Insults by the Left and the Right
often end up in a fight
across the country
breaking down civility
Insults like a fungus
grow among us
with maximum anxiety
Insults are like fleas
hopping on hosts
and bringing a disease
are the results
when communication fails
and anger prevails
No mercy in the Age of COVID planet wise
when empathy dies
each day with thousands of deaths becoming data
for bean-counters and politicians
on secret missions
hospitals full of victims dying alone
in an ICU zone
it becomes hard to bear
hearing about millions dying
and the survivor’s despair
and some who just don’t care
and have no empathy
Diversity and equality are building blogs for successful civilizations
as history so clearly tells us in somber tones meant to sound wise
but those qualities are often poorly concealed lies
of patriotism meant to fool the hoi polloi
into treating democracy like a Tinker Toy
Nations rise and fall on realities
in the end, humans can’t live in peace
we’re no one’s masterpiece
have you ever had a day when everything seems strange?
like normal routines interrupted with a sudden change?
days when nothing seems right?
days darker than night?
days when you wonder what you’re doing?
days when you feel like people are pursuing?
days when you find nothing going your way?
days when you just don’t get to have your say?
days that seemed like some sort of odd dream?
days when to your horror nothing was as it seems?
then you’re just agreeing
that you’re a human being!
we all live in a bubble
on cable TV
because we live in
an insecure society
there’s bubbles for the wealthy
and bubbles for the poor
there’s bubbles for races
there will not be
all these bubbles
with their troubles
in our country
the writer waited until he hit a century
before releasing the rights to his diary
while flipping through the pages one night
his still-active imagination took flight
and he was a young man again
as far as he could ascertain
and a young lady came near
and whispered in his ear
they went for a walk
and had a lovely talk
when the writer’s son
came to visit the next day
the old man had passed away
with a smile on his face
he was in a better place
golden lightning bolts streaking along ghetto walls like a snake in the Garden of Babylon intent on conveying anarchistic values to the viewers who gaze upon the colorful buildings in shock and awe...
graffiti in high C playing in the neighborhood
it’s art to the homeboys who make noise while spraying their gang names and playing games and it’s all understood
graffiti in high C playing in every city
the world is crazy
about an artist called Banksy
paints murals of damnation in every nation
but the critics don’t get it
because they think it’s about money and fame, but graffiti’s real message is not so tame, it’s a reality check warning things will not always remain the same
when I was growing up my grandfather use to say
that boy is going to find out everything the hard way
if he comes out of his childhood alive
there’s a damn good chance he’ll survive
I was an eager student of the School of Hard Knocks
my troubles were never pebbles they were always rocks
taking the least traveled pathway had a price
I come close to losing my life twice
there was never really a choice for me
I’ve always been on the verge of tragedy
but in these later days of my life
I look back and appreciate the strife
and accept my past and my destiny
whatever that happens to be