The Road Trip That Never Was

It was
a road trip
for one
or possibly none.

I plucked a letter
from my boot—
"J" as in __________;
the shudder was moot.

Darling,
where do you wander
when all gaslights
have been plundered?

Wilbur Ross' Longing For Akephaloi

In Praise of Saudi Arabia's Happiness Index

One wonders, if this is Ross' image of a Happy Society: No protesters, at least none with their heads still attached to their bodies.

 

Why Donald Trump Must Be Removed From Office

He makes no sense because he has no sense.

There is ample evidence that Donald Trump is a con-man, a pathological liar and a narcissist. More profoundly disturbing, however, is that he appears to be cognitively impaired (bigly). For that reason, it is imperative that he be removed from office effective immediately ( 25th amendment, section IV)

In keeping with Trump's capacity to read at a 3rd-4th grade level, I'll use the following trumped-down format to state the case:

• His woefully impoverished lexicon employs mostly one-syllable words, many of which he repeats  unrelentingly: very, sick, bad, (not) good, (not) fair, (not) nice, sad

• He appears to lack the ability to remember the names of people such as Paul Ryan (Ron), Kim Jung Un ( whom he referred to as the gentleman with whom Bill Clinton had negotiated) Benjamin Netanyahu (Betanyahu)—to name a few.

• His use of the present perfect and present continuous tenses demonstrates either a deplorable grasp of grammar or an astonishing ignorance of American history or both. Consider his generous recognition of Frederick Douglass' contributions:

 "an example of somebody who has done an amazing job and is being recognized more and more, I
  notice."

• Wrap your head around what Trump had to say about Abraham Lincoln:

"Great president. Most people don't even know he was a Republican," Trump said while addressing attendees at the National Republican Congressional Committee Dinner. "Does anyone know? Lot of people don't know that."

^ Oh really, Mr. Trump? I'm a Canadian, and I know that.

• What I'm going to attempt to tackle now is more difficult, so be patient with me. Indulge me just a little if you can, for I am not the court jester who is pretending to be king.  Look at the expressions on his face as he misspeaks: ( petulant geezer sulks and pouts, tiny mouth shaped in a  miniature O), vacuous, far far away in Neverland, downright goofy..... doesn't he often look like the fat, mentally sluggish loser left behind? (C'mon. Fess up. You know he does. He looks  mentally retarded. You know he does.)

• And what about the way he speaks? His words, broken syntax, slaughtered  phrases, all erupting in fits and starts, oral farts. His cadence is awry. It's as though his voice were a crutch that tries (with no success) to stir his addled thoughts.

• Then there is his deplorable ataxia

a·tax·i·a

əˈtaksēə,āˈtaksēə/

noun

Medicine

noun: ataxia; noun: ataxy

1. the loss of full control of bodily movement

He's so ungainly. He lurches.  He staggers. He seems to have forgotten what to do with his ungainly arms, fat legs and mini-man hands.

  

(This is a rant in progress... to be continued)

Political Clones in Crumpland

If They Can't Afford Health Care, Let Them Drop Dead



photoshopped by Amanda Holland

At times it seems to me
the evil of banality
One thought, one trick, one face
to misgovern in disgrace.

Make America Sane Again: The Bernie Files

https://www.facebook.com/BernieTV/

Section lV of the 25th

Section 4.

Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.
Thereafter, when the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that no inability exists, he shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive department or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit within four days to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Thereupon Congress shall decide the issue, assembling within forty-eight hours for that purpose if not in session. If the Congress, within twenty-one days after receipt of the latter written declaration, or, if Congress is not in session, within twenty-one days after Congress is required to assemble, determines by two-thirds vote of both Houses that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall continue to discharge the same as Acting President; otherwise, the President shall resume the powers and duties of his office.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work He Goes...

Tempest in a teacup

Tubby Tot Trump vs. Gracious Obama—the Throb of Nostalgia

Fake News:
A few minutes into his CPAC whine and rant on Friday, mentally challenged Donald J. Trump said people were so excited to hear him speak that, “There are lines that go back six blocks. I tell you that because you won’t read about it.”

Behold a photo snapped of these purportedly unreported lines:

Real News:

Peeled Potato Head—Bannon's Anemic Vitriol

When you lift Bannon’s mask of death,
all you see is a pallid soul
who clearly loathes the sunshine.

Richard Wolffe

Oxymoronic in Trumpland

the leaks are real;
the news is fake

Put in by Putin

Make America Great Again

Snake Putin

I heard the snake was baffled by his sin
He shed his scales to find the snake within
But born again is born without a skin
The poison enters into everything

~Leonard Cohen~

"Papa, Papa, I Want To Be A Real President!"

"Papa, papa, am I colourful or brilliant?"

keredomo

Tokyo, 2020
after plum blossoms yield
to Samurai cherry, perhaps
decorative almond trees will shade
your departure

I fade ahead of myself, keredomo
always anxious for the fatal blur,
the next deceptive upset.

wink

I vow to be
there; you'll glimpse
June-bugs caught
in my hair

I'll wear a second skin
of greening pink
and a mouth that drips
cherry blossom ink.

word count ( in praise of prepositions)

snaking close to 80,000,
my fingertips shed words
syllables untangled and reconvened
to be bid upon at foot of dawn.

keep your nouns true, verbs strong
modifiers cast aside,
soft pink leather
a second skin
to be sloughed and left behind
again.

unspeakable

my throat is patched
with kite strings,
particles detached from greater
lots, parts and parcels
undelivered to all that is lost

Make Haste

It is almost
upon us.
Past and future collapse
or collide in that tense Culture Shock,
a suitcase condensed
yet fitfully packed.

 

on the distortion of anecdote

the ghost girl
dances in and out of papered walls
Does she dream of freedom
or of ending the fall?
If your slaves won,
would they lord it over
overlords? Or
would they simply go away
to be heard of nevermore?

A Rose For Iris

 

icons crossed
stars tossed
into an open sky
which smiles down
upon a lake of slate and chalk

Let It Be Said, Leda Never Led

on the elegance of prefixes

I
never to forget
the day I dragged you home
setting you down
every once in a while
on a bedazzled drift of snow

II
where do errant
umbrellas stray
after they have lost
their way?

III
every life turn
can be explained
with a prefix; all of time
sliced and stitched again

IV
the seamstress at Buchenwald
grew to love transposed tattoos.
how else could she have laboured
with such devotion, such sang froid?

Katrina@Buchenwald

a cauldron at sea
roils with fierce memory
liquid walls decide:
loser straddles all.

that parachutes me into Buchenwald
an airy graceful fall
the lone oak
standing more mythical
than a lampshade suitcased
for an Easy funeral

hiraeth composed by trobairitz

absence for a buried time,
this old death
can do no wrong.

swim softly
toward your legend's shore.

I missed you once; I missed you twice,
heretic troubadour
your fingers long, your temper short,
our marriage — the end of lore.

but why the smile?

undressed, yes
hidden weapons check
the smile
open, I cannot glimpse
defiance
yet
no other explanation
suggests
ghetto rose
you bloom
inside a document
plucked beside the firing squad.

punishment

when did you learn
to let go? those days
of struggle with string,
sticks and bone

long gone. coffers
emptied, treasures
lost beyond walls
of  brick and stone.

Imagine An Ultimate Blush

your face is on
fire, little strumpet, little liar
and I long
to skin you alive,
expose your bones
beyond marrow.

StarFish Shoe

You hoped it could not
happen to you, a conversion,
a pervision, starfish shoe.

Let me save you
time, within your watery shrine,
salvation was not fashioned
for the likes of you.

magie

your words,
my carpet ride
air teased sweet
by moths in flight,
the moon a street lamp,
stolen light.

death and the maiden revisited

did you kill her, the girl
found tagged and boxed?

a November 30th
pre-paid gift,
uncasted, untasted

left chastely to taunt.

inexplicable

Light dims
as is
its wont

The connected
stay connected;
the disconnected
melt

down until
your meager want
merges with my colossal
and monstrous doubt.

your eternal bogeyman

the bogeyman gnawing on your shoe
once lived
in terror
just like you.

once again

this dawn the fall
jerked me from a ghostly dream
steel-toed shoes broke
my trusting feet
at the end of it all

I cajoled three ghosts
to visit me
once again
once again
once again

my pale repetition
converted them
I am old
I am tired
I am not even dead

there is no excuse
for the life I have led.

cornered vs. boxed

we are left
dispossessed, the squatters
upon your exemplary life

messy progeny,
growing horns and dragons' breath
smearing your legacy
with impostor theft.

oh Elaine, it's October again

missing twin, I tend
to dread to die
to dream about

your colours bleached
under slate October rain.

ghost view

how stark to be forever
sliced from you. all the darkness
in my story eclipses
the flooded sunlight
of your view.

Bullet Taster

 

Once you taste metallic, there is no biting back.

ghost fleece

is it all
about me again or is it finally
After the Fall,
and I may
alight, moth-like upon your window veil?

carnival crossing

grim carnival
with its swollen stalls
of bruised umbrellas and sun-stroked fruit

each event is now
entertainment: campaigns, rallies, processions.

one who would trump them all
trout-lips the words "not nice"—his wet pout sullen.
I watch, listen, mouth stretched
to an uncomprehending O; it's all too much.
Dystopia wasn't invented to be on parade.

My Pretty Fish

sniff & sniff
three days later
you and Putin
are discreetly unwelcome

the houseguest
who never left, the fish
who once caught
could do nothing further than rot.

a somewhat lighter shade of dark

dog owners scoop multiple now
the canine conspiracy of sniff
and dump

I predict a ludicrous plague,
but confess to never having been a fan
of rut and stink

tempo: retarded.

moving along to felines.
at least there are no
teacup varieties

oh, sweetest genesis.
I've been blocked, expunged, denied

reviled, celebrated
in unlikely places.

lipstick should always be rose
tinted. Should is suspect
yet humility somehow inevitably
manages to reinvent.

Dismaland II

Babel returns; our tongues
impaled upon the highest stakes

little rituals demolished
with bricks and bats
spell checks in chaos

like stroke victims
thrashing with
undelivered consonants.

Dismaland: I

they have travelled so far
just not to be there

where memories combust
spontaneous yet spare.

Disengagement in Athens

I see beyond
the funny clothes, the wizard hat
or perhaps I do not view
deep enough

your debt, your outrage
disturb all thought

I want you
solvent; I want you out.

more or less by happenstance

we are parachuted
onto the same carousel
more or less by happenstance

never grasping the ride
only clutching for a treasured life


One
that promises no free
fall as long as we hold on
with delicate might

unborn

and every utterance a poem
touching lips of the unborn

hope as rumour

it grows
in hushed corridors,
the speculative unspoken:

if it should come to pass
in a wild card circumstance
the elegance of happenstance.

should you subject me
to an inquisition, I will likely say

I want to live another day.

Waiting for July 31, 2015

Are you waiting
for the next blue moon, the one
that will cut
quick your hubris and elevator ride,
the one that will change
your dates forever?

Are you the uninvited
guest, the one who lingers
after the last waltz,
the one who sees
white nights as wanting hosts

and longs for the confession
that may release
you from this once in a
lifetime loss of chaos?

short person in a funny hat & bad clothes

from a distance,
each  dawn
you trick my failing eyes:

same squat surprise

a short dude
in bad clothes and a funny hat

rusty red attire
and a doodle smile

on a faceless trunk
the wind calls:

Elaine dies, is dying, is dead,
my chronological twin forgive
me for still being alive

but never, not for one
heartbeat thriving.

elain again

meeting you again wayward
twin, left me stranded

under circling birds,
memory predators.

respectabilia

for Once, I want
a statement worthy of respect not

a mantra and certainly
not a signed complaint
or petition on behalf

of the disinfected.

my beautiful shoes
can wing me only so far

until distance becomes
impossible and jealousy

sharpens its polished tusks.

Every word almost
is so achingly beautiful,
perfect in its own peculiar box

yet always overthrown
by better, brighter, sharper,
newer

paradigms. cunning ballerinas
who count syllables, punctuate
dry spells and green the silver
of my parallel ex-world.

the jealousy of veronique rough

jealousy storm-troops
my languid senses,

boot stains lip
whip smears glass

You, who have everything:
home, country and life

cavort like an immortal;
purchases are indeed important
when currencies collapse.