New poem: "Trump Derangement Syndrome"

 

Trump Derangement Syndrome

 

It baffled me how Donald J. Trump,

the self-made billionaire who ran against

all odds for the highest office in the land

and won the presidency of the United States

of America, could have such mysterious

power over people, a power so compelling

that the brilliant psychiatrist and conservative

columnist Charles Krauthammer described

it as a “derangement syndrome,” an acute

onset of paranoia in otherwise normal people

in regard to the policies, the presidency—

nay, the very existence of the man himself;

but then one day it dawned on me as I was

re-reading the true founding father of depth

psychology, C. G. Jung (Freud was the other),

on his concepts of the unconscious shadow

self and projection, and suddenly it came

to me that the former president’s over-inflated

ego/shadow personality reflected the faults

and foibles of the American people that they

angrily refused to see in their own ego/shadow

personality, and they hate him for it. That’s

the mysterious power of DJT.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Thursday, August 29, 2024

New poem: "Kamala's Willful Deception"

 

Kamala’s Willful Deception

 

I should’ve been horrified, but I wasn’t;

I was more amused than disturbed

by the malevolent hypocrisy of the radical

progressives of the Democratic Party

of the United States as they stated their case

for their de facto candidate for the Oval

Office who underwent a miraculous

transformation from intransigent left-wing

positions to the more electable sensible

policies—no fracking to fracking, open

border to closed border—to win the votes

the Party needed to beat the former president

of the United States, Donald J. Trump,

who’s bluster and buffoonery got knocked

out of him by an assassin’s bullet at his

campaign rally in Butler, Pennsylvania;

and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry

at Kamala’s willful deception as I listened

to her nomination acceptance speech

at the DNC in Chicago, Illinois.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Friday, August 23, 2024

New poem: "Fake Joy is Better than Nothing"

 

Fake Joy is Better than Nothing

 

It didn’t feel right, the 2024 Democratic

Convention in Chicago, Illinois; but

I couldn’t figure out why. And I watched,

listened, and soon saw that it was a sin

against everything that is holy to fake joy,

the simple, purest expression of soul’s

relationship with God; and I puzzled why

they would do such a thing. But when life

has been compromised of meaning, the hole

in the soul has to be filled, and fake joy

is better than nothing.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Saturday, August 24, 2024

New poem: "The Death Rattle of Woke"

 

The Death Rattle of “Woke”

 

I can hear it, it’s not too far away,

the obvious death rattle of an ideology

that’s done more damage to society

than the nihilism of Nietzsche’s God

is dead philosophy, the victimhood

idiocy called “woke” that defiled

the soul of common sense and set free

the spirit of nonsense that possessed

vulnerable minds like a pernicious virus

and proliferated beyond control; but

it’s run its course, and I hear the death

rattle of “woke” as its stupefying logic

evaporates into the effervescing light

of sober, rational thought.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Thursday, August 15, 2024

New poem: "What If?"

 

What If?

 

What if a man was a woman

in his immediate past lifetime,

and the lifetime before that,

and the one before that, three

consecutive lifetimes as a woman

and then reincarnates into the male

gender? And what if the memory

of his three consecutive past lives

in the female gender surfaces

and cannot be repressed, would

that account for his strange feelings

of being a woman trapped in a man’s

body? Could this be the root cause

of gender dysmorphia?

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Tuesday, August 6, 2024

 

 

 

 

 

New poem: "The Genius of Donald J. Trump"

 

The Genius of Donald J. Trump

 

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born

with a genius for music, as was Beethoven;

Albert Einstein was blessed with a genius

for physics, and Shakespeare incarnated

with a staggering genius for playwriting,

not to mention all those born with a genius

in other domains of life—the arts, sports,

science; but the genius who perplexed

me most from the day I heard him speak

was the 45^thPresident of the United States

of America, Donald J. Trump, who was

born with a dazzling genius for hyperbole

that’s misperceived as mendacity, a rare

genius to take the small and make it large

to give the soul of the American people

all the room it needs to grow.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Tuesday, August 13, 2024

New poem: "No Moral Order to the Universe"

 

No Moral Order to the Universe

 

It’s an abomination, Nietzsche’s proclamation

that God is dead, damning all consequences

that opened the floodgates to hell, wilfully

declaring that everything is possible. That’s

what we’re witnessing today as the Democratic

left and Republican right go to the polls to elect

a new president; and never in the entire history

of American politics have lies, deception, guile,

and craven dishonesty played a more devastating

role, and all because the radical left and biased

media are behaving as if God is dead and there’s

no moral order to the Universe. “Tell it unveiled,

the naked truth! The declaration’s better

than the secret,” said Rumi.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Monday, August 12, 2024

New poem: "Is God Really Dead?"

 

Is God Really Dead?

 

Shocking, professional commentators,

intelligent, Ivy league-trained, learned men

and women who look the camera in the eye

and tell bald-faced lies to defend a leftist

agenda exhausted of virtue; what manner

of people are these hybrid creatures? Is God

really dead, as Nietzsche said? It’s puzzling,

this election, the Democratic party scrambling

to keep their evil nemesis, the 45^th president

of the United States, Donald J. Trump, out

of the Oval Office, doing all they can to repress

the appalling truth of his attempted assassination

at the Republican rally in Butler, Pennsylvania,

branding him a racist and existential threat

to their democratic system. God may be dead

to liars, cheaters, and self-deceivers; but God

will not be mocked. As the Preacher said,

“For God will bring every work into judgment,

with every secret thing, whether it be good,

or whether it be evil.” Cosmic balance

will always prevail.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Friday, August 2, 2024

New poem: "Words Have a Soul"

 

Words Have a Soul

 

Words have a soul,

an identity all of their own;

and when a word’s identity

is abused by the self-serving

“woke” agenda (a clever ideology

born of the ersatz victimhood

mentality), the veracity of its soul

meaning becomes its shadow opposite,

or something other; and good old

common sense becomes nonsense,

like the pronouns he and she

becoming “them.”

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario,

Thursday, August 1, 2024

New poem: "I Am the Storm"

 

“I Am the Storm”

 

Somewhere along the trodden way,

common sense became infected

by a strange mind virus called “woke”

that made no sense to the common

folk but which served the desperate

needs of humanity’s insatiable ego,

and all hell broke loose as the spirit

of chaos ran amok throughout social

order, creating an unstoppable storm

of strife and confusion that choked

the spiritual life out of humankind’s

destined purpose, but out of Nature’s

enantiodromiac imperative along came

a warrior of common sense who was

born to catch the devil by the tail and

send him back to hell, a warrior like

no other who fights fire with more fire

declaring, “I am the Storm,” the 45^th  

president of the United States anointed

by Life to be the 47^th and restore

order where chaos reigns.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral Ontario,

Saturday, July 27, 2024