Oh, if my pockets would be liars
They’d say I hold much gold,
But, my pockets are true talkers
And therefore say—nothing.
Trump’s pockets would say, “Rich,
You’re richer than a king!
But of principles you’ve naught,
And so we say—nothing!
Dunce-ball to the inside pocket,
Inside this Trump—what’s there?
Much fuel without a rocket,
A fool that goes no where.
Oh, what is in your pocket?
It better not be trump;
Or else, like he, so “rich” you’ll be,
You’ll fall into the dump.
A five-year-old came walking on the bus
And as she passed me started to say Hi,
But I’d dark glasses on and she was fussed.
Immediately i took them off, looked eye to eye,
And she did smile into a laughter gay and true.
Her mom, behind, said, “That was nice of you,”
And my response, “I knew it right away.
A child sincere likes nothing in the way
Of all she’d like to see. I’m glad ’twas me.”
And so the bus rolled on most merrily.
Oh, simple ’tis to act so thoughtful, kind,
When you are sure of self and not play blind.
“The world’s a stage,” said Shakespeare. He was right.
When comes the time to act, turn on your light.
Who are these men that love not individual rights?
Are they not individuals their own selves?
Nay! They have no single-burning lights,
Self-masterless as puppets string by string,
Who want but pull of poles for veering left,
Or right, to hop in liars stripes (Sing-Sing),
Convictioned in no goodly principle
But to their cons impressively to cling!
These be not men who run the government,
But runners from reality, who hide
And sneak, and squeak their weak words, impotent,
Acting as truth were silly puppet show,
And falseness were the god of all they know.
Who are these men who have no man inside?
Vipers of the world, unite!
Your brother Islam yearns another bite!
He’ll suck in all the poison that you give
To spit on children that they may not live.
He’s greedy for the gifts of death, he grieves
When someone’s happy, wants joy to die,
Success be failure, his killers multiply!
Islam is no religion, ’tis a hating cult,
A cult of death, destruction, and false smiles.
He lies to lie, trades lying for beguile,
Trades that again for sneakish hatchets, knives,
Bombs everyone, with trucks runs over lives!
So cowardly and useless Islam’s soul
It’s nothing but a hole within a hole!
Don’t give a will for when you come to die,
But now give all you are to earth and sky—
Your energy creative, your best work done,
The love you love, new battles to be won;
Give breath of thoughtful passion in a song,
Give judgments true, deciding right from wrong,
Give whole life’s power and send it straight
To knock apart the blocks of dull-eyed Fate!
Yea, give what you are entire, hold naught in;
Send out-growths of your spirit on to win.
Those wins, up-piled, be your mounting gold,
Your will to you, that you in life may hold.
‘Twill matter little when old hours fly
To give a will for when you come to die.
Oh, vile and wicked Islam with your hate,
Your hate of life you live to desecrate;
You murderer most fiendish, sick of soul,
With terrored death the meaning of your goal,
Which is to kill and kill with love of killing-lust
Till men and women, children, drink but dust,
How horrible and ugly be you mind
With thought to crucify all good and kind,
To murder innocents upon a pleasant street,
Take pleasure in the smash of hands and feet,
Seek plucking out of eyes and tongues and brains
That nothing good or beautiful remains.
You, Islam, you are evil to your core,
The very devil crawling out your evil door.
Jet trails in the sky; cars beep below;
White steam flowing high; tugboats bellow.
Silver shaft spears one lonely cloud;
Trains go rumbling, low and very proud.
Click, clack, click, go footsteps fast;
Other feet join in, all first, none last.
On to work down giant hallways dim
One clear-eyed man sees terrorist aim gun,
Cry, “Allah A…” and backs like bar of steel
His fist right into him! Done.
Then sirens sound, to pity no appeal.
Some people look, shrug shoulders, turn away.
They’re glad for heroes, glad for swift assay;
Now on to work to earn their honest pay.