Slimy Lies

Like multi jointed worms, oozing from the earth after a thunderous summer storm, slimy lies wend their way from

Dark places of hiding, feeding on hate and prejudice until the traction they gain propels them through the conscienceless

Oral orifices of greedy politicians. Alternative facts, misrepresentations, broken promises, all squirm from their tongues.

Prime the Pump

Our president plays fast and loose with the truth. It’s his calling card, and Americans have almost become accustomed to discounting the lies that spew from his ridiculously thin lips. 

One of the most amusing (for we have to be amused lest we slit our throats) lies he’s told is that he coined the term “prime the pump,” to be used in an economics context, telling a journalist from The Economist that he came up with the phrase. 

A quick google search of the term reveals that it’s been around at least since the early 1930’s, meaning one has to spend money to make money. 

In the 30’s, government money was lent to banks and industry in hopes that it would spur growth, and yes, trickle down to the little people. Whether it works or not is a moot point. Trump didn’t coin the freaking term.

So, did he lie or is he, the president, that damned ignorant? 

I’m thinking of coining a few phrases of my own. How’s this one: “holy crap we are being led by a freaking idiot!” I know, it’s a bit long and probably won’t catch on. But you never know.

When Mercy was Murdered

The day they murdered Mercy we all stood still around
Hands inside our pockets; eyes firmly on the ground
Unwilling to witness the death of our dear friend,
Yet complicit were we in assuring her end.

Fierce sun beat down, unabridged, unabated
Sweat’s stench laced with fear filled the street, permeated
No respite in shade on summer’s cloudless day
Mercy lost a step, slumped into a sway.

Sharpened spears in their grasps, old men prodded apace
Laughing and pawing as she fell upon her face
Roughened hands yanked bleeding Mercy sharply to her feet
Spun her in a circle, stomping to a beat.

The scene looked so familiar as we’d lost Hope two days past,
And Mercy’s fate was sealed when she stood up at the last
Calling foul upon accusers, judge, and jury, in the wrong
But the damage was done and Hope was dead before that day was done.

Now most pray that Mercy’s end will come without a hitch
That we can mourn in silence; no one will raise a fist
Surely if we remain inert the murderers will soon tire
Of dragging innocents to their deaths upon a raging pyre.

The grisly deed is drawing near, the wood begins to smolder
Perhaps we ought to save her, perhaps we should be bolder.
But we bargained for this merciless life when we let Charity die
Upon the bloody campaign trail stoked by wicked lies.

Slack Jack

Cut me some slack, Jack!

I’ve done nothing recently 

Most all my sins are past. 

There were days when I 

Could not tell the truth 

Even if my life depended on it. 

It was a weakness.  

Some days still I find lies 

Pulling at my tongue. 

They are so much more 

Interesting than my truths. 

This is why I write.


Peace, people!