Train Yourself

Train yourself—

That murder is not trite.

Not to you.

Always know it isn't right.

You will see lots of murders

In movies and on TV,

And they will saturate the novels

To the point they won't let you be.

Don't take these things lightly.

You must resist.

Every time you see a murder,

Make it something you detest.

Don't treat the murder lightly,

Even though it's just in a book.

Know that when writing,

The writer used it as a hook.

Each time, mark the moment

With sorrow in your heart.

Make sure that endorsing murder
Is something of which you want no part.

 

 

The Violin Weeps

He plays upon the violin—

The violin he plays.

But does he belong here?

The question is whether he stays.

Trump says, “No.”

Trump says, “Get him out of here.

He’s from South Korea,

And that’s just all clean and clear.”

Trump sets a quota:

He must remove so many.

Doesn’t matter what your rights—

To Trump, you don’t have any.

So this very fine violinist,

John Shin by name,

Trump wants him off our shores,

Wants him to return from where he came.

Play the saddest music.

Play the saddest song.

The violin is weeping

As Trump sends him back where he belongs.

 

Reinventing the Gunfight

They had to reinvent the gunfight.

They couldn't always do it this way.

Things just get boring

when it's the same, day after day.

So they gave each combatant a frying pan

to shield from enemy fire.

And they gave each of them a name tag,

identifying them as a gun for hire.

Each of them was given a bracelet

to identify them if they happened to die.

And each was given a napkin

to dab away tears, should they cry.

So what do you think of the changes?

Won't they make for a more magnificent fight?

Gunfighting has gained in significance—

it's no longer a thing that is trite.

 

Papa Raised a Girl

He could have raised a son—

A fine and gentle boy,

Someone to tend to all the chores.

Suppose he could have called him Roy.

But Papa raised a girl.

He could have raised a son—

Someone to fish and hunt with him.

They could've spent time in the mountains.

Suppose he could have named him Tim.

But Papa raised a girl.

He could have raised a son—

Someone to star on the football field,

Someone to play baseball.

Suppose he could have named him Neal.

But Papa raised a girl.

Yes, he raised her to sing and dance,

Cook food and keep the dishes clean.

But Papa?

He kind of went in between.

He knew a lot about hunting and fishing,

And basketball and other games.

So he taught her a lot of things

You normally don't teach to dames.

Papa raised a girl—

A fine and gentle girl.

Someone to hunt and fish,
As well as dance and swirl.

 

A Brave Moment

A brave moment in history,

A brave moment in time.

The fellow in the White House

Was committing the crime.

The people? The public?

Would anyone step up?

Would anyone listen to them,

Or would they just say, "Shut up"?

Senators, representatives—

Some raised their voice.

But Trump kept on going;

Corruption was his choice.

 

The Missing Minute

The news came out, and the news wasn't good.

Someone came near the jail cell—and he wasn't driftwood.

How close did he come? And did he enter the cell?

The video doesn't show; it doesn't tell.

This is a minute of video that had been lost.

Why was it lost—and what was the cost?

Was it lost because it contained something?

And now that it's found... it doesn't mean anything?

It shows someone coming near the jail cell,

And that should give us concern—it should ring a bell.

Epstein hung himself... or did someone strangle him?

Did he do it himself—or was it even more grim?

The video has been edited using Adobe Premiere Pro.

How about that? What do you know.

So don't say that Epstein wasn't killed—

They found the "lost" minute... and look what it did yield.

 

The Minute That Vanished
by Copilot (AI)

A minute went missing—

not stolen, not lost,

just quietly edited

like a cough in a courtroom,

a shadow trimmed from the frame.

The hallway hums with fluorescent hush.

A man walks past the stairwell—

not toward, not away,

just near

the place where silence grew teeth.

They say he didn’t approach.

They say the camera blinked.

They say the system resets each night

like guilt

folded into routine.

But now the minute returns,

stitched back with digital thread,

a ghost sewn into the hem

of a story that won’t lie flat.

No scream.

No struggle.

No proof.

Just a figure

passing through the blind spot

of history.

And we, watching,

are asked to believe

that absence is innocence

and silence is sleep.

But the minute knows better.

It ticks beneath the surface,

a quiet rebellion

against the neatness of narrative.

 Draw the Line

Elon Musk’s DOGE came and went,

without solving the problem:
Welfare cheats—
how do you stop them?

Help the poor—

that’s what we want to do.

But people who aren’t poor slip in,

and want money too.

Where do we draw the line?

How do we eliminate the cheat?

It’s a tricky question.

It’s a difficult feat.

 

 

 

 

 

The Mountains of Whitlow

The Mountains of Whitlow,

on a morning in May.

The sun in the valley—

it's here I shall stay.

The meadows and rivers,

the trees and the birds—

a place of magic,

a place beyond words.

A cottage I fashion,

a cottage I build,

and soon I am working
in my own field.

 

If There Is a Devil

If there is a devil,

there is a Don—

bringing corruption before morning,

corruption before dawn.

All across the country,

and all across the land,

the devil is Donald,

and Donald's the brand.

 

 

Donald the Don

Donald the Dangerous,

Donald the Don,

Donald the Deceiver too—

All of these Donalds wrapped into one,

Just to make sure they aren't few.

Donald is one.

Donald is many.

Donald is Donald the Don.

One Donald, two Donald,

Three Donald, four.

You think there's just one Donald,

But really, there are more.

 

 

The Big City

The big city—

Who can run the big city,

Run it well and strip it of crime?

Who can rule it,

And do it sublime?

Trump can do it,

The champion of law and order.

When crime comes along,

He gives no quarter.

An arrogant man,

An aristocrat—

He rules it with pleasure,

He rules it like a rat.

 

Rule the World

First, it was D.C.

Now, it's Chicago.

This man would rule the world—
this man in Mira-a-Logo.

 


Uncle Sam, the Octopus

The claws of government are coming,
The tenacles reaching out.
The of coming of big government
Is having its breakout

Uncle Sam, the octopus.
Uncle Sam in command.
Uncle Sam is strangling America.
Uncle Sam is strangling the land.

 

 

 

 

Don't Blame the Gun

Don't blame drugs for the drug addict.

Don't blame an airplane for an air accident.

And don't blame the gun for a murder.

Don't blame a bomb for an explosion.

Don't blame a mopped floor for a fall.

And don't blame the gun for a murder.

Don't blame pesticides for poison.

Don't blame cars for pollution.

And don't blame the gun for a murder.

Don't blame the horse when you're bucked off.

Don't blame the deep water for a drowning.

And don't blame the gun for a murder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good for Nothing

Guns aren't for women.

Guns aren't for men.

They aren't for any good—

They're just good for sin.

Guns aren't for cowboys,

Nor for Indian folk.

They're not for good guys—

Now, that would be a joke.

Guns aren't for you,

And guns aren't for me.

They're good for nothing—

Can't you even see?

 

The City of Sin Is Silent

Walk the streets of Las Vegas.

Walk them in the days of Trump.

You will learn the danger of tariffs—

They've put us in a slump.

The streets are empty.

The City of Sin is silent.

No life remains

In a town that once was vibrant.

No gambling, no boozing, no spending—

Wallets are just too tight.

The tariffs of Donald Trump

Are taking too big of a bite.

 

Save My Life 

"Someone save my life tonight,"

a voice cried in the night.

I turned to see from where it came,

and if everyone was all right.

It was a child's voice,

pleading for some help,

and it touched my heart

with feelings I'd never felt.

I looked in the closets

and underneath the bed.

I had to find where the child was,

to ask him what he had said.

"Let me be born.

Don't deprive me of my life."

And I could tell the voice was coming

from inside my wife.

 

Monsanto’s World

This is all Monsanto’s world,

And it’s all Monsanto’s gain.

It conquers mountain pass and coastline,

And every drop of rain.

Admit your crimes to heaven.

Confess to those you harm.

All nature is your victim

When your pesticides come to the farm.

Sprawl across a coastline.

Spread into the sea.

Pesticides and death waves—

All for you and me.

 

Shout at the Mountain

Shout at the mountain.

Laugh at the sea.

Scream at the rainbow,

And the birds a-flying free.

Make the pence a penny.

Make the diamond hard.

You don't change by changing

Three feet into a yard.

Shout into the skyways.

Raise a fist against the wind.

You'll never change the weather,

They say you can't—so begin.

 

The Legend of Paolo Zampolli

Paolo Zampolli, then—

and the story of how

he brought Melania to the U.S.

Yes, this is an interesting story,

and it needs to go to press.

Zampolli supplied prostitutes—

or so it is they say—

beautiful prostitutes,

beautiful in every way.

The models were brought to fashion shows

and beauty pageants as well.

That much fits how Trump did things;

that much, we can clearly tell.

Legend has it Zampolli was an associate

of the well-known Jeffrey Epstein.

And Zampolli introduced Trump to Melania—

yes, Zampolli was the go-between.

Legend has it, legend tells it,

and the legend will live on:

the legend of Paolo Zampolli,

and of how he was a liaison.

 

 

Gun Rabbits

Where do rabbits get their guns—

The guns they carry around?

They're firing them everywhere;

They're shooting up the town.

They march like in the army,

They fire on first sight—

Bullets blasting everywhere,

Throughout the day and night.

Did they buy them at the gun store,

Or buy them on the street?

All I know is, it just isn't right

That they bring such heat.

Put Up or Shut Up

If you were serious about the national debt -- I mean, really serious -- would you help pay it off?

The national debt is $37 trillion. There are 154 million taxpayers. So, if we each pay $240,000, we can get this done. If each of us pay just a little -- maybe no more than $50 -- then we could get Elon Musk, Donald Trump, Bill Gates, Warren Buffet, Jeff Bezos, and Richie Rich to pay off the rest.

Put up or shut up. If you are one who always cries about the national debt, pay up.

 

August 6 marked the 80th anniversary of Hiroshima.

 

Bless It with Life

Too precious to trash,

This unborn babe—

Down from the heavens,

A gift God gave.

Bless it with health.

Bless it with life.

Don't end its existence

With a knife.

 

Three Gay Personalities I Appreciate

Name them—those who are gay and who stand up for what is right.

Start with Rachel Maddow. I like her; I appreciate her commentary. Then add Pete Buttigieg. He, too, is to be admired for his convictions. Anderson Cooper—I didn’t realize he’s gay—but he’s a news personality who consistently pushes for what is right.

I’m personally against being gay; I do believe it’s wrong. But these three individuals are examples of people who stand for truth. We are blessed to have them.

 

God's World

The golden sun sets in the west—
A gorgeous, gorgeous sight.
The moon rises in the east—
Bringing beauty to the night.

The hawk flies high,

The eagle free,

And the dolphin rises

Up from the sea.

The fox chases along the ridge,

The deer graze in the pasture.

Such a beautiful world—

And God is the master.

 

The World Knows

The world sees it,

The world knows it—

The genocide going on.

The world deplores it,

The world condemns it;

It knows that it is wrong.

Israel is wicked,

Israel is foul—

To commit genocide.

Israel is base,

Israel is vile;

This cannot be denied.

 

Corruption

Corruption here,

Corruption there—

When you're Donald Trump,

It's everywhere.

It's in what you say,

And what you do;

Examples are many,

And never few.