A cold congress
Clinging to discredited dogma
Escalates, elevates
Aggravates and cultivates
Our culture of hate
Each day, each week
Needless nightmares
Dip to deeper
Depths of despair
Leagues deeper than the past
A good man with a gun
Will some day save us, they say
But he’s seldom present
Prepared or prone to act
In that urgent hour
It’s past time
We abandon our modern myth
Of the good man with a gun
It’s time to replace him
With a good woman with a plan
When music shifts
To mad disjointed riffs
With lyrics so vexed
Songs of malcontent
When chatter declines
To rants written as warning signs
Sparking profane rumble
Mumble and grumble
When drinks don’t dull
The rank drift of bull
Saliently served in heavy portions
It’s time to leave the party.
Check out these other poems with similar themes:
The Misinformation Machine
Beguiling Grove
You Did This
Breakfast at the Diner
Imagine
An orchard
Lush
With plentiful
Peaches, pears
Apples
And plums
An overseer, however,
Only allows you
To partake
Of cherries
Not already
Snatched
By bird or bug
“Look at our variety”
Says the pit boss
“We have sweet
And Tart
Rainier
Black
And Bing”
Amidst words
The Overseer trusts
Our eyes
Pass over
The divergent
Fruit trees at the heart
Of the orchard
We need
a spoonful
of candor
to curb the cries
from cankerous tongues
that burn
biting mobs
This is a continuation of my thought that started with A Shot in the Arm.
They talked
of Jesus
between bites
of bacon
and runny-yoke
soaked hash browns
They talked
they mocked
bleeding hearts
shedding liberal tears
for the souls
of the others who are lost
They talked
and chomped
on buttery toast
cheering chains that bind
the others to choices
they’re not allowed to make
They talked
of Jesus
between slurps
of creamy coffee
but the way they talked
I knew
They didn’t know
Jesus
