passing the buck

must be the season for the fools
those little plastic bobble heads
like convenient tools
lounging on their lazy pillow beds
reading fairy tales with stories of fantastic luck
passing idle time, passing the buck
wireless signals passing thru their brain
at the highest speed of the fastest train
running faster and up over the hills
i'm getting nervous, getting the chills
passing idle time, passing the buck
reading fairy tales with stories of fantastic luck
and over by the Swanee river
where the waters' cold i start to shiver
a crowd of rebel soldiers
seated high on a confederate horse
long rifles resting on angry shoulders
aiming to kill their historic remorse
near the nearest town square
lead bullets flying toward people there
must be the season for the fools
those little plastic bobble heads
like convenient tools
lounging on their lazy pillow beds
reading fairy tales with stories of fantastic luck
passing idle time, passing the buck
wireless signals passing thru their brain
at the highest speed of the fastest train
running faster and up over the hills
i'm getting nervous, getting the chills.

from old Mexico

i crossed the border from old Mexico
always looking for the safest place to go
heading past San Antonio all the way north to Texarkana
wearing my foreign frown and a newly found bandana
a busy job and a pretty wife
my dream of an opportunity to earn a better life
there's a job working in the big fields picking big green peas
bending my back and bending my knees
crossing my fingers that i don't get caught
with the few things i brought
and i'm rolling over endless ground hoping i won't be found
by the government men with their orders
to stop men, women, and their kids crossing borders
looking for a land full of promise
a sunset to kiss;
a dawn to love with a full heart and a song in my soul
i crossed the border from old Mexico
always looking for the safest place to go
over the river and thru the dangerous desert
past the cactus whos' shade could hurt
i wondered truly about the awful hard times
words running away from easy rhymes
i wondered about the sweet lands and the hard future toil
the smiling girls and the fertile soil
the long night roads and heavy weight
i thought ahead and i can't wait
i crossed the border from old Mexico
always looking for the safest place to go
driving past San Antonio all the way north to Texarkana
wearing my foreign frown and a newly found bandana
a busy job and a pretty wife
my dream of an opportunity to earn a better life

the honest men and the ones who lied

it felt like the dawn
with a big wheel and a spin;
there was a tug and a pull
but i couldn't give in
to the urge for sleep:
people were gathering in the street,
children on the run
looking up at the rising sun
and down the barrel of a mean, steel gun.
the loudspeakers blared
that nobody cared
but i saw a friendly hand,
felt a sense of pride
that i could tell the difference
between the honest men and the ones who lied.
there was a moment
when the skies grew dark and cold;
a mother with blue eyes
trembled when she realized she was growing old
and the blond dad
who once felt determined and glad
saw his world changing, grew angry and sad.
it felt like the dawn
with a big wheel and a spin;
there was a tug and a pull
but i couldn't give in
to the urge to sleep;
people were gathering in the street,
children on the run
looking up at the rising sun
and down the barrel of a cold, steel gun.
the loudspeakers blared
that nobody cared
but i saw a friendly hand,
felt a sense of pride
that i could tell the difference
between the honest men and the ones who lied.

i felt like a whiskey bottle

walking in the woods
down the single track
sweat dropping from my fingertips
sweat rolling down my back
spider webs around
the sun overhead
my little dog is plenty hot
she's missing what i said
no one is watching
we're traveling slow
we both were younger once upon
a thousand years ago
after many miles
swimming in a creek
i felt like a whiskey bottle
that didn't spring a leak
and there was the car
a bone and a key
the bartender poured you a wine
and a cold beer for me.

Maker's Mark

Maker's Mark on red
is what the umbrella said
and i got it in my head
to have a shot before bed;
but one proved not enough
so i hung tough
and had plenty more of the stuff
until i could no longer huff and puff.

the Mekong

the Mekong was, you know,
once a very dangerous place to go
for the Frenchman and the Japanese
who often got stuck in mud up to their knees.
they were sometimes buried in Chinese lead
when angry bullets struck them in the head;
they'd fall in brown rice water and remain,
spilling conquest fantasies from large holes in their brain.
regardless of the season, the weather was always hot
when the Vietnamese civilians took aim and shot,
not interested in a foreigners' language or school,
with no intention of becoming a mercenaries' tool.
Ho Chi Minh said to fight and fight they earnestly did;
sometimes they'd stand in open defiance and sometimes they hid;
but for years and years they always stood their ground,
until no stranger armies could be found.
even their great Imperial city of Hue was destroyed
by Americans in 1968 who with massive force employed
a relentless bunch of young Marines and destructive artillery shells
so that even today one can walk there quietly and hear the desperate battle yells.
the famous Citadel has been restored, the Perfume River flows without war dead,
and the victor has the final word about what was done and said;
a small piece of southeast Asia with mountains and a long, inviting coast
is today filled with humble people who have no desire to boast.

she'd rather have a good laugh

i went underground on a strictly vanilla morn
when i heard old Triton play his wreathed horn,
and my dog jump over a fallen log;
her head was in a canine chipmunk fog!
but it was a good day for an even better walk;
on the way home we stopped many times to point and talk,
and two cars passed on my right,
their confederate flags flying high as they sped out of sight,
taking but two days to reach the Mississippi coast;
on the way i heard them scream and boast
both cars were Chevrolet from the good old USA!
and i just don't know
how much longer i can go
following in the footsteps of their dead wake
when i'm told something is real but i know it's fake.
my dog ran up to me
carrying a broken stick from the nearest tree.
she asked me if it was real;
i listened to southern black tires squeal
as she helped me to my feet.
on the return home we crossed a bigly main street
with a parade of roaring tanks and artillery shells,
and white sheep in abundance wearing charming cow bells
like a flock
as far long as a massive city block
and as wide
as the golfing fat man who lied
and then we stopped for ice cream and beer:
the more we drank the less we had to fear.
we heard there was a cabin in the woods for rent
and it was hot and i didn't have my tent,
so we decided to pause:
i rested my feet while she rested her paws
and the news gave us both a moment of relief;
an eagle-eyed reporter said the EPA chief was a thief.
i thought i'd try to give my dog a bath
but she said she'd rather have the popcorn and a good laugh.