This would be how the thinking at a MAGA event would go. Sorry but I have seen such statements and felt that it should be put to rhyme~!


This here statue, it seems to me,
was only a tribute to the CCC.
Thought up by the Dems and Roosevelt,
to put deadheads back to work, he felt.

Send them to the woods, to plant more seed,
or build useless things we did not need,
writing down the lies, told by old black folks,
half of what they wrote about them, was a hoax.

So shouldn’t we take those statues down,
out of our beautiful parks or library grounds.
It bothers me when I know,
my tax dollars go to support this show.

The socialistic thought of giving them,
money to pay doctor bills, just on a whim.
food stamps, a waste, on too much food,
or not to work, unless when in the mood.

Now they want more to come to our land,
no immigration, those people, I make my stand.
Dropping kids so fast, this is degradation,
then tell us that we must have integration.

Send them back from where they came,
if they stay here our land want be the same.
Soon our girls will date one, in the shadows,
and the results of this will be mulattoes.

Us whites must make them toe the line,
to keep our land only for yours and mine.
Then all our statues will be of alabaster,
when we finally fix this great disaster.


Shirley and grand son Joel

This is dear to me~!


The final act of you, my lover,
your time on stage may be over.
Leaving me standing in the wings,
remembering all the precious things,
the years we had, both good and the bad,
so many happy shows, only a few not glad..

But I’m thinking of the day,
when I will venture your way,
then we will be together again,
and the final performance will end.
In the theater no one will hear a sound,
that day when final curtain comes down.





In jest, I wrote a soliloquy
it was about lying and things that be.
In it words that just, did not bother me,
but taken more by her, or so said she.

She took askance and let me know,
such a statement my “couth” did not show,
and such farther writing had to go,
or I could no longer be her beau.

So she gave my cheek a verbal slap,
telling me how I was such a sap,
an evil minded thoughtless chap,
for writing terrible things like that.

Feelings hurt from that verbal blow.
That face slap then began to grow,
and my sorrows began to show,
sad condition, so I had to let her know.

Then she assured me right back:
“Twas not a slap but a gentle tap,
on the cheek of her beloved, but slack”,
lest I think that she doth make an attack,

Feeling my words, from her should depart,
she felt the pain of others, from the start,
so because we were then so far apart,
she made this statement from her heart.

I’ve learned my lesson, so will try,
not to write such things, on the fly,
but will digest every word, thereby,
keeping peace, for from that sting, I still cry.


If you are a bigot, an ultra Conservative, or a white Suprematist then you may not be at the right blog.



I see colors being pushed around,
intelligent people with it, are just fine,
but some types run it right into the ground.
Bigots, in the name of God, want to draw a line.

They are afraid that a color line must be kept,
with their imaginary color tone not to be passed.
Build a long tall wall, that is so high it can’t leapt,
while innocents already here, remove them right fast.

Evolution has created people of melanism,
some think should be shunned far beyond reason,
and looking for ways we can put them in a prison,
buying a gun, thinking that to them it is open season.

Some extreme opposites are the pigment our skin,
with a thin layer, deep beyond we’re all the same,
to say any different, I think, should be a mortal sin,
however many a preacher has said that God is to blame.

Color of pigment is part of life’s scheme,
with opposite of that black is called albinism,
most of us lie in a place somewhere in between,
lower that line we are sure to die with good reason.

Political correctness is often at fault,
swapping a word with one that is shand.
“African American”, is wrong, we should halt.
For “black people”, God has scattered in every land.

What if they come from India, even Australia,
or descended from natives right here in this land.
These places have dark people too, this I will tell ya,
how are we going to differentiate each and every man.

Stop thinking from which land you were brought,
we are all Americans, equal except for our covering,
actually makes no difference to mind, word or thought,
if identity can only be seen from the color of your skin.





The incessant pain within my back,
Defrays my thoughts, my work is slack,
Lack of attention will make me crack,
If I can’t concentrate on more than my back.

Have I strained a muscle, or trapped a nerve?
This constant pain makes my cussing heard,
I thank GOD I’m alone when I cry so,
For any visitors would suddenly surely go.

If I sit relaxed and watch T.V.,
Fall asleep or drink hot tea,
In a comfy position the pain does abate,
But when I get up, the pain again does grate.

Between my spine and shoulder, I feel sore,
The pain does linger long hours more,
Why must I ache, day after day?
What have I done wrong, for which I must pay?

“If it hurts, I know it’s there” – I used to say,
But as I grow older, for solace, I now pray.
Let me live without pain, then happier be I,
And grateful forever, until that time – I die.




I live alone, but I am not a hermit,
though I often think about going off the grid.
What would I do if all my friends I had to limit,
in a very short time I think I’d blow my lid.

Animals, friends, life, and love are important to me,
while the unkind, uncouth, lying, I can do without.
And I am not really alone and never could be,
with three cats and a dog always running about.

I spend my time loafing, thinking, walking,
meditation is also very important to me.
But being a groupie can also be exhausting,
and from a crowded room I sometime flee.

Some people can be annoying, bewildering, maddening,
They are rarely what they represent their selves to be
Like feral cats, the people who most in need, are retiring,
and may bite the hand extended to set them free.

Even those closest to us can be absurd,
requiring an enormous amount of energy.
Yet we have often been called upon to love them,
and in doing so we fulfill our destiny.

So a part of me is sometime like a hermit,
fantasizing about throwing caution to the wind,
Abandoning civilization, that bridge, just burn it,
putting up a sign, “turn around this is the end”.

Going off to some lonely, deserted place,
To be unknown, anonymous, world without strife,
thinking, reading, singing, no problems to face,
we have all at times dreamed of that peaceful life.

When it comes to leading a self contained, insular life,
I always hear the call of our great loving community,
then open my eyes. see the chaos and the strife.
Seeing in my life another great opportunity.

Their hurt disguised as pride opens up my eyes,
and hear the muffled cries of human need,
painful moans camouflaged but difficult to disguise.
That inside voice, a loud one that I must heed.

I sense the spirit’s summoning me back,
and realize that in reality, I have a responsibility.
Living as a recluse can not be a real fact,
there is so much to do, no one from it can flee.

Working, walking, giving, talking,
looking for all the things that I can do.
Looking for needed things, I can go shopping,
living a better life, and making friends anew.

If a hermits life is what you are of choosing,
or to dig a hole in in the ground, in which to hide,
Just think of all the great that you could be doing,
with all the hope and joy you can provide.


Many of my dreams are so vivid that they wake me up. This one was in the middle of the night about my high school girl friend, Carol. We were very close but were separated, each going to a different school over a thousand miles apart. Each of us went separate ways, both having long loving happy lives and families, but we kept in close touch in later years. This dream was so vivid that the first thing in the next morning I tried to call her, finding out that she had just died. I allude to her in other poems and this one is short, as it is my personal ode to her. It was so sad, vivid, and so personal.

My childhood friend with love so tight,
I had a dream about you last night.
In it, a star, shining, burning bright above.
While we talked about our long lost love.

And in that dream I saw the flight,,
of a beautiful dove flying out of sight,
You were no longer here, but gone above
To rest in peace, with eternal Love.

Those happy thoughts with years did last,
those happy memories long ago together,
I keep in my mind, as time will pass,
and will stay deep inside my heart forever.