Red, white, blue burning crosses
light up Capitalist Hill, War House,
White Supreme Court sky. A 500 ft
phallic symbol middle fingers poor
People pinned down resisting crossfire:
Pandemic, Depression, Mengele Medicine…
It’s the Orange Age Olympics of Lying!
Let the games begin—again and again!
Gas-lighting, lipsticking a pig— the un-
wise wiseguy, simple-minded strong-
man, self-made wrong-man—Oh,what
fun to watch!
Boss Tweet—faux führer—leans a
Brooks Brothers skin alligator arm on
the bully pulpit lectern, then sticks 20
perfect 10 backflips,
summersaults, vaults, spiritual assaults—
Then sticks his dismount—turning truth
On
its
head
It’s the Orange Age Olympics of Lying!
Let the games begin—again and again!
Let this COVID capitalism super spreader
spectacle spit deadly droplets of Dog-eat-
Dog! Let it blast foghorns to deputies of
Death—Lawless L-Rad howls of “law and
order…” to 1st Amendment assassins
on gaseous streets where
Dr. Goebbels and Leni Riefenstahl live—
Last Days of Pompeo—Where violent ghosts
live like crude translations from fluent Fascism:
“We Make the law as we Break the law!”
© 2020. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Utopian socialist’s socialist utopia
Comrade Joe—now I know—
I was slow…You tiptoe—Like
sourdough
Aikido…even though
Muhammad Ali is known as
The Greatest—your Rope-a-
Dope rises to another level!
“Nothing would fundamentally
change,” you said. And I looked
into your glazed eyes and saw a
Politician—punch drunk from
punching in and out on corporate
Time clocks…
But, behind the fog
burned a wild-eyed Marxist—
Screaming at 1% paymasters:
“Get you hand out of my ass—
quit moving my mouth—44
years is enough!”
Whew, now we can all
Breathe… a collective sigh
of relief… Alas, we will have
Space to organize—organize—
organize—organize—like our
Enslaved ancestors waiting to
break tools, slow down, go dumb,
feign illness, poison slavers and
Escape…once Buchanan was out…
and Lincoln was in…
Comrade Joe—now I know—
I was slow…You tiptoe—Like
sourdough
Aikido…even though
All I saw was an old corporate
Clydesdale hauling water for fossil fools—
Hiding inside was a socialist Trojan Horse
of crimson hue, who will—1st 100 Days—trot
out closing Fort Hood and 100s of other rape
station/mass murder manufactories ringing our
Planet. Who will trot out 5-Year Plans bringing
young men and women home whole, honorable
For useful toil in home, hospital, clinic, windmill,
solar panel, geothermal, electric vehicle building
brigades
making Green New Dealers green with envy—
moving left with warp speed—like
Michael Jackson Moonwalking to “Billie Jean!”
Comrade Joe—now I know—
I was slow…You tiptoe—Like
sourdough
Aikido…even though
Your Rope-a-Dope reminded me of that black
guy—Slutty Professor— ’08… Hippin’ us to the
Drone Ranger’s cool, coded Wink-Wink-Nod-
Nod, Black Folk-only language, going over
Heads of Wall Street, Pentagon and Banksters—
“Too big to fail…” to nuanced Negroz centering,
drilling down, deep-diving, unpacking intersectionalities
Comrade Joe—now I know—
I was slow…You tiptoe—Like
sourdough
Aikido…even though
You said, “You ain’t Black,” to those cowering
in corners—clothespin pinched noses—brains
Deprived of oxygen; And you said the Black
community’s not as diverse as
Mexican/Central American communities coming
from communist, socialist, labor, christian, green
party populated countries…
You were really rallying us for November’s Nirvana—
some of us have
been trying to reach…All our adult lives…
© 2020. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
BAR’s poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner is an accomplished performing artist. You can find much more of his work at http://upsurgejazz.com .
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