Patriot Games: Tom Brady, NFL’s Harrison Ford

Amounst the gigantic, a star that sizzles

Blockbusters galore, and a few that fizzled

Indiana Jones and Han Solo, his names

Blade Runner and Jack Ryan in Patriot Games
Which hones in on the crux of the matter today

A day meant for rest taken over by play

Men dressed in colors cinched over some pads

Five million dollar stories positioned as ads
Running on a fake lawn, with many a throw
Pomp, circumstance, and a halftime show

Back and forth across the painted “grass”

With testosteronic hubris to the watching mass
We all get together to yell and to scream

One hundred million people facing the screen

Stuffing our faces whilst taking a swig

Watching a piece of dead skin from a pig

#PoetryTrumpsFootball #WeCanDoBetterMerica

Not a Stationary Space

  

Not a Stationary Space 

Two people from different nations
Missing, lost in translation
Two different tribes
Riding two different tides
Yet they meet in a space station

Why do they meet, these two people
Why do they traverse such a steep hill
They come for the air
And there’s no space down there
They come to a space with a steeple 

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Pretentious Pretension

  
Pretentious Pretension

Is there anything less attractive than pretentiousness 
Nihilistic self-import, indignant righteousness 
I’m just glad I’m not like that
And I’m gifted with what’s within my hat

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Cars of My Youth

Cars of My Youth

Cars of my youth, I had them, I did
These are the cars that I had as a kid
Now that I’m older I drive them to work
Or do they drive me, like that snotty “singer” that twerks

The daughter of a country singer, who would’ve thought
You know, this whole world, it’s going to pot
It’s hard to know this, to handle the truth
Oh, how I long for the cars of my youth

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Which Lives Matter? (Pray for Peace)

  
Which Lives Matter? (Pray for Peace)

Black lives matter
So do blue
Pink lives matter
And others do too

Divided we’re so ugly
United we are strong
Enough of this already
Can’t we all just get along?

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Two Papers

    Two Papers
Two papers divide from the wood
Each intended to teach what it should
One called a country, the other a street
One chronicles business, the other easy to read

I long for the days when each town had its own
The paper boy delivered them uphill, in snow
Well, we rightfully complain of the water in Flint
Which I only knew by learning it in print

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The Lever

   
The Lever

Into the booth I go
I can bring the change, I know 
A privilege of being free
Two choices set before me

Neither do I like
A douche and a dyke
Although I thought I’d never
I must pull the lever

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Works of the Hand

  
Works of the Hand

We used to have work aplenty
Mike, Bruce, Dirk, me and Kenny

Work I find now just rents me
Pays scarcely more than a penny

Factories shut down, empty
Mike got a new job, he dreamt he  

He did
He drempt

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Vunderlust

  

 Vunderlust

Vunderlust, ist mine
Not forever, but for a time
Fleeting, floating, like stench of wine
Cherry perfume for nary a dime

Wifting and wafting
Past my nostrils flared
Tell me stories if you dare
Though I listen, do I care?

I long to move along road and path
To the joyous flights of Sylvia Plath
Singing staccato rainbow verse
Choosy choices versed in purse 

BUT SOFT!!!
Why am I drawn to machinery?
The soothing of the rumbling ride 
Leaves me in rapturous, frolicy pride

Miniature bumpees surround the floor
Dancing, prancing all the more
Need I know which one you’ll choose?
I’d trade it all for low rent booze…

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The Apple Corps(e)

  
The Apple Corps(e)

A city aspires to be on a hill
Overtaken, not by nemeses, but pills  
Sold in batches, like so many matches
As the nihilistic laity seeks her thrills

A fire catches and consumes each soul
Moreso jaundiced, though seeking gold
Turning tricks to get each fix
Not mindful life’s not merely a role

Sitting contently watching the box 
Rendering useless all the clocks
Stolen moments, swollen donuts 
One’s own mind is sly as a fox

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