the herd mentality

politicians herd you like cattle
with their almighty p.c. prattle
as if it’s an answer to the mystery
of your fucked up take on history

you desecrate everything in sight
because it’s your self-serving right
in your agenda to rewrite the past
via stones you so righteously cast

we’re doomed to repeat the wrongs
if we don’t deter shrewd king kongs
who dictate how you think and feel
and turn you into stepfords for real

they tell you what you want to hear
inciting you to riots in states of fear
vs. those who don’t buy into the shit
sugarcoating all the lies you deem fit

this archival cleansing is dividing us
as you turn objects into a racist fuss
in your zeal to ban all that you hate
while intolerance laps up your plate

you eradicate details you do not like
just as the nazis did in the third reich
committing genocide to get their way
you damn memorials in a power play

banning flags won’t bring anyone back
and digging up graves is just as quack
as drinking Kool-Aid from your peers
in a cult setting resonating with cheers

lives devoid of love decay en masse
in a country that allows laws to pass
nixing freedoms we once cherished
the red, white and blue has perished

viewing christianity as a black plague
in a rationale bordering on the vague
simply to vilify the people who pray
for you to rid your souls of sins today

pointing fingers to deflect the blame
immorality overtakes order to maim
all the good in a world that you rape
bullying free will in a superman cape

and you idolize cash-hungry tv whores
whose realities are better than yours
blinding you with the wool they pull
over starstruck eyes buying their bull

labeling us bigots when we don’t agree
yours is the only opinion that should be
when a he becomes a her for selfish gain
in another tv show bid to drain your brain

your humanity dies as you flip us the bird
opinions are taboo when you’re in a herd
you bomb us with crap in a last parting shot
segregating us into censorship for naught.

Written July 11-16, 2015.


same difference

the hate that you ate
became a race debate
hell naw, it’s too late
to re-rethink our fate
you helped to create
as you took the bait
refusing to resuscitate
any kind of loving trait
on a color-blind date
you choose to berate

why not erase the slate
let that huge chip abate
while hostilities deflate
so we can properly relate
feelings we want to state
as we struggle to translate
why we’re always so irate
over injustices that weight
the insides who conjugate
the sameness we repudiate


Written Aug. 23, 2014.

dead ends

you keep telling me i have to sell myself
like some used up hooker on a street corner
flashing too much flesh to attract another john
just so she can pay a pimp not to beat her up again

you keep telling me that’s showbiz, baby,
now go get comfortable on that casting couch
so you can strip for the director in a private audition
for the part you want so badly you’ll do anything to get it

you keep telling me i asked for all of this shit
to make the most of these fleeting fifteen minutes
before my clock expires and i’m just another has-been
desperate to hold onto the fickle fame of a one-hit wonder

you keep telling me i owe you for all of your work
to open wide doors a nobody couldn’t begin to jimmy
and making me a star when i wasn’t even a household name
until the spotlight turned me into america’s newest little darling

you keep telling me to keep it real in this plastic town
but i should reinvent myself by getting a little “work” done
to look oh-so-young with a frozen barbie face like everyone else
too afraid to show a wrinkle lest they get passed over for a starring role

you keep telling me lies just so you can make some moolah
from leads that turn into dead ends for a career on the brink of
being one of those “where are they now?” segments on late-night tv
that has people scratching their heads because they can’t recall you at all.


Written June 26-27, 2014.

chasing rainbows

good trumps
mad grumps
when you do
right by who
ever walks in
streets of sin
where thugs
peddle drugs
to kids in our
rush to power
to wipe clean
all they mean
to shell it out
in a gang bout
of gun -s- pray
on school play
grounds filled
by youth killed
in a fiery swap
meant to stop
tragic ends of
those we love.

A fairy tale (no, not really)

Once Upon a Friend
Aug. 13, 2009


Once upon a friend
I easily let you in
To my world
To my home
To my family
I thought in you
I always could tell all
(Without repercussion.)

Whispered every
Sordid secret
Reckless beliefs
(Mine, always mine)
Secretly laughing
Pointing, snickering
It was funny to you
(Dumping on me.)

The edge is serrated
Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth
The tips are prickly
(My seepage is red)
You dealt a big owie
Stop it! Hurts me.

You hold your sides
Giggling at the absurdity
(From the deep end)
Looking through me
Sizing me down
Chopping me in half
In front of all of them
(Your new little “friends.”)

How did you feel
Making your fun?
(Prices are high)
The bounty, expensive
Picking at the scabs
(They never really heal)
Reverted all the way back
To the sad little girl. Me.

I’m so glad for you! Thrilled!
(Your family must be proud)
They taught you so well
(How to do the inflicting)
A great feat to share
With your small children
Tell them a bedtime story
(You in all your glory.)

The “princess” was all alone
She was in need of a friend
(The foreigner would do)
Kept the dragons away
Held them all at bay
Listened to her prattle
On and on and on and on
Do YOU believe in fairy tales?

I’ve ceased falling for them
(The stories you keep telling)
Wow! Look at the time! Gotta go!
The leech bled me to the bone
(Dried up like a worn-out pacifier)
Soothes and silences the cries
I don’t buy into any of it – this, you!
Once upon a friend, indeed. The End.

Emily + Pink Floyd

Back in high school (the late 1980s, if you must know … lol), I had to do a research paper on Emily Dickinson that I absolutely detested, but I’ve always had a fond appreciation for her poetry. Several years later (July 6, 2001), I was listening to Symphonic Pink Floyd after getting dumped and — for whatever insane reason — came up with this interesting poem. I’ve no idea why, but it remains one of my favorites, even though it is nothing like anything else I’ve ever written.

what would emily do if she fell in love with pink

emily never was a femme-fatale when it came to winning hearts of men
all she ever did was write about her pent-up, unrequited feelings
subtly, mind you, so they’d never guess her dysfunctional emotions
she penned poems of nature, of death, of life, of love – even
but the make-believe existence she lived on paper didn’t prepare her for pink.

the color floyed emily’s senses, made her fragile little heart thrum to the beat
pink’s symphonic recitations inspired her to throw her busy pen to the wind
in its stead, she picked flowers, lots of flowers, and held them tighly abreast
she took in their scents as she danced around the meadow from which they were plucked
but it was the pink flowers that held her fancy most, wafting through her nostrils with their cloying smell.

the names, they did not matter, for emily was entranced by pink’s many shades
hot pink, light pink, soft pink, mauve, raspberry – she loved them every one
the color of romance in full bloom enraptured her dreary new england soul
such a joyous display, she knew, was frowned upon by her rigid forefathers
still, she could not resist the pull pink had on her otherwise prim and proper demeanor.

emily’s normally pale, seemingly life-drained cheeks turned pink from her outdoor excursion
her lips, chapped year after year by the harsh eastern winters, even took on a pinkish hue
she shivered as she skipped and pranced about the meadow with her treasures in tow
but the numbing feel of that cool spring morning brought with it comfort for her, and her alone
and she reveled in the pleasure she derived from her passionate love affair with pink.

emily so desired to capture the moment she fell in love with pink for all time
but neither pen nor paper could properly describe the joy she felt inside
pink was far too beautiful, too important an emotion to clinically put to words
so she memorized every facet of pink that she could to save for a dreary day
and she smelled the flowers one last time, bittersweet in their randomly picked disarray.

later, when emily sat in a rocking chair staring wistfully out of her bedroom window
she wondered what it was about pink that caused such a stir all the way to her soul
was it merely the romantic connotations associated, throughout history, with the color
or was it the music she thought she heard as she filled her arms and danced with abandonment
later, she thought, later, as she picked up her pen and paper and began her dissection.

emily never went back to the meadow for fear of tainting her love for the color pink
and so the flowers eventually wilted where she left them – jilted – in a scattered heap
at home, she stayed, writing page after page, trying, in vain, to regain the moment
but it wasn’t the same, emily found, as she reverted back to her reclusive, introverted ways
and longingly watched pink fade into the biting bitterness of another winter day.


This one is very personal. It’s about my adopted dad, may he rest in peace. It’ll be nine years July 4, but it still feels like yesterday.


May 27-28, 2014


Everybody is celebratin’ around me.
And still I wish …
And still I wish …
And still I wish …
They’d skip the damn fireworks
Pop-pop-poppin’ in the Gulf breeze.
What’s that, you say?
I can’t hear above …
I can’t hear above …
I can’t hear above …
The noisy train in my brain
Its horn screeches
Louder and louder
Closer and closer
Until the wind devours it of sound.
It’s a mighty loco-
It’s a mighty loco-
It’s a mighty loco-
Motive for tragedy
Bearing down on
Unsuspecting revelers
As quiet as a ninja
Before going all Bruce Lee
On a foe in a B-movie
Maligned by bad acting
With the same shitty ending …
With the same shitty ending …
With the same shitty ending …
In which the superhero dies
With no one around to hear his cries
While members of the audience gasp in surprise
Because they simply can’t believe their eyes
As they stuff their faces with burgers and fries
While each dove in the broken sand dollar flies
From the sandy beaches to the darkening skies
Just to see the fireworks display their reflection on the water in goodbyes
In a fitting finale for all of those gleefully watchful Independence Day spies.
Fire and fuse combust …
Fire and fuse combust …
Fire and fuse combust …

And all that’s left of you is dust.