We’ll call em’ French Fries again

I wrote this poem last summer in France…
Violence begets violence, hate begets hate, and terror begets terror. So it goes… Lets break the cycle.


Cartoon drawings of


splattered with blood

draining from the


of artists pushing the


tempting the reality of a


we’ve created since the


fought now by Muslim

police officers

dying in the streets

to protect a country

that sees no difference

sees the same


names sound the same

faces of Muhammad

faces of Osama



face it

we’re racist

about face

racing against

time is no longer on our

side of the road

dead children

playing with

bombs dropped by

soldiers fighting for

fighting for

fighting for

soldiers know not what they’re

fighting for

freedom to fight

more war

after war

after years of aggression

and oppression

and exploitation


this is nothing if not

new-age colonization and the

empire never dies just

travels to new kings with

new crowns

and we don’t want to be


flush blood diamonds

drown in crown


View original post 731 more words


there’s no rhyme or reason

still, season after season

and year after year

truth is treason

and we live in fear

and we fear shadows

and scarecrows

we hang our heads

and say, ‘only God knows’

and we sit and cry

wondering why

wandering, high

no angels fly around here

but still they get three cheers

at the old ballgame

and we’re getting older

and it’s all the same

and it’s all a game

and we’ve been played

for too long

memorized far too many

sad songs

and we sing along

until the record skips

we jump around

wondering why

the canoe has tipped

and we’re dripping

in polluted water

going to miss our date

can’t keep the

coal miner’s daughter


with black lungs

longing to breathe

free air

pick up dead canaries

and stare

out the window of the asylum

and I’m drunk

please give me a ride home

unless you want to roam

and ramble with me

go down to the Dead Sea

scramble these broken dreams

in shrinking fields

of olive trees

it’s a gamble it seems

rip these lungs out

I’ll scream

as you watch me sink

and maybe then

you will start to think

for yourself

read old books

long hidden

on lost shelves

covered in dust

storm clouds blowing

rusty bridges

going nowhere fast

we rage on

the machine can’t last

like the last cigarette from the pack

we’ll again become ash

after we crash

and burn

live and learn

I toss and turn

and lay awake yearing

for the next chapter…

Christmas 2007

God died on Christmas Eve 2007

as uniformed women and men

sang the traditional Christmas hymns

and as we ate and drank

the body and the blood

of Jesus H. Christ,

Thats around when God died.

The wine was just cheap,

shitty church wine

and the bread

was just a tasteless wafer

and the last time I went inside a church

aside from a funeral,

was the first time I ever left

before mass ended,

and on Christmas Eve of all days!!!

And mid-song,

just when everyone else was happiest,

but I knew

as I sat emotionless in the rear pew

that there was no reason to stay

because God was dead,

I had no reason to pray

prayers destined to fall on deaf ears

with no God around to hear.

I finally realized that God

wasn’t God after all

and after all those years

of guilt and fear

I woke up from the illusion

instilled in me at an early age,

as it had been similarly forced on my parents

and their parents

and all of their Irish-Catholic

and Polish-Catholic

and French-Catholic


guilt and fear

and throw an extra fin in the collection plate

and the Chaplin tells us

war is ok

and I’ll try to enjoy Christmas without God now

and thousands of miles

away from family

but closer to the Holy Land than ever before,

closer to the truth about God

and love

and war

closer to coming home,

god willing,

one more day

crossed off the calendar

one more year


with less hope

than the last,

haunted by these last few months

and the ghost of Christmas past

one more Christmas cookie,

coffee black

and a few American Spirits

sitting alone on the roof now

listening to a not-so-silent night

softened by sounds of church bells chiming

as Christmas Eve mass lets out

and I open another pack

which I’ll probably smoke before morning

as I look out beyond the wire

wondering what Santa

might have waiting for us tomorrow.

Patriotic Country Song



Budweiser and apple pie



I think about it and start to cry



left old glory tattered and torn



just four years after kids were born,

kids who fight and die for freedom

in Afghanistan today

and now Uncle Sam’s nephews and nieces

can die even if they’re gay…

for freedom

for democracy

for Budweiser and apple pie

I think about how free we are

and cry!!!

Yes, in America we got war vets

some were born in 83,

and some were born in 97

just so America can stay free!!!

If they return

they get the GI Bill,

and they get VA health care,

if they die their family gets an American flag,

because they did more than their share,

for freedom

and democracy

Budweiser and apple pie,

most of their whole lives

we’ve been at war,

we’re right!!!



Bush 43 had a plan



to bring Jesus to Afghanistan

and freedom

and democracy

Budweiser and apple pie,

I think about how free they’ll be

and cry!!!

These people are primitave

they pray five times a day,

with democracy and Jesus

they only have to on Sunday!

Before football and burgers

and hot dogs on the grill…

but we must stay the course,

we have an uphill battle still!





And Syria

and Libya

America under attack!!!



and Iran need liberty,

and Yemen needs some freedom

from sea to shining sea!

In Somalia we fight pirates

in America we fight drugs

we must support military

and police

because they fight terrorists

and thugs!!!



it was fourteen years ago



since then we’ve seen our freedom grow!

Bad men will try to scare you,

tell you about the NSA

but nine-eleven


is all you’ve got to say!!!

Because on that day

we faced a bully

who broke the nose of Uncle Sam

so civilians, in Afghanistan

be damned!

Because American lives are worth more

and we lost thousands on that day

for every one of us that died,

you’ll pay!!!

You’ll pay many times over,

and then you’ll pay some more…

Because if Jesus taught us anything…

it’s WAR!!!



the day those mighty towers fell,

if you ain’t with America,

go to hell!!!

We’ll give you a one way ticket,

delivered with a drone,



the land of the free

is our home!!!

America is the greatest

and the best that ever was,



I’m in love…

with freedom

and democracy,

Budweiser and apple pie,



Jesus Christ!!!

P is for PEACE

P is for the peace that eludes you

A is for the army that occupies you

L is for your stolen land

E is for the equality you long for

S is for solidarity, we stand with you

T is for truth, it is on your side

I is for the injustice you live with

N is for the fact you never give up

E is for eventually…I’m sorry we keep telling you that justice will come…eventually

Cheap Box Wine And Mount Caramulo Moonshine

fire up the grill

timid, still-green

cord wood

from fallen late-winter


aided by

its own cones, dry

from months of sun


wander behind the shed

find kindling,

scrap barn boards

from years gone by,

dry enough to burn


hot enough now

to cook

this mornings catch

fresh dinner,

slice down the stomach

rip out the guts

heads still attached,

grill em’ up whole

midnight snack

for dog and cat,

charred-black fish heads

gobbled down

by grateful pets,

then aguardiente bottle


and card game ending

but time for

one more game

and one more

box of wine

and a chocolate bar

for desert,

for a treat

that can’t be beat

then one more

glass of cheap red wine

as we watch the fire die

soaking up

the last bit of heat

as the light of the stars

overtakes the light

of the fire,

and up here

on this mountain

every little star

in the sky


and with light enough

from crescent moon

no flashlight is needed

as we walk down

to the camper van

just in time

to get the best night’s sleep

no money can buy…

nature’s symphony

as the crow flies

the crickets chirp a familiar tune

that is generations old

the babble of a nearby brook

and the sporadic bark

of dogs

add to the symphony

the creatures,

I can’t identify

individually by sound

but the chorus is perfect

until a distant plane whispers

“you cannot escape”

and muffled 70’s music

rises from the farmhouse

basement art studio,

another reminder

of technology.

A hibiscus displays

a single orange flower

as it reaches skyward

from an old wooden pot,

and from the front porch

the clouds,

with their dimming

pinkish-purple glow

leave me in a trance

that only the cool orchard air

snaps me out of.

This green,

mid-summer green

as far as the eye can see,


and oak

and elm

and birch fill the gaps

between orchards of green-leaved

apple trees

in this valley

stuck in time,

a time when

you open the window

or walk outside

and see nature,

and feel nature,

back to a time

before photo-shop

and before photos

and the view

is worth a million pictures,

a thousand words each,

but you’re still speechless

and all you hear is nature…

until the sound of a motorcycle

cuts through the mountains,

cuts through natures symphony

and the dog in the yard

splits his attention

between the fading sound of the bike

and an animal he hears

in the orchard

a rabbit

or maybe

a squirrel.

The sound of the bike

now gone,

nature’s symphony plays on

as the dog disappears

in the orchard,

chasing his next victim.

Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone. -Kurt Vonnegut


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