Architect and Sculptor

The gun is architect

and sculptor of the soul.

It carves the man

until it has reached its goal.

Its blueprint is for a man

who will turn to blood someday,

and it gives the plan

so the sculpture can play.

Carving can be slow,

but the sculptor goes to work,

slowly changing the man

from a stone into a young Turk.

Once the man was solid—

morals firm and true.

But rebellion enters in

by the time the sculptor's through.

Little chips of stone

fall to the floor,

and soon the man of morals

has not morals anymore.

 

With His Fists

He administered justice with his fists—

Never knew the gun,

Never bothered to learn about the weapon

That would send them on the run.

The sheriff of Ada County,

Up in Idaho,

Administered justice with his fists

Whenever he had a row.

Criminals of all sorts—

You could count them all.

He hit them with his fists,

And down they would fall.

Thieves, and forgers, and arsonists,

Even killers too—

He fought them with his fists,

And soon enough, they were through.

So let this be a lesson:

You don't need a gun.

Just use your fists—

They get the job well done.

(Note: The above poem is fiction.)

 When the Dollar Is Your Ruler

When the dollar is your ruler,

When the dollar calls the shots,

When the land is ruled by barons,

Then democracy just rots.

When your leaders say the nation prospers

As they fill their pockets full,

Then it's time to turn them out of office—
And if you don't, you're just a fool.

 Almost Their Second Religion

The Second Amendment is a second religion

to some.

For it,

they always beat the drum.

Oh, they don't have hymns and scriptures—

no, I guess they don't.

And they'd never kill someone they shouldn't—

at least, they say they won't.

But guns are guns,

and they love guns,

almost to the point of worshipping them.

And when they have a choice,

they prefer one over an expensive gem.

Some have arsenals,

and some just have one.

But they prize it and show it off—

that's where they have their greatest fun.

Well, take your gun and keep it;

I have no use for it, I say.

I've seen what it can do,

and how many people it can slay.

 A Medal for a Massacre

A medal for a massacre,

A medal for doing wrong—

Killing 300 Sioux Americans

As if they didn't belong.

It was 1890 when the Army herded them together

Near Wounded Knee,

Took away their weapons,

Then shot them all with glee.

The Congressional Medal of Honor

Was awarded to twenty soldiers who shot them down.

Yes, for massacring the 300 Natives,

They were given honor and renown.

Trump’s Secretary of Defense—

That would be Pete Hegseth—

Praised the twenty soldiers

For administering such death.

“We salute their memory.

We honor their service,”

Hegseth lauded them.

It didn’t make him nervous.

What does this say?

What does it mean?

It speaks to the values

Of a despot ruling like a king.

 

A Man of Faith

A man of faith, a man of faith—

I don't think we can deny that.

But did he use his beliefs rightly,

Or to hurt the afflicted in combat?

Did he bless those in poverty,

Including all those from other lands?

He need not believe in the gay life,

But did he treat them with good hands?

Did he insult Black leaders,

And oppose laws that helped Black people out?

This man of faith, this man of faith—
Had faults, I say, no doubt.

No Friend of the Immigrant

No friend of the immigrant—

Charlie was not that.

He called for more deportations;

Put that in your hat.

Some might say it's righteousness,

Some might say it's so,

But there’s a world of great immigrants—

Including those whom Charlie regarded low.

Opening the door to the good ones,

Instead of deporting more and more,

Is the way of America.

So let's bring them to our shore.

 

 

Bolling's Words of Hate

"The lowest form of human life is called a Democrat."

That's one man's opinion,

And if you find yourself rallying to that thought,

You are one amongst a million.

Eric Bolling, a former Fox News host,

Made the terrible accusation,

Helping to spread hate

All across the nation.

Those words are not the words of love—

They are the words of hate.

And they call out a group so large,

Almost half the population is within its gate.

The divide between Democrats and Republicans

Is about as deep as it could get.

And it's something we should worry about—It's something we should fret.

Yes, He Was a Martyr

Yes, he was a martyr,

For he died for his cause.

Whatever else you call him,

A martyr is what he was.

The assailant laid him down,

Saying he was a man of hate.

But in killing him, he made him a martyr—

There shouldn't be any debate.

Now, it's easy to love a martyr,

Easy to think he's right.

Some even call him a prophet;

They cast him in that light.

But before you follow anyone—

Anyone at all—

Study what he taught,

Then make your call.

Study his words,

And whether there were groups he shunned.

Study how he treated them,

And see if his honor comes undone.

 

My Mistake

My mistake, my mistake

Mistakes I sure can make

I want to apologize

Yes, for goodness' sake

I suggested-- no, I said

Charlie Kirk was against Black people voting

I'll have to say I was wrong--

and say it with no sugar coating 

Kirk said no such thing

for what he said was misunderstood
And I'd like to apologize,
apologize, if I could

AOC said he said the act giving Black Americans

the right to vote was a ‘mistake'

Some assumed that meant he didn't want them to vote

And that a view which I must shake

Kirk didn't like the act

but that doesn't mean he didn't want Blacks to vote

So let me correct what I said
before you think I'm a silly bloke

 

AOC Set It Straight

AOC set it straight.

Charlie Kirk is hailed as a hero—

but was he a man of hate?

It depends on what is hate.

Charlie said a lot of things

that I don't like, good mate.

Letting Black people vote was a mistake—

that's what Charlie said.

That doesn't sound too great.

The attack on Paul Pelosi:

some “amazing patriot” should have bailed him out.

That doesn't sound too rosy.

AOC set the record straight.

Whatever Charlie's virtues,

he carried some dark, dark freight.

 

 

The Question Is Whether He Has Free Speech

The question is not whether Jimmy Kimmel was right or wrong.

The question is whether he has free speech.

Freedom of expression—

Isn't that what we teach?

ABC suspended him

For what he said on Jimmy Kimmel Live!

And with that suspension,

Freedom of speech takes a dive.

 

Drones In the Sky to Stop Assassinations and Mass Killings

I heard someone on the radio suggest we use drones to prevent shootings such as the one in which Charlie Kirk was killed. The drone would fly above the site of the event, searching for anyone who might be crawling atop the buildings or carrying a gun. The drone would also look for those who might be visible in the windows of high buildings, scanning for those carrying weapons. It would also pick out those at ground level who were carrying guns.
 
Considering the mass murders and assassinations we have had that could be prevented, such drones seem a must.  

Democrats Stepped Forward to Condemn Charlie Kirk Shooting

Let's make a list of the Democrats we know of who condemned the shooting of Charlie Kirk: Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, Tim Walz, Bill Clinton, Hilary Clinton, Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, Tammy Duckworth, Elizabeth Warren, Cory Booker, Chuck Schumer, Amy Klobuchar, Nancy Pelosi, Hakeem Jeffries, Adam Schiff, Maxwell Frost, Eugene Vindman, and Mark Kelly.

And there probably are others, probably are more. We thank these leaders for stepping forth to condemn the killing of someone from the opposite side of the aisle. No decent person wants political assassinations.

 

 

 

 

 

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.