The Heat was Hot, and the Ground was Dry

The heat is knocking power out a while.
The highest is the Valley’s one eighteen,
As if the earth itself had put a sheen
On all the outside world, that from a mi-/le
Out of any town you’d see the roads,
The people, and the buildings waving in
The style of mirages.  Any thin
And weaker movement, hidden, under loads
Of overheated weariness, I fear,
Are never long enough to give ‘em life,
And any last mirages to the fife
Of my approaching Piper disappear,
Revealing now a world that I had not
Sufficiently described as being hot.

On the Recent SCOTUS Ruling

Well, holy hell, the ruling’s a surprise:
Obamacare is law.  The leading voice
Was not the one predicted, giving choice
To government to tax.  We may surmise
A host of varied voices, with a claim
To know the Constitution in and out,
Declaring it a mishap, or a rout,
Each voice a scholar, though in all but name.
I haven’t read, as yet, each judges’ take
On law and on the ruling.  But I’ll guess
That commentators, pundits, and the press
Will summarize the damage to the state
As “everything,” and blame the ruling’s end
On human weakness; thus do we pretend
Our knowledge flawless, and our weakness, penned.

Roberts (Knows / Does Not Know) His Constitution

I’m reading people everywhere are pissed
That Roberts isn’t doing what he should
Be doing, and that they have understood
The Constitution better.  But a list
Of all of the complaints concerning these –
His health, or his senility, his aims –
Reveal a list of people playing games
With commentary putting ill-at-ease
The simple fact that Roberts is a man
Who knew the Constitution better still.
I know not if he’s right, but this I know:
I’m better off with him than any show
Of vitriol from Savage, or a shill
Impassioned Levin rant.  Contestants, please,
Be scholars ere you claim to hold the keys.

The Ides of March

I wouldn’t be the president today.
The bill he favors most is ill at ease
With any lasting hope that it’d please
The final end and judgment.  And it may
Be better, then, for Mitt, if it survives,
If only that it rallies any men
Who gladly fight to shut it down again
To vote for the Republican.  The lives
Of murdered bordermen are hitting back
At Eric, and the ruling is at hand,
The very day the judges may disband
The very bill he favors.  Any lack
Of worry on his face is nothing more
Than cover for tomorrow’s final score.

Everyone Who Disagrees With Me is Stupid

There's no logical difference between a liberal blaming the view of the Right on racism and a conservative blaming the view of the Left on some form of White House dictatorial pressure. Both are variants of the idea that the impression you give to the opposition is entirely their fault.

The sheriff isn’t stopping his arrests,
No matter what the president, the court,
Or activists are doing, for to thwart
His efforts for his state, which he attests
Are only beneficial.  This, indeed,
Won’t have a happy ending.  It is dumb
To think that any opposition’s numb
To any form of logic, that the need
To stand against your policies is this:
But racism, or grubbing for the vote
Of outlaws.  The refusal here to note
That people’s view of you is quite amiss,
Resulting from their idiocy, Joe,
Will reap what you deny you’d ever sow.

On Judging and Whatnot

Americans are odd in this respect:
Rejecting their abhorrence for the mass
Of men within the predatory class
Of lawyers, they are happy to direct,
Abundantly, their love and honor here,
To judges – though I doubt that it’ll last
If any rulings overthrow the past
And brutal three-odd years of rulings, fear
And ill-constructed punditry around
The laws to be considered.  What a job.
I couldn’t face the coming angry mob,
And I would rather dig into the ground
For money for a living.  Wish ‘em luck,
And hope that the conclusion doesn’t suck.

Bastard.

The headline’s been the same, a second day.
Sandusky’s been convicted.  What a shock,
That anyone that’s capable of stalk-/ing
Innocence, and having him his way,
Is caught, though after many bitter years
Of hidden, unreported, ill abuse.
I’ll never understand how he could loose
The man, and any doubt about the fears
That such suspicion shouldn’t keep alone
A vigil, ‘till the victim has the strength
To tell the world to keep the man at length.
Sweet Jesus God in heaven, for to own
A moment as a witness, so to cease
The silence that repeated his release.

SCOTUS Gives a Welcome Break

So SCOTUS is procrastinating; good.
I’d rather all the headlines keep a pace
That doesn’t feel much like a relay.  Case
And ruling, after Holder, if he should
Be held in his contempt, or Egypt, Greece,
Or immigration, Syria, alas – 
The news report belies that any mass
Of citizens go on in quiet peace
(At least within America).  The earth
Is riotous enough, and we have not
Developed any way to give it thought
Enough to not destroy the very birth
And welcome maturation of the rights
We’re apt to crush in partisans and fights.

Obama vs. Issa

The president is holding Eric out,
And it’s a stupid move.  I will assume
There’s nothing in the document to doom
The president or Holder to a rout
In 2012 or prison; even then,
Assuming innocence, the very act
Of looking like you’re hiding will enact
The guiltiest of scenes within the men
Who vow to vote against you.  Though I don’t
Care much for Darrell Issa, or the way
He’s prone to his exaggeration, he
Is still within his legal means to see
The details of mistakes, and any fray
With power and the law will never end
In Power’s favor; thus, Obama, bend.

Learn to Program. Really.

I’m well amazed enough at any men
Who war with other nations with a script,
Or some encrypted code, that, when it’s stripped,
Has stolen all advantages again,
And left irrelevant the many years
Of preparation given to a fight
Now stripped of its defenses.  But the sight
Of such a way to battle threw the fears
Of some impending war away awhile,
And I was left with awe that such a world
Existed, and a wish that I had hurled
My studies in computers, and a smi-/le,
Knowing there’s a world left to explore.
The techie’s not rejected anymore.

On Egypt, and Voting

A poem for yesterday, which I missed.

I’d planned on writing quite another poem,
When voting hadn’t finished, when the choice
Was two unknown alternatives, a voice
That sounded like Mubarak coming home,
Or one that rallied much of Egypt’s fears
Of harsh Sharia law, and lesser rights.
“The truth is that, when silent are the fights
And empty all the protests, and the jeers
At all the former leaders, then the vote
Is often but a choice between a dud
Or cluster, unexploded.  Any blood
Remaining in the people, for to coat
Another growing tyrant, be at ease.”
They’ve voted now; I hope the many pleas
For freedom bring the country from its knees.

Austerity Wins

Elections are suggesting that in Greece
A temporary stay of any split
With all remaining Euros will acquit
Some other lands of pressure for a peace
They’d otherwise be threatening, and are.
Economies are hinging on the pain
That’s hinted at in Italy, and Spain.
But ere you let the worry go too far,
Rejoice a moment, as the ballots call
A brief, unsettled respite from the crash
That all had been preparing for.  The cache
Of many an investor, for the fall
Unloaded, now is safely stored away,
When Grecians chose austerity today.

On Immigration

I’ve never really cared about the fact
That any crafty Democrat can use
The weighty votes of immigrants, abuse
The immigration loopholes to extract
A bigger base, with all Latinos in.
The facts are simple – we, the USA,
A haven for the helpless, if we may
Reject the very ones who didn’t sin
In breaking any laws, and send them off
To land as foreign to them as it is
To us, and say the fault’s completely his,
Or all upon his father, I would scoff
At all remaining notions we would save
Of calling us a land of free and brave.

Sister Syria No Longer Smiles

The Russian foreign minister declared
That Hillary’s condemnatory words
Connecting dead civilians with the birds
That Syria is buying hadn’t dared
To formulate the truth.  And no surprise
Is ever uttered by the either side
That governments supporting them had lied
When giving out summations that surmise
That anyone that’s shooting with their guns
Is firmly shooting on the side of truth,
And justice, and the battle-weary youth
Are ready, after several bloody suns,
To lead their sister Syria to heights
Ere hindered by the holocaustic nights.

So go the country's last and bitter rites.

Russia vs. Turkey, in Syria

So Russia’s giving Syria the guns,
And Turkey, to the opposition.  Well,
There’s precedent aplenty for the hell
Of fighting other nations with the sons
Of other nations – Lebanon, or Guam,
The Florida Territories, or the lands
On which we built America, the sands
Of regions in the Gulf ere the aplomb
Of Western fighting dominance arose
When one Hussein invaded.  It’s a trend
That many bloody years cannot amend,
Assuming all the present bloody blows
Are mirroring the prior coup d’etat
Attempted once before within Hama.

Taxes, Taxes, Taxes

So, North Dakota’s rich enough to vote
Away recurring taxes.  There’s a move
That’s guaranteed to make the Right approve.
The media is quickly taking note,
And though I’m guessing that it won’t survive,
The topic’s in discussion on a scale
That guarantees survival.  Any tale
Of government, and citizens who strive
To make a greater freedom isn’t one
That’s likelier to die than is to grow.
They’ll end up keeping taxes very low,
But keeping all the taxes, when it’s done,
And maybe other states will follow suit
(Unless Dakota gives it all the boot).

Big Brother is Steve Jobs

Ironically enough, I don't entirely believe the sentiment in this poem. But it's late, and I needed a poem.

The world is worried sick of any firm
United in observing us.  Alas,
I fear the world has given reason pass
In fearing the observing.  Though the germ
Of tyranny is hidden in the ways
Of any corporation large enough
To function as a government, the rough
Conspiracies we draw may any phase
Of reason, worry-free, too quickly pass
In favor of a panic.  Never fear.
A corporation’s life is hidden here
Beneath consumers’ money, and, alas,
There’s not a chance they’d push away the men
And women buying Google once again.

I Guess Big Brother is Mark Zuckerburg

I’m losing any faith I may have had
In anyone’s ability to read
And summarize acutely.  There’s a seed
Of 1984 within the clad-
In-sinister summation of the piece
That’s under Drudge’s headline “Watching You,”
And thus I fear Obama will accrue
Sufficient information to release
A power far awry of any held
By any prior president.  Alas,
He’s using Facebook, Twitter, and the grass
That kept him higher earlier, a meld
Of socializing anyone could do,
Provided they’ve a mind to votes accrue.

Thank God There's Nothing Bigger Going On

The headline isn’t much, nor is the piece,
Nor any of the few predicting thoughts
Surrounding the conclusion, like the dots
Surrounding any picture, a release
Of fear that you were reading in a bit
And little more than may have been your due.
The dots may make a picture, it is true,
Or but a Rorschach Test.  Now I’ll admit
The evidence is grim, if you are one
Who’s working for the president, in hope
That he’ll be re-elected, but a cop-/ing
Mechanism humans share is none-/theless
A present element in any race:
Assume predictions for to set the pace.

Wisconsin's Made for Walker, and That's Just What It Do

Wisconsin is a victory, again,
For Walker.  I’d recount the very tale
That’s buzzing on the internet, the fail-/ure
Democrats have had recalling when
A second counting wasn’t very wise,
Or any bitter backlash it’d make
In any voter well-inclined to take
Offense at interruptions.  Well, surprise,
Recounting didn’t work, but never blame
The Democrats for trying – I recall
Recounting that resulted in the fall
Of prior office-runs, although the fame
Of these is less than any bitter cost
Of all the world observing that you lost.

420

I never thought to carry, in a bag,
And in a pocket, pot.  It’s better home,
Or hidden at a friend’s, within a tome
That’s hollow in the center.  Any drag
Is never done in public, or at all
In any place where people couldn’t crash,
And later wake, regretting any rash
And awful choices made within the pall
Of dying inhibition; play it close.
I’ll never understand a growing need
To sneak another hit of hidden weed
In public.  Still, the city’d diagnose
A newer law for any holding pot – 
Don’t ever let us see what you have got.

Investing Can Suck

I wish I understood the many words
And phrases, or the concepts, that herein
Declare uncertain futures, and, akin
To novice Vegas-ites, cut into thirds
The many different outcomes of the world
Financial market – bull, or bear, or bust
(Or win, or lose, or draw).  If any trust
In any new or old prediction, hurled
Atop the many others in the piece
I’m reading, is denial of a truth –
That all of it’s uncertainty, forsooth –
I’m betting new assurances, unceas-/ing
Worries, and predictions of a fall
Will show we know but nothing much at all.

DHS vs. Katrina II

I’m guessing there’s a worry that again
A hurricane and faulty planning, state
And federal and local keeping straight
The myriad of duties, and the men
And women being trapped upon a roof
Or on a bridge, or any other thing
That made Katrina so embarrassing
Would show the watching world there isn’t proof
Barack Obama isn’t better for
Protecting those Americans from harm
When hit with a disaster.  Any charm
Of an elected leader isn’t more
Than weight upon his shoes to bring him down
If he allows his countrymen to drown.