so tough
With open socialists elected
On promises of more free stuff
As all around fools are subjected
Everyone in huddled masses
With faces blank in dark veiled threat
Sitting on their passive asses
Hands open like an expectant pet
Everyone knows it’s expected
How the value of these hollow suits
Grows with every dime collected
With our necks beneath their dirty boots
Oh noble lords we submit now
To the brazen theft that you impose
And even as we smile and bow
Start our rebellion under your nose
When the day comes for the takers
To account at last for all you stole
Be prepared to meet your makers
And serve us for life without parole.
(11/14/25)
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves,
Their mansions glimmer,their hands still foul of gold-
We want the money back, the people grieve.
They steal from the hungry,spin deceitful weaves,
Made poverty a product easily sold-
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves.
Each tender lost,another dream bereaves,
A nation's trust auctioned,betrayed,resold-
We want the money back,the people grieve
The tombstone shines but cannot reprieve,
The curses of the poor,the stories untold-
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves.
Let justice dig through soil and broken eaves,
Expose the empires' corruption controlled-
We want the money back,the people grieve
No grave absolves,no legacy deceives-
Return what you plundered,return what you stole!
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves-
We want the money back,the people grieve
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