Monday, August 10, 2020

Tales Of The Pandemonium...

Tales Of The Pandemonium... 

Don't get me wrong,
I love a day at the beach,
But these waves crashing,
They're no warm salty water,
Nor cold surf on a Great Lake,
Not even a pond.

There is no placid,
And complacency,
That will maybe get you eaten,
Not in a good way.

The national parks are trashed,
Or sold off to a salt mine,
Or gutted for frack sand,
Merrily tossed away.

The stars are streaking,
Oceans peaking,
Maybe we'll someday,
Boil plastic soup from the seas,
Fishing from the crown of Lady Liberty.

Today it's the fad,
Outlaws are unmasked riders,
Hawgs enmeshed in Sturgis,
A sea of meat for the bugs.

It's all sold from the top,
A Barker's carnivale,
Full of more baffle than a used car seller,
Cliche flim-flam in a suit.

The carpets are all filthy on the bottom,
Our only hope,
The relentless tick of the clock,
Perhaps served up with a cup of karma,
We are the clown posse now,
And our emperor,
We've even seen a pumpkin,
Wearing imaginary clothes.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/10/2020

#Political #Poetic Memoir