Vocalise - A rap by DJ TazzieDog

When you pull away their bully veil
Of moral superiority, blazing gun authority
Derail their goose-stepping blood and soil follies
Peel away the skin-drenched, whitened, frightened
Stench of failure, icon loaded malware
Little remains but their sorry state of
Scapegoating, hate-toting, race baiting, face saving
Jingoist chasing fantasies
Of a super race,
Their taste for the glory days, never theirs, remains
In their hooded dunce cap raps
"Jews will not replace us"
Propeller heads roiling through seesaw seas
Need a reason, an illusion
For their calamitous confusion of cowardice

Run rabbits run
Take your vile filled shout outs, bile spewing crowd pouts
Leave our first amendment right to those
Deserving souls, not your self-serving pabulum
Drumming the dumb-down babblin' of days gone by
Crawl back into your dead end-of-the-night holes
Your underbelly stench perfumes the fright trolls
No light at the end of this tunnel
Caught in a swirling funnel, a vortex of your vexatious
Tasteless

hate fest.

Run rabbits run
The end is coming
Your vampire antics with blood sucking tactics
Will find the stake,
Your own petard
Awaits.

Cawcawphony: A rap by DJ TazzieDog

The constant caw of collaborative crows
Does a gross violation to the sonorous throes
Of dawn's early slumber
Dreams plundered, run asunder
From such a cawcawphony, no wonder
The Cooper's Hawk, patrolling air stream tundra
Its heat seeking pierce, rolling surely and fierce
Sweeps and dips and drops to stop
The tick tock of squawk
Runs the lot of them from their lofty perches
Through intimidation, causing hesitation
Of the reverberations of such sound vibrations
Clearly a violation of canyon solitude
The rude amplitude is felled
The quiver is quelled, the critters that dwell
In their Eden-like shell can rest for a spell
Knowing full well this murder of crows
This marauding band of benign bullies
Fully intend to return, the canyon resigned to endure
The lure of their beautiful annoyance
Dutiful dance of nature's rejoyance
Another dawn, another day
Another Revelle'

For Jim

Speak to me truth
In that subjective way
Some say you have
The fact is, you aren't one
A fact, that is
Your high and mighty bearing
Your axiomatic strut
Just a starting point
A premise, no promise
To further reasoning
Yet, so dear
So near to heart and soul
A paradox, you know
And I, the "liar"

Caught in your tease
I could say, "This statement is false"
If true, it would be
False, that is
Or conversely, if false
It would be true
The delicious rub of
Truth or untruth
As if you and yours
Exist at all.

Generation Gap

The roll of the eye, the sigh
Whether overt or veiled
Is regularly dispatched
For no good reason save that
Which is understandable

Her glance, a cringed meander
Through missed steps, slow comebacks
Stumbling antics of one seemingly frantic
To be seen as relevant,
May reflect disappointment.

Imperfections, newly discovered,
Erode her grip on girlhood innocence
Witnessing the stain of middle age
Detachment pervades from the one
Who answers every call.

In Humanity : A Rap By DJ TazzieDog

The case of homelessness
Continues to hound, confound
Resounds across towns
Found criss-crossing this dear nation
Vacant thresholds hold
Untold stories of hard luck
Fucked up tattered souls
Bi-polarized, forgotten lives
Out on the lam
Slammed by sad confusion
Delusion, whirling dervish world
Swirls in careless glances
Chances are you've paused and wondered
What to do with the cardboard sign
The god bless design
Everytime you're stopped at a light
Averting your eyes
To the blight blinding all empathy
Blinker turns you away from the sight
Of such ravaged souls
This savage state cold, inside and out
A toxic spout of deceitful invective
Selective in kindness and jurisprudence
I sense more nonsense, mere pretense
A vicious core that scores
Winners, losers, you choose your
Poison, mate, your fate's in your hands
Bootstrap crap sapping our humanity
Capitalized vanity an insanity of
Clap trap backed by fat cats
Content to caste aspersions, convenient diversions
Downstreaming reality to a dead pool of banality.
New Colosus, now a collasal farce,
A sonnet of grace with lines to chafe Lady Liberty's lamp
Dimmed, tarnished, barely a glow:
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled
Masses yearning to breathe", a throwback to

ignore
Abhor, deplore the reminder
Of our own inhumanity.

"This Is Just To Say" Redux

William Carlos Williams' famous poem, "This Is Just To Say" came out in 1934.  It is short and sweet, oh so sweet. Or, perhaps, not so sweet. Here it is in its entirety:

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Florence "Flossie" Williams' reply to her husband's famous poem, disguised as a refrigerator note, was sweet, considerate and very wifely. No doubt, appropriate for the time. Still, it bothered me. So, I  rewrote it and feel better having done so.

Dear Bill,
Yes, I was looking forward
To the plums for breakfast.
Instead of eating them,
Per your icebox note,
I made do with a
Handful of blueberries.
Also, made you a couple of sandwiches
Which you will find in the icebox.
I don't plan on eating them,
Although I'm sure they are delicious.
I forgive you
As always, Flossie
P.S.  Don't be such a bastard
Next time

Word Smithing - A Rap by DJ Tazziedog

I'm rearranging words to unlock the verbs
To disentangle nouns that give a profound
Sense of stability
Adjective reliability
Adverbial enhancement
Yet a disenchantment ensues
Imbues my fret with introspect
All that feckless, reckless, circumspectless invective
The utter abandonment of my objective
Oh the rules, the fools who make them
The fools who take them
To pedantic heights of
"I've got the right, the intellectual might
To make what I say, the word and the way."
Objectively speaking
Subjectively reeking of loud mouth espousing
Jousting through tongue twisters
Making might of word blisters
Sister, give up the show, turn in the ego
The faux of such imbroglio, takes a toll
Oh, the sigh of the soul
Tap dancing through metaphoric chancing
Enhancing the see-saw of your verbal claw
Take pause, a Stylistics clause of
"Stop, look, listen to your heart"
Before you start where the word is the art
Before you pick up pen and start over again
Before you, who is me, can free the myth from the smith
And just be