The time has come...

Indictment Monday! Mueller tips his hand.
Already, Papadopoulos has pled;
He'll open for us on the witness-stand,
to contradict what Sean and Sarah've said.
Paul Manafort took $Millions from Ukraine
to prop the Kremlin's puppet on that throne.
Evading taxes on that tainted gain
could earn a nine by twelve cell of his own.
You squeeze the little fish, then work up higher
to implicate lieutenants near the top.
If Papadopoulos wore Mueller's wire,
he'll earn more lenient treatment from our cop.
"The time has come" the walrus said "to squeal"
Sam Clovis heads the queue to cop a deal.

revolutionary

five centuries since Luther took up quill
and gave der Deutsche Welt what had been Greek
a common diction that they're using still.
He standardized the way that Germans speak.
Like Aleghieri, but without the rhyme
his dialect because the standard one
for Northern Europe to the present time
the printing press prevailed, without a gun.
Linguistic union needs no troops, no State
and even Catholic Austria joined on
vonBismarck's project of a later date
had deep foundations he could build it on.
Before a flag gets raised, or anthem sung,
identity seeps in, with mother's tongue.

Lech l'cha

Two sides of beef stand witness to the b'rit
our patriarch sprawls tripping on the sand.
Where Avram chased off vultures from the meat
his seed would hold clear title to the Land.
A toothless promise, murmured in the night
no rainbow seals the end to death by Flood.
The Promised Land must still be won by fight,
the covenant's not sealed, except in blood.
The dream that Herzl swore was not a dream
was wrested from the Ottomans' defeat
a remedy for peace-time too extreme
took war and devastation to complete.
Yet Makhpelah's not his, 'til it's been bought;
the Conquest--foreordained--must still be fought.

b'reishit N

A serpent guards that garden in the East
where we could picnic, free from thorns, and ants.
Until, conversing with that subtle beast,
we found a need for modesty, and pants.
Uncounted worlds of angels, singing praise,
left Him unsatisfied, and oddly bored.
So our account conceives, in seven days
a "very good" device to please the Lord.
The Tree of Knowledge let God off the hook.
Without freewill, He can't be wholly good.
Theodicy's there in the op'ning book.
It's we that chose to not do as we should.
Let theologians categorize sin;
morality, like God, must dwell within.

M & A

When neutrons stars embrace, it's not by chance
their orbital decay was foreordained,
a single mass, where lately two had danced
but on the balance, much that's new is gained.
The warp and weft of space-time resonate
and LIGO duly notes this distant gong.
Once what was excess got to dissipate
the term for gravity proved far too strong.
Neutronium's its own potential-well
accounting for a lot of mass, perhaps.
But small amounts just blow themselves to Hell,
and bigger wads make BlackHoles, by collapse.
As wonders of the universe unfold,
it's kilonovae that bequeath us gold.

used

To show the president he's got his back
John Kelly went on camera, and lied
a virulent, ad hominem attack
on anyone who'd take the widow's side.
LeDavid Johnson served his country well
his wife deserved a prompt condolence call,
explaining what's at stake in the Sahel,
for which her husband had to give his all.
This White House failed to even keep a list
of GoldStar families to be consoled.
A nation's outraged at the widow dissed,
but Conway's betting it can be controlled.
John Kelly clings, where better men would quit.
It's unbecoming, eating Donald's shit.

helter skelter

the locomotive tethered to my arm
thinks he could take that squirrel in a race
without a yip of warning or alarm
he's stretched out at a gallop, giving chase.
Were I but on a skateboard, or on skis
his energy might save me from some sweat
but running helter-skelter through the trees
I'd like a drogue-chute to arrest this jet.
A fleeting circuit of the local park
to stretch our legs a bit, perchance to train
him not to lunge at squirrels, or to bark
at times, I'm like a puppet on his chain.        
he's eager to impress me that he's good
could I but make myself well-understood.

echo chamber

When Eminem and Limbaugh've jumped the ship
there's no alternative from which to choose.
Trump's minions have to wake to this bad trip
they scan in vain for cheerier fake news.
An epistemic universe so shut,
their minds are battened, locked, and barred, and trussed.
The New York Times ain't gonna make the cut; 
they know just whom they don't, and whom they trust.
Reports are "fake" if they're not from the team
the tribal narrative's just for the base
insisting their delusion's not a dream
eyes firmly shut against this scary place.
More opiates sedate them, day by day.
But this dystopia won't go away.

Noach II

Each clockwork cosmos, pure, and fair, and just
was found deficient; none could clear the rod.
And yet this compromise, wrought from their dust,
proved somehow satisfactory to God.
Free-will lets monotheists off the hook.
Although there's Evil, God can still be good.
While revelation's there in His good book,
it's willful man that won't act as he should.
The line of Adam must ride out the storms
although our violence screams to the skies,
to build again society, and norms
where no one does what's good in his own eyes.
Repackaged Gilgamesh, and snakes, and mud
lay ethics on old stories of the Flood.

machinations

Who knows what Kellyanne believes at heart?
She'll advocate for Mercer's darkest whim.
To practice law, one has to play the part
and Robert's hired her mouth to speak for him.
Sincerity's the key in politics
for which a frontman's weighed, and bought, and sold.
The public hated Spicer's nervous tics.
When you can fake sincerity, you're gold!
Not long ago, she would have sold us Cruz
dissecting Trump the grifter that he is.
But Mercer calculated Ted must lose
And Donald fitted better with his biz.
A useful puppet, cloaking Mercer's hand
sings hymns to Trump--until Pence gets her canned.

misappropriation

Trump's cronies take their flights high on the hog,
in love with perquisites that come with rank.
The tone's set by their spendthrift demagogue;
our public coffer's just their piggy-bank.
Inspectors General work overtime
accounting for each new extravagance.
Each military flight might be a crime,
but no one dares call "bullshit" on Mike Pence.
Incessantly, Trump's cabinet posts churn;
the Senate confirmations never end.
We'll each be Secretaries in our turn!
Their ethics, only Conway could defend.
The scandals that would sink another ship
bespeak the iceberg; we've just glimpsed the tip.

infrastructure

Cell-service revolutionized world trade
leapfrogging infrastructure that's not there.
Before an optic fiber cable's laid
the data's in the 'cloud, sent through thin air.
MaBell's a lap or more behind the pace.
As long as banks use checks inscribed in ink,
we're scarcely even players in this race; 
our global ranking's only gonna sink.
World economic order on its head.
The late adopters claim the top reward.
Our century of influence is dead, 
too late to cut the corporate 'phone cord.
Nigerians reap billions in sham deals;
Americans share photos of our meals.

links

Vacation beckons, Donald quits this town,
away from the humidity, and heat.
The toll of so much "winning"'s got him down.
At golf, his "friends" accept, he's gonna cheat.
The drive he slices into the pro-shop
goes unrecorded, there's another ball.
His caddy sets a tee, with it atop.
To mention it would be the height of gall.
But back in Washington, Bob Mueller's team
is prospecting among the gold for dirt.
Already, Flynn's shown more than just a gleam.
We're keen to hear what Carter Page may blurt.
The links this Special Counsel documents
could spell the downfall of a president.

limits

Of those who look imploringly to Pence,
scant few embrace his Hoosier Christian cult.
The rest hope for a whiff of competence;
the Oval Office calls for an adult.
Our twenty-fifth amendment's grand of breadth,
but noticeably lacking in details.
Transition's clearer when there's been a death,
but no one's sure what ousting Trump entails.
That "fucking moron" Tillerson can't stand
may yet have allies on Capital Hill.
To strip him of his office, and command,
McConnell'd have to show uncommon will.
The horrors of a Pence presidency
at least fall short of launching WWIII.

the First

Not even Limbaugh can salute this mess
our media unite, from best to worst
when Trump assaults the Freedom of the Press
for Rights enumerated in the First.
The court ruled Peter Zenger must go free;
it can't be "libel" to point out frank flaws.
If we're to practice real democracy,
to punish Truth makes mockery of laws.
To date, this latest tantrum takes the cake.
Trump's stubby hands would strangle empty air.
But it's his budget numbers that are fake;
and CNN just made the figures square.
Elections are a sham, if we must choose
without free access to unfiltered news.

Powell's heir

Rex Tillerson's got no use for his boss
what he constructs, that fucking moron breaks.
The anti-Midas, turns all things to dross
and barters rare originals for fakes.
He's only stuck it out this long for Mike.
But--for is part--he wants governor Pence
to do more than stick fingers in the dike
and testify to Trump's incompetence.
The 25th Amendment's all the rage
as scholars grasp at any floating straw
to save us from the latest Trump outrage
the remedy's untested, but it's law.
Reluctant Brutus weighs his loyalties
as our republic totters to her knees.

setting the low tone

The neoNazis marched in Charlottesville
not Whitefish, where they'd just made empty noise
Their packmates were emboldened to the kill
who, each alone, are pewling frightened boys.
The local cops demurred to do their job
and shut their eyes in studied innocence
complicit with the scum who formed the mob.
Let others leave their 'prints on violence.
The Trumpanzeees with tiki torches strut,
rhetorically inflated by their man.
As intellects, they'd never made the cut
but bars are lower in the Ku Klux Klan.
Six months! Trump's minions set a record low
regressing to the dark years of JimCrow.

red-shift

ben-Uziel could roast a bird in flight
if it flew by while he was deep in prayer
his comm-link's collimated hot and tight
too bad for anyone intruding there.
With Moses only, God spoke face to face
and he concealed his beams behind a veil
for no one since him has that been the case
more often, calls rejected, e-texts fail.
"no more than one"'s the formula that Jews
agree for God, but He won't intervene
within the laws of nature, we can choose
but what's divine is neither heard, nor seen.
Attenuated with the passing time
God's messages grow dim (but they still rhyme)

Military Advisors

Until this government falls in Niger
our Green Berets kill with impunity
no reason's given for our mission there
uranium deposits must be free!
The racket Smedley Butler warned us of
has tentacles throughout Capital Hill
procurement and Arms Makers hand-in-glove
set policy against the People's will.
Imperial pretentions have a cost
and vassal peoples dream dreams of their own
the Marshall Plan's good feelings are long lost
now legions want to tip us from our throne.
the Dulles/Eisenhower plan for Pax
is incompatible with current facts.

Medea

from Iolcos, Jason rode the West wind's breath
across the wine-dark seas, unplumbed and wide.
his uncle hoped he'd meet a nameless death
and wasn't charmed to meet his foreign bride.
Medea, for her part, returned his hate
and schooled his mindless daughters what to do
if their dear dad were to rejuvenate
they'd have to serve him meekly up in stew.
But Corinth was the capstone on her life
Euripides immortalized her role
when Jason showed up with his trophy wife
she balked at life where others had control.
a proto-feminist avant-le-mot
from 2.4 millennia ago.

Cops of the World

Three GreenBerets were ambushed in Niger
they're quite as dead as if they'd gone to war
America's surprised to learn they're there;
we've yet to hear just what this mission's for.
Eight hundred bases pock the planet's face
without accounting for our SpecialOps.
Damned Yankees act as if we run the place
but no one designated us WorldCops.
Combatants--to be lawful--need a war;
freelancers get no bennies if they're shot.
'Though Erik Prince believes each man's a whore
our troops in uniform are proudly not.
Without a policy, we're walking jokes
reprising bitter lyrics from Phil Ochs.

zot haBracha

Contented goat-herd, tending Yitro's flock
demurred promotion to a bigger job
he'd fled the verdant delta for this rock
idyllic break from court, and from that mob.
Reluctant poet, 'til he found his tongue
relied on elder siblings though the years
but when--at last--his final song was sung
he's made the Heavens and the Earth give ears
The humble servant to a higher will
who'd lead the People where he's told to go
to plead at court, or hear a case, or kill
because an inner voice compelled him so.
No dynasty of sons, no earthly shrine
his legacy's in words of the divine.

stochastic progress

Cetaceans galloping beneath the waves
preserve a land-based quadrupedal gait
as upright Man so often still behaves
like ancestors more fit to brachiate.
Old subroutines are cheap to rearrange
as duplicated genes are free to drift.
Among the clunkers, each time we make change,
collectibles are there, for us to sift.
Conserving features more like the sublime
absorbing bound'ries play the longest odds
repeating throughout eons of Deep Time
produced the physiognomy of gods.
Until biologists learned to do math
it took a genius to discern life's path.

echoes

the Whigs embraced Zach Taylor, and he won
the White House for them, then abruptly died.
Their party's back was broken, spent, and done
Republicans became "the other side".
They've had their own run since the Civil War
but now, their season's over on the stage
their wreckage is a platform for Roy Moore.
Progressives dominate the coming age.
Can Democrats avoid this fate as well?
Have both big parties doomed themselves to split?
The Wasserman machine's consigned to Hell,
and Tom Perez has not been worth a shit.
The Russians paid good money for their clown
who may yet bring our whole republic down.

b'reishit N

FirstLight, created ere the moon, or sun
was stored away--for those who can--to find
each spark redeemed, a sacred battle won
perceived not with the eyes, but with the mind.
The written word made history's first mark
preserving poetry of those who'd died
sustaining what might gutter in the dark;
what had been deep could also, now, grow wide.
But is it metaphor? Or the BigBang?
black-body of a cosmos screaming hot?
A pre-galactic, thermal birthing pang.
Perhaps we'd better read it as p'shat.
FirstLight could cast no shadows in our cave
'til Wilson thought to look in microwave.