Mr. Fred's Unremitingly Positive Poetry Corner

Mr. Happy, the Lord of the Positive, your humble content provider, gets out of sorts sometimes when he considers the way some people get pushed around. It often happens on Labor Day, International Labor Day especially.

Parental Advisory down towards the end of this one.

Constitutional Issues (May Day, 2008)


My Constitution, ‘tis of thee,
New ideas for old, protection
For the weak against the strong,
Protection, for the little guy,
Who’d suffered all the time before
At tender mercy of the men
With strength, some smarts, and property,
To enforce their own prosperity,
And force their wills, quite ruthlessly
Upon the little guys, poor guys, weak guys
Through fault, or no fault of their own, weak,
Oppressed by religion, or by politics, or superstition,
The weak, losing their benefit, losing their things,
Losing their women, losing their pride,
Losing their dry bed, losing their place by the fire
Losing their children, losing their very lives,
For the prosperity of the few.


Great Declaration of the Rights of Man,
To alter all that’s come before
And place no man above the law,
Of Thee I Sing! Enlightenment!
No more to fear the will of men
With riches, or to fear police,
Or businesses that seek advantage
Where they know there should be none,
No more play poker, table stakes
We have too little cash to play with
Rich cats, those who calmly throw
A grand into the pot, “I call,” we fold,
Not having the grand, and lose,
No longer will that due at all,
Sayeth God’s Greatest Constitution, mine.


My Bill of Rights, without end, Amen!
It’s to be hoped, but then I heard
The great man say that all adjustments
Come with overshoot, and then,
To follow, quickly on its heels,
Come deep corrections to achieve
The middle ground, not surprising then
To see the power charging back
Into positions with strong defenses,
Wielding natural superiority
And self-interest, justified, of course,
Because god in his greatest wisdom
Gave them strength, intelligence, and money,
Property, and big-time friends
To push aside we lesser men, who after all
Do little to advance our kind,
Save turn a screw, or drive a nail
And look, the far and wide to seek
Those weaker men who’ll work for less,
To take our places, impov’rishing us yet further,
And if our families lose their benefit, they say:
“If lesser men lose things and pride, so what?
Their things were worthless anyhow, to us,
And if their women be beautiful,
Better off with rich men, they are,
And if their children die for us,
For our advantage,
Our riches to enhance,
It is our nation they enrich!
And ‘twas god, in greatest wisdom, after all
Who gave their children all to us,
To do with as we please,
Consign to poverty, filth and disease
If they’re lucky enough to have work,
And unlucky, prison
Or the death of warfare.”


Oh, Constitution’s god in whom we trust,
Wield now your mighty sword and smite
These wicked seeking to enslave us,
With golden words to hide or justify
Their self-enrichment, done with murder and with theft,
Show now your power, help us, lord
To take again what you have given, what we once had,
Oh, Constitution, raise again your voice in anger,
And drive out this new pack of ghouls.


Or else the end will come quite suddenly,
As it has, so many times.
When heads fall next into the baskets,
Ring not your hands, oh wealthy friends,
Think back on good times,
When in luxury, how casually,
You sucked the blood of society.
And officials, who lacked means to gain for yourselves
Great riches, and who begged the rich, “please fuck me!
Fuck me with money!” You dogs who eat dog,
Know this: when your children hang
On hooks, blame not the “common people,”
Condescension’s apogee, to call us thus!
You should instead blame wealthy patrons,
Dead already, it’s to be hoped,
For whom you held down common people,
The rich then fucked without Vaseline
Until too old to work, were given
A precious few hundreds of dollars,
For non-stop singing and dancing, and then
Were driven away to fend for themselves.


I want to know, can eyes still see,
And ears still hear, briefly,
The crying curses of the killers,
After the separation of the head
From the sleek, fat body of a wealthy preacher?