Belfast – Dan Fox, Hobo Poet

You’re a Hobo, Brother!

Did you ever sling a duffle
on your back and catch a freight?
Did you ever taste a hobo stew,
in a jungle, then sleep late?

Did you ever watch a sunrise,
going up the great divide?
Did you ever quit a steady job,
just because you had to ride?

If you have ever done these things,
if you’ve ever left a wife,
just because the freight-trains called you,
then you’ve known the hobo life.

You have known a real addiction,
you have found a mistress hard,
she will tear you down and break you,
she will wreck your human heart.

She will leave you somewhere stranded,
you will curse her lovely thrills,
yet you will follow when she calls you,
with the music of the rails.

You will give your youth to tramping,
you will lose your health for lust,
then she’ll turn on you and cheat you,
she will rend your soul to dust.

But yet when you have come to death,
and the devil claims his due,
you’ll not be there a-waiting,
but on a freight-train passing through.

You will ride through times eternal,
across the Plutonian shore,
then you’ll laugh and tell the devil,
that you’d like to ride some more.

You’re a wand’rer and a hobo
and your mistress is the trail
and your heaven is the music
of the wheel upon the rail.

© 2004 – Dan Fox

Lost Child

He appeared in the doorway
of a mission down on skid road,
wild-eyed, filthy and rough,
stinking of cheap whiskey
and stale, reeky cigars;
even the do-gooder ladies
from the Society to Save the Bums
shrank back.
Yet he was one with those men
we glorify in movies
and cheap teevee series,
those men who built America;
who trapped the beaver and hewed
the forests for your pleasure.
He was one of those
the French so aptly named,
enfants perdu,
children sacrificed in the battle
to subdue the earth
and advance society
with no regard
to the costs in enfants perdu.

© 2004 – Dan Fox

Oh Profits Are Up

 Oh profits are up and war is good,

this is a truth to be understood,

while you’re watching the Trump sideshow,

we’re stealing your rights, just watch them go.

We’re the Repos that act so sane,

but we’re pushing changes so very inane.

Progressive taxation is so passe,

We’ve all decided to throw it away.

We don’t want our masters to have to pay taxes,

so to social programs we’re taking our axes,

we’ll cut away this and cut away that,

claiming it’s all just political fat.

We’ll isolate old folks, the workers and poor

and turn all their rights into so much manure,

get rid of all aliens who make us look lazy,

and claim all science is wrong or hazy.

We’ll push the gays back into their closet

while properly sipping our cups of posset.

We’re the elite, we damn well are,

proper and wealthy and not bazaar,

we call ourselves the majority moral,

with women we’ll keep up our quarrel;

tragedy is good for sales,

beyond all this consideration fails;

let your kids die and poor people sicken,

The profits just make our pulses quicken.

All people have rights that we will not secure,

but you bet we will cling to our own sinecure,

we hang onto power by the skin of our teeth,

we gerrymander districts beyond all belief

and never, no never will we acknowledge,

we only got power through the Electoral College.
March, 2018

Frag-mented

Frag-mented.
Hum-anity.
Dark, light, black, white;
conservative, liberal,
reactionary, progressive.
Taking value and being
from others.
Faceless crowds,
existing at other’s demands,
(souls an open pit,
entrance to expectant graves,
they will not look inside)
told who they are
by others.
Study your souls,
know who you are.
Love that knowledge,
build who you are;
till all come together,
creating a world of joy,
love and freedom.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

This last is my newest poem, just written, it’s based on a quote from Charles Mingus.
– Dan Fox

The War Beast

Creating the war beast among us,
bringing our tin god to life,
feeding the blood of our people,
bringing the war beast to life,
giving the Earth to its hunger.

Serving the war beast’s hunger,
bowing to its every want,
inventing new needs to fill,
groveling in servile love
before this god of war.

Appeasing the red-faced moloch,
off’ring what ne’er was required,
all our children a sacrifice
for security that never can be;
a mocking of peace and love.

Mothers cry out in their anguish,
fathers in silence obey,
commands of this rapacious beast,
consuming the past and the future,
along with our hopes and dreams.

Feeding the war beast’s hunger,
feeding it day by day,
its appetite never appeased
but growing daily till all
is engulfed in the nuclear flames.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

Lord Misrule

The Lord of Misrule, mock king
of a topsy-turvy world
fiddling while America burns,

bringing a new sacred triune,
hypocracy, pretence and greed,
the power of Chaos’ realm.

Listen to the trump of dumb
bleating goodbye to reason,
lies true and ethics reversed.

The angel of chaos’ return
brings the republic to its knees,
supported by those who grab

power from Saturnalia,
those who profane the sacred
and believe the fool is luck.

Misrule rides the horse of state,
facing backwards and cannot
or will not see where he goes.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

A Ludic Trifle

Family gave him sinecure,
wealth is still his cynosure.
Trump lusted to be grandiose,
but only managed blandiose.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

A Thanksgiving Prayer

At Thanksgiving time we pause to reflect
on the blessings in our lives,
on the gifts that we’ve been given
and on the things we’ve not.
Thankful that we’ve not been given
fame and fortune beyond our needs,
thankful, too, that we’re not zealous
of acquiring just to have.
Thankful that in health we prosper,
though, of course, we could be better,
thankful for our aches and pains
that remind us others suffer.
Thankful for the time, though it be flying,
that we get to spend with loved ones
and the friends that we have found;
if we should live not quite so long
as other people might,
we’re thankful for life’s breadth.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

Fear or Freedom

Fear –
terrorists and totalitarians rule by it,
the weapon to use against them
is refusal to fear.
Chaos –
terrorists, kleptocrats and crisis capitalists
use it to thrive and steal
from the people.
Profit –
chaos is profitable for those dancing
the wilder shores of sanity
far from reality.
Freedom –
profiteers of disaster politics hate it
intellectual zombies
fail in belief.
Restraint –
impresses thinking women and men;
terrifies and horrifies
national grifters.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

The Time For Action
 
Moralistic puritans of reaction,
to enrobe all in asceticism,
drive us from our rightful home
to save us, destroying freedom.
Leaderless, we stagger awayward,
an instigator shows the path,
a twit twitting foolishness,
against the real and valid.
Politically constipated we pause
between the false dichotomies
of social austerity and frigidity,
not acting we only react.
Picking over the bones of freedom
fascists take the leavings of history,
as if they have captured the essence,
to form their empire of hate.
We must not allow the unreal
to destroy the real, erase the valid,
now has come the time to act,
lest freedom be lost forever.
-Daniel Fox
Stasis and Entropy
Life changes,
this is not the poem I’d write tomorrow
but it is the poem I’d write today.
Life changes,
I’m an ad hoc committee of adhering atoms
for a specific purpose, entropy wins.
Life changes,
the world is different every minute and
I am constantly remade, stasis averted.
Life changes,
this poem has no ending
Life is a journey and
you never arrive.
They’re Making a List
They’re making a list and checking it thrice,
of all the words correct and nice.
The Trumpians want us all to know
phrases like “evidence-based” must go.
The Renaissance dies through politicians
insisting on their nonsense visions.
Something never comes from nothing,
I’ve a hunch,
not even the rich can get a free lunch.
If they could they’d not keep trying
to ensure the rest do the lunch buying.

They Have Lied
Oh our president’s a fake
and the Repoes think it’s jake
to go along with all his bull,
’cause it gives them lots of pull.
They have lied, yes they have lied
and in their lying, freedom died,
they have lied, one and all,
summer, spring, winter, fall.
Will they wallow in their ruth,
when they’re forced to see the truth,
or will they just go on pretending,
with their lies so never-ending.
Two Boys Bragging
Button, button,
who’s got the biggest button?
Mine’s bigger than yours
and it’s red and shiny
and if you don’t shut up,
I’ll shove my missile up your heinie.
Two schoolboys on the tarmac,
playing the bully-boy game,
while cutting the other no slack.
All the fools in the whole damn nation,
say of their leader, he’s our man
and strut and say, what the tarnation
we’ll build some walls without any doors,
without any windows or ways to get in
’cause our whack job sure trumps yours
then in our geriatric ‘sylum we’ll sing,
you can’t get us if we can’t see you.
Creation’s Fount
I wake, I rise,
move about awhile
taking my portion of life,
I lay me down
to sleep, dreaming
the silent fecundity of dream,
a dream of life.
Silence is creation’s fount,
the extraneous noise of life,
a raucous pretense.
Winter’s Death
Winter’s death, forepromised
by lengthening hours of sunlight,
lingers on like a rich uncle
you dislike but hope to inherit from.
Time, the arbiter of winter’s warm fate,
brings us in surety to summer’s
glorious promise of solar salvation,
a cycle of destiny forever reborn.
Daniel G. Fox – 2018

A Voice We Need

 

Oh woman,

give voice, give voice,

Yours the word that now

must be hearkened to.

You have been silenced too long.

Speak peace, wholeness, truth,

in the forum, in the temple –

before man, before your gods.

Out of the silence

of your years,

Speak to us, we must listen.

 

by Daniel Fox – 2018

 by Danny Fox hisself

When the Love Words First are Spoken

 

 When the love words first are spoken

and the games of love begin,

when I hold her fast in my arms,

she answers my antique need.

 

 When the love words are gently spoken,

all the lines so oft rehearsed

she is the consummation of desire

and the game plays on and on.

 

 When the love words have all been spoken

and all the games played out,

there will be a line unspoken

and I’ll love her beyond all doubt.

The meaning of the title depends on whether trumps is a noun or verb, heh, heh, heh. – Daniel Fox

Donald Trumps Thinking

 Oh yes indeedy I believe in Donald Trump,

rum-de-rump, rum-de-rump,

and I believe the world is flat

and I believe in Santa Cat

now tell me what you really think of that.

 

 Oh I believe the rich deserve a tax-break now,

raow-de-raow, raow-de-raow,

I believe they pay too much

on their income, stocks and such,

and they deserve a tax-free gilded hutch.

 

 Oh I believe all benefits will trickle down,

roun-de-roun, roun-de-roun,

yet they seem to trickle up

to a gem-encrusted cup

from which just the wealthy get to sup.

 

 Oh, I believe a million things, yes I do,

humpty-hoo, humpty hoo,

I believe a million things

of diamonds, cabbages and kings

and that rich folk must avoid all fortunes slings.


Oh, I believe they’ve earned their gold,

fal-de rold, fal-de-rold

but like eggs upon a wall,

they’re a-waiting for a fall

but Republicans will save them, bucks and all.

 

Trump’s Brain In Action

 I’m the smartest man,

yes I am,

I’m a genius on the level,

and I’m a smart old devil,

yes I am.

I need my nuclear binky

and my security blanket hung

twixt me and Mexico.

But I won’t pay,

no I won’t pay,

my security will cost,

the taxpayers who all lost

in the last election.

I’ve got billions but you know,

I’ll get the poorest folk to pay,

yes, they’ll pay,

oh they’ll pay,

‘cause I need my security blanket

and my nuclear binky.

The working stiffs and poor

don’t need to eat,

or drive down a well-paved street.

or have bridges that are safe,

or schools where kids can learn

and not get shot.

But I need my nuclear binky,

really need my binky

and I need my security blanket wall.

 

The Prez’s Parade

 

Our president wants a parade,

he does, he does, he says he does,

but I’m ever so very afraid

his desires are just a charade.


Well he’s had a parade of women

protesting improprieties sexual,

there’s been a parade of Russians,

with improprieties textual.

 

 There’s been a parade of nazi kooks,

with torches and sieg heils and guns,

there’s been a parade of business hacks,

bringing unmarked twenties and ones.

 

 There’s been a parade of the one percent,

 collecting their taxcut billions,

 and a parade of generals and such,

wanting weapons that cost in trillions.

 

 Another parade is alternative sexes,

claiming their right to exist,

there’s been a parade of poor folks,

the workers and they are pissed.

 

Our president wants a parade,

he does, he does, he says he does,

but I’m ever so very afraid

that he’s already had his parade.

 

 

Prophecy Ex Post Facto

 

 Political corruption,

government as reality tv,

constant coverage of

a leader,

lacking all conviction.

Rampant cronyism, favoritism,

armies used for lack of diplomacy,

government for sale to

the highest bidder.

Religious corruption,

preachers bowing before Moloch

reveling in their lack of morality,

lend their authority,

while giving up your children

as sacrifices.

Social corruption,

a nation plundered by

barbarians with manicures

and tailored suits,

collapses into inanity.

Freedom will not endure

the corruption of society’s leaders,

the growth of private empires or

the perversion of social goals.

 

Send In The Clowns

Daniel Fox – 2018

 

 The shadows of dark descend,

facts in retreat,

science disregarded as inexpedient,

not the answers we wanted,

a circus of invention instead,

send in the clowns.

We sent in the clowns,

elected them our leaders,

watching our future disappear

down the toilet of political convenience.

Science pushed into an oubliette,

no escape possible and belief

descending to primitive myth,

a perpetual war,

draining resources but enabling

forfeiture of freedom;

trained elephants kneel,

performing in the center ring of

the religious, conservative circus,

send in the clowns.

We sent in the clowns,

giving us entertainment

as news with a rubber nose.

A curtain of darkness descends,

opinion supplanting truth,

facts denied when inconvenient,

send in the clowns,

oh send in the clowns.

Hark, They’re Playing The Regressional

Daniel Fox – 2018

 

Bumpity, trumpity, bumpity trump,

another Trumpian under the bus,

the street is getting so doggone crowded,

the bus can hardly make its way.

 

Bumpity, trumpity, there goes truth,

under the bus a casualty,

statesmen, lawyers, friend and foe,

all sacrificed to hide the facts.

 

The president sits in the driver’s seat,

swearing all is going so well,

bumpity, trumpity, bumpity trump.

another follower under the bus.

 

A leader adrift, like a drunken sailor,

bumping along on history’s street,

a tabloid man with tritical tastes,

bumpity, trump, another one gone.

 

Never Again

The children have asked,

they demand an answer now,

their right is in the blood poured out

by child victims.

Answer them, politicians,

answer them, preachers,

answer them NRA apologists.

Answer the children whose right is

their blood in the streets,

an answer bought and paid for by fear.

Is profit more valuable than children?

Does the second amendment take precedence

over life itself?

The right to pass out guns like candy,

to anyone with the money,

more valuable than a viable future?

Answer the children,

Answer the children dying in our streets,

answer the children dying in our schools,

tell them the usual lies,

or face the truth

and with firm steps begin,

to save America.

 

Our Common Tragedy

Grieve for your humanity

in passing

or battle for your right to exist.

All are in this together,

workers, any shade of skin,

any religion.

Battling each other,

we battle to our destruction.

We must all shout,

No! No! No!

Men of narrow vision

and narrower morality cannot

guide our way through

disaster to safety,

No invisible man in the sky

nor god of sticks and stones

will save us from our own disasters.

Requiem for the Children

copyright 2018 – Daniel Fox

 All the children lost,

all the dead in early graves,

all the fearful, the empty lives,

nowhere to turn, no one to listen.

Those slain in school,

a monument to the dubious glories

of fundamentalist anarchy,

mistaken for freedom.

Those used up in the sex trade,

poverty’s trap,

exploited by wealthy perverts.

Those lost in destitute ghettoes,

failing to add their genius to

society’s progress.

All the survivors of evil,

(too often told

they are the cause)

living with undeserved guilt.

In forgotten graves.

where mercy was buried,

murdered souls cry out

for remembrance and justice.

Piddling on Progress

Here comes Putin’s poodle,
piddling down the track,
he’s piddled on our treaties,
and never once looked back.
Here comes Putin’s puppy,
licking on his toes,
breaking up with allies
and adding to our woes.
The pup says he’s a dealer,
he’ll get some better deals,
we’re all getting shafted,
he just steals and steals.
He’ll make us better deals,
he says we won’t regret,
he’s broken treaties
but hasn’t made one yet.
He’s got the people working,
but wages really suck,
housing costs skyrocket,
the working class is stuck.
Now the GOP is wagging,
its tail outside the door,
they can’t wait to show,
it’s him they all adore.
None of them will tell,
the emperor that he’s nude,
they’ve all boughten clothes
from the same old dude.

 

Let Us Sing

 

Let us sing a chorus,

of things that really bore us,

Trumpy and his fears

and all his right-wing peers,

liars who can’t tell the truth,

zillionaires who’re so uncouth

and the fibbers down at Bright Barf news.

 

Let us sing of any,

thing that’s really zany,

of the child hostages,

strangers held in bondages,

preachers preaching Jesus,

while getting rich as Croesus

and approving brutal, right-wing views.

 

Let us now continue,

with the right-wing venue,

worship of the new god Trump

spouting nonsense from his rump,

pulpit-pounders of the NRA,

telling us they’ve a better way

and all the terrorists of every hue.

 

At last we must imagine

the sociopathic pageant,

loosed upon the world,

and hatred that is hurled,

by right and left wing nuts,

 

we’ll sing with great elation,

those who call the cowards out,

who then ill manners flout,

those who champion the truth,

consider fools uncouth,

and those who answer freedom’s beck and call.

 

 

We’ve Elected Us Our Trump

We’ve elected us our Trump,
we’re members of the Trump brigade,
we don’t have to be polite,
to people of a darker shade.

A minority in doddering power,
the right-wing all inane,
in social things and in political –
they’ve noisily all gone insane.

In picket lines they march along,
proudly all these social zeroes,
turn against all social norms,
turn against the nation’s heroes.

Steal the children of the exiles,
defending it all from their bible,
build a wall and build a hatred,
acting so almighty tribal.

Calling cops whene’er displeased,
generally acting just like thugs,
in their usual incoherence,
resembling zombies doing drugs.

Scared of children, scared of men,
quick to call on nine-one-one,
cunning in their poor insanity,
trivial in their hopes to come.

Whiter than thou is the mantra,
they sing out both night and day,
just like silly, pouting children,
they expect to get their way.

We’ve elected us our Trump,
we’re members of the Trump brigade,
we don’t have to be polite,
to people of a darker shade.

 

A Soliloquy

Images tumble through my mind,
each on a road trip to somewhere,
destination unknown,
I must follow and see,
reporting back my visions.
Life is narrative,
at an angle to reality,
a reconstruction of actuality,
not memory but
the memory of memory,
active and alive;
here I stand,
one foot in normality,
the other in abstraction,
going down the road of whether.
Life, a dialog with the universe,
dream of consciousness in flight;
ours to embrace or reject.
Traipsing through history,
failing in the lessons needed,
we repeat the sins of our fathers
without repenting them.
Nature begat us
nurtured us in violence,
suckled us on the wind,
turned us to paralogical reason.
The fault lies not in our stars
but in our minds,
long bent to refuse reality;
preferring a simpler paralogy
where all answers are true.
I am;
a statement of nonbenign
surety of existence.
I think;
a statement of dubious quality,
given the many answers probable.
Life is contradiction,
metaphor casting shadows,
a theater of unreality
becoming real.
All are children of this blue orb,
born of the world tree;
we are root and branch,
growing to embrace the universe,
giving time its true meaning.
All inherit the world,
none may steal that heritage.

 

Bloodied Hands

Forever beached on
wilder shores of sanity,
tanning themselves
‘neath the sun of fatuity,
willing mobs chanting their
canticles of hate
listen to their godling who,
with now bloodied hands,
goads them to actions he
hastens to deny.
Violence in action,
directly descended from
violence in words,
yet gainsaid by those
who would build a
shared psychosis.
A bully pulpit
promoting bully shit,
words have consequences,
rants to fanatic followers,
a door into fascism.
Stupidity and cupidity
know no limits.

 

 

 

 

 

 

By | 2018-08-06T21:50:51+00:00 September 19th, 2017|other stories|0 Comments

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