My Poetry

  Marines roll into Los Angeles tires hum like Gestapo hymns olive drab shadows stretch across neon-lit streets. A city holds its breath lungs tight as gulag chains.     National Guard march like Hitler’s S.A. reborn batons gleam under streetlights mirrors of Mao’s Red Guard glare. Their boots stamp a rhythm echoes of Stalin’s purges a cadence to choke dissent.     Protesters scatter like leaves voices silenced muffled by the weight of a flag turned iron-heavy. Is this protection or Idi Amin’s fist in disguise?    Helicopters hum above Lenin’s ghost in their blades whirring paranoia’s anthem. Every camera a Stasi eye every tweet a dossier. The people, branded enemies cower like Weimar’s outcasts.     Trump’s orders a scepter swung wide turn cities to chessboards pawns pinned under khaki knights. The Posse Comitatus Act torn like Tiananmen’s dreams.     A dictator’s playbook dog-eared, rebranded. Fear is the oldest currency Hitler sp...

  I was watching videos on youtube when I came across one about Dr. Oz. You know, the tv snakeoil salesman who is now the Administrator for the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services.   In the video, Oz said that in order to receive health care people will have to prove they matter.   My blood boils a kettle left screaming “Prove you matter!” he decrees As if my pulse, my breath, my bones Aren’t stitched with stardust A constellation of survival.   Fists clenched like storm clouds each scar on my skin a map of battles fought yet I must audition for my own existence!   My worth isn’t a ledger no balance sheet for bureaucrats to tally. I raised children their laughter a wildfire I kindled each bandaged knee, a hymn to life.   Now that my lungs rattle like rusted gates I’m told to dance for healthcare’s crumbs. Every soul is a furnace we burn bright no permission needed.   A janitor’s calloused hands are a cathedral of labor. A homeless man's eyes a...

Taco Trump In the neon-spangled circus  of American dreams Donald Trump struts like a peacock feathers, spray painted gold they glint under his spot light. They call him TACO now Trump Always Chickens Out a moniker that sticks like  hot sauce on polyester. Picture him, bellowing atop a Mar-a-Lago balcony he proclaims tariffs like Zeus hurls thunderbolts each promise a sizzling fajita of bravado only to fizzle out and leave markets to hiccup and investors to chase the mirage of his resolve a coyote chasing a roadrunner that always vanishes in a puff of cartoon dust.   His podium is a taco truck  parked crookedly on Pennsylvania Avenue.  Its menu board scrawled with threats: “25% tariffs on Canada! 10% on China!” But the grill stays cold  the nachos bare as he retreats  a matador dodging his own bullshit leaves Wall Street to dance a jittery salsa to the tune of his indecision.   Oh, great captain of the MAGA seas he navigates like Odysseu...