American Horror Story

Two years ago:

the thrill of victory,

utter ecstasy,

a blissful memory-

American Pharoah wins the Triple Crown!!!


Now in the news:

the agony of defeat,

not another tweet,

Trump fills mouth with feet-

American Horror Story- the Orange Clown.


Home in the Great Divide

A bridge across the great divide-

the end is narrow but beginning’s wide-

each step we seek the other side-

we search for signs to be our guide.


Into the chasm we embark-

our journey moves through light and dark-

on days of grey a distant spark-

that keeps us driving towards our mark.


The other side, our endless goal-

it tantalizes our thirsting soul-

as never arriving takes its toll-

not being there we can’t be whole.


Somewhere amidst the great divide-

we hear a whisper deep inside-

Be still, be calm, the distance lied-

Not one more stride, you have arrived.


So there we stop and settle down-

we plant our feet on present ground-

at last we see what’s right around-

we listen to the nearest sound.


The journey stopped, we know our place-

not driven wild we slow our pace-

the way to win was not to race-

it’s where we are we must embrace.


Surprisingly, at last we find-

the bridge, the goal, was in our mind-

that looking far had made us blind-

at last we’re whole when we unwind.




The revolution will not be televised-

we’re drowning in information concealing lies spewed by politicians in red, white, and blue disguise, covered by pundits masquerading as the wise. Witnessing her demise Democracy cries:

The revolution will not be televised.

The Internet will not be our salvation-

we’re mesmerized, taking a mental vacation, never present in our physical location, always focused on some distant destination. Distractibility disrupts revelation-

The Internet  will not be our salvation.

And the media will not move the masses-

we’re shielded from truth by rainbow tinted glasses, provided for free from oppressive classes, brainwashing us, telling us solids are gases, spinning news and hiding lies but we’re the asses-

Cause the media will not move the masses.

But the schools will not save our education-

we’re planting minds in soil of desolation, a generation stunted by ¬†standardization, breeding sheeple grazing without motivation. Our system’s cracked at the foundation-

So the schools will not save our education.

No, the government will not save our nation-

we’re counting on crooks bought by highest donation, flying first class while we’re stuck at the station. Economic stimulus is just masturbation, as too big too fail thrives we get stagnation-

No, the government will not save our nation.

Our only hope’s if we soon realize-

we’re faced with irreversible demise, no more slumber- we can pry open our eyes, the people’s power must be mobilized. Because what’s lost will be rebuilt if we rise-

But our only hope is if we soon realize.

**Credit to Gil Scott-Heron for the opening line and providing inspiration.**

On Being Square

You thought you had me down-

Squarely pegged in your round hole-

Always failed to fit your mold-

Hid my face and sold my soul.


You thought you knew my lines-

Formed words to fill my silence-

Merely filling up your mind-

Fitting me in your fence.


A square is bound by rules-

Of perfect symmetry-

Enslaved by strict dimensions-

Limited by simplicity.


Perfect angles with straight lines-

I’m a master of disguise-

Carefully hidden from your view-

This great divide where I reside.


A tangled mess- an irregular form-

Shifting and pushing against the norm-

You keep your hole- it’s too uniform-

Hold what you know- while I transform!

A Quiet Revolution

Always feel out of the movement, constantly prone to speak dissent, tell me it’s straight I’ll say get bent.

Never feel part of the in crowd, soaking in silence while others get loud, with ¬†conventional wisdom I ain’t cowed.

Past days I may’ve been brainwashed, swallowing truth, feared I’d get trashed- now I speak my own mind though I get bashed.

Only truth I know now is to question, sets one onto paths of new lessons and the first step is second guessing.

Time to embrace some defiance as the only sure means for reliance, searching for truth is a science.

And now I feel part of this wild earth where every great mind has it’s rebirth from somebody questioning its real worth.

Second Sight

Used to think I’d be better off dead-

dark little fairies danced visions of dread-

freeze frame captured a bullet to the head-

where others saw pink I only saw red.

Used to be blinded by a veil that was dark-

living each day just to check off the mark-

a “to do” existence had lost its spark-

a downward spiral became my arc.

But I’m done running & ripping & drifting around-

done stumbling & fumbling & falling to ground-

done grumbling & griping & mumbling each sound-

off a last second shot snatched one more rebound.

Sure I’ll stagger or stammer or slip on my way-

as I still learn my lines & my part in this play-

no more running the tape seeking when to replay-

my mind’s stuck in present at the end of each day.

Only black that I see is a deep dreamless sleep-

only red is the sunrise after alarm calls out beep-

only time I may fall is from taking a leap-

only loss is my love that I’ve learned not to keep.

Only bullets I spray are my words in the air-

only blood is my passion in front of you bare-

only voices and visions compel me to dare-

to start living & laughing & lighting a flare.

Just a spark in the dark can provide enough light-

just a lift off the canvas keeps me ’round in the fight-

just a change in my mindset got me living life right-

opened my eyes and discovered new sight.