the jesters tear
- a fantasy poem
part I
like so many colors in my jesters suit,
there are many ways and that's my right,
if you don't fancy all this morbid talk,
better switch to walt disney's site.
howard county maryland,
one of the wealthiest in the nation,
and now we see her democrats rule,
by fear and intimidation.
the indecencies of our crooked king,
nothing else can ever top it,
the smutty ways he punishes me,
to conceal his slumlord profits.
his majesty, a tyrant wannabe,
has control across the board,
he's ordered medicine taken from me,
and he wields it like a sword.
(and that, law students, even in fantasy, is your textbook case for maliciously driven reckless endangerment and gross abuse of power.
you'll go to the head of your class with that one. and take note voters, this is only one of dozens of reasons why, even in fantasy, our petty king, with his shallow and easily bruised ego, is unfit for elected office. he's playing chicago style politics, with private citizens - break their legs and then ask questions, or don't.)
there's no riddle, reason, or rhyme to it,
the crown knows not right from wrong,
had i'd thought his crimes were even possible,
i'd have kept my stash and bong.
it's power and control they're hungry for,
the doctors and nurses who run afoul,
but i'm finished forever begging from them,
i'm going au' naturel.
the prescription pad and medicines,
they dangle like carrot and stick,
then direct you to jump through hoops of fire,
it's enough to make you sick.
in certain medical specialties,
the line is very blurred,
who's the professional, who's the patient,
and which one needs to be cured.
professionals with no professionalism,
your medicine, howard, a bitter shame,
they've degrees to fill their empty hearts,
and to play their mein kampf game.
"the buck stops here," better kings would say,
as it emits from there tower of power,
but i can't wait for bluicide day,
when they spatter my brains all over george howard.
it's been 2 1/2 years, and a little more,
since he closed the door on me,
a steady voter with legitimate concerns,
i guess he was wanting a fee.
so, he breaks my life, he's a warrior now,
the czar proclaims his victory,
but when one has none and one has all,
it's hardly much of a mystery.
no need to call 911,
they're already on the case,
the king has ordered they shut me down,
and make sure i get shot in the face.
so, what do kings do anyway?
i've no ideas 'bout that anymore,
my only purpose to make you smile,
how 'bout these gaps that the razor tore.
banned from all his hospitals,
barred from his doctors too,
the king has put an end to me,
just like he said he'd do.
some things are wrong, so terribly wrong,
but it's entertainment for the powers that be,
even i, sometimes, find it difficult to fathom,
i might bring this evil world to it's knees.
the jesters tear
- a fantasy poem
part II
no matter if they address me in blue uniform,
or more casual and comfy street clothes,
because, i have a very good sense of these guys,
and they're not just your average joe's.
but, when they're knights for a king,
the temptation is great to think they're being led,
with no regard for what may be
the demons in his head.
it's the man with a gun who looks past me,
unaware he might make me a martyr,
chances are, it's also the man with a gun,
who condescendingly calls me "pardner."
i accept my fate as the jesters tear,
no need for recompense,
they're just doing what everyone else would do,
having a cheap laugh at my expense.
i'll never deny the good things they've done,
but, it's time now, to go it alone,
unfortunately for me, i clearly now see,
they're beholden to the man on the throne.
i'm battered and bloodied by the powers that be,
raw meat way down to my core,
i'd don the fatigues and military gear,
but there's nothing worth fighting for.
don't blame the police, it's not their choice,
they're invited along for the ride,
they're pawns in my deadly game of life,
that's why it's called suicide.
the jesters tear
- a fantasy poem
part III
this is how spineless men behave,
as headlines come with the new days sun,
they look at all the carnage about
saying, "lord, what have we done?"
it's much to late to walk away,
from their role as villains willing,
their fates forever sealed in hate,for starting all this killing.
the jester has talents to make you laugh,
or personalities as some might say,
but this sadness that you scarred him with,
will revisit you another day.
he'll not always spend his days, doing parlor tricks for you,
because standing beside,
is the jesters dark side,
to turn your red hearts blue.
harris, klebold, cho, et al,
legends before their time,
i honor them for their brave and dark courage,
dark courage i never could find.
it didn't have to be this way,
the jesters heart no longer melts,
he's not playing the cards that he chose,
he's playing the hand you've dealt.
while before a jester, the man inside,
had passion for your pain,
the realization of what you are,
made him drown you in red rain.
it's a poem! it's a frickin' poem!
a fantasy poem!
so, don't come knocking upon my door,
no hostile visits from the boys in blue,
you spend so much time trailing me,
your wives are wondering, "what about you?"
no need for bogus "welfare calls,"
just looking for what can be found,
if you want to put an end to misery,
then put this jester down.
don't need the press publicity,
this can be a private act,
you could say, "he pulled a gun on me,"
you might say, "he was acting very wacked."
the jesters tear
with this impending storm one's thoughts get murky,
it's hard distinguishing friend from foe,
it's the tallahatchi bridge where another man jumped,
the mcallister called billie joe.
to die like this is for the few,as rooted in film and song,
what decent men will put themselves through,
to shine a light on the wrongest of wrongs.
seemingly a fiery comet,t
blazing down from out of the sky,
but, it's just a jesters mortal remains,
crashing into the route 95.
howling sirens, like wolves at night,reds and blues that pierce your eyes,
they're mourning the death of a jester unknown,
this is how the angels cry.
the jesters tear
- a fantasy poem
part V
if you find these images a little unsettling,
have some whiskey with a valium or two,
don't worry who it is who's driving this hearse,
but here's a tip..... shhhhh.....it's king - you know who.
the jesters tear
- a fantasy poem
part VI
but then again the jesters heart is gold,
harm not in his repertory,
on another day he could clearly awake,
with a different ending to his story.
*** note to the prosecution-
no kings, jesters, police officers, or even this fly, were harmed in the writing of
"the jesters tear-a fantasy poem."
nor have they ever.
neither will they ever be.
