Monday, December 12, 2016

Sirocco (Poetry & Politics)

Music/FX credits: piano Amir Mofrat; flute Jensmuse; wind Mark DiAngelo.
Click here if the player above is not visible.

An ill wind blows
Straight across the land:
You can feel it now.
It’s a desert gale
That dessicates compassion;
A sandstorm
Scouring empathy from the heart.
It’s a parching blast,
A dry sirocco
That burns away kindness.
A wind that turns landscapes
Into arid civic ruin.


Thursday, September 22, 2016

Trump - 'The Grand Experiment" (Video)

The Grand Experiment

He said I alone can solve it all: 
The Mexicans will take the fall,
Rapists and murderers one and all.
I'll keep them out with a beautiful wall.

He claimed Muslims on the Jersey Shore
Cheered 9/11 with a roar.
So he proposed to even the score
By turning away refugees from our door.

He picked off his rivals one by one
With insults from his verbal gun.
A playground bully in his roots;
Now some of the vanquished lick his boots.

Party leaders professed surprise;
But said not a word as they saw him rise.
Their fifty-year history brought us here:
Filled with whispered expletives like nigger, and queer.

They acted as if they didn't know
That his campaign was a toxic show
And didn't believe he’d continue to crow
While eager crowds watched, faces aglow.

Now their surprise has turned to dismay,
But the leaders still have little to say.
He's ours, they reason, and so they endorse;
While with their party he rides off on a horse.

Think what he'd do if he brought into play
The FBI and NSA.
Like Nixon he’d create a mess
With the help of the IRS.

He could reshape the Pentagon
And stack the Court
As if in a game
Or perverted sport.

Treaties we rely on now
He might simply disavow;
And let the Russians have their way
If the Baltics didn’t pay.

He seems to love color
But not every hue:
Only white sheets,
Blood red,
Black and blue.
To him that’s our nation,
Through and through.

An original birther,
He’s no mere apprentice.
Yet he speaks without mirth or
Ending a sentence.

He riles up the crowd
By mouthing hatred aloud.
With a trumpet, a tweet
And a wink and a nod,
He’ll grind all his foes
Right into the sod.

Or deport them like cattle,
From Maine to Seattle.

The economy’s up and crime is down
But his constituents are white folks,
Not black and few brown.
A fact that for him
Warrants not even a frown.

He boasts of his billions
Till people get dizzy.
But ask for returns
And he throws a tizzy.

The deleveraged, the macho, the unschooled and enraged:
They lap up his act, his airplanes and gilt;
And won’t even notice
Till the knife’s in to the hilt.

He has but one thing
To say to dissenters:
I beat all the governors,
And even the senators.

But sadly, he says,
What you can’t beat anymore
Is the protesters at rallies –
Hey, is that chick a whore?

He calls women dogs
And his daughter hot.
He’d probably tap that,
If related they were not.

And speaking of dogs:
He’ll wag like a pup
When a strongman like Putin
Feeds him crap to lap up.

He flirts with white power
And dictators abroad;
Talks of conspiracies,
Dark secrets and fraud.

Evidence is absent
And so is the truth;
Dissecting his meaning
Can require a sleuth.

“Believe me” he’ll say,
As facts slip away;
And then walk it back
With an “I don’t know” crack.

He mocks the disabled
And impugns a judge;
It’s as though someone cabled
“Keep sending us sludge!”

They said he would pivot,
But how could he change?
For this is a man
Of limited range.

He says, Crush the press
And ignore all the mess:
Constitution, statutes and all the rest.
As leader, I say, I’m the one who knows best.

It’s kind of ironic
Since the media made him;
And then like a tonic
Farewell they had bade him.

Yet he often stumbles
And then revives.
If this guy wins,
What survives?

Laughing off war crimes
And testing religion;
He might leave some liberties
But perhaps just a smidgen.

And what if he loses?
It’s, I smell a rat!
And now gun owners
Should ready their gats!

E pluribus unum:
But in truth our fates
Likely depend
On random swing states.

By November we’ll spy
On which road we’ll go;
Have we chosen the high
Or selected the low.

And then the world
Will finally know
If they need still be wary.
For this man is quite scary.

To him experts are nothing,
Not even the generals.
He thinks himself wise,
But what kind of owl
Screeches all day
And puts on a scowl?

His hair in a rage,
He’s off on a rant.
His mind thinks thoughts
That most of ours can’t.

“I’m sending the nukes
And feel fresh as a daisy.”
To him this is smart;
To the rest of us, crazy.

A Muslim dad with a book
Is to him just a crook;
“Who wrote that speech?”
Asks the man whose own wife
Mouthed words from another’s life.

And a Gold Star mother
Contorted in grief
Is not even entitled
To simple belief;

POWs are losers –
The insults abound.
Why is someone so tawdry
Even around?

You’ve sacrificed nothing.
Not true, he replies.
I’ve built businesses, buildings.
And told many lies!
What does it take
To open some eyes?

I killed in New York,
He boasts with a bluster;
And could do it for real
Which most cannot muster.

Love trumps hate;
Or so they say.
But darkness is deep
And people, clay.

Fear mixed with rage
Is a potent brew.
Hitler knew it.
Mussolini too.

From bully to bully pulpit;
How bad could it get?
We survived McCarthy.
But this is worse yet.

His name’s now a verb;
“Trump that bitch” is the cry.
I’m sure that he’s heard it;
But he bats not an eye.

Ties, wine and buildings
It’s all just a brand.
Like a bogus university
Built on nothing but sand.

He wants immigrants out,
Except for his wives.
For they alone
Know his true size.

It’s all a disaster,
He says, but wait!
Elect me now
And I’ll make it great.