Thanks for the Insurrection

 
Thanks for your blunder,

You orange-haired wonder,

For aggravating Americans out of their dream

Killing two major parties with one small stone

Expect it that soon you’ll be cut to the bone

 

Leave us nothing but civil war,

You ignorant childish whore,

The militia we’ll pummel into their graves

The out-of-work bosses’ factories

Collectivized in the land of the finally free

 

You’re more than an Obama Bush,

In the final beer hall putsch,

When you fascists are cut down in the streets

But if not for your despicable overt-ness

Those Dems would go silently, worthless

 

Let’s take advantage of your rot.

Comrades, the iron’s hot

To forge a new society from the shell of the old

When the value of accumulated wealth is debunked

And the capitalist world is flunked

 

Hail, Caesar Trump,

Campaign in vain on your Ahab stump

Lead your lemmings down en masse

As we commutate your 2020 vision

With victory marches of derision

 

Come on, Trumpster,

Like an unsuspecting martyr,

The nation sick with out-of-control fodder

Eat mistakes your ego bakes on fire 

And stoke the flame of workers’ desire

 

Come on now Trumpelstilskin,

Though your nap has hit a bump,

Every goose step deflowering starlets

Make them carry their fetus to term

And christen them with crosses you burn

 

Commander in grief,

Nothing less than a thief,

Fan the flames of revolution

Shoot at the looters that ask for more

Of what you said they were living for

 

Thumbs up, gangster dumpster, 

Donald Corleone’s Trumped up monster,

Like the Godfather’s henchmen thrived

With all your courtiers by your side

Fuel the tanks for their final ride

 

Be an unwitting hero,

Mister bankrupt zero,

As we cut the locks and fling open the gates

Until the ruling parties sharing power

See mansions crumble in your finest hour

 

So be it, Donny babe,

It is what it is so why be afraid,

Comrades, let us go for his throat

Char your White House bride in black

And tear it down so there’s no going back.

 

October 31, 2020

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Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

Only a Hobo Knows

Only a hobo knows

The spot under the bridge 

Where decent men dare not  go

To make excuses at a moment's notice.

The train of thought missed by napping,

But hobos know what experts never learn

That rudeness with no honor

Is a fiddler without a bow

At a jig he doesn’t care to go

When a camp fire’s all he needs

Without invitation or host.

He is easy-going in his cares

But careful of shifty-eyed agents

That break promises to protect their own. 

Not  a damn ride for a  hobo 

In an abused class used to being passed over

Where no appointment holds fast

And years until he makes a stand

Yet his  still life's oh so grand;

That gypsy loves him head to toe.

So next time  you pass his way

Leave a message he won’t answer

For this hobo knows a thing or two

And neither is any use to you.

He knows to not get too close

To those that meet him on the road

To nod at fellow travelers when they say:

"I  know a safe place tonight to stay

under the bridge of expectations."

October 19, 2020

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For Quarantine in Paradise

See live reading here

After finishing books in Taiwan

I would wake in a stupor in Pittsburgh

In a slashed and burned democracy

Whiffing the rank smell of death with pride

Singing sad songs on the front line of no-man’s land

My countrymen, worthless and sick of trying.

 

Though I was furthered  to be the light

The wood that burned the flame was exhausted

Yet the realm of enlightenment remained

For this cautious old fox walking on ice

Not wetting his tail in disastrous attempts

Of transition from a disorder yet complete

 

Cancel a reservation and hold my breath 

Lean on the other leg in anticipation

Of  a fruitful spring vacation

With my eyes wide open and letting go

In retrospection it will seem 

I passed through phases of a dream

 

To mind the gaps at empty stations 

Safe in Taichung as the virus spreads

Glad watching a hag picking toes on a bench

Better than being lost in flight

Or returning home in the dead of night

For quarantine in paradise

October 12, 2020

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Waits for No Man, Time nor Tide

 See live first rendition here

As the orange sun sets in the west

People make plans but G-d knows best

An unrelated series of events

Transforms the world through which we vent

Like dominoes in an unplanned trigger

A simple need so vigorously

To reach the mind with tangled instruction

No ulterior motive or appetite for destruction

The anticipated outcome holds no weight

Saved by grace in a leap of faith

All for the good of gentle souls

Who needn’t worry as it unfolds

It comes together beyond our means

For nothing is really as it seems

When inspiration from fantastic landscapes

Finds destinations wise men take

That is the place you ought to go

The more you plan the less you will know

I cast my fate to the wind’s exposure

Like autumn leaves, thoughts find closure

Making connections, forming a bridge

Gathering sense approaching the ridge

Crossing onto the uncharted side

What waits for no man, time nor tide

October 2, 2020

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Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved