Poem: Flood The Streets

They thought we’d stay quiet.  

They thought we’d scroll past.  

But we showed up with boots, signs, and middle fingers raised.  

We flooded the streets like a goddamn tidal wave.  

Every chant a curse. Every step a threat.  

We’re not asking. We’re demanding.  

And we’re not leaving till the bastards sweat.

You built your empire on silence and spin.  

On cages, on lies, on blood-soaked grin.  

But we cracked the concrete with our rage.  

We tore your speeches into confetti.  

We pissed on your podium.  

We screamed truth so loud it shattered your glass.

This is not a protest.  

This is a reckoning.  

This is every ignored voice turned into a fucking war drum.  

This is the sound of your power dying.  

This is the sound of us 

Unapologetic, unfiltered, unrelenting.

We don’t want your reforms.  

We want your resignation.  

We want your trials.  

We want your legacy burned down to ash.  

We want the history books to say:  

“They rose. They raged. They won.”

So keep your barricades.  

We’ll climb them.  

Keep your riot cops.  

We’ll outlast them.  

Keep your lies.  

We’ll drown them.  

Because we flood the streets.  

And we don’t fucking stop

Until you're dead and gone.

Punk Lyrics: Nuremberg For Today

[Verse 1]

You signed the orders, you built the hell,

You watched the bodies drop and said “Oh well.”

You called it legal, we call it war

And we’ve got receipts, you corrupt little whore.

[Chorus]

The trials are coming, better learn to plead,

For every stolen breath and every dirty deed.

You wore the badge, you played the part

Now the reckoning’s here, and it’s tearing you apart.

[Verse 2]

You caged the kids, you fed the lies,

You let the sick die while you monetized.

You laughed in court, you rigged the game

But history’s a bitch and she remembers your name.

[Bridge]

No more silence, no more spin,

We’re carving your legacy into rusted tin.

Every file, every tape, every bloodstained page

Will scream your crimes from a burning stage.

[Chorus]

The trials are coming, better learn to plead,

For every stolen breath and every dirty deed.

You wore the badge, you played the part

Now the reckoning’s here, and it’s tearing you apart.

[Outro]

This ain’t revenge, it’s righteous fire

A courtroom choir and a funeral pyre.

We’ll drag your name through every verse

And bury your legacy in the motherfucking dirt.

Mark Twain - War Prayer

 

Mark Twain, “The War Prayer” (ca.1904-5)

The American writer Mark Twain wrote the following satire in the glow of America’s imperial interventions.

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism … on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun … nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. …

Sonnets about the asshole in the White House

I've been writing sonnets all day. I'm sharing the ones I like best. Here's one, called Parchment Scolds The Crown.

I am the charter, inked in freedom’s hand,  

A covenant to guard the people’s right;  

Yet you would twist my words to seize command,  

And march your armies through the city’s night.  

No clause permits a tyrant’s vain decree,  

No parchment yields to whims of selfish power;  

My checks and balances were forged to be  

A shield against the strongman’s darkest hour.  

I scold you now, for every breach you make,  

Each act that stains the oath you swore to keep;  

The law is not a toy for you to break,  

Nor silence meant for citizens to weep.  

Remember well: I am the nation’s frame,  

And history will judge your reckless claim.


Another:

When law is bent to serve a tyrant’s will,  

And soldiers march where citizens should stand,  

The city’s quiet hum grows sharp and shrill,  

As boots of war defile the nation’s land.  

No statute grants this power, yet it’s claimed,  

A show of force to mask a hollow crown;  

The Constitution’s voice is left unnamed,  

Its parchment trampled, freedoms beaten down.  

But walls of steel cannot suppress the song,  

Nor silence truth that rises from the square;  

The people know when justice has gone wrong,  

And rally fierce to guard what all must share.  

So history will mark this dark parade,  

A warning carved where liberty was frayed.

Another:

Beneath the gilded towers of false might,

A tyrant stirs, with cruel hand and glare.

He builds his walls and shuns the wronged and right,

And floods our streets with fear beyond repair.

The huddled, seeking refuge, plead in vain,

While soldiers march where neighbors once were free.

His edicts choke compassion, bind in chain,

And hollow justice bends to tyranny.

O nation torn, where once your heart held grace,

Now echoes of oppression scar the land.

Yet still, the truth endures, it finds its place,

Though foul command may strike with iron hand.

Rise, conscience, rise — resist the shadowed way;

For dawn returns, though night may claim the day.

Sonnet: Donnie the Diaper Man & JD the Wonder Nanny

 

Donnie the Diaper Man, a grown-up squish,

Parades in Pampers, proud and full of pride.

He fills his Depends with a toddler’s wish,

Then waddles off, unbothered, dignified.

His throne? A beanbag, crusted, damp, and low.

His scepter? Teething ring from '92.

He grunts, then calls for JD - “Time to go!”

The Wonder Nanny storms in, wipes in two.

He lifts Don's legs with grace and seasoned flair,

While humming lullabies through clenched regret.

He’s changed more men than diapers, unaware

That Donnie’s leaks are just the warm-up set.

So let this tale of shame and wipes be sung -

A man, a nanny, and a very damp bung.

Casualties of War - A Poem

I wrote this poem 20 years ago about being a survivor of pretty intense child abuse at the hands of my stepmother, and clawing my way out of that shit. Trigger Warning: Child Abuse, Trauma...

Jericho - A Poem

 

This is a poem I wrote about 25 years ago, as I was making early breakthroughs in handling my life and my mental health...

A Dream Within A Dream - By Edgar Allan Poe

I first read this poem roughly forty years ago in a literature class at Canada College, in California. (That's Canada pronounced the Spanish way, "Can YA da"). I loved it then, I love it now...