The Muslim Man
The Muslim Man exhibits qualities that are unfortunately not unique to those of his alleged 'faith', but he provides a genus that counts amongst its depraved cult, percentage wise, a surprisingly high number of utterly useless human beings. Men who, behind the veneer and camouflage of their empty, false, ritualistic 'religiosity', exhibit in copious quantities all those...
Three Suns in an Ochre Sky
In the year thirty, thirty three
At Gliese six-six-seven Cee
We monitored our landing thrust
then touched down gently in the dust.
It wasn't until the second day
That I could quietly slip away.
Laboriously I climbed a hill
And almost choking on the thrill
I turned my disbelieving eyes
Up to the waiting, ochre skies
Small Magellanic Cloud
Child of the Universe
There exists a nameless, dream-like,
To which, oddly, I aspire.
A following of The Way,
Quiet and unassuming in manner
A self effacing journey of submersion
Totally, without appeal
into my Father's house,
Sometimes, people say
about my expression
of my journey,
I never knew you, little thing
But I know you liked to sing
Gymnastics in your Grampa's yard
Your loving Grandma keeping guard.
I know you laughed and felt the sun
enjoyed a ton of simple fun
A 'borrowed angel', for a while
With such an honest, open smile.
I never knew you, little thing,
So busy playing on your swing
I never got to hold your hand
in an unstable, dangerous world
At times their noise and raucous din
The screeching of their violin
The shrill incessant howl of rage
That seems to leap off every page
The Clinton press corps, loyal hacks
All bought-and-paid for maniacs
In sycophantic, fawning mobs
Prostrate their spineless jelly blobs
Before their Ice Queen, Liar-and-thief
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