Sir Jack, Member of Congress – Award Presentation Revelation – Slave Made in China
By William James Jonas III
They came into my office
Defenders of man’s rights
Where ever there’s injustice
They’re shining a bright light
Their presence there that morning
To give me an award
The champion of voiceless
The lost and long ignored
“Sir you have been our hero
Boldly denouncing fear
Fighting against rights abused
Your work deserves three cheers!”
Came the presentation piece
Of oak and inlaid gold
Where this item had been made
Turned my thoughts dark and cold
These preening pompous patrons
Who say all should be free
While they buy cheap fancy plaques
Produced by slaves Chinese
They wanted to impress me
Have a great photo-op
Overlooking who profits
From men worked like livestock
If it says “Made in China”
You know it’s made by slaves
To ignore makes one a bore
While spreading human stain
I thanked them for the gesture
And pointed out their lie
All those who promote freedom
Should think before they buy
Sir Jack on Congressional Compromise
By William James Jonas III
If you’re not at the table
The entree may be you
Those who do not take a seat
May be on the menu
The first time I heard these words
Was not from a great sage
I learned this in the Congress
The first lesson first day
A promise to your voters
Becomes a compromise
By adding those three letters
Promises become lies
Promises brought to DC
Ones that local folks prize
Are put into committees
To make a compromise
To me this seems quite crazy
We should do what we say
But they told me “Hey Sir Jack”
“That’s not how this game’s played”
Sir Jack, Member of Congress – State of the Union Address Observations – March 2024
By William James Jonas III
It is a big night
Washington, DC
The next thing I know
He’s screaming at me
First he wants money
To send to Ukraine
Those who oppose him
He calls nasty names
“Inflation’s a myth!
A big corporate lie!
It’s just an excuse
To serve fewer fries!”
He yells about this
He yells about that
And MAGA’s to blame
He knows that’s a fact
Before you assume
I’m too partisan
It’s time to disclose
Where I saw this man
This was not Biden
Commander and Chief
Just a homeless man
On some DC street
He worked at Starbuck’s
Then at Trader Joe’s
Until DC crime
Forced them all to close
So now his homestead
Is part of M Street
A patch of sidewalk
That smells of old pee
If you suspected
This angry old man
Lived at the White House
Some might understand
But that’s not the case
You made a mistake
It’s sure to happen
In United States
We need to listen
To all geezer screams
Those angry old men
Were once young with dreams
My stroll continued
From office to House
No tunnel tonight
To hide from the crowds
Got to the House floor
Found a proper place
Congressmen you see
Don’t have assigned space
Some come quite early
To sit by an aisle
To shake Biden’s hand
With cable news smile
Tonight’s promised speech
How our Union stands
Will seek to assure
We are in good hands
So the speech begins
With applause and cheers
The rest of the night
I just cried duck tears
“This side is quite right
The other quite wrong
Save democracy”
He goes on and on
There’s one thing for sure
The fault lies elsewhere
So why is he perched
On the highest chair?
I was not surprised
One side thought it great
While the other side
Was very irate
Can we call our state
A union at all?
We have lots of pride
What’s due in the fall?
“[D]ucks can sleep with only half their brains, leaving the other half alert.” from “The Economist” December 2nd 2023 page 70
Sir Jack on Working With Both Sides
By William James Jonas III
My duck brain has a setting
That humans seem to lack
Half my brain can be asleep
While I still fly and quack
All the time the sleeping part
Is cared for understand
One half seeks no advantage
That’d be a half brain plan
With ducks one half rests with ease
The other takes the reins
Both sides seek the best for all
No side needs to complain
And then I thought of Congress
It’s not like a duck brain
If one side took care of both
We’d all think them insane
But crazy might be better
Than how things are today
Where when one side all say yes
The others all say nay
And so Congress has gridlock
And that is where we’re stuck
There might be more accomplished
If more thought like a duck
Sir Jack in a classic confrontation …
By William James Jonas III
Dear Edgar Allan Poe
I’m told that you are dead
But I have an idea
That’s stuck in my duck head
You authored many tales
Your poetry unmatched
One almost masterpiece
Caused this thought to be hatched
I don’t fly with ravens
Some say they bring a curse
Doom comes when they appear
And when they leave it’s worse
They have a football team
In the town you called home
Why are they called ravens?
All the good names were gone
So just take my advice
An edit if you will
Replace that raven beak
With a Sir Jack duck bill
Us ducks have more to say
More than just “Never More”
And tapping on windows
Confirms that they’re bird bores
As for a new title
That’s not an easy play
But a genius like you
Always knows what to say
Sir Jack Presidential Campaign Notes – April 2024
By William James Jonas
One’s on trial
One’s senile
That’s the two man race
Parties pick
Mean and sick
For our ship of state
One has crowds
One seemed cowed
Truth’s in short supply
The problem
Is not them
So we must ask why
Some say the world’s on fire
Some credit climate change
Some say peace comes through strength
Some wring hands and complain
Some think it’s systemic
Some point to loss of faith
Every “some” seems certain
There’s someone else to blame
Tearing down old systems
Just filled French streets with blood
Starved farmers in Ukraine
Made Chinese eat their young
New governments won’t save
What people desecrate
To start a blazing fire
You find a spark of hate
What can I do for now
To improve my small space?
By asking that question
We’ll put the fires away
Sir Jack on … Not Exactly Free Trade
By William James Jonas
One hard rule in Congress
A place where rules do change
Things called free in DC
Will never fit that name
When they speak of Free Trade
The rule mentioned is firm
It is not free or trade
But that is still the term
It is not free at all
The costs are very clear
Benefits so obscure
If real they disappeared
Trades must have two parties
Where each side wants something
Neither side acts insane
By expecting nothing
How can you trade free stuff?
Who’d fall for such a sham
Traders seek to gain things
It’s every traders’ plan
The thing they call Free Trade
Looks much like bribery
Trying to buy conduct
Bribes disguised as trading
“Doing business with them
Will give us common ground”
That failed with Indians
There’s almost none around
“Freedom follows Free Trade
They’ll see our ways are best
Trading’s a path to peace”
That path is a train wreck
Why do we keep at it?
The answer’s clear to me
Some traders do not care
That Free Trade is not free
Free Trade gives fear a home
Fear grows when it is fed
And moves to find more space
Making sure freedom’s dead
Does Free Trade mean no rules?
But how would that work out?
Both sides require terms
Trade cannot work in doubt
After asking questions
I came to realize
Free Trade is not for us
It’s for some other guys
Bad countries aren’t punished
All but us freely cheat
Free Traders accept this
As slaves make things Chinese
So it’s not real Free Trade
Business goes to bad guys
Only here in DC
Could free become a lie
Clinton liked this idea
Bushes loved Free Trade too
Trying to buy bad friends
Tyrants did not improve
Dictators do not change
When they can buy and sell
It just gives them more cash
To make their countries hell
So others get to cheat
Put their workers in chains
Cheating and slavery
Makes me doubt Free Trade’s name
“Problems securing appointments to see doctors in the United States are exacerbated by soaring health care demand and fewer doctors.” The Epoch Times, May 15-21, 2021 page A1
“Nearly 140 million Americans visited a hospital emergency department in 2021, based on data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Of those, about 13% resulted in hospital admission…” Ibid page A5
“[H]ealth care demands in the United States are rising. The average number of times Americans visit a doctor per year is four times for adults, nine for infants, and two for children between the ages of 5 and 15, according to Vanguard Medical Group.” Ibid.
“Six in 10 adults in the United States have a chronic disease, according to the Centers for Disease control and Prevention. Four in 10 have two or more.” Ibid.
Sir Jack on American Health Care
By William James Jonas III
“Sir Jack you must fix health care!
It’s broken don’t you know!”
That three-hundred-pound voter
Looked like he would explode
He took the bus to DC
By paying for three seats
While he only sat in two
The third held processed meats
“Doctor visits take too long!
And waiting is a chore!
I go there three times a week!”
He never said what for
“My insulin costs too much!”
He belched in-between bites
Of sugar coated cheese fries
And slabs of ice cream pie
“Health care is a civil right
As an American!”
The he stopped to take a smoke
Along with gulps of gin
“I’m in town so you will fix
Packed emergency rooms!
I often go there at night
Or when I sense some gloom”
When I mentioned exercise
My voter lost his mind
“Hey are you fat shaming me?
Why are you so unkind?”
“Health care’s the job of Congress
And a citizen’s right
Don’t confuse what I should do
Like walking and eat right”
“My conditions aren’t my fault
Chronic is just nature
And this is most important
Don’t make me the payor”
“Thanks Sir Jack for this meeting
You know what I expect
I must go I’m late you know
For unprotected sex”
And then our meeting ended
As he chased STDs
I turned to considering
How to meet health care needs
My voters are not unique
They’re like the whole country
As for health care few will share
Responsibility
Health care demands are rising
Chronic conditions too
Are we wasting resources?
That’s what we tend to do
For each one hundred people
That claim emergency
Only thirteen of that group
Have a true urgent need
Thirteen percent in a room
They call emergency
Will merit hospital stays
The rest act wastefully
Wasted emergency rooms
Is not a U.S. fluke
There’s much waste in our health care
Sometimes it makes me puke
Prescription drugs and doctors
Aren’t things that grow on trees
Just like emergency rooms
Our folks are wasting these
Pointing fingers does not work
There’s ample blame to share
But if we start acting smart
We’ll have enough health care
If we all work together
Plain folks and docs unite
Eating fewer calories
Promoting exercise
Doctors willing to say truth
Patients that will comply
Insurance that’s insurance
Not just some billing guide
Most expensive is not best
Our country’s proven that
Health care that gives us wellness
Is the goal of Sir Jack
Doctors aren’t therapy pets
Doctor’s aren’t magicians
Doctors aren’t an ATM
For tons of prescriptions
But that is how we treat them
And wonder why they quit
Using doctors more wisely
Might be a health care fix
Just like my New York voter
That expects me to act
Some reforms on the home front
Are needed that’s a fact
Insurance pre-approval
Was merely a band-aid
For patients pushing doctors
And filing useless claims
Doctors could have just said no
Or patients stopped crazed pleas
But there was so much money
And lots of fear-laced greed
We have the smartest doctors
And now they must be brave
The patients and trial lawyers
Must learn how to behave
With a bit of help like that
The next stop is Congress
We’ll need all sides to fix this
It is such a big mess
A solution to health care
In these United States
Must save our health and our wealth
To make our country great
Sir Jack on Crossing Borders
By William James Jonas III
Some birds are migratory
They move from place to place
Borders don’t seem to matter
The climate’s what they chase
Certain weather they like best
And that is where they go
They fly south from Canada
To avoid winter snow
When snow-less places get hot
To the north they will flee
This back and forth migration
Is part of their species
Some migrations go one way
Like cavemen chasing deer
They would starve without moving
It’s hunger that they fear
Migrations go back and forth
With birds I know it’s true
But caveman type migrations
Just seem to follow food
Today there are few cave men
And seasons to hunt deer
Now migrants come to New York
Zoos keep deer safe ’round here
Some seem to be chasing food
They think work lets them eat
So we are confusing them
With cards that make food free
Pointing a finger or wing
Precludes a helping hand
Yet this crazy migration
Is hard to understand
SIf Rwanda was Ukraine …
By William James Jonas III
If Rwanda was Ukraine
Would have so many died?
If Rwanda was Ukraine
Would they see through the lies?
Russia moves one thousand troops
The western world’s outraged
Kagame moves five thousand
The UN won’t complain
While Putin is called evil
Kagame gets a pass
Stealing coltan from Congo
No Russian can do that
If Rwanda was Ukraine
The press would scream and yell
Expose all the suffering
Thirty plus years of hell
Since Rwanda’s not Ukraine
Justice will be delayed
As an aging dictator
Builds mansions on mass graves
Mass murder that is ignored
Culture makes disappear
History is rewritten
And butchers are now cheered
The Rwandan genocide
Kagame’s troops released
Ordered assassinations
They claimed to bring the peace
Rwandan rotting bodies
Made folks at first ask why
Complicated truth is hard
When there’s a simple lie
But Rwanda’s not Ukraine
And so killers run free
Serving as a president
Just like Paul Kagame
Sir Jack, Member of Congress – Independence Day Oration July 4th 2024 – Central Park, New York City, New York
By William James Jonas III
Once again we gather
In our most precious park
Where kids play in the sun
But cannot after dark
Like much of what we face
On home front and elsewhere
Celebration is laced
With dread and cautious care
Times precious yet cautious
That is our life today
Central Park’s now heaven
But hell’s not far away
Cool breeze off the Hudson
In no way does dispel
The heat and fuel prices
That make today a hell
My first days in Congress
In twenty twenty one
Were a time of turmoil
Past imagination
Transition transgender
And closed schools with no class
COVID vaccine carnage
Europe on Russian gas
Through all this we endured
As the United States
If our standing has slipped
No one can take our place
Some chaos continues
And some is memory
Through all of our debates
There’s evidence we’re free
Freely scream your guts out
Proudly show your passion
All of that can happen
Without hateful action
Some question me “Sir Jack!”
“Words matter don’t you know!”
“Hate speech is just plain hate!”
“Such words have got to go!”
Before you accept that
Consider a life where
Certain words are canceled
In American air
A place where you can’t state
Your personal beliefs
Where you can’t ask questions
Where words are enemies
Words are not the issue
They are part of free speech
Limiting words will lose
What we call liberty
And that is where it starts
They ask you to agree
That certain words are out
While they choke liberty
Exclude word attitude
And there dies liberty
Debate becomes extinct
No word diversity
It’s said you can’t yell “fire!”
In crowded theaters
Except when there’s a fire
Life depends on that word
Words and deeds aren’t the same
Incitement is a deed
To say words are evil
Is how inciting breeds
Freedom does not ban words
But protects us from deeds
That take away freedom
And nurture tyranny
Not liking what is said
Will never justify
Silencing opinions
Because you like one side
Not every word is loved
Some amply earn dislike
But we cannot ban words
And keep freedom’s torch bright
“But some words frighten me!”
“They make me feel unsafe!”
Would you feel more secure
When “word cops” define hate?
Let’s have no confusion
We must preserve safety
But it’s time to let die
Fake sensitivity
Good ideas can bring bad
And debate has two sides
Hearing things we don’t like
Is how a free world thrives
Censoring Putin lies
Or Hamas hateful noise
Is not necessary
When truth has a strong voice
Today’s anti-Semites
Belch poison as they screech
But silencing stupid
Will end defense of speech
When we censor today
We’ll still censor next week
Those silenced may have changed
But all have lost free speech
Shutting down any speech
Just based on what is said
Reminds me of China
Where all freedoms are dead
So bravely join me now
Allowing all to say
Any words they so choose
That’s how we remain great
Sir Jack on Voting in 2024
By William James Jonas III
They say every vote counts
But that presents false hope
Voting for a quitter
Gives no replacement vote
A candidate gets votes
That’s how the voters choose
Yet quitting candidates
Make all their voters lose
If I give you my vote
I’m hoping that you win
But if you go and quit
I want to vote again
They say every vote counts
But that presents false hope
Voting for a quitter
Gives no replacement vote
A candidate gets votes
That’s how the voters choose
Yet quitting candidates
Make all their voters lose
If I give you my vote
I’m hoping that you win
But if you go and quit
I want to vote again
But that’s not how it works
Because of certain rules
Giving others power
And voters are the fools
Quitters become pickers
Votes are given away
To who the quitter pic
But that’s not how it works
Because of certain rules
Giving others power
And voters are the fools
Quitters become pickers
Votes are given away
To who the quitter picks
The voters have no say
Quitters can’t be pickers
In a democracy
If quitters get to pick
The people are not free
My worst fears were confirmed
On a summer Sunday
When an old winner quit
And voters lost their say
Is it democracy
When voting is a joke?
Where quitters get to pick
I think our system’s broke
Train Tracks Over Joe
By William James Jonas III
Grandma got run over by a reindeer*
Joe Biden got run over by a train
Hoof marks gave us clues as who got grandma
But how Joe went is harder to explain
The voters gave Joe the nomination
Fourteen million votes did not mean a fig
But they’d let him stay there at the White House
While they fetch lipstick for another pig
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Joe Biden got run over by a train
Party big wigs they were the conductors
So their new candidate won’t need a brain
*”Grandma Got Runover By A Reindeer” by Elmo & Patsy
Sir Jack on Inflation
By William James Jonas III
My voter’s say they’re broke
Everything costs more
Bagels did cost a buck
Now for one it’s four
“Sir Jack what’s causing this?
What caused inflation?
Congress should give answers
Or explanations”
My voters are angry
And don’t like this mess
Their wages have gone up
But they’re buying less
When you have more money
For the same old stuff
One thing is most certain
Prices will go up
The name for price increase
It’s called inflation
The growth of those prices
Sickens our nation
Since adding money’s bad
When more stuff’s not made
Those adding extra funds
Have inflation blame
“But Sir Jack, understand
Folks like extra cash”
Congress colleagues explain
“It’s how we come back”
That justification
Helps ones in that House
But those re-elections
Cost households a lot
Voters may like money
Inflation they hate
Should I tell them Congress
Makes inflation stay?
Recently new money
In three trillion stacks
Was named by DC folks
A Reduction Act
The name was Reduction
But that was a lie
It brought so much money
It fell from the sky
Since there was no new stuff
And tons of new cash
We got huge inflation
It’s simple as that
“But the Act was needed!”
Green advocates scream
I just know my voters
Are broke with lost dreams
New Yorkers love the earth
And will do their part
But high grocery prices
A curious start
The inflation disease
Has obvious cause
When Washington pretends
To be Santa Clause
We don’t like inflation
And we know the cause
And we know what it takes
To make it all pause
But that simple answer
Is not well taken
Because those in Congress
Bring home the bacon
The bacon in Congress
Is rather unique
It’s never thinly sliced
Or tasty to eat
The bacon’s just money
Congress claims is free
And they beg their voters
“Please re-elect me”
The money called bacon
Impact’s not unique
And when new goods aren’t made
Inflation’s unleashed
Voters now understand
The free money lie
New cash without new goods
Makes strong countries die
So I’m back to DC
To reduce bacon
If others will join me
We’ll stop inflation
“Hamas … says it is ‘keen’ on a [ceasefire] deal but has so far rejected the American proposal … Mr. Biden … and Kamala Harris … are both keen to have a ceasefire …” from “Ceasefire or Armageddon?” in “The Economist” August 24th 2024 on page 37
Sir Jack on Ceasefires
By William James Jonas III
After Nine Eleven
Pearl Harbor and the Blitz
To suggest a ceasefire
Would not have made much sense
Nine Eleven butchers
Pearl Harbor killers too
Weren’t offered a ceasefire
They went straight to a zoo
Nuremberg for Nazis
Trials for terrorist worms
A few were killed on sight
None got to dictate terms
The concept of cease fire
For Hamas does not fit
They’re terrorist Nazis
No one can deny it
Negotiation peace
Takes place when one side’s beat
And hostages get freed
When captors feel the heat
With hostages in hell
Angels cannot release
When devils control fire
Their death will make it cease
Sir Jack on November 2024 General Election
Last spring two old men
Were in a rematch
But one was so frail
That fight could not last
History was made
One candidate fired
Voters got no say
A new gal was hired
So summer gives us
A new White House race
Before Biden lost
He was just replaced
While most attention
Is between just two
Mr. Trump for red
Ms. Harris for blue
That is just one choice
At the ticket’s top
That’s where voters start
But no place to stop
Down ballot races
And one is for me
In ways matter more
Than Presidency
It’s every two years
And that includes now
Voters will decide
Who’s sent to The House
There’s House and there’s house
My race decides which
Go back to The House
Or home in some ditch
The House in DC
As Congress is known
Where I hold a seat
That my voters own
So it’s house or House
The votes set the path
To which house I go
Depends on the math
You can vote for her
You can vote for him
But I’m asking you
Vote for me again
These national themes
Are quite serious
Yet sometimes the tone
Sounds like a circus
The economy
Strong borders and peace
Are there to protect
Hometown families
And that is the place
Where platitudes end
And where voters need
A Washington friend
That’s not President
Be they red or blue
Members of Congress
Must represent you
Your own advocate
Member of Congress
Must help your hometown
Or should be dismissed
So in these last weeks
I’m talking to you
Reporting things done
And what’s left to do
I work very hard
And want to come back
Elect me again
Your Congress duck Jack
Sir Jack, Member of Congress … His thoughts on … Election Eve – November 2024
By William James Jonas III
Election Eve
This is my third
Campaigns await
The voters’ word
First time was tense
Second no fun
But in the end
Somehow I won
Each of those times
Someone lost too
Their hopes were dashed
Away they flew
Ideas endure
And public needs
When voting ends
The work proceeds
As incumbents
Usually win
I do expect
To serve again
Other races
Maybe less sure
On who will win
Be tasked to serve
I understand
That some are vexed
Have fear and doubt
On what is next
But that is dumb!
You drama queens!
Stirring up angst
With shrieks and screams
Halloween’s past
The ghosts are gone
No time for gloom
Work must be done
It takes no more
Than a bird brain
To not accept
A fear campaign
The one who wins
Will be the one
That voters think
Will get stuff done
Who that will be
Is hard to say
But we will know
Election Day
So until then
Election Eve
Refuse to fear
Just vote and breathe
Sir Jack the Mandarin Duck, Member of Congress – Thanksgiving Oration
By William James Jonas III
A year of drama
And a year of angst
As this year concludes
It’s time to give thanks
There were elections
Inflation and wars
Trials and convictions
Made us sad and bored
Press told us one thing
Something else we saw
Debate brought to light
Some obvious flaws
Life’s not a toss-up
Or too-close-to-call
Listening tells us
What is good for all
Give thanks for voices
Disputes, they are clear
Yet there’s much we share
Including next year
Give thanks for freedom
Give thanks for our land
Give thanks for the things
We don’t understand
At every table
Let’s make room for all
Exclusion is pride
That will bring a fall
Sixteen-twenty-one
Traditions began
To celebrate gifts
New life in this land
Some stay in the past
Some try to look back
Grievance can be real
Yet still can distract
With all of the change
That happened this year
We can still give thanks
And refuse to fear
For all who agree
And all who do not
Happy Thanksgiving!
Our shared melting pot
Sir Jack the Mandarin Duck, Member of Congress – Christmas 2024
By William James Jonas III
While reflecting on Christmas blessings, Sir Jack imagines life 200 years ago in what is now the nation of Israel … outside a small town … caring for sheep though the night …
Lonely Shepherds
“Let us now go …” Luke 2:15
Lonely shepherds
Fighting night chill
Flocks to protect
On this small hill
Who cares for them?
None come to mind
Yet they still toil
In fields abide
Beasts seek to feast
On easy prey
That’s defenseless
And quickly slayed
When sun is down
Hope’s hard to find
Sadness creeps in
In troubled times
With their soldiers
And corrupt crowns
Rome controls them
Keeping them down
Then comes a light!
Dark is destroyed
Angels appear
Announcing joy!
In Bethlehem
Is arriving
Saviour of man
A new born king
What was foretold
They’re first to know
And so they say
“Let us now go …”
You are relaxing around a campfire after a chuck wagon supper. The night is cool on this Texas ranch, so hot coffee is welcomed.
As darkness erases the sunset, an old cowboy wanders in sharing wit and wisdom from his life and travels. What follows is that cowboy’s poetry. He calls it Ranch Verse.
William James Jonas III
Fifth Generation Texas Rancher
Appalachian Autumn Advent
The leaves received their cue
God’s calendar obeyed
Gold has infused bright green
Summer’s reign now betrayed
She is the first to strip
While others keep their clothes
But she won’t be the last
All will soon be exposed
A lonely naked tree
Amidst false modesty
Frost destroys old glad rags
New fashion comes in spring
Asphalt Allergy
He can track mustangs
Over a flat rock
But can’t find his truck
In church parking lots
The rules of the ranch
He knows who is boss
But get him in town
You’d call him plum lost
Town women whisper
He is not too smart
But he knows his lines
He’s playing a part
He chose long ago
To live life that’s free
“City Limits” signs
With those he agrees
Cities will tell you
Where to sit or spit
He lives where he’s free
There’s no “Range Limits”
So he stays away
From limiting signs
With freedom to choose
He won’t change his mind
Awaiting Men
A raw rough land
Using up men
Until it breeds
The kind it needs
The land not new
But new to some
Unworthy men
Were first to come
The land’s a bride
The groom unfound
The failed suitors
Slept in the ground
Her call went out
Across the sea
Bringing forth men
She hope worthy
She was untamed
They did their best
But each new man
Died in the test
Still they arrived
In damaged ships
The ancestors
Of leaders fit
Nation came forth
As women raised
Generations
This country craved
The land’s women
Did birth a breed
Worthy leaders
Land of the free
Before
Where was the Home Place
Before it was the ranch?
That was the question
The youngest grandchild asked
Grandma calls this home
Her parents claimed this spot
Home before the ranch
Imagine I cannot
Two hundred years back
In land across the sea
We had not a ranch
Because we were not kings
And without a ranch
Life our ancestors faced
So my little one
Nothing was called Home Place
So before the ranch
Where’s Home Place’s location?
In ancestors’ dreams
Hope’s imagination
Black King
The swiftest horse on the range
He’d shown his heels to all
Black and strong not beautiful
Full seventeen hands tall
His mother a Quarter Horse
The father was unknown
Lightning made him an orphan
That’s when I brought him home
He ripped at will reins and ropes
I would not use a chain
That might offend his spirit
And surely cause me pain
The good Lord brought him to me
A gift I could not break
So we built a partnership
Of trust and love and faith
A saddle he accepted
He knew that kept me safe
Flying across the pasture
For strays or in a race
My spurs stayed hung in the barn
He tasted not a bit
Just an old rawhide halter
Connected our spirits
No pony was his equal
The stock his vassal slaves
With pounding hooves or nudges
The sheep and cows obeyed
Even such a mighty steed
Has but a horses life
But live he did for a time
I was his honored knight
Book Critic
Mister Ralph Compton
Writer of westerns
You are sure ’nuff dead
But here’s my question
New books use your name
Perhaps that’s alright
Yet the stuff they write
Should wake you at night
Too much on pistols
Nothin’ on saddles
Cows are never sold
Between gun battles
The killin’s OK
It is the wild west
Where did them ranch hands
Find those fancy vests?
Your book sales are good
So I will shut up
‘Now on I’ll stick to
Zane Grey’s western stuff
Boss Man
His stock aint so good
His range it is less
You’d have to expect
His ranch is a mess
But that’s where you’re wrong
There’s no finer place
While others need luck
He builds with true Grace
With underserved love
That lack luster herd
Transformed by His Grace
That comes from His Word
He’ll lay down His life
For even one stray
Each head is precious
And that is His Way
Plans of His Father
But don’t think them two
They are unified
That I always knew
There is no question
Great rancher is He
He’s Jesus of course
And the stray is me
Burnin’ Pear
If you’re gonna burn pear
You’re doin’ it for life
Less you want your cattle
Full ‘o thorns and half blind
For cows nothin’s sweeter
Than winter prickly pear
As long as your blow torch
Burned the thorns that were there
In January cold
I give my herds a treat
By burnin’ prickly pear
The kind Herefords will eat
But then come the spring rains
And the thorns do return
While the cows prefer grass
For me pear must be burned
One season of green joy
For these cows I adore
Brings four seasons of work
That’s my pear burnin’ chore
Burnin’ pear in the spring
Is followed by summer
Find me in October
Using my pear burner
Pear’s not a cows first choice
Except in the winter
But thorns grow the year ’round
Each season there’s danger
Some ranchers use poison
To kill their prickly pear
One season of poison
Thorns and pears are not there
But I think it’s worth it
Every once in awhile
When my cows eat that pear
I think I see them smile
Buzzard
He flew a high path
Over his desert plate
While the man still lived
The old buzzard could wait
Patterns lead to food
That’s what the buzzard knew
Patterns not reason
Directed where he flew
Wide lazy circles
Wheeling in the blue sky
His meal was delayed
Because I would not die
As I am hunted
It’s my death for their guilt
Nothing is settled
Until more blood is spilt
Big buzzard circles
Pre-obituary
Life in the desert
Is fed by dead bodies
Call Of Duty
“I’m rich in cattle and horses”
That’s how dad described his wealth
“But lately we’ve been losin’ stock
I can’t do it all myself”
“Sheep men have ruined the grazing
Rustlers are always in view”
“When there’s peace with Spain come back home
Bring those Rough Riders with you”
Change had not hit the West back then
Leather and lead kept us safe
I left San Juan Hill Tonto bound
To help save home on the range
The Broken Gun
A broken pistol won’t talk
But this one could disclose
How a herd and pastureland
Were stolen years ago
The Civil War’s conclusion
Brought Reconstruction greed
Dolph and David’s Texas ranch
The carpetbaggers seized
War had taught them of defeat
And losing’s never fair
It seemed best to move on west
Seek Arizona air
Unclaimed Rio Grande cattle
Were theirs by rope and brand
A four-week summer round-up
Built a herd for new lands
A westward unclaimed valley
With water and good grass
Was described by a new hand
And he knew the best path
The crew for such a trail drive
Was hired in ten days
Dolph and David took a train
To stake that valley claim
With new deeds and marked cattle
Their hooves and horns moved west
Soon the ranch brand Double D
Would in that valley rest
The trip did not lack danger
Every trail drive has risks
When their guide was gone one day
He was not even missed
A final day of travel
Then the lush valley land
Would be filled by Double D
At least that was their plan
The attack came at midnight
A traitor showed the way
Daylight brought a corpse filled camp
The herd taken away
Dolph was the last to be killed
He almost saw the dawn
He found time to write a will
Explaining what went on
Dolph’s testament would be saved
Truth survived that dark night
A busted colt’s gun barrel
Was where his will would hide
The ambush site abandoned
Thieves let the buzzards clean
There was a new ranch to claim
And cows marked Double D
For ninety years a secret
Concealed on a great ranch
Ancestors of those first thieves
Assured truth had no chance
The story of that trail drive
Was darkly modified
Apaches were quickly blamed
For why the Texans died
The evils of those past days
Modern greed kept covered
Murder, threats, and accidents
Kept facts undiscovered
But the truth was always there
In a gun in the sand
Then a college research team
Was studying that land
They thought it an old campsite
Victims of a fierce land
A search for clues found a few
One broke colt in the sand…
Camp Cook Wanted
Rawhide tough and bull-strong
His smell would hit you first
Mean as a sore toothed bear
His attitude was worse
He’s on the prod most times
You know this can’t be good
But we need a camp cook
Do we dare try his food?
This drive starts tomorrow
The chuck wagon’s supplied
When our old cook walked off
Our crew was high and dry
Trail drives just don’t happen
Without a way to feed
So we hired Stinky
To meet our urgent need
The drive was a success
The hands were all fed well
As for flies we had none
Because of Stinky’s smell
Chuck Wagon
Saw it before sun up
And then at high noon
Our chuck wagon supper
Had light from the moon
A fermenting dough crock
And flour barrel
Made Dutch oven magic
Biscuits I taste still
When time came to brand calves
Along with fresh steaks
Rocky Mountain Oysters
Added to our plate
The beef was always burnt
The coffee boiled
Pancakes and beans filled us
You’d say we was spoiled
For those three meals a day
That wagon fed us
With no reservations
And lots of trail dust
Cliche Vigilante
“The clock is ticking”
That is what he said
Just one more cliche
I will shoot him dead
“The clock is ticking”
The phrase is absurd
Like “the leaves on trees”
Or “feathers on birds”
“The clock is ticking”
Of course, it’s a clock!
You want it to sing?
Or whistle or bark?
Not a gunfighter
But I love English
Strings of silly words
Make language a mess
“It’s a game changer”
That gets you hot lead
Try telling the truth
With data instead
“Dead men tell no tales”
They also don’t spew
Words like “Ya feel me”
I’d rather they moo
“It is what it is”
That phrase has to go
With this gun I’ll save
Clearly spoke prose
Cliches take the place
Of information
Appearing to be
A conversation
Folks once did express
“I like what you say”
By repeating words
That made a cliche
But then the cliche
Was kidnapped by fiends
To conceal the fact
Their minds were empty
When enough cliches
You fill a news hour
No one is informed
Fiends keep the power
I tried to be nice
That’s not how it’s done
I hear a cliche
And I get my gun
Some say I’m extreme
They say it’s their speech
When words are senseless
That claim is a reach
Elvis used a gun
On Robert Goulet
When Bobby sang songs
Chock full of cliches
The solution’s clear
Stop using cliches
When English is safe
My gun goes away
Cowboy Coffee
Hot
Strong
Better than sin
That is cowboy coffee
Red
Coals
All night boilin’
That is cowboy coffee
Black
As
Hinges of Hell
That is cowboy coffee
Dead
Raised
Just by the smell
That is cowboy coffee
Life
In
Five gallon pot
That is cowboy coffee
Won’t
Ride
Without a shot
That is cowboy coffee
Horse
Shoe
Floatin’ on top
That is cowboy coffee
When
Gone
All ranchin’ stops
That is cowboy coffee
Crooked
“He’s crooked as a rail fence
Don’t buy a bull from him”
Loud mouths do not understand
Rail fences keep cows in
Things that look straight and narrow
Will not always be strong
Straight fence wire only works
Till pliers come along
Some say that old man’s crooked
One cut won’t take him down
I’m looking for a strong bull
Not mules to pull a plow
Dad’s Top Hand
He taught me to rope
To fight ride and shoot
To hate coyotes
Be tough as a boot
No time for sissies
Or boys with soft hands
Send then to New York
To play Peter Pan
Pull the barb wire tight
And aim for the head
Fences and rifles
Let us rest in bed
Say yes to a drink
Bur rarely take two
You can’t work and smoke
It’s better to chew
Your knife must be sharp
And keep your rope straight
If your horse aint shod
You won’t ride today
Bein’s Dad’s top hand
Well that is my world
I’ve been it for years
Not bad for a girl
Feed Sack Ranching
Round-ups using feed sacks
Aren’t ranching at all
Escalades honking horns
Feed’s the cattle call
But the weekend ranchers
Can afford the feed
Don’t have time for horse back
The work of herding
Their livestock’s like house cats
Come to offered food
They don’t need a cow dog
Or a cattle crew
Huntin’ strays has now changed
They honk horns and pour
Cattle cubes do the work
Cow ponies get bored
Grandpa’s last horse is gone
He rides ATVs
There’s room for a feed sack
But not true ranching
Copyright 2024 – William James Jonas III, LTC, U.S. Army, Retired – All Rights Reserved
William James Jonas III, LTC, U.S. Army, Retired, 66834380, FCI-Gilmer, P.O. Box 6000, Glenville, West Virginia 26351Ode to Nellie Cushman (1845-1925)
While Greeley’s advice
Made one more young man dead
“Go West young woman”
That General Grant said
“Eastern prejudice
Won’t help an Irish lass
Unless you’re a maid
Sweeping up blue blood trash”
“The West has a need
For young women with grit
To feed and sustain
Untamed men of spirit”
“Men out there are strong
And I know they are brave
Long-term survival
They lack gifts of that trade”
“None of them can cook
They don’t know how to clean
Hungry and dirty
They have cash for these needs”
Forty dollar fare
On a ship built for speed
She arrived to find
Fierce opportunity
Offers of marriage
Never seemed to make sense
Why just cook for one
And lose boarding house rents?
In Tombstone, Yukon
And the south Baja lands
This Irish daughter
Lent her hard-working hands
She built hospitals
And gave food and shelter
For Nellie Cushman
Was their first responder
Her life at full tide
Helped others on their way
A western hero
And now you know her name
Chatter
An empty wagon makes much noise
And is a waste of road
Worse than applying fine perfume
To primp a horny toad
Hands that belly ache aren’t good hands
Complaining of their day
Blaming the horses, range, and crew
For not finding the strays
The loud voices in this outfit
Don’t belong to the best
Great lessons come owning mistakes
In the school of the west
So save all those lame excuses
For trips to the city
Out here such talk will spook the herd
Stampedes are not pretty
Dinner
Welcome at any fire
Is the bringer of meat
My brother’s hunting skills
Made our family complete
Cows sheep and goats we raised
To eat money’s unwise
Hunting trips trumped round-ups
At least in brother’s eyes
Crops can be farm to fork
And meat pasture to plate
But our table was filled
With precise rifle skills
We sold what others ate
Freedom Farmer
“Don’t need no government!”
That farmer screamed at me
“Freedom is all I want
To grow my sugar beets
Those folks in Washington
Just get out of my way
I do not want their help
Here in my USA
But since they do exist
There are some little things
That might help my business
And cash register ring
A free road to my farm
And keep those rail rates low
There’s a thing called profit
That makes my business grow
Control labor unions
While workers I import
No tariffs on nitrates
I need those for my crops
Island competitors
Keep trade walls very high
My independent farm
Does not compete on price
The thing I do not need
Is nosey government
Just do the stuff I ask
Keep me independent!”
Golden Jack
Jack was a gambler
The best of his breed
If you cut his arm
Gold dust it would bleed
Where there was a camp
Where there was a claim
You’d find him with cards
Their money his fame
They came in The Rush
With funds from the East
And at Jack’s table
Those funds were his feast
Not everyone lost
But only Jack won
Winning was his job
While they played for fun
Gold was in the hills
Eighteen Forty-Nine
Hope without knowledge
Disaster at times
American dreams
Need work just the same
The luck that was real
Came from work on claims
Sweat produced the gold
Yet some still felt lack
Instead of more sweat
They sat down with Jack
Jack is no vulture
His prey is not dead
In fact they stalk him
He accepts their bread
Where there are dreamers
Greed must have a space
Our nations’ Gold Rush
Was a gambler’s place
Gopher Watching
Appalachian gopher
You solitary beast
I see out of my window
Enjoys a private feast
On cool bright afternoons
Departs the dark hillside
To explore fresh mowed grass
Searching for tasty bites
A father or mother?
Part of a family?
His home within the hills
A thing I’ve never seen
Yet as summer closes
For just a few short weeks
Just outside my window
Is where my gopher eats
Lacking in defenses
He seems to live in fear
Standing tall on hind legs
To see if danger’s near
Gophers are not mentioned
In West Virginia lore
Never a team mascot
Why are they so ignored?
There are Golden Gophers
Of Minnesota fame
With all that snow and ice
They need something to claim
But where my gopher lives
Invisible almost
Perhaps my window view
Is just a gopher ghost
Take care lonely gopher
I pray you’re not alone
I will see you next year
If this is still our home
Gould Spring
Hope springs eternal
For all time that means
The spring we called Gould
Dust had never seen
The pasture is huge
Cows covered with flies
They walked to Gould spring
To troughs full of life
Cracks in the limestone
Bring the water out
And into a pool
To feed those parched mouths
It is called Gould spring
Because a man died
The man went missing
Some cowboys did find
Grand Dad did not say
What Mister Gould did
Was he a horse thief?
Stole someone’s goat kid?
All that I do know
Our spring has his brand
That never runs dry
Gives life to this land
Grand Dad
‘Been gone over forty years
His birthday I still recall
Out grew his boots by 8th grade
But never once thought him small
There’s not a part of ranching
That he did not teach me first
Nothing seemed to bother him
Not once did I hear him curse
But he was a real rancher
With tales better than Zane Grey
On his horse Red with two dogs
Did a week’s work in a day
‘Fore I walked a single step
He carried me on horseback
City life was calling me
Time with him kept me on track
Everyone admired him
Some he helped start their own ranch
He was so good and honest
Bad luck did not stand a chance
Some folks called him King David
A jealous joke I would guess
Yet his power was quite real
Quiet generous and blessed
He read the paper mid-day
It came in the mail of course
After lunch he took a nap
An excuse to rest his horse
In his closet a bottle
Of whiskey that’s named Old Crow
Never took more than a sip
His private pleasure no show
Red and one of the dogs died
But Grand Dad did not let-up
That one dog did the herding
As he drove his pick-up truck
A saddle was still his home
On a pale horse at the end
Riding until his last day
Grand father mentor and friend
Guns
Prissy city men
And mean manly girls
Think taking our guns
Will improve their world
Coyotes rejoice
In such silly plans
While feasting on lamb
Laughing at dumb man
Pick-ups need gun racks
With two guns a piece
Shotguns and rifles
Make sure men eat meat
Police aren’t safety
From all sorts of pests
Our guns scare critters
And unwelcomed guests
What is gun buy back?
When they don’t sell guns
Their hearts may be good
But their plans are dumb
Those city shootings
Are crimes we agree
So go solve those crimes
And let ranchers be
Here is an idea
For gun grabbing gall
I’ll give them one gun
If they build a wall
Walls will stop varmints
The two-legged kind
With my other gun
Four-legged ones die
Our town trips are rare
With one exception
We drive there to vote
Every election
Huggin’ A Grouch
He’s huggin’ a grouch
As big as a hill
He’s huggin’ a grouch
Gettin’ meaner still
He’s huggin’ a grouch
You could say he’s sore
He’ huggin’ a grouch
And just slammed the door
He’s huggin’ a grouch
And wearin’ a frown
He’s huggin’ a grouch
The biggest in town
He’s huggin’ a grouch
What made him this way
He’s huggin’ a grouch
It happened one day
His name is Smiley
That’s ironic yes
While others shoot straight
He wins fights with chess
What made Smiley mad?
What made him so mean?
It appears my mule
Has ate his black queen
Izzy and Max
We went to buy one bull
And settled for two
When you buy stock from kin
That happens to you
So into our trailer
Went Izzy and Max
Now it’s back to the ranch
No time to relax
This Polled Hereford duo
Will set our herd’s path
They will father strong calves
Or we will not last
Today they’re still young bulls
Less than two years old
But by spring of next year
They’ll take on their role
Izzy is the smart one
Strong Max by his side
Exploring new pastures
Shin oak and blue sky
Away from the big herd
Max and Izzy play
While they grow in stature
More bulk every day
Our land is different
From where they were weaned
Yet this ranch will nurture
Their legacy breed
The friendship of their youth
Adult bulls won’t share
But those future worries
Are not today’s care
And so for this season
The young bulls play games
Heifers but a vague thought
Next year that will change
What will come in twelve months
Ranchers can’t predict
I know Izzy and Max
Will be in the mix
Last Shot
A little shootin’
Needn’t mean a war
If there’s been trespassin’
Fences aint for show
They mark what’s not yours
Where your cattle’s grazin’
Open range is past
My herd needs a home
Outlaws like me don’t fit
Time to sell my horse
Settle down in town
Sick of dodgin’ bullets
Limits
The sign says “City Limits”
And I’d have to agree
Not a city comes to mind
That did not limit me
If you call me a cowboy
You might insult that breed
Just keep your city limits
Cause I like to be free
When I go to a Wal-Mart
There’s limits everywhere
T-Bones and toilet paper
The limits help us share
But sharing toilet paper
Seems somewhat odd to me
Perhaps this Chinese virus
Has made some folks crazy
Movin’ On
You don’t understand
But that is alright
I came for the race
And stayed for the fight
‘Cause when a friend calls
I’ve got but a few
Risk aint a factor
It’s just what I do
Black Stallion and me
Sure know how to race
That’s how we survived
In dangerous days
Jack has him a ranch
That’s lacking in cash
One winning horse race
And he’s in the black
So he made the call
And I got the word
“Come win this horse race
You’ll save my cow herd!”
God laughs every time
That men make some plans
We never expect
To face Satan’s hands
But one of those hands
Just shot a man dead
As I entered town
Blame fell on my head
The marshal corrupt
Remembering me
Was more than willing
To make sure I swing
Back in Abilene
That marshal knew me
I knew about him
Stealing bank money
But there’s one rancher
Whose name is McCord
The law that’s followed
Is his spoken word
“Only judges hang
We’ll wait for the judge”
That’s what McCord said
And his will is done
McCord hated Jack
That did not help me
They locked Jack up too
For conspiracy
Like some certain weeds
Can’t stand too much light
We’re falsely accused
And broke jail one night
The town had one man
Johnny was his name
Who saw through the lies
And found who to blame
So with my name cleared
It’s back to the race
Let’s win one for Jack
There’s a ranch to save
Inspired by Loren Zane Grey’s “Lassister and the Great Horse Race.”
Mule Wanted
For twenty years
I could be found
On my gelding
Riding around
Oiled leather chaps
Burned skin and dirt
Never slowed down
Never got hurt
Then I grew up
Grabbed a career
Lost my good reins
For thirty years
What others called
A great success
Lacked steady reins
Life was a mess
Politics and pomp
Nice private planes
Can’t be controlled
Without good reins
I left that show
Sought a new quest
‘Want my old life?
Do be my guest
Back to the ranch
Nothing to chase
No fast horses
Home’s not a race
Now to ranch work
Where things get broke
Troughs and stock pen
Lost cows and goats
Of course I’ll ride
You can do more
Two legs do less
Compared to four
No more horses
My old man rule
Back on the ranch
I ride a mule
Myopia
Went cold to my gizzard
And it was not the beer
The day was fried egg hot
My spine chill was pure fear
Seen that stranger before
But not in my home town
Folks would be in danger
At least until sundown
His type solve their problems
Using forty-five slugs
My chance to get loaded
Time to refill my mug
The man had a mission
It was durn clear to me
Would he leave here alive?
With some time we would see
The man’s a gunfighter
With no losses so far
Again my mug empty
That’s when I left the bar
What came next a rumor
Because I went on home
He asked for directions
And got back on the road
Not the stranger I thought
What a mistake by me!
Less mugs and new glasses
Should improve how I see
Cornered in Arizona
An attack awaiting
Sun or human foes
Hopeful buzzards above
A lizard still morning
The desert heat brought
Cool winds gone like night doves
The escape from Tucson
Forced us to go west
Into a dry poison land
Water’s unicorn rare
As scavengers feast
Carnage bullets and sand
But we are here no less
And past history
Will not define this fight
Rifles pistols and grit
Is all that we’ve got
To live to see moonlight
New Ride
A zebra dun mule was looking at me
With a face full of sin and deviltry
A philosopher with no need to speak
Wise as an owl without feathers or beak
He came rider-less and stood at the gate
Reflective relaxed and willing to wait
Discovered him when I got back from town
I always return well before sundown
Had he an owner? That I could not see
When I opened the gate he followed me
Somehow that mule knew my gelding had died
For twenty-five years just him I did ride
Hard rides to move stock no longer I do
When my horse died I moved stock in my boots
The dogs do the work my herds are all tame
Still something was wrong not riding the range
It’s not dignified to check a fence line
When on foot in boots; For this you must ride
My four-legged guest has come here to stay
I now have a ride, but what is his name?
Night Guard
Late night watch
On a cattle drive
Two men three hours
You need night hawk eyes
Check the stars
Cattle’s direction
Gulp down coffee
Begin inspection
Campfire dim
Brilliant sky lanterns
Make silhouettes
Cows in the canyon
Bedded down
Black patch on the grass
As cows slumber
I work till breakfast
Silky swish
Of wide-winged night birds
The night wears on
For this sleeping herd
Dead of night
A mind can wander
Back to those times
That make one ponder
Chances missed
Or roads not taken
Pointless fist fights
From things mistaken
Listen more
And talk even less
Try not to care
That makes things a mess
There’s no doubt
On what is the past
It has been fun
And at times a blast
Riding hard
Sleeping in the cold
Makes memories
To share when you’re old
Other work
I’d stay in one place
Deal with people
Folks that are two-faced
Cows don’t lie
Or mess you around
They need my care
This truth I have found
Dark hours pass
To light in the east
Night watch over
Cowboys never sleep
Oak Tree Ranch
The oaks on our place
Are more than just trees
They are a partner
A ranch hand with leaves
Cedars drink too much
And can make you sneeze
Every old cowboy
Has bad allergies
Mesquites are the worst
In so many ways
When they are all gone
Cows will safely graze
Pecan trees don’t count
They’re down by the spring
Giving turkeys food
And shade they don’t need
In oak tress we have
A true ranchers’ friend
Protect the livestock
From sun rain and wind
They honor the land
And don’t crowd the grass
Those mighty oak trees
Are landmarks that last
When an oak tree dies
Or branches are split
The best king of wood
Feeds Bar B-Q pits
To you it may be
One more live oak tree
But out on this ranch
Oaks mean more to me
Our Tourists
They’re thick as flies
On fresh cowhide
When ranch hands hit town
Saturday night
Just one stop light
Won’t keep things slowed down
Sober Sunday
So far away
Waits until sunrise
So now till then
Boys sippin’ sin
Gettin’ Chinese eyes
Bucks earned ranchin’
Or fence fixin’
Don’t go far in play
But havin’ fun
It must be done
Back to work Monday
Where there’s breakin’
There is payin’
And they don’t break much
Our town’s weekend
Wild cowboy friends
Are a crazy bunch
Outlaw Beginning
He was full of bad whiskey
An’ huntin’ for me
The sheriff was gone for a week
I confronted that bully
He threw his gun first
And died as his shots missed my feet
It was my first gun battle
But I memorized
Most everything my father taught
A glove is for your left hand
Wait for him to draw
Then put two bullets in his heart
It was not too long ago
My act was no crime
Our rangers have changed Texas ways
With no money for a trial
T’was time to leave town
So I started my outlaw days
Inspired by Zane Grey’s “The Lone Star Ranger”
Pards
Just ’cause we’re pards don’t mean we agree
We both got good eyes and a brain
Have each a horse don’t share a saddle
But we are still pards just the same
He covers me and I cover him
He drinks whiskey I stick to gin
Those drinks in a bar don’t mean a damn
Bein’ a pard that’s a real man
Roadblocks are things we don’t understand
If I can’t I know my pard can
Some leaky boat got my family here
The captain had pards for a crew
Pulling together making their way
The old country left for the new
He can be wrong that’s one thing for sure
Those are the times I set him straight
But no one else can criticize him
Unless they want me in their face
Out on the range the friends they are few
And breaks only happen to bones
Varmints and weather can mess things up
With a pard you’re never alone
Riding to heaven will be a joy
Pure water green grass and fresh air
The cows are happy horses run fast
Best of all my pard will be there
Patrick Spring
Down a gulley
Marked by pecan trees
There is a spot
We call Patrick Spring
In a rock wall
Grand Dad drove a pipe
Since then water
Has dripped day and night
Under the pipe
A rock water trough
Creates a pool
For our thirsty stock
At the tree base
Are mustang grape vines
In all these years
We never made wine
Through drought and floods
Old Patrick Spring drips
For all my life
It has never quit
In summers past
Fifty years ago
I got the job
To clean out that trough
It’s kind of strange
Gravel did appear
Filling that trough
Every single year
But clean or not
Stock always relied
On Patrick Spring
To sustain their life
My mind’s picture
Of Patrick Spring fades
I’ve not been there
For many decades
With age comes doubt
But one thing I know
There’s pecan trees
Where Patrick Spring flows
Pawed Ranch Hand
Wilder’n a skeered jack rabbit
That’s how some think of me
Never stayed in one place too long
There’s just so much to see
The smartest cow dog on this ranch
My status for these years
When cattle stray from the main herd
I sometimes nip their ears
While other dogs wait at the gate
The horse barn’s where I stay
As long as saddles stay hung up
There’ll be no work today
I have no use for little kids
Goats or the people kind
But saddle-up I’m by your side
No better dog you’ll find
The folks that call me wild don’t know
The cow dog’s sacred creed
Don’t let a man or pony do
The tasks left to our breed
Not every cow’s obedient
That is till they see me
It only takes a bark or two
And they do as I please
Don’t try to pat me on my head
Ranch hands are not house pets
Just let me be in my horse barn
I’m wild don’t you forget
Poor Yaller
I wouldn’t give it to
A yaller pup for play
It may not be worthless
But not worth much today
Ranking stuff by pale pups
Not mine to understand
Maybe ’cause they’re yaller
They’re not in high demand
Yaller dogs don’t rank high
The same for pups from them
Is this dog bigotry?
A canine class system?
Aint no dogs I don’t like
Thangs I don’t like I’ll say
I wouldn’t give it to
A yaller pup for play
Rain Man
“I bet a million steers to a rawhide rope”
He said that as he spat
With my sixty-head and a hemp lasso
I knew not to react
The clouds were his brothers
They predicted rain
Just blue sky’s what I saw
But his old blue eyes
Saw on to tomorrow
And saw water would fall
So the dark flashing skies
Came as no surprise
As great drops soaked my chaps
The old man finds rain
But I can find no one
To fix my water gaps
Rattlesnake Camp Stranger
What’s your business stranger?
That’s our question to him
What’s your business stranger?
We asked as he walked in
“A peculiar business”
That he said as he grins
“Such a business can have
Different opinions
Some say it’s quite easy
Others say it is rough
A business of sadness
But it’s festive enough
Wonder how I got in
If I’ll ever get out
A powerful business
I know there is no doubt
A payin’ business yes
Peaceful if left alone
Sort o’ belongs to me
Yet no patent I own
But it is my business”
And that was all he said
The saloon was so quiet
You’d have thought we were dead
He was just passin’ through
Two weeks time he would stay
He rented a cabin
Doing what who could say
But our camp has standards
And we protect our home
A committee was formed
To expel this strange one
To the next camp we went
To grow our committee
When you kick out strangers
In numbers there’s safety
But that camp was busy
A revival in town
They urged us to join them
In their tent we sat down
Gospel music began
The preacher took the stage
The face we recognized
It’s the man we thought strange
We had come to recruit
More muscle for a fight
But we entered a tent
Where we all saw the light
Revolution Mexico
“Sun reflecting off their guns
Creates much light
Senor that was the reason
We chose not to fight”
Mexico was in turmoil
Dictators don’t last
The Catholic Church can’t save them
Change was coming fast
So the once docile miners
Stopped dying for fools
Fetching buckets of sliver
Following church rules
This was not freedom fighting
It’s revolution
Both sides used the same railroad
As we all looked on
Getting rid of the Spanish
Brought a dictator
Who ignored a basic rule
Don’t abuse the poor
For more than one hundred years
It all looks the same
Poncho Villa or cartels
Just a change of names
The poor don’t do the fighting
But they hid the guns
And will remain the excuse
For revolution
Riding for Strays
The air is cold
The leather is wet
After sun up
Dew’s replaced with sweat
My muscles stiff
From riding all week
But we’re still short
I’ll find those lost sheep
Pasture’s too big
It needs a cross fence
Next time wool sells
That job will makes sense
But for today
We saddle and ride
Looking for lambs
I pray they aint died
Right Hand Era
Never gloved
Never injured
Never out of view
The gunfighter’s right hand
Brought death when it moved
Callouses
And sore places
On finger and thumb
Practice at gun drawing
Must be daily done
Survival
Of the swiftest
Is not ruled by fate
Response not reaction
Focused force not hate
What started
Protecting life
Now partners with death
Precious need protection
Lead for life itself
So it goes
Our country grows
Wild will soon be tamed
Those right hands will retire
Two gloved peace proclaimed
Roswell, New Mexico 1871
He said “Do ya feel me?”
That’s when I shot him down
The alien space ship
Beamed a black guy downtown
He was from the future
A place he called “The Hood”
Horse hair ropes from his scalp
I knew he was no good
I built this trading post
And named it for my dad
The ranchers are OK
Aliens drive me mad
What makes them invade us
I do not have a clue
One thing I cannot stand
When they turn our corn blue
Aliens are trouble
They scare the women folk
If they do not leave soon
Our post will be a joke
Alien removal
Has us in Roswell stumped
But we may get help soon
From U.S. Marshal Trump
Running Chicken
Rather tackle three cougars
Than face that devil man
We called him Old Kentucky
I flew the coop and ran
Barely knee high to mother
The last time he saw me
Had a grudge under his hat
Mean enough to sour cream
Old Kentucky had an itch
Found trouble with his nose
So I headed out of town
Before hills had shadows
Never one to seek mischief
But it found my address
You can bet Old Kentucky
Wanted to slice my chest
Whenever I found a home
Old Kentucky would show
With short white hair goatee
A black tie in a bow
I’d light a shuck one more time
To a new home and place
Then when I least expected
I would see his old face
Never in one town too long
Until I would view him
It was just his picture
But I knew that cruel grin
So I remain on the dodge
Never one place too long
I see Old Kentucky
The next day I am gone
Now I’m moving to London
Or somewhere in Britain
Maybe they’ll make Kentucky
Fry fish and not chicken
Rustlers’ Nightmare
“He was cool and bright like a coiled greasy rattler.” Zane Grey
A coiled greasy rattler
A crime boss cool and bright
Some 30,000 head
Disappeared by daylight
Cow brands did not matter
Barbed wire fences all failed
The rustlers recruited
From the Mexican jails
More than merely cattle
Cows were life for grandpa
Loved them more than money
His best horse or grandma
Rustler boss Diamond Back
Did steal grandpa’s prized herd
But a family like ours
Always gets the last word
Future generations
Of the Diamond Back gang
Did not pay attention
To the way times had changed
Our new type of ranching
Does not tolerate thieves
We protect what is ours
That was our grandpa’s dream
After decades of work
The ranch now looks the same
30,000 head graze
On our great Texas range
One thing is different
We are much more prepared
Our sky is full of drones
It’s a rustlers’ nightmare
One step uninvited
You just might lose a boot
With infrared sensors
Our drones hit what they shoot
With our drones in the sky
And big explosive snares
The dream of our grandpa
Is a rustlers’ nightmare
The two-legged rustlers
And the varmints on four
Just do not stand a chance
In the modern range war
So God bless you grandpa
You taught us to play fair
When it comes to cow thieves
There’s the rustlers’ nightmare
Ruts in the range
Huggin’ a grouch
Big as a hill
It’s been a year
Huggin’ it still
What made him dark?
A broken heart
Started the day
She did depart
Won’t give it up
He’s resolute
Road out of town
Bears her tribute
Funny perhaps
To take it hard
The girl was fat
A ton of lard
His sunshine left
On outbound stage
So overweight
Ruts in the range
Our bakery
Misses her too
Cakes now cost less
That is good news
He sought marriage
She loved souffles
All that is left
Ruts in the range
The cowboy’s gone
Took his dark cloud
Packed up his horse
Then he moved out
If he comes back
With candy canes
He’ll be trailin’
Ruts in the range
Shoein’ Old Baldy
Some times he’s bad
Other times he’s worse
Farriers come
And leave in a hearse
Old Baldy’s been
A shoein’ nightmare
That ends today
Or I won’t draw air
Three held his head
And still he did bite
Through my left glove
So I used my right
He broke one rope
Which then broke a tree
I lassoed legs
Caught four but kept three
With one free leg
Old Baldy fell down
Shoein’ started
As he kicked the ground
I let him up
That rascal had tried
Cayuse aint tough
When they are hog tied
Now Old Baldy
Some manners has found
Standin’ for shoes
Beats tied to the ground
Silver Canyon
Thought he was cock of the walk
No one would argue his view
He’d been the foreman so long
No cowboy dared fill his boots
A young tough heart full of hell
That’s how he came to this place
Horse and gun from the war past
Merchant of death with young face
Back then laws weren’t protection
Each ranch had its own army
His mission defend the herd
Rustlers were the enemy
Leaders are grown on the range
For him this was fertile ground
His lightning hand earned respect
Soon rustlers were not around
Peace is poison for warriors
Requires a change of trade
Whiskey killed the old foreman
Killer stepped into his place
He still answers to Killer
Folks forgot that name was earned
Today most call him grandpa
As they admire his herd
Inspired by Louis L’Amour’s “Silver Canyon”
Coyotes
“The coyotes will come”
Grand dad said from his horse
“Varmints ’round here are bad
But coyotes are worse”
“Coyotes are killers
Sheep and goats are their game
Torn throats of dead livestock
Cover prairies they claim”
Out of state he had seen
Coyotes’ holocaust
Destroying lambs and kids
The prize herds ranchers lost
Grand dad spread his warning
To all Texas ranch men
Showed maps of migration
How their fortunes would end
“Invest in the trappers
North and west of our state
Coyotes are thick there
That could soon be our fate”
Texas had coyotes
In those days long ago
But then few in numbers
Rare on our ranch like snow
The dreaded migration
Was of coyote packs
A population shift
That my grand dad had tracked
“When coyote packs come
You cannot kill the breed
For every two you shoot
Coyotes will birth three”
Mother coyotes know
When their pack has a loss
Nature gives them power
To defy rancher shots”
They respected the man
But then refused to act
Those packs came to Texas
Young goats and sheep attacked
Texas ranchers were warned
A clear clarion call
The vast herds that once were
Now coyotes keep small
More than stock disappeared
Gone is a way of life
Where sheep and goat riches
Allowed ranches to thrive
Those vast herds had made kings
Their gold wool and mohair
A migration killed that
Great wealth became despair
Perhaps today’s Texans
Can learn from ranchers past
Heed migration warnings
Coyotes weren’t the last
Doss, Texas
Mormon John runs the saloon
Sourdough runs the stable
Once you get to Doss, Texas
Seein’ both you are grateful
With Comanches in the north
Nasty rustlers south and west
German ranchers run the east
‘Just gettin’ there is a test
This was not a pleasure trip
My prize livestock had been lost
Judas Goat might have answers
That means traveling to Doss
We first met at an auction
Where old Judas was working
He led critters to bidders
Then away from the sale ring
A Junction, Texas auction
Selling first rate goats and sheep
The place I first saw Judas
And his talent to deceive
The unsuspecting creature
Judas Goats would say “Hey kid”
Soon it was following him
Putting its life up for bid
When the auctioneer yelled “SOLD!”
Judas was no more their friend
He’d say “Time for you to GO!”
“I’m on to my next victim”
The old goat seemed retired
But I did not believe him
My stock has been led away
And Judas had a sick grin
Judas chewed an ugly weed
And listened to me relate
How my prize herd was missing
They had vanished from my place
No signs of dogs and horses
Or a trailer used by thieves
It’s as if they just walked out
From a place no stock would leave
My ranch is called the Hideout
Where sheep and goats get to play
The springs bring sweet fresh water
All coyotes stay away
Then I heard certain noises
Of animals fearing harm
Voices of precious livestock
Coming from Judas Goat’s barn
Mormon John’s the Marshal too
Sourdough his deputy
They arrested Judas Goat
As my herd and I did leave
Mis-Guided – The Australian Trek
The man talked too much
And had secret plans
In Texas I’d shot him last week
We’re out on this trek
A land far from home
Here men choose to be gods or beasts
The trail boss agreed
To give him the lead
A wasted investment in trust
Three thousand cattle
And forty three men
Crossing land unfit for cactus
A primitives’ place
Demands a sixth sense
I’ve learned to see through evil men
His bluster was false
Stories did not square
Lies covered with smiles and a grin
When water runs out
Men’s souls get tested
And those with black hearts are exposed
The crew’s doubting stares
Confirmed what I knew
Our guide’s a fraud in cowboy clothes
The skunk had a plan
To enrich himself
By stealing our horses and herd
Devils do not know
Their greed has a stench
That had put me on full alert
When a coward’s caught
There is plenty blame
For putting faith in such a snake
It was time to act
One sanction for thieves
A rope and a tree’s all it takes
A single shot rang
From the scoundrel’s tent
For once the man did something right
What we’d planned to do
Addressing his crime
His gun did the job on that night
The guide job vacant
The boss turned to me
A Texan stuck in a strange land
They shoot kangaroos
While native birds laugh
What a task for this old cow hand
Get hooves to market
Attached to live cows
A nine-hundred mile trail remained
First we find water
And get a good count
We can’t wait on luck or good rains
Somehow we made it
Credit God’s blessing
The odds were we would not survive
A fortune was made
A new town was claimed
By heroes of that cattle drive
Inspired by Zane Grey’s “The Great Trek”
Sky King
A few still remember
The great one Sky King
I one had a picture
And decoder ring
Most Saturday heroes
Used to ride horses
Smart roping straight shooting
Besting dark forces
Sky King’s ranch was quite grand
And swift was his plane
As he beat the bad guys
That’s his claim to fame
With Penny by his side
No one was his match
Episodes concluded
Failed fiends they did catch
In front of radios
Young ones before me
Cheered the same great Sky King
I watched on TV
Sky kings of this era
Have weekend ranches
Pick-ups wait at runways
Trails cleared of branches
With gold from the city
A way of life saved
With billions of pennies
These sky kings do pay
Stairs of Sand
Wicked
Whirling
Terrible town
Of blood
And heat
And dust
With men
Of sin
Vile appetites
Only
When dead
You trust
This hell
Of sand
And solitude
Where nothing grows but dread
There are
Many
Graves in this ground
Sand never yields its dead
Out in
Distance
Stairs made of sand
Suggest
There is
Escape
Not a
Mirage
Yet still not real
But it still grips men’s fate
Tenderfoot
I took the bull’s horns
And stepped in it too
My iron strong grip
Did not save my boots
My cattle lesson
You must mind both ends
Controlling the horns
Makes not a cow friend
Now I understand
Corral etiquette
Stay behind the cows
And watch where you step
Texas Style
It’s fresh from the carcass
Plopped in a hot pan
That’s cookin’ Texas style
What our crew demands
When brown it’s still cookin’
Black means almost done
That’s cookin’ Texas style
You pile the coals on
Started in Jackborough
Eighteen sixty-eight
And cookin’ Texas style
From the herd we ate
Our well stocked chuck wagon
Run by Old Nacho
And cookin’ Texas style
Kept us on the go
The biscuits can be burnt
Coffee almost clear
When steaks aint Texas style
Cowboys disappear
We rode the Goodnight trail
Longhorns knew the way
That cookin’ Texas style
You can’t find today
Hot pink was a sunset
Or drawers for a girl
And cookin’ Texas style
Was part of that world
1867 – The drive that saved the ranch
Harder than nails
Slick as a snake
Honest when it paid to be
That’s our trail boss
Riding a mule
Del Rio to Dodge City
Mexican calves
Fat from our range
Those hooves have our wealth and sweat
Reconstruction
Gave us no choice
Our future rides on this bet
Stock rounded up
Marked with our brand
On the border worth pennies
Take them north ways
The price does change
Those cows will make us wealthy
Hungry cowboys
With fast horses
Don’t make a drive a success
We had to find
Muscle and mind
To get cattle to Kansas
The Goodnight trail
Named for a man
We sought him to lead our quest
Yet he declined
Did not have time
But had a man to suggest
Not very tall
Had a big chaw
He would spit brown thirty feet
Grouchy and thin
Older than sin
But Goodnight said we should meet
He rode no horse
And spoke few words
Pointing and cussing his tools
The trail drive life
Best friend and wife
All these years on the same mule
He took the job
On simple terms
Obey and ask no questions
We would survive
This cattle drive
Following his directions
Two thousand head
Eight hundred miles
Weather to kill cow and man
Orders issued
To the whole crew
Lord we hoped he had a plan
What to expect
This eight week trek
A desperate mystery
Checking our gear
Hiding our fear
Who knew we’d make history
Scallywags coached
Carpetbaggers
Vultures with claws full of cash
Ready to take
Our ranch away
When we could not pay the tax
This cattle drive
Kept hope alive
Funds to fight carpetbag greed
Not the first time
Some fool has tried
To take this home of our breed
Independent
Texans by birth
States rights don’t change who we are
Defeat elsewhere
Change in the air
Yankees that seek spoils of war
Victory claimed
Assessing blame
Forcing oaths of loyalty
Their time will pass
But while it lasts
We must protect legacies
Santa Anna
And other thieves
Have tried to control this land
So once again
Land we’ll defend
Outsiders don’t understand
So we begin
Led by one man
A trail of danger and hope
That’s how we saved
This precious range
Where our children ride and rope
The Great Trek
A shot made him an outlaw
A shot not from his gun
Sterl took on this trouble
To save his young cousin
Sterl knew of the hard life
Survived a troubled path
The lad who pulled the trigger
On the run would not last
Sterl embraced his exile
Exile’s akin to hell
But there is one difference
Your friends can come as well
Friend Red grabbed gun and saddle
His death wish was pre-packed
Ignored Sterl’s objections
Nothing could keep him back
A sailing ship in Frisco
They were Australia bound
Looking for cattle country
To ride and not be found
From Sydney on to Queensland
The drovers’ life they claimed
Red and Sterl found a home
The Outback is its name
Inspired by Zane Grey’s “The Great Trek”
The Score
“It’s none of your mix”
That was his reply
But I was sheriff
And hated gun fights
They gave me this badge
So I could keep peace
But finding it first
A quest incomplete
Knew more about law
And less about guns
The town had a judge
The old sheriff gone
The graveyard near full
Blood was still spillin’
Folks pleaded for help
To stop the killin’
This mornin’ I saw
That stranger arrive
Wearing guns of death
And hate in his eyes
Our local banker
The man he would harm
To avenge the loss
Of his precious farm
In life before here
The banker did loan
The stranger money
The pledge was his home
The gold from the fields
Requires the rain
That drought did deny
And then came the pain
The stranger had begged
For a short reprieve
Yet the banker sneered
And told him to leave
So when the man’s farm
Became repossessed
He sought dark riches
With guns in the West
Through his forty-five
He earned quite a name
Along with riches
But revenge remained
His walk to the bank
Suggested a death
Somehow I forgot
Of the man’s great wealth
That day’s bank errand
Did not slay a soul
He came there to make
Deposits in gold
And such a large sum
The bankers said “thanks”
Because this rich man
Now owned the small bank
Then the stranger spoke
“Once you did me harm
The drought killed my crops
And you took my farm
So now it is time
To settle that score
No need to kill you
Put blood on this floor
But satisfaction
That is required
Since I won this bank
Sir you are fired!”
“The trail wound with all the casualness of cow trails in a country where cows are in no hurry.” Louis L’Amour from “The Rider of Lost Creek
When cows are in no hurry
Trails look like writhing snakes
Grass is found just looking down
Clear water in the lakes
The wolves remain a worry
So that’s where I’m the guy
They safely feast on rabbits
If calves are touched they die
Today’s calm was bought with blood
We earned this peaceful range
Bullets purchased the barb wire
Brought incremental change
Now I guard this paradise
Stewards must protect too
Where cows are never hurried
And wander the day through
30,000 On The Hoof
“You’re as welcome right hyar as May flowers”
The settler was a lonely man
The lake was muddy but the grass was green
A life and a place was my plan
The winter and wolves were the enemy
I asked him to sell me some cows
With no market drive the price was dirt cheap
More money for horses and ploughs
Before the snow flies I must settle in
A ranch can’t be carved out of ice
One thing was missing to make paradise
My place needs the love of a wife
Sycamore Canyon has no telegraph
So to the train station I went
No time for saloons with whiskey and cards
The message of love must be sent
In Ohio Rhonda’s waiting for me
As my soldier days are complete
Since I’ve found our home there’s no time to waste
Dot dashes say “Come marry me!”
Her reply confirmed deep love and the date
When a train would transport my bride
Now on the platform passengers step out
My beautiful future arrived
The wedding simple the wagon was packed
To Sycamore Canyon we go
The decades have flown as our ranch has grown
Thirty thousand cattle or so
Inspired by Zane Grey’s “30,000 On The Hoof”
Trail Boss
Our wagon train was stranded
A prairie blaze ahead
We had survived the last months
So what, we’d soon be dead
With conflagration pressing
We all began to pray
Right then the Trail Boss shouted
“Rear team, burn all your hay!”
Torch the fodder understood
But why take such an act?
With deadly flames before us
Why start a fire in back?
As the rear fire cut its path
On our old trail back east
It left now cooling ashes
For safe wagon retreat
Our backward steps in ashes
Brought calm amongst our train
We thought to thank our Trail Boss
But no one knew his name
We thought we had no Trail Boss
Just children men and wives
But we all heard that order
To which we owed our lives
There is a Trail Boss waiting
To listen is the key
With no Trail Boss travel’s doomed
You’ll die on the prairie
In ashes there is safety
From deadly fire we’re free
Devil’s victims have burnt up
Now we claim victory
“Mommas don’t let your babies grow-up to be cowboys…” Waylon Jennings
Waylon Was Wrong
Babies don’t let your mommas listen to cowboys
They’ll give her advice on how to raise you
Keep you off horses and stayin’ in school
Babies don’t let your mommas listen to cowboys
She’ll hide your lasso and make you play ball
Text and emails will replace cattle calls
Babies don’t let your mommas listen to cowboys
Givin’ her tips to make you feel guilty
Gettin’ a lawyer or doctor degree
Babies don’t let you mommas listen to cowboys
One thing they forget in all their advice
Lawyers and doctors are not very nice
Babies don’t let your mommas listen to cowboys
What they tell her comes from their broken hearts
Good talk in a bar but not very smart
Weather Permitting
Wipin’ the glass
Won’t make the rain stop
Somethin’ to do
But usin’ a mop
Or broom or brush
To clean out the barn
But with this gale
That dust is no harm
Keep lookin’ out
To see some blue sky
Cloud that’s not black
Winds to make things dry
When the rains come
Goats cannot shear
Without mohair
It is a lean year
Rains we do need
Could be a dry spring
Now water gaps
Will need repairing
Shearin’s not done
Fences need mending
I love this ranch
The work’s unending
Weekend Rancher
By most Friday nights
Ranch work had first call
Weekends ranch was home
Except for football
Varsity football
Would make the steers wait
After the last play
We went for the gate
Our city address
Was home for five days
During the weekends
We learned ranching ways
My dad would suggest
He ranched to relax
His mind was at ease
While we built strong backs
Our ranching business
Paid family bills
The things we enjoyed
We earned in those hills
Our lives weren’t special
But were more complete
With weekend ranching
Weekdays city streets
What’s Up
Wakin’ up seein’ buzzards
Never is a good sign
Somethin’ has to go and die
Before they start to dine
Up there’s a bunch buzzards
And down here it’s just me
Humans aren’t their food of choice
Except for the kidney
Bullets knocked me to the ground
Horses some folks don’t buy
But takin’ a man’s gelding
Don’t mean he’s out of time
Buzzards are always hungry
I’d feed no more than two
Today they will search elsewhere
My bones they will not chew
Buzzards have patience built in
They wait for things to die
While they fly they’re not eating
They land at supper time
While the buzzards are flyin’
Life is not a dry well
When buzzards land it’s over
‘Least you’ll avoid the smell
Woke Wranglers
“Gender Affirming surgery
Is done here on this ranch”
The cowboy spat between his boots
Without shifting his stance
“This world is always on the move
Change is a fact of life
The way you’re born aint permanent”
As he sharpened his knife
“A male at birth may not be best
There may be other needs
For years I’ve know this was the truth
Change is not just for leaves”
“And that is why on this here place
We offer free each year
Gender affirming surgeries
Where boy calves become steers”
Zane Grey
You were a young dentist
You had a good life
That career was certain
With devoted wife
But the call of the west
Did burn in your ear
And inspired your pen
So you packed your gear
As most were forgetting
Of our frontier past
You honored on pages
Stories that would last
As heroes took bullets
Printers of the day
Thought you wrote too harshly
About violent ways
And so much was hidden
Your true thoughts from eyes
In the nineteen hundreds
No one wrote true life
But the sugar coating
And editor pens
Did not hide the real west
How life was back then
The movies and TV
Took your story lines
To portray the cowboy
Of old western time
The picture you painted
With inspired hand
Assures we remember
Cowboys built this land
The Data We Ignore
By William James Jonas III
I’m one of those
Mom did not kill
Says the U.S. black child
Who is my dad?
I just don’t know
Fathers aren’t desired
Since I’m a girl
Soon I’ll kill kids
While brothers go to jail
It’s not failure
This is design
Who says you can’t build hell?
Pell Grant Grifter
By William James Jonas III
Somewhere in Appalachia, a small town college has now been given the status of a university. You would think that the region must be thriving and expanding, but census data confirms otherwise. How is such apparent vibrancy possible when the objective analysis confirms decline? A nearby prison and Pell Grant cash are the explanation.
While other post secondary institutions are subjected to some level of market pressure, a university that has student rolls filled with Pell Grant funded inmates is like a lone veterinarian serving the dog pound – business is booming and no one complains. This hilltop college (now a university) remains financially viable by funneling under-academically qualified inmates through their degree programs greased by taxpayer dollars (i.e. Pell Grants). These inmates never see the campus, but they pay for it and are over 20% of the full-time student population that props-up a dysfunctional institution. Of course, inmates (like the dog pound patients) never complain. Besides, someone else is paying…
I’m a Pell Grant grifter
And cash always flows
When you’re selling hot air
There’s no need to close
I have PhD
A nice college job
Using student inmates
Uncle Sam gets robbed
Like selling fake diamonds
To those blind and lame
These fake college classes
None ever complain
Inmates make great students
A gold platted scam
Selling worthless degrees
To thugs in the can
It just takes a prison
Near a failed college
To get Pell Grant dollars
For pretend knowledge
An inmate with a pulse
And a GED
Becomes a printing press
Of Pell Grant money
I sell prison classes
All the inmates pass
While taxpayers pay for
Third rate college trash
Post-secondary grift
Pell Grant den of thieves
Like Eskimos need ice
Inmates need degrees
Before I found this scam
My college was broke
Few students would enroll
It’s a college joke
But we had a prison
Our votes don’t come cheap
With all of those inmates
Enrollment’s bursting
Yes, teaching an inmate
Like teaching a pig
Accomplishes nothing
But’s a paying gig
Pell Grants pay tuition
And all books and fees
From faux student felons
The college pays me
You say “Knowledge is good”
“Schooling will stop crime”
That’s not how real life works
And numbers don’t lie
Pell Grant inmate students
Don’t leave the crime track
College does not fix them
Like most they come back
Still, the Pell Grants make cents
Dollars by the stack
If your college needs cash
Pell Grant’s your next act
Each U.S. Department of Justice Federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP) facility that houses inmates has a supporting commissary where prisoners purchase various items with funds earned or supplied by loved ones. The majority of purchases are of the most toxic processed foods in America. Given the endemic mismanagement of the federal government, it should be no surprise that BOP commissaries lack functional inventory management. To liquidate inventory over-purchases, inmates are periodically “given the privilege of unlimited quantity purchases” of overstocked items. A certain BOP facility recently announced to its customers/inmates “Cheetos are now unlimited!”
Cheetos are unlimited
Their damage infinite
The more Cheetos you consume
You’ll stay fat dumb and sick
The plan is not to kill you
At least not right away
But as a bovine junkie
You help others get paid
The prison commissaries
Are merchants of sickness
Supporting inmate habits
That keep jails in business
Addiction fills our prisons
The perfect customer
Using their loved ones money
They buy drugs they prefer
The best prison drug dealers
Work for the BOP
Clinics are in second place
First is commissary
All across America
In the housing projects
Food stamps buy kids tasty snacks
Building future convicts
They are felon factories
Their fuel drugs and junk food
The babies not aborted
The prisons will recruit
So when they are convicted
They’re sent to a new nest
With unlimited Cheetos
Behind razor wire fence
Somewhere in Appalachia, there is a building that is part of the U.S. Department of Justice Federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP). It is a federal prison housing, exclusively, biological males and has new product offerings in their commissary …
We have no female inmates
This prison’s full of males
But in twenty-twenty-four
We have tampons for sale
Federal prisons may lack funds
But not transgender wares
With bucks and the right pronoun
A sports bra gets you stares
Does this make prisons safer?
Will panties help reform?
Don’t asked bigoted questions!
Who cares how you were born!
We all have priorities
As does the BOP
Having transgender products
What’s that accomplishing?
So I have one more question
That’s for women prisons
Do their commissaries have
Shorts for male erections?
Too Big a Flaw to not be a Feature: Biased Implementation of the First Step Act (FSA)
FSA was designed to address criminal justice policy flaws, so why would its implementation purposely not serve over one in five federal inmates?
In the last decade, the inmate population of the U.S. Department of Justice Federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP) has included 20% non-U.S. citizens. This was true when FSA became law in December 2018. Meaningful FSA implementation took a couple of years, and by that time, the non-U.S. citizen BOP population had gone beyond 20% with a boost from an early Biden Administration Executive Order that pushed thousand of illegal entrants (being convicted in federal court of of entering the United States without permission)/non-U.S. citizens, once warehoused in private prisons, in to BOP operated prisons.
Moving additional non-U.S. citizens into BOP facilities, initially, appeared to be an opportunity for these inmates to access the most robust FSA programming. Implementation suggests otherwise. This is precisely the group that is being uniquely denied programming benefit. It is too obvious to ignore, too outrageous to excuse, and to big to be a flaw; this is a feature. The question is why?
As written, FSA anticipated the inclusion of most non-U.S. citizens as the statutory language created a narrow exclusion for those non-U.S. citizens under a final order of deportation. Such a status would be virtually impossible for any inmate unless they were no longer in BOP custody. Final orders of deportation are, in the majority of inmate cases, issued by a judge specifically assigned to Immigration Customs Enforcement (ICE) matters after an inmate is no longer in BOP custody. After over five years of observation, I have found fewer than five non-U.S. citizen BOP inmates that had or claimed to have a final order of deportation. Such final orders are unicorns in the BOP.
With the majority of Non-U.S. citizen BOP inmates being assessed as low security, FSA programming, after only two years, will result in reducing a federal sentence by a year. Combine this fact with the relatively short federal sentences of illegal entrants and 2021 should have brought a flood of non-U.S. citizen/illegal entrant BOP inmates departing BOP custody, yet this did not happen. They remained in BOP cages; their sentences extended beyond what the FSA provides, the legal exodus was blocked by ignoring federal law.
From the perspective of the BOP, it was not necessary to ignore a law when you can invent an excuse. In this case, the BOP, with the help of ICE, created unicorns.
Coordinating with ICE, the BOP “magically” began classifying thousands of non-U.S. citizen federal inmates as having final orders of deportation. Detainers became final orders of deportation. The possibility of a detainer became a final order of deportation. Other times, the ICE opinion that the inmate should be subject to a final order of deportation was taken, by the BOP, as the existence of a final order of deportation.
These magic final orders of deportation have kept thousands of non-U.S. Citizen federal inmates incarcerated beyond their legally calculated sentences. A few non-U.S. citizens have attempted to challenge this BOP magic, but their efforts have not prevailed in federal district courts where the credibility of the BOP and ICE surpasses a non-U.S. citizen with pro se (self) representation.
Magical thinking, in this case, is not an accident. Reality is not desired. Illegally extending the incarceration of a group of of mostly non-English speaking federal inmates is akin to child molestation in an orphanage; few care; no one wants to talk about it.
Allowing non-U.S. citizen federal inmates to receive the FSA programming credit they are supposed to receive would cause changes the BOP and ICE are not ready to accept. There could be a population of over 40,000 inmates that might shift to ICE custody or be released. Certain federal prisons might lack the population to continue to maintain bolted staffs that are addicted to massive overtime. It is easier to violate the rights of those without a voice.
Too big to be a flaw, this is a feature.
Sir Jack, Member of Congress – Independence Day Oration July 4th 2024 – Central Park, New York City, New York
By William James Jonas III
Once again we gather
In our most precious park
Where kids play in the sun
But cannot after dark
Like much of what we face
On home front and elsewhere
Celebration is laced
With dread and cautious care
Time’s precious yet cautious
That is our life today
Central Park’s now heaven
But hell’s not far away
Cool breeze off the Hudson
In no way does dispel
The heat and fuel prices
That make today a hell
My first days in Congress
In twenty-twenty-one
Were a time of turmoil
Past imagination
Transition transgender
And closed schools with no class
COVID vaccine carnage
Europe on Russian gas
Through all this we endured
As the United States
If our standing has slipped
No one can take our place
Some chaos continues
And some is memory
Through all of our debates
There’s evidence we’re free
Freely scream your guts out
Proudly show your passion
All of that can happen
Without hateful action
Some question me “Sir Jack!”
“Words matter don’t you know!”
“Hate speech is just plain hate!”
“Such words have got to go!”
Before you accept that
Consider a life where
Certain words are canceled
In American air
A place where you can’t state
Your personal beliefs
Where you can’t ask questions
Where words are enemies
Words are not the issue
They are part of free speech
Limiting words will lose
What we call liberty
And that is where it starts
They ask you to agree
That certain words are out
While they choke liberty
Exclude word attitude
And there dies liberty
Debate becomes extinct
No word diversity
It’s said you can’t yell “fire”
In crowded theaters
Except when there’s a fire
Life depends on that word
Words and deeds aren’t the same
Incitement is a deed
To say words are evil
Is how inciting breeds
Freedom does not ban words
But protects us from deeds
That take away freedom
And nurture tyranny
Not liking what is said
Will never justify
Silencing opinions
Because you like one side
Not every word is loved
Some amply earn dislike
But we cannot ban words
And keep freedom’s torch bright
“But some words frighten me!”
“They make me feel unsafe!”
Would you feel more secure
When “word cops” define hate?
Let’s have no confusion
We must preserve safety
But it’s time to let die
Fake sensitivity
Good ideas can bring bad
And debate has two sides
Hearing things we don’t like
Is how a free world thrives
Censoring Putin lies
Or Hamas hateful noise
Is not necessary
When truth has a strong voice
Today’s anti-Semites
Blech poison as they screech
But silencing stupid
Will end defense of speech
When we censor today
We’ll still censor next week
Those silenced may have changed
But all have lost free speech
Shutting down any speech
Just based on what is said
Reminds me of China
Where all freedoms are dead
So bravely join me now
Allowing all to say
Any words they so choose
That’s how we remain great
Sir Jack, Member of Congress – On American Health Care
By William James Jonas III
“Sir Jack you must fix health care!
It’s broken don’t you know!”
That three-hundred-pound voter
Looked like he would explode
He took the bus to DC
By paying for three seats
While he only sat in two
The third held processed meats
“Doctor visits take too long!
And waiting is a chore!
I go there three times a week!”
He never said what for
“My insulin costs too much!”
He belched in-between bites
Of sugar coated cheese fries
And slabs of ice cream pie
“Health is a civil right
As an American!”
Then he stopped to take a smoke
Along with gulps of gin
“I’m in town so you will fix
Packed emergency rooms!
I often go there at night
Or when I sense some gloom”
When I mentioned exercise
My voter lost his mind
“Hey are you fat shaming me?
Why are you so unkind?”
“Health care’s the job of Congress
And a citizen right
Don’t confuse what I should do
Like walking and eat right”
“My conditions aren’t my fault
Chronic is just nature
And this is most important
Don’t make me the payor”
“Thanks Sir Jack for this meeting
You know what I expect
I must go I’m late you know
For unprotected sex”
And then our meeting ended
As he chased STDs
I turned to considering
How to meet health care needs
My voters are not unique
They’re like the whole country
As for health care few will share
Responsibility
Health care demands are rising
Chronic conditions too
Are we wasting resources?
That’s what we tend to do
For each one hundred people
That claim emergency
Only thirteen of that group
Have a true urgent need
Thirteen percent in a room
They call emergency
Will merit hospital stays
The rest act wastefully
Wasted emergency rooms
Is not a U.S. fluke
There’s much waste in our health care
Sometimes it makes me puke
Prescription drugs and doctors
Aren’t things that grow on trees
Just like emergency rooms
Our folks are wasting these
Pointing fingers does not work
There’s ample blame to share
But if we start acting smart
We’ll have enough health care
If we all work together
Plain folks and docs unite
Eating fewer calories
Promoting exercise
Doctors willing to say truth
Patients that will comply
Insurance that’s insurance
Not just some billing guide
Most expensive is not best
Our country’s proven that
Health care that gives us wellness
Is the goal of Sir Jack
Doctors aren’t therapy pets
Doctors aren’t magicians
Doctors aren’t an ATM
For tons of prescriptions
But that is how we treat them
And wonder why they quit
Using doctors more wisely
Might be a health care fix
Just like my New York voter
That expects me to act
Some reforms on the home front
Are needed that’s a fact
Insurance pre-approval
Was merely a band-aid
For patients pushing doctors
And filing useless claims
Doctors could have just said no
Or patients stop crazed pleas
But there was so much money
And lots of fear-laced greed
We have the smartest doctors
And now they must be brave
The patients and trial lawyers
Must learn how to behave
With a bit of help like that
The next stop is Congress
We’ll need all sided to fix this
It is such a big mess
A solution to health care
In these United States
Must save our health and our wealth
To make our country great
“Problems securing appointments to see doctors in the United States are exacerbated by soaring health care demand and fewer doctors.” The Epoch Times, May 15-21, 2024 page A1
“Nearly 140 million Americans visited a hospital emergency department in 2021, based on data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Of those, about 13 percent resulted in hospital admission…” Ibid page A5
“[H]ealth care demands in the United States are rising. The average number of times Americans visit a doctor per year is four times for adults, nine for infants, and two for children between the ages of 5 and 15, according to Vanguard Medical Group.” Ibid
“Six in 10 adults in the United States have a chronic disease, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Four in 10 have two or more.” Ibid
Sir Jack on Congressional Compromise
By William James Jonas III
If you’re not at the table
The entree may be you
Those who do not take a seat
May be on the menu
The first time I heard these words
Was not from a great sage
I learned this in the Congress
The first lesson first day
A promise to your voters
Becomes a compromise
By adding those three letters
Promises become lies
Promises brought to DC
Ones that local folks prize
Are put into committees
To make a compromise
To me this seems quite crazy
We should do what we say
But they told me “Hey Sir Jack”
“That’s not how this game’s played”
Sir Jack, Member of Congress – State of the Union Address Observations – March 2024
By William James Jonas III
It is a big night
Washington, DC
The next thing I know
He’s screaming at me
First he wants money
To send to Ukraine
Those who oppose him
He calls nasty names
“Inflation’s a myth!
A big corporate lie!
It’s just an excuse
To serve fewer fries!”
He yells about this
He yells about that
And MAGA’s to blame
He know that’s a fact
Before you assume
I’m too partisan
It’s time to disclose
Where I saw this man
This was not Biden
Commander and Chief
Just a homeless man
On some DC street
He worked at Starbuck’s
Then at Trader Joe’s
Until DC crime
Forced them to all close
So now his homestead
Is part of M street
A patch of sidewalk
That smells of old pee
If you suspected
This angry old man
Lived in the White House
Some might understand
But that’s not the case
You made a mistake
It’s sure to happen
In United States
We need to listen
To all geezer screams
Those angry old men
Were once young with dreams
My stroll continued
From office to House
No tunnel tonight
To hide from the crowds
Got to the House floor
Found a proper place
Congressmen you see
Don’t have assigned space
Some come quite early
To sit by an aisle
To shake Biden’s hand
With cable news smile
Tonight’s promised speech
How our Union stands
Will seek to assure
We are in good hands
So the speech begins
With applause and cheers
The rest of the night
I just cried duck tears
“This side is quite right
The other quite wrong
Save democracy”
He goes on and on
There’s one thing for sure
The fault lies elsewhere
So why is he perched
On the highest chair?
I was not surprised
One side thought it great
While the other side
Was very irate
Can we call our state
A union at all?
We have lots of pride
What’s due in the fall?
Resurrection Sunday 2024
By William James Jonas III
In a time before now…
Just before you enter Jerusalem, a single palm stands beside the road … Though it is impossible, the tree seems to speak…
Others like me
That happy crowd stripped
Part of their joyous parade
A hero’s praise
The awaited king
Through Him Rome would be displaced
Those were their thoughts
When all like me died
His path with palm branch lining
That’s what trees do
Our created role
Man used us for worshipping
One week has passed
Alone now I stand
Somehow they overlooked me
Jerusalem
This entering path
I am a lonely palm tree
Sunday sunrise
Beams touch Golgotha
Death past this city entrance
Below that place
A tomb once secure
Is now bursting with brilliance
What does this mean?
For all that believe
And trees cannot understand
Wasted parades
This king did not need
To conquer all sins of man
Sir Jack the Mandarin Duck March 1, 2024
By William James Jonas III
Sir Jack in a classic confrontation…
Dear Edgar Allan Poe
I’m told that you are dead
But I have an idea
That’s stuck in my duck head
You authored many tales
Your poetry unmatched
One almost masterpiece
Caused this thought to be hatched
I don’t fly with ravens
But I have read your poem
While your verse is world class
You bird choice is all wrong
No one likes the ravens
Some say they bring a curse
Doom comes when they appear
And when they leave it’s worse
They have a football team
In the town you called home
Why are they called ravens?
All the good names were gone
So just take my advice
An edit if you will
Replace that raven beak
With a Sir Jack duck bill
Us ducks have more to say
More than just “Never More”
And tapping on windows
Confirms that they’re bird bores
As for a new title
That’s not an easy play
But a genius like you
Always knows what to say
Sir Jack’s New Year Message 2024
By William James Jonas III
Maybe this time
Will be the last time*
Were words from an old song
Many sang it
Some even hoped it
But those days are long gone
In those old times
When folks saw both sides
But it’s different now
You must agree
See things as I see
Ask no questions just bow
High inflation
Across the nation
Some deny others blame
Nothing changes
The battle rages
It’s an unending game
There’s right and left
But that’s not forward
When have turns brought success?
Some say stop Trump
And halt the weather How is stopping progress?
Time to end this Different voices
Are the path to be free
So this new year
Let’s now be quite clear
We must save our country
Poison arrows
Kept in their quiver is a way to begin
Joining forces
This change can happen
Maybe this time we’ll win
Sir Jack’s 2023 Christmas Message
By William James Jonas III
A star announced His sacred birth.
As angels proclaimed peace on earth
The birth accomplished; peace will come.
When He returns with His kingdom.
It only takes directed eyes.
Toward the heavens midnight skies
To find a star and then recall
He gave the greatest gift of all.
Chaos still reigns on city streets.
Our quest for peace is incomplete.
Gifts of the season just bring stress.
New ways are found to be depressed.
Escape all that and just look up.
And simply say thank you Jesus.
Sir Jack on Horse Sense
By William James Jonas III
Once a horse has passed on
We all know it is dead
Derby days are over
No stall used in the shed
Dead horses don’t enter
A race scheduled next year
That is just good horse sense
It’s absolutely clear
Somehow in politics
They give dead horses space
Pretend that they can win
Place bets upon that race
It’s political fraud
That dead horses abound
Pretending they can run
Till voters turn them down
Some campaigners will lie
That dead horses can win
And in ways that explains
The big mess we are in
In Washington, DC
A dead horse can be stuffed
Staff take to starting gates
You know what’s the result
When the voters get fooled
Think dead horses alive
Time and treasures wasted
As swamp creatures survive
Dead horses don’t need hay
The fuel is simple greed
Clinging to old power
Don’t care what people need
Can age make a horse dead?
Or a crime conviction?
Or signs of dementia?
Time for horse restrictions?
To wait for honesty
In political schemes
Is riding a dead horse
Expecting victory
So before deciding
For a red horse or blue
You might check for a pulse
The future counts on you
Sir Jack on Israel
There would be no ducks today
Had there not been an ark
A friend with a boat served us well
Noah was not called a Jew
Yet his family line
Brought forth children of Israel
While such facts may seem simple
They are my reference place
When Israel has been attacked
The borders of a country
Like Noah’s Great Flood ship
Assure precious lives stay intact
Israel was created
Because Jews had no ark
A people need one to exist
“From the river to the sea”
Is much more than six words
It puts Jews’ only ark at risk
Talk of two state solutions
Seems to ignore one point
Perhaps the most important part
Every bird should have a nest
Homelands for all peoples
And Israel’s state is its ark
Sir Jack on safe migration
It is an ancient route
This trek has heritage
A quarter million dead
Each year too much carnage
Generations travelled
And family members die
The millions continue
To scheduled suicide
Where is this spree of death?
On Atlantic Flyway
Through our New York City
Where flocks of birds are slayed
Of course such birds don’t vote
They’re only passing through
But voters walk the streets
Where these dead birds are viewed
These deaths are expected
They happen twice a year
Citizens want a plan
To end this killing field
During bird migrations
Glass windows are a trap
Mistaken for blue sky
In fact it’s a death path
That’s why two years a go
Those who make city rules
Established some changes
To reduce deaths so cruel
With translucent stickers
Dimmed artificial lights
In migration seasons
Fewer winged friends will die
You may ask me “Sir Jack!”
We sent you to Congress!”
“Why are you distracted?”
“By all this dead bird mess?”
The Atlantic Flyway
Goes through more than one town
Birds that survive New York
Are then Washington bound
I’m heading to DC
Where the Congress debates
Include migration safety
In these United States
Some solutions are hard
Others quite obvious
Migrations that bring death
Cannot go unaddressed
Some Congressmen may doubt
Following New York’s lead
But all life is precious
Including life with wings
“New York [City] – like Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington – sits underneath the ‘Atlantic Flyway’ – an ancient migration route travelled by millions of birds…Up to a quarter of a million of them die colliding with windows in New York every year…” From “The Economist” October 28th 2023 page 29
Sir Jack, Member of Congress, on electing a Speaker for the United States House of Representatives
Each duck has one bill
Each beak for one bird
All us Congressmen
Pick just one Speaker
Only one Speaker
The Congress rules say
At times selection
Can take many days
Rapid agreement
Means there was no choice
Thoughtful elections
Take days full of noise
“This is a disgrace!”
“They’re disorganized!”
Such commentators
Are just spreading lies
On thing I do know
This great republic
Was not built for speed
Dictators are quick
Government power
Can’t be fair and fast
Where prompt is made first
Justice becomes last
Some of my Members
Sought a new Speaker
And then took a vote
To dump their leader
Egos on all sides
Were battered and bruised
Those that weren’t angry
Still sounded confused
After a big change
Deliberation
Is the thoughtful step
Running our nation
Varied opinions
Will need to be heard
The barks to be swift
Are simply absurd
The best choice is not
Enemy of good
That cliche applies
Only to fast food
Members of Congress
Will comer together
Elect a Speaker
Sooner or later
It’s time to relax
We are building Rome
Congress is messy
Don’t try this at home!
Certain Women (Luke 8:2-3)
Certain women
Healed by our Lord
Of their substance
They ministered
Infirmities
Evil spirits
They were tortured
Until He blest
Seven devils
Mary has lost
Now rejoices
Serving her God
Susanna gave
And Joanna
Met earthly needs
For King of All
Many others
Luke does not name
These three and more
Never sought fame
Certain women
Nameless but three
Gave what they had
True ministry
Haiku
By William James Jonas III
I.
History revised
The harvest bounty shrink wrapped
Thanksgiving steadfast
II.
Appalachian mist
Always vanished by mid-day
Yet dawn will reclaim
III.
Frigid November
Four centuries have past
Thanksgiving endures
IV.
As Sir Jack attempts
Crossing canyons of Congress
Verse becomes his bridge
V.
Texas Hill Country
Beauty deeper than soil
Still misunderstood
VI.
When rules seem obtuse
Varnish it as a “system”
Make discord its trait
VII.
Green summer mountain
Autumn will not tolerate
True color is change
Ranch Verse
Woke Wrangles
“Gender affirming surgery
Is done here on this ranch”
The cowboy spat between his boots
Without shifting his stance
“This world is always on the move
Change is a fact of life
The way you’re born aint permanent
As he sharpened his knife
“A male at birth may not be best
There may be other needs
For years I’ve know this was the truth
Change is not just for leaves”
And that is why on this here place,
We offer free each year
Gender affirming surgeries
Where boy calves become steers.”
First Responders for 2023
There’s a new type First Responder
We have more than a few
These First Responders all appeared
When China sent that flu
These First Responders don’t have trucks
They can’t help if you’re sick
But they will give the first response
To place blame or to quit
Whenever you meet a challenge
Your back’s against the wall
The new heroes give the response
That this is not your fault
Their training seems so impressive
It must have been intense
There’s always someone else to blame
At Fox or CNN
These First Responders serve us well
They tell us what to do
Using science and breaking news
We bow our heads and moo
“It’s not your fault that you are broke
Or cannot write so well
For sure some RACIST is to blame
Or a TRANSGENDER SPELL.”
When inflation hits your table
First Responders explain
That Putin’s War caused all of this
Give money to Ukraine
Some responders blame Joe Biden
Some ULTRA MAGA crowds
Just know there’s nothing you can do
Stay angry on your couch
So when things turn out bad for you
The cause do not ponder
The one to blame will be explained
By your First Responder
Austin At Minus Forty (years) – I want to go home with the armadillo…
By William James Jonas III
As I jog viewing the hills of Appalachia (i.e. definitely not in Texas), my thoughts turned to another jogging path, years ago, around Town Lake – not Lady Bird Lake – the lake that existed for twenty years before the name change. I was in law school, and my running (jogging was for geezers) route was a trail around Town Lake – my part of the Colorado River in what used to be Austin, Texas. I worked downtown in the “tall gold building” – there was only one, and twenty-one stories (the Headliners Club was on the 21st floor) counted for tall.
The Austin of the 1970s and early 80s could have been recognized by any resident of earlier eras. The Austin my mother knew, as a University of Texas 1950s sorority girl, and that which was the setting of “The Gay Place” was the same as mine (minus the men with long hair and topless female tanners at Barton Springs). That Austin disappeared to be replaced, today, with something that may be perfectly nice but unrecognizable as coming from what was before. It is as if a Texas Mockingbird gave birth to Big Bird. Dallas, Houston, even ossified San Antonio have seen change as well, but their older versions were not erased. My Austin is gone.
Sometimes, for a moment, while driving on the Drag between MLK and 26th, old Austin seems to attempt re-appearance, but the effort is never complete. What exists now is what has existed for the last forty years, and it is all different from what was before.
Today’s city hall, designed to represent an animal that is all but extinct in Travis County, makes it clear where we have arrived. Few can recall that last Austin armadillo race ending in a dead heat amidst thick smoke and Lone Star beer much less the location of Armadillo World Headquarters and the unfortunate fire that ended it all.
Austin has changed, and it is monstrous. Few things are sadder than the truly monstrous.*
In my Austin,
- “Austin City Limits” was a Friday night live music show on KLRU where normal people got tickets.
- “Whole Foods” was one store, on Lamar, and everyone did not shop there.
- All Mexican food was marginal with the best options being Manuel’s on 1st Street (where the Four Seasons is located) or Fonda San Miguel if you wanted to splurge.
- Wearing a “Nuke a Gay Whale for Jesus” button on your jean jacket did not make you a bigot any more than wearing a “Nuke an Unborn Gay Whale for Jesus” button made you crazy. Both were on sale, every night, on sixth street.
- “Dirty’s” was dirty, but you still ate the hamburgers, and so did our Governor.
- The homeless were not victims; they sold flowers and ran for mayor.
- The airport was on 51st street and moving it sounded idiotic except to the evil developers; it was laid-back (and very cool) to be anti-growth.
- If men wore short pants, they were cut-offs.
- Democrats ran everything, and Republicans did not mind.
- If someone had said “Keep Austin Weird,” you would have known they were from Lubbock or College Station.
I will be back in Texas someday, but going back to that Austin, or anything remotely like that Austin, is not possible.
*From “Day of the Locust” by Nathanael West
Sir Jack
By William James Jonas III
Recently, Sir Jack discovered haiku. His collection of haiku will begin with:
As Sir Jack attempts
Crossing cultural canyons
Verse becomes the bridge
Potomac dense fog
Obscures more than the shoreline
Warm light will resolve
…
Sir Jack, when away from his Congressional responsibilities, has become active in the Trump 2024 campaign. When he was asked to comment on the first two Republican Presidential Debates, he said:
A candidate you don’t see
Sometimes is the best choice
Like when the stage is crowded
With silly girls and boys
Absence is a power play
It’s not checkers or chess
Two presidential debates
Have showcased Trump finesse
Kids screaming at each other
Toss cliches like grenades
Before one is insightful
They’ll find a cure for AIDS
The debaters are quite smart
And certain things they know
But Donald Trump was wisest
Deciding not to go
“Don’t go there” can be warning
To dodge embarrassment
Debate dodging’s not a plan
To become president
A dodge and a timed absence
Need not be the same thing
Absence makes the heart grow fond
Different from dodging
It’s a presidential race
Some say “join the debate”
Joiners never come in first
All winners separate
As a Trump duck I get asked
“Where is your candidate”
“How can he ignore Fox News?”
“And keep skipping debates?”
I ask what they’ve learned so far
Watching two gatherings
Of folks with many ideas
But yet something’s missing
We all know what is lacking
That is of course his plan
A Trump less debate confirms
That Donald Trump’s the man
It is no surprise, when it comes to his fellow New Yorker (relocated to Florida), Sir Jack is never in doubt.
Thanksgiving Haiku
History betrayed
Autumn harvest not unchanged
Thanksgiving remains
…
Frigid November
Four centuries have passed
Thanksgiving endures
Additional Haiku
Appalachian mist
Always vanished by mid-day
Yet will reclaim dawn
…
Texas Hill Country
Beauty deeper than soil
Still misunderstood
…
When rules seem obtuse
Varnish with the word system
Make discord its trait
…
Green summer mountain
Autumn will not tolerate
True colors must change
Sir Jack just checked in … he was in a flutter over a recent Ukraine update he received as a member of the House Armed Service Committee where General Mark Milley, describing Ukraine’s counter-offensive against Russia said, “It is far from a failure, in my view.” This type of comment from a four-star American general cause Sir Jack to exclaim:
How far from failure?
Is meant when it’s far?
Far is not constant
Depends where you are
It’s not specific
In terms of distance
Is Ukraine far from
Our country’s defense?
On a diving board
10 meters is far
But that is quite close
When driving a car
As a Congress Duck
I seek clarity
Not Pentagon smoke
From folks like Milley
Is far from failure?
Closer to success?
General word games
Seem close to a mess
General Milley
Please answer again
Does far from failure
Give hope for a win?
When none ask questions
The answer is clear
It is one few want
And contractors fear
We’re not there to win
Our role is to pay
Why does this make sense
Mark MIlley won’t say
2 September 2023
Waiting for Recess
By William James Jonas III
A summer in Congress
And a summer in hell
Is there a difference?
That would be hard to tell
They are both very hot
The good have no success
But the hell of Congress
Has a summer recess
Until those August days
There’s much flapping around
The hardest thing to find
What’s called mutual ground
My Washington colleagues
Do not understand me
I’m not addressed Sir Jack
They say you’re “Mr. E.”
Congressman Mr. E.
You may think that sounds weird
But DC Mr. E.’s
Have been around for years
To them a Mr. E.
Is when I speak plain sense
Like “Trust but Verify”
Or “wash before you rinse”
If it’s not logical
And you cannot explain
To fund such a project
Is corrupt or insane
I keep asking questions
While others roll their eyes
When answers seem fuzzy
It’s a sign they are lies
“Badgering the witness”
“Sir Jack’s at it again”
Why call me that mammal?
Say I’m “Mr. E. man”
There is no Mr. E.
At least not in this case
I’m just one honest duck
In Washington’s rat race
In my youthful duck days
My school a Chinese pond
We learned not to cry wolf
When there’s no wolf around
Teacher told the story
Of a boy that cried wolf
Using a childish prank
Crying wolf was a bluff
The boy learned his lesson
When real wolves came one time
His alerts were ignored
As wolves began to dine
Now these days in Congress
There are no childish boys
But there are plenty wolves
The government employs
In Washington, DC
The WOLVES are crying BOY
Using danger warnings
As power building noise
Around me there’s panic
Concern about the boy
No one seems to notice
They’re part of a wolf ploy
“An EXISTENTIAL threat!”
“EXPONENTIAL it grows!”
No time to doubt the wolf
“We have got to save BOYS!”
Why they listen to wolves
Instead of common sense
They are the Mr. E
I’m just independent
As a mandarin duck
I am not red or blue
What makes my plumage best
Are the different hues
So the wolves crying boy
And people taking sides
Forgets America
Is strongest when combined
So as my Congress friends
Will soon be in recess
Voters can remind them
United States are best
Sir Jack, Member of Congress – Independence Day Oration – Central Park, Manhattan, New York, New York – July 4, 2023
Americans gathered
l’m honored to address
ln our great Central Park
Just back from the Congress
Today we move forward
By honoring the past
Rewriting history
An impossible task
Continental Congress
ln Philadelphia
Made a Declaration
Birthing America
When there‘s founding fathers
There will be human flaws
But the work that they did
Gave us a land of laws
The tradition has been
Every year on this date
To recall the founding
Of our United States
There is red white and blue
That Old Glory displays
Such united colors
Does not reflect today
You see there is fighting
Cn New York City streets
Now over in Ukraine
And where the Congress meets
In these tragic conflicts
Citizens pay the price
Battles you did not start
Still cause you sacrifice
So it is time to weigh
The treasure that is lost
We know that every war
May not be worth the cost
The price of not fighting
At times is much higher
Just consider the cost
Of not fighting house fires
For clean streets in New York
Fighting is just the start
The smell has gotten worse
it’s not safe in our park
In big flocks moving south
Like Canadian geese
Gone are New York’s Finest
They’re Florida’s police
Stopping the growing crime
Mayors say takes more cash
But what is their excuse
For smelly streets and trash
When Ukraine was attacked
America stepped in
For “as long as it takes”
How can that be a win?
Nasty Congress battles
Waste your time and treasure
And keep us from working
On this country’s future
Most capitols have domes
And debt has a ceiling
When Congress is fighting
From you we are stealing
Solutions become hard
When problems are ignored
Or fingers are pointed
Citizens deserve more
As a mandarin duck
Some have thought I’m Chinese
A breed does not define
What some call enemies
Monsters do run China
There was one before Xi
But pandas deserve love
And most people Chinese
ln my first Congress run
“Happy” was the message
The old grumps in Congress
Were making bad sausage
What made sense in the past
Can still make sense today
The land is about hope
The American Way
You sent me to Congress
With the hope that l’d do
Things to help our city
Not to be red or blue
It‘s not accidental
The flag’s red, white, and blue
One banner with three hues
Meant to represent you
We can walk and chew gum
Singing a happy song
When you do happy things
Many good things are done
Setting specific goals
The first being to smile
We can work together
Get along for awhile
Differences exist
So why would we share hate?
Let’s listen not cancel
That’s how l define great!
June 14th 2023
By William James Jonas III
Our dear President Trump
Happy birthday to you
As to your indictment
What happened is not new
Indicted sandwiches
Have a long history
What they just did to you
They’ve done to folks like me
FBI thugs broke in
And terrorized my wife
Fox News did not notice
That this destroyed my life
Politics were involved
A small version of you
Back then feds were trusted
Folks thought my rap was true
The injustice I faced
On more FBI crime
This has gone on for years
And now has come your time
Yes Comey was a thug
Then you hired Chris Wray
Chris Christie’s suggestion
Too bad he got his way
When you speak at rallies
We all know you are brave
But one thing is not true
You don’t stand in their way
Before you they mastered
The politics and lies
Fraudulent indictments
For years weaponized
Some of us sought out help
But then we were not you
Hannity did not care
Our plight would not boost views
Yours is the final fight
And you will win I trust
I pray they won’t get you
They already got us
Respectfully,
A Ham Sandwich
The weaponized U.S. Department of Justice did not begin political persecutions with Donald J. Trump. Those are practiced skills that have been mastered in the field while national voices focus on the Hoover Building. It is in the FBI field offices where these abusive tactics were honed and remain in use.
Weasel Words
From my earliest days as a lawyer lobbyist, certain professional boundaries were clear. In a world (and line of work) some would claim has no “Black and White,” there are, in fact, absolute lines that are never crossed. One rule no lawyer lobbyist can violate and remain legitimate is: Never Promise Anything. Anyone crossing such a line, stops being a professional political advocate and has become a fool and, quite likely, a criminal.
“Never Promise Anything” might be qualified by some, but it never was qualified by me; it is absolute. You will never promise to do anything inappropriate if you Never Promise Anything.
In fact, one of my more amusing depositions (where I was the deponent) was where a lawyer was attempting to relate the fee I was paid to a specific result. He had a hard time, but ultimately had no choice, accepting that, as a lawyer lobbyist, I was not paid for a specific outcome. I was paid to “try” not to “deliver.” The fact that my “trying” was often successful did control the size of my fee but not the representations as to results; big fees did not imply big promises.
When you work trying to impact the decisions of elected officials, transactions are not the tools of the true professional. If a client wants assurances as to a certain result, the assurances about the sound strategy and diligent efforts would be boundless, but promising a specific result will not be spoken.
“If we do this, will they do that?” That is a normal question from anxious clients (regardless of sophistication), but guarantees of outcome are idiotic and dangerous. First, there is no way to truly predict a decision by an elected official. Second, such guarantees would support a narrative that an illegal act (e.g. bribery or extortion) was taking place.
While never promising anything, it would not be prudent or profitable to make the client feel like a small child that did not understand how the world worked. Still, that is where the client may be oriented. That transactional stuff may work with union negotiations, but it has no place in the legitimate ranks of professional political advocacy.
The lobbyist must shift the perspective of the client to something that is reasonable and legal. Instead of the desired answer, the lobbyist must use words that provide the client comfort that things are on the right track but come meaningfully short of a specific promise. This transition is rarely quick, and the client often says things that, if true, might be legally and ethically troubling (i.e., “I think that by going to the Congressman’s fish fry, he will vote with us.”). Such random comments are ignored while the more thoughtful (legal) description is presented, taught, and ultimately adopted by a client.
I did not need a mentor to teach me this; it is the obvious reaction a professional should have as long as they stay responsible for the outcome and avoid being some sick suck-up pleaser. Giving the client the answer they want is never the smart thing. A lawyer lobbyist is to give the answer they need, an answer that gives hope, an answer to stay in the game, and the answer that does not violate the law.
In my career. certain phrases became signature. Some of those phrases came from master politicians of a past era (as my era has somewhat passed). A Lieutenant Governor of Texas taught me to say “we will have to see what is the will of the body” instead of stating how a specific legislative body might vote. Those words worked. Those words never promised an outcome.
Those words, and other like them, kept me from violating the law. To this day, it is my position that such words do not violate the law. However, I was always in charge of the narrative. These vague words, I called them Weasel Words, were subject to my definition and explanation.
If anyone thought my activities had broken the “Never Promise Anything” standard, there remained the assumption that I was following the law and was entitled to defend my actions. Further, my Weasel Words were subject to differing interpretations; that was not obfuscation; that was intentional; I was intentionally not promising anything. I was not the only lawyer with this approach, and this is not an exclusive tool of the lobbyist. Even a late 20th century President of the United States (a licensed attorney at the time) was able to assert his own definition of the word “is.”
I never considered what could happen if I did not control the narrative and if the assumption (of my government) was that I was a law breaker ….
When Weasel Words Turn On You
Weasel words are words to use
When its not right to lie
If someone wants to hear “YES”
Weasel words will suffice
Lawyers use them all the time
And wise politicians
They do avoid “YES” or “NO”
Precise imprecision
A lobbyist learns early
Weasel words to master
As “YES” or “NO” promises
Guarantee disaster
Weasel words will be your friend
When selling a used car
Or when you get hard questions
On lonely nights in bars
Most people will forgive you
When you have not come through
If you have used weasel words
They never will blame you
“I will try” “Might” and “Let’s see”
Are weasel words quite dear
‘Cause they promise not a thing
Folks decide what to hear
There is only one danger
A danger worse than lies
That is when your weasel words
The FBI transcribes
Weasel words become a brush
The agents use to paint
“Might” and “Let’s see” become “Yes”
And you are Satan’s saint
Grand Juries will just say “Moo”
As they vote to indict
FBI’s paint mandated
That such a vote was right
When feds are not recording
Weasel words will have use
Avoiding a “YES” or “NO”
Until they target you
In 2017, I was convicted of public corruption. The prosecutor told the jury that “we will have to see what is the will of the body” was, in fact, me guaranteeing that a city council had been bribed. In the recording prosecutors were referencing, (I thought) I was talking to a silly over-anxious engineer that wanted city business; calling him a fool seemed rude when it was possible to orient his expectations to a more appropriate (and legal) level. Unknown to me at the time, I was not dealing with a legitimate engineer; he was a cooperating government witness for the FBI threatened with his own pending indictment.
The charges against me included federal programs bribery, where the government narrative was that I engaged in and coordinated bribes to elected officials. Such an assertion was not only, to me, completely absurd, it was professionally insulting. I had spent, at that time, approaching three decades never crossing the bright line between advocacy and bribery. The difference was clear to me as was my conduct in every situation; the government spun a different damaging narrative.
Implicit in the charges against me was not only a suggestion of illegal conduct, there was a more outrageous assertion; the government was saying I was an idiot and a fool (using my words) – someone who needed to use bribes to get results. To this day, the level of professional disparagement in such a charge against me is deeply hurtful. I would rather stay in prison the rest of my life than admit to such a ridiculous characterization of my political work. This is pride, and it is pride grounded in the reality of my work and approach to that work. However, my level of conviction confronts the fact that the government was able to control the narrative, in front of a jury, and get them to accept a lie.
Would things be different without Weasel Words?
Sir Jack, Member of Congress
By William James Jonas III
Introduction
A player is Sir Jack, a Member of Congress. The play consists of Sir Jack negotiating the multiple paths to power and success that are part of a political career in the United States House of Representatives and the opportunities that flow from such a career. A player may seek to build alliances and accomplishments that bring higher political positions within the Congress (e.g. Party Whip, Leader, Speaker of the House), greater elective office (e.g. U.S. Senator, Governor), or a career in media, business, or as a lobbyist. A player will experience the impact of choices on career and the dynamics created by certain choices.
Background
Sir Jack’s back story (captured in a poem series that will be at the beginning of the game) is that he is a mandarin duck brought to New York City from China as a pet for a wealthy Central Park South couple. Discord between the couple results in Jack being dumped in the park and becoming homeless. He is not a duck with a victim mentality, but he is in desperate need of shelter. Sir Jack’s solution is to begin a campaign for the U.S. Congress, representing Manhattan. His successful election has led him to becoming a member of Congress with Republican leanings, and Sir Jack has survived one re-election campaign.
Game Play
At the beginning of the game, a player can adopt the Sir Jack avatar or customize an avatar with a different background (e.g., campaigning in and elected from a region of the United States other than Manhattan, campaigning aligned with a particular party or political figure). This makes for multiple playing options, but it also allows the game to function as a practical decision-making tool for a current/newly elected Member of Congress.
Specifically, a player that does not accept the Sir Jack avatar customizes:
- Which of the fifty states,
- Urban or rural voter base,
- Political alignment (Democrat, Republican, Independent),
- Political personality alignment (Obama, Clinton, Bernie Sanders, Trump, DeSantis, Never Trumper, no alignment)
- Gender (male, female, trans, or duck)
The player can decide where to begin the game:
- Sir Jack’s fist campaign for Congress,
- His arrival as a freshman Member in Washington, DC,
- His first campaign for re-election, or
- His return to Congress after a successful re-election
A player must decide (from a set of choices):
Campaign priorities,
Fundraising choices,
Issues to champion,
Who to meet with, and
What political alliances to build.
These choices, or variations there of, will continue through-out play of the game. While certain combination of choices can lead to defeat in an election, loss of political clout, or criminal indictment, the nature of the game is approaches never-ending and has a single outcome where a player can go no further: Sir Jack building his presidential library (the ultimate political outcome after a successful two terms as President of the United States). Otherwise, the game is on-going with Sir Jack gaining status, influence, and wealth or facing various setbacks.
The data for the available choices and the implications of these choices will be based on public information from the U.S. Congress with a concentration on the most recent data. While a fictional character, playing Sir Jack applies game theory to real world choices. For example, a new Member of Congress would have options for advice beyond being beholden to or possibly manipulated by a human mentor with an agenda. Playing Sir Jack would provide strategic advice without a mentor’s agenda.
Game data would have disclaimers stating that this is not a reflection of actual events, yet the supporting options would be constantly updated with new information of Congressional events, campaign contribution reports, and other public information relating to the United States Congress and the political campaigns that impact the Congress.
Spring Cleaning – Mark 14:13-15
By William James Jonas III
Our house is too big
We may need to move
Unused things are stored
Upstairs out of view
The Passover feast
Demands pre-cleaning
All leaven removed
Means lots of scrubbing
This year with chametz
The old junk must go
Give some to gentiles
The rest we’ll just throw
Second floor storage
Is a waste of space
I’ll remove the trash
And furnish that place
Now there’s thirteen chairs
A table for bread
An unused wash pot
Towels and lounging beds
But in this household
That room has no use
We all live downstairs
As families do
A second floor room
Furnished and cozy
As lord of this house
It’s no use to me
My wife is still sick
Unable to move
So I fetch water
For my clan to use
Jerusalem’s wells
Are close to my house
My heavy pitcher
Makes me miss my spouse
I’m almost back home
When two men stop me
They ask “Where’s His room?”
For Passover feast
Confused but certain
I show them upstairs
To the upper room
With tables and chairs
From the collection “Songs of the Son”
2022 Veterans Day Reflection
My years in military uniform ended almost two decades ago. Since then, I have thought about the things that would make me return to risking my life in defense of the United States of America (a country with federal agencies willing to lie to incarcerate me for decades). First on that list is defending our freedom to gather and worship. For that, I would go to war and risk everything at any time – at any age.
Then, it came to me. We no longer have the freedom to gather and worship in America. That all ended in 2020, and pastors let it happen; more than that, the implemented it. Flawed science and unconstitutional mandates went unchallenged, and worship services were, obediently, cancelled. “Stopping the spread” and “Flattening the curve” were more important than obediently gathering in praise of our Lord and Saviour … what a disgraceful choice.
To me, it was not a surprise that certain, more worldly, church leaders forfeited the right guaranteed in the United States Constitution and a practice directed by Scripture. Still, when fundamentalist King James Bible preaching pastors shut church doors, I felt uniquely betrayed; they, I thought, were the bold ones. They, I thought, called sin out regardless of popular opinion. I was wrong (at least when it came to pastors of 2020). For that group of pastors (that I still respect and admire), I wrote a message …
The Lord is my Shepard … Who are you?
By William James Jonas III
At the pulpit
Your loud voice preaches
Seems unafraid
Claims strength in Jesus
When your mayor
Said shut church doors
You closed up shop
Like a third rate whore
You doubted God
And obeyed their lies
What will come next?
Where you’ll compromise
Boldness in Christ
In you was not true
Mighty Caesar
Told you what to do
Condemning lusts
And the liquor store
There you are brave
But there is much more
Our Saviour gave
His Great Commission
We need not seek
Caesar’s permission
From the first days
Disciples gathered
Failing that task
How can you matter?
You walked away
And worshipped science
Excuses made
For your own conscience
You preached by Zoom
While dust grew on pews
Bowed to doctors
Followed breaking news
You let us down
And you knew better
Time to repent
You cowed lost sinner
Just like Peter’s
Cowardly disgrace
Weep bitterly
Then rejoin the race
Grab your Bible
Never lock that church
You were fooled once
Get back to His work
_____________
Sir Jack Updates – The on-going saga of Sir Jack the Mandarin Duck, Member of Congress representing NYC – Pre and Post Election ….
By William James Jonas III
Sir Jack – October Surprise
Election day approaches
And I’m under attack
Ignoring voters worries
They make fun of my quack
With lots of campaign money
They say I am Chinese
And every broadcast outlet
Has ads paid by BC
I am a mandarin duck
Escaped a Chinese death
China’s only use for me
Was by some Chinese chef
The opponents do not care
Soros pays for their lies
But they are in for a shock
An October surprise
Now my opponent BC
Claims to be a black crow
But I’ll surprise the voters
With something they should know
When I first saw old BC
I did a double take
It seemed I’d seen him before
And his new beak was fake
My opponent’s not a crow
His claim is one more lie
Just listen to my witness
Mike the My Pillow guy
“BC is just pretending
To be a city crow
He’s actually a raven
From Minnesota snow”
A raven from the Great Lakes
Not a crow from New York
He cannot grasp our problems
Make this place safe for work
So BC is a liar
And not a New York crow
Under that plastic beak
A raven no one knows
New Yorkers like a good joke
But they hate being fooled
This Soros funded BC
Has broken all the rules
But is my message too late?
Early voting has passed
My first term in Congress
Perhaps will be my last
But now the truth has come out
The voters must decide
To send Jack back to DC
Or some raven that lied
_
Sir Jack – Election Aftermath
Counting seemed endless
Moans Fox CNN
Election drama
Smells like drunken sin
Strippers well use polls
Polls help with a tent
In Congress campaigns
They’re not worth a cent
I’ve won two more years
Campaign workers thrilled
But this Congress mess
Is making me ill
This upcoming term
Keeps me up at night
Snarling and screaming
A childish food fight
There was no red wave
But who wants to surf
No time for beach play
We must get to work
Winners and losers
Are a fact of life
We cannot succeed
With backs full of knives
Thank you for voting
Time to make us great
We must now act like
The United States
_
Sir Jack, Member of Congress – 2022 Thanksgiving Message
In this season of thanks
It is most clear to me
To rejoice I’m a duck
Not a roasted turkey
The turkeys in Congress
Would not be safe to eat
If more of them got smoked
It would help the country
We give thanks for this land
It’s still home of the free
But our land has suffered
From those Congress turkeys
Four hundred years ago
There was a gathering
For giving thanks to God
Called the first Thanksgiving
Some have tried to exchange
That feast of thanks and praise
For tales of oppression
Trade Thanksgiving for hate
Most us ducks do not drive
But I know this is true
Things become distorted
When you’re looking rearview
Election drama past
Somehow we all survived
Democracy threatened
Was another big lie
After this holiday
I’ll return to D.C.
The works never simple
With those Congress turkeys
__________
Addition to the Ranch Verse collection…
Coyotes
“The coyotes will come”
Grand dad said from his horse
“Varmints ’round here are bad
But coyotes are worse”
“Coyotes are killers
Sheep and goats are their game
Torn throats of dead livestock
Cover prairies they claim”
Out of state he had seen
Coyotes’ holocaust
Destroying lambs and kids
The prize herds ranchers lost
Grand dad spread his warning
To all Texas ranch men
Showed maps of migration
How their fortunes would end
“Invest in the trappers
North and west of our state
Coyotes are thick there
That could soon be our fate”
Texas had coyotes
In those days long ago
But then few in numbers
Rare on our ranch like snow
The dreaded migration
Was of coyote packs
A population shift
That my Grand dad had tracked
“When coyote packs come
You cannot kill the breed
For every two you shoot
Coyotes will birth three”
“Mother coyotes know
When their pack has a loss
Nature gives them power
To defy rancher shots”
They respected the man
But then refused to act
Those packs came to Texas
Young goats and sheep attacked
Texas ranchers were warned
A clear clarion call
The vast herds that once were
Now coyotes keep small
More than stock disappeared
Gone is a way of life
Where sheep and goat riches
Allowed ranches to thrive
Those vast herds had made kings
Their gold wool and mohair
A migration killed that
Great wealth became despair
Perhaps today’s Texans
Can learn from ranchers past
Heed migration warnings
Coyotes weren’t the last
Sir Jack on Public Schools
By William James Jonas III
Zoom Zoom
Win Win
Everyone wins
Except children
The school kids of New York
On snow days won’t miss class
Zoom counts as attendance
To collect pupil cash
There will be no snow days
The politicians say
Children must be learning
And teachers must get paid
Pandemic school classes
They did not work so well
Using Zoom on snow days
Will make snow days like hell
To propose this idea
I don’t know what to say
Poison is not safer
By eating just one day
But this talk about Zoom
Adjusted just a tad
Zoom might have great use
For worried moms and dads
Pandemic Zoom classes
Lock downs generally
Transformed kitchen tables
To a place kids study
Mom and dad were home bound
With businesses closed too
Using that same table
They saw what’s taught in school
Kids learned about mom’s work
And work that dad’s can do
But parents learned the most
From kids’ classes on Zoom
Parents went to school boards
And there the board replied
“The teachers are in charge
Trust them and step aside”
Unsatisfied parents
Cannot be silenced quick
So debate continues
But now I have a fix
The parents want to know
What happens in classrooms
Let parents attend school
By tuning into Zoom
You say “Sir Jack you’re nuts!
The teachers will refuse”
I think you’ve got it wrong
When they are paid per view
Every viewing parent
Creates a royalty
Paid to teachers monthly
A special speakers’ fee
Each teacher a Zoom star!
Parents their viewing fans
Content is corrected
By popular demand
Both parents and teachers
Can make good use of Zoom
How it helps kids learn stuff
I have not got a clue
Appalachian Autumn Advent
By William James Jonas III
The leaves received their cue
God’s calendar obeyed
Gold has infused bright green
Summer’s reign now betrayed
She is the first to strip
While others keep their clothes
But she won’t be the last
All will soon be exposed
A lonely naked tree
Amidst false modesty
Frost destroys old glad rags
New fashion comes in spring
Gopher Watching
By William James Jonas III
Appalachian gopher
You solitary beast
I see out my window
Enjoys a private feast
On cool bright afternoons
Departs the dark hillside
To explore fresh mowed grass
Searching for tasty bites
A father or mother?
Part of a family?
His home within the hills
A thing I’ve never seen
Yet as summer closes
For just a few short weeks
Just outside my window
Is where my gopher eats
Lacking in defenses
He seems to live in fear
Standing tall on hind legs
To see if danger’s near
Gophers are not mentioned
In West Virginia lore
Never a team mascot
Why are they so ignored?
There are Golden Gophers
Of Minnesota fame
With all that snow and ice
They need something to claim
But where my gopher lives
Invisible almost
Perhaps my window view
Is just a gopher ghost
Take care lonely gopher
I pray you’re not alone
I will see you next year
If this is still our home
Arimathea
By William James Jonas III
A disciple yes
One of The Twelve no
Blessed with worldly gold
And now He is dead
Faith and hope remain
His plan to unfold
My gaze sees a corpse
The one God did use
I will ask Pilate
To place in my tomb
Governors approve
The things rich men do
Wealth can purchase yes
The rest of the day
I work cry and pray
Lost without Jesus
The fake ruling Jews
Squander their birthright
Send spies to observe
A linen wrapped Christ
Pharisees and scribes
May understand bribes
Yet reject their king
He said He would die
He knew who’d deny
Promised His rising
And now the sun sets
A newly sealed tomb
Exhausted and weeping
I go to my room
Of this I’m certain
He’s God’s only Son
Lord please end my grief
The following days
Eternity claimed
The tomb’s now empty
Sir Jack in Dreamland
By William James Jonas III
“I got it wrong”
The Big Man said
“Mistakes were made
People are dead”
“You trusted me
To get it right
In that I’ve failed”
He said that night
Today’s crisis
Caused not by one
But the buck stops
With him alone
“I was chosen
To lead this land
Yet still human
A flawed white man”
“My promises
I sought to keep
The path I chose
Brought tragedy”
“I’m not perfect
On my best days
That’s no excuse
I accept blame”
So on this night
One we thought great
Humbled himself
Took on disgrace
The press went wild
“He must resign!”
Opponents cheered
At his decline
That’s not the end
He was not done
The next words proved
He’d just begun
“An accounting
Does not resolve
That these mistakes
Come with my job”
“Never promised
To be perfect
Tonight please know
I will not quit”
“I’ll never quit
Trying to win
Make our country
The best again”
“Being upfront
Owning a mess
Is what you do
To reach success”
“Journalist want
Me to step down
To replace me
With their pet clown”
“It’s time to reach
Across the aisle
And replace snarls
With a firm smile”
“There’s plenty wrong
To go around
That does not change
You were let down”
“I got it wrong
That I admit
But this is not
The time to quit”
A failed man yes
But still stood tall
Humble focused
Serving us all
While it’s still dark
Shredded hearts bleed
Hope’s now growing
Because he leads
Then I woke up
From that strange dream
About a place
Where leaders lead
And now I’m back
To Congress games
Where folks in charge
Won’t accept blame
An addition to the Ranch Verse collection …
1867 – The Drive That Save The Ranch
Harder than nails
Slick as a snake
Honest when it paid to be
That’s our trail boss
Riding a mule
Del Rio to Dodge City
Mexican calves
Fat from our range
Those hooves carry wealth and sweat
Reconstruction
Gave us no choice
Our future rides on this bet
Stock rounded up
Marked with our brand
On the border worth pennies
Take them north ways
The price does change
Those cows will make us wealthy
Hungry cowboys
With fast horses
Don’t make a drive a success
We had to find
Muscle and mind
To get cattle to Kansas
The Goodnight trail
Named for a man
We sought him to lead our quest
Yet he declined
Did not have time
But had a man to suggest
Not very tall
Had a big chaw
He would spit brown thirty feet
Grouchy and thin
Older than sin
But Goodnight said we should meet
He rode no horse
And spoke few words
Pointing and cussing his tools
The trail his life
Best friend and wife
All these years on the same mule
He took the job
On simple terms
Obey and ask no questions
We would survive
This cattle drive
Following his directions
Two thousand head
Eight hundred miles
Weather to kill cow and man
Orders issued
To the whole crew
Lord we hoped he had a plan
What to expect
This eight week trek
A desperate mystery
Checking our gear
Hiding our fear
Who knew we’d make history
Scallywags coached
Carpetbaggers
Vultures with claws full of cash
Ready to take
Our ranch away
When we could not pay the tax
This cattle drive
Kept hope alive
Funds to fight carpetbag greed
Not the first time
Some fool had tried
To take this home of our breed
Independent
Texans by birth
States rights don’t change who we are
Defeat elsewhere
Change in the air
Yankees that seek spoils of war
Victory claimed
Assessing blame
Forcing oaths of loyalty
Their time will pass
But while it lasts
We must protect legacies
So once again
Land we’ll defend
Outsiders don’t understand
So we began
Led by one man
A trail of danger and hope
That’s how we saved
This precious range
Where our children ride and rope
Santa Anna
And other thieves
Have tried to control this land
For those unfamiliar, Sir Jack is a Mandarin Duck who was elected to Congress (in 2020) representing part of Manhattan (including Central Park). Sir Jack’s history (beginning with his escape from China, subsequent abandonment, and current service as a Member of Congress) is chronicled in various poems archived at www.MinutesBeforeSix.com (under the works of William Jonas III).
Sir Jack’s 2022 Reflections On 911
By William James Jonas III
Congress is in recess
At least through Labor Day
I’m back in my district
To hear what voters say
Today I took a walk
To a most sacred spot
The place Twin Towers fell
Part of Ben Laden’s plot
Osama Ben Laden
Today is dead in hell
In eternal torment
And yet laughing as well
His nine eleven goals
Were not accomplished quick
But his success long term
Makes this Congress Duck sick
That terrible attack
Made people want a plan
George Bush was President
But Cheney was The Man
During those worried times
Bush Cheney folks wrote rules
Like the Patriot Act
And other future tools
That Bush Cheney tool box
Had a pandemic plan
Written by Bill Gates’ guy
Yet not the smartest man
When China Virus hit
That tool box was at hand
Closing churches and schools
Mandated that old plan
Ben Laden then did smile
Infidel churches closed
Shut down “Great Satan’s” schools
His work from long ago
The terrorist’s great joy
Is to inspire fear
Force sheltering in place
Just like these last few years
After closed church and school
Great chaos in our land
Ben Laden’s other wish
Denounce Americans
That wish is half-way done
The press and President
Demonize citizens
They will not represent
So this nine eleven
Ben Laden celebrates
Maybe in this next year
We’ll stop all this self hate
Sir Jack for Congress – Campaign Update #6
It’s time that I focus
On the crow called BC
George Soros recruited
This strange bird against me
BC stands for Black Crow
Making voters confused
Using those two letters
All over the fake news
Since I went to Congress
Successes hard to claim
Not much help for New York
And billions for Ukraine
BC has attacked me
For getting no results
Not stopping inflation
Just one of his insults
He’s at all my speeches
Paid interns take his notes
He stares at me and squawks
Twisting my words for votes
But BC has a past
A well known pizza thief
Taking food from homeless
Giving school children grief
Back then all Central Park
Knew him as Mean Black Crow
But now he’s been transformed
As part of Soros’ show
Bill Gates gives him advice
On mandating vaccines
And in the dark of night
Funding from the Chinese
To all of his misdeeds
Eyewitnesses abound
Swipes pizza from the poor
Throwing trash on the ground
My staff created files
Opposition research
Exposing this BC
As the real Mean Crow jerk
My goal re-election
Campaigning honestly
The dirt on Mean Black Crow
In case he muddies me
A podcast is in queue
Press statements are prepared
If I was Mean Black Crow
I would be running scared
One thing about all crows
Most anything they’ll eat
Unbought Iowa corn
Pizza on New York streets
BC has an image
The gift of Soros’ crew
But that don’t beat pictures
Of him with stolen food
Now I’m done reflecting
On trashing other birds
I’m a duck of action
Not quacking angry words
Sir Jack for Congress – Campaign Update #7 – The Interview
The fake news are not friends
This thing I understand
But some things must be done
Be you a duck or man
A campaign interview
The media request
And that is why I’m here
A hostage more than guest
“What about Roe v. Wade?’
There’s fire in their eyes
“What about Roe v. Wade?”
Crushed eggs mean babies die
“Why do you hate women?”
What makes them think this way?
“Why do you hate women?”
BC told them I’m gay
“How can you support Trump?”
Their mind’s made up on me
How can I support Trump?
He fixed our skating rink
“You hate the Green New Deal!”
The accusations fly
“You hate the Green New Deal!”
Only when the birds die
So goes the interview
Never smiling at me
As I walk out their door
They’re welcoming BC
Sir Jack the Mandarin Duck, Member of Congress – Independence Day Oration – July 4, 2022 – Central Park, New York City
My dear friends and voters
Today we celebrate
How our founding fathers
Brought forth United States
Differences they had
And flawed like all good men
Thinking they were perfect
Would be a stupid sin
As every mighty oak
Comes from an acorn’s death
These men gave of themselves
To build this land of wealth
And much like an acorn
Some thought our founders nuts
Some with some without slaves
But every one had guts
Risk takers for freedom
Their goal not perfection
A more perfect union
Was the clear direction
More perfect from the flawed
That was our founders’ quest
From many making one
Has made our nation best
Divisions are not new
It’s called diversity
Freedom of expression
Will keep our country free
Jefferson and Adams
Never saw eye to eye
Neither one got canceled
Greatness came from their fights
We know words have impact
And words of hate are wrong
But silence solves nothing
Contrast will make us strong
Since we all have two ears
Be you a duck or chap
And one mouth or one bill
Let’s listen more than yap
For every opinion
That you think is so dear
Listen to two others
Your ears are made to hear
It’s “Out Of Many One”
One Latin phrase I know
The cancel culture crowd
Defames that great motto
Let’s agree on one thing
As we let freedom ring
Disagreement is good
Where there is liberty
Sir Jack for Congress – Campaign Update #8 – Gun Debate
All my days in China
A gun I never saw
Still ducks and people died
Without a bang or pow
When I got to New York
With Phoebe and Big Marc
Big Marc shot things called skeet
At clubs not Central Park
During my homeless time
I saw young men with guns
First I thought them homeless
But they were on the run
Why were they on the run?
Pursued or in pursuit?
They all were waving guns
Sometimes I heard them shoot
Since they were not homeless
I guessed they were hunters
Their guns were to kill game
For a tasty supper
Gossiping geese told me
Of hunters out of town
Who all have many guns
When they shoot geese go down
Watching on the run men
And then all of their friends
I learned they weren’t hunters
When they shot citizens
Those guns that kill the geese
Ones that kill people too
Don’t seem to shoot themselves
That part a man must do
Since guns don’t kill the geese
Or even citizens
It takes a trigger’s pull
Which must be pulled by men
Some say all guns are bad
Does that include Big Marc’s?
Do skeet lives matter too?
Do his guns hurt my park?
Those that say guns are bad
I ask how do they know
Because all guns I’ve seen
Don’t do things on their own
Guns cannot rob a store
Or drive themselves to church
Or make our parks unsafe
Trigger pullers come first
Making Central Park safe
Is important to me
But every type of gun
Alone can’t hurt a flea
Phoebe carries a gun
It is inside her purse
When on the run men shoot
She wants to shoot them first
Citizens that get shot
Report who shot the gun
And that is who they blame
Because they are not dumb
Others are not so smart
New York’s Mayor proclaims
That guns are the problem
And takes Phoebe’s away
The U.S, Supreme Court
Did not seem to agree
Phoebe should have her gun
It’s part of being free
“New York will be wild west!”
That’s what the Mayor warns
He says the Court is wrong
It’s guns that cause the harm
So back to Central Park
Where voters live and play
I want to find a plan
Not have a gun debate
On the run men and friends
Don’t buy their guns from shops
New laws for buying guns
Won’t keep them from our park
There are evil shooters
In churches stores and schools
Who go and buy a gun
Their choice of murder tool
What does that have to do
With Phoebe and Big Marc?
Purse guns and those for skeet
Don’t kill in schools or parks
“We don’t need certain guns!”
Joe Biden screams in gasps
He has Secret Service
Homes with bullet proof glass
One side is blaming guns
One side is for gun rights
I want to find the side
That makes parks safe at night
Federal Correctional Institution – Gilmer, Glenville, West Virginia
When President George W. Bush rewarded the Mountaineer State with a shiny new prison in Gilmer County, the new jobs were a welcomed boost to this Appalachian economy. Today like most federal prisons, it is impossible to maintain the necessary staffing levels for current positions.
Union influence blocks any structural changes that would reduce payrolls positions, yet filling those jobs continues to be an incomplete task.
Walking down the stairs on a foggy Saturday morning, I saw the guard assigned to the housing unit below mine. It was McKinsey, a fine specimen of Irish descent; before his gastric by-pass and nose rings, he looked the part of a stereotypical emerald isle elf. Today, he just looked shriveled and bitter like a man raised in Nassau County who was forced to move to West Virginia so his wife could be near her kin.
McKinsey has always been a helpful and kind guard who treats inmates like the amusing pets we are, so notwithstanding his scowl, it was only natural for me to speak. “Getting some extra overtime?” was my greeting to him knowing that Saturday shifts were not his norm. “Nope!” was his rather gruff reply … “I was voluntold …”
“Been voluntold”
The sad guard said
“That’s why I’m here
And not in bed”
“Union members
Don’t work weekends
This membership
Means White House friends”
“In other times
And in past years
Weekend workers
Were volunteers”
But now no one
Accepts those shifts
Overtime pay
No incentive”
“So voluntolds
The warden got
You have to work
Or your job’s shot”
“A volunteer
For extra chores
Does not exist
In this work force”
“That extra pay
Won’t pay for gas
And distracts us
From smoking grass”
“This staff resents
Being coerced
And voluntold
For weekend work”
“So I am here
Angry and high
As voluntolds
We must get by”
Sir Jack – Plastic in Swans
By William James Jonas III
Saturday lunch
I take in the park
Sitting by my favorite pond
Then in mid-bite
A beautiful site
Mother with her little swans
Having such fun
Warm water and sun
Then I saw something drastic
The flock was near
Great danger I fear
Floating pieces of plastic
Our Central Park
New Yorkers adore
But some forget to clean-up
After a meal
Of pizza or veal
There’s plastic where they have supped
Park staff does clean
And most of us use
The trash cans that are close by
But others seem
To live in a dream
Making our park a pigs’ sty
Some trash pieces
Are eaten by birds
Squirrels sometimes make a buffet
But the plastic
Makes all creatures sick
Never seems to go away
My worried stare
Made mother aware
Of the floating danger near
With flap and peck
Mother swan directs
Little ones to waters clear
Not everyone
Has a mother swan
Blocking stuff that makes you sick
This is a park
Not a toxic dump
We must control these plastics
Plastic in cans
Puts trash in its place
But that does not change the truth
It’s our habit
To use this plastic
Wrapping all things the won’t move
Mayor Bloomberg
Banned all plastic straws
Why he did that I don’t know
Plastic reform
Must be meaningful
Not just some media show
Some say plastic
Is recyclable
Once its washed and melted down
But that has costs
And taints clear water
Leaving poisons in the ground
One thing is clear
Clearer than plastic
Plastic trash is everywhere
It’s in our park
It’s in our ocean
Bits of it float in our air
Picking it up
Banning bags and straws
Is but half a solution
Let’s find a way
Young swans swim and play
Mom’s aren’t dodging pollution
Sir Jack – New York’s Congress Duck – Death in the Wind
By William James Jonas III
Three billion birds dead
Since Twenty Nineteen
Wind farm green power
A killing machine
While speeches I give
Shouting’s not my way
But with all this death
I’ve things shrill to say
This bird massacre
Comes not from disease
Or from a virus
Made by the Chinese
The innocent birds
Made but one bad choice
A warning ignored
Deadly windmill noise
While oil wells are capped
Pipelines have been stopped
The windmills spin on
As they chop chop chop
Some Congressmen say
“Wind power is green”
“We’re saving the earth”
As murdered birds scream
The windmills create
Dead bird piles so high
They must be buried
In closed down coal mines
Climate change carnage
Deserves some debate
How can we sustain
Three billion death rate
Don’t say that Sir Jack
Climate change denies
But three billion birds
Should not have to die
In the time before
Year Twenty Nineteen
North America
Was not always green
In just fifty years
I know for a fact
Three billion birds died
From lost habitat
But now the wind farms
Have increase that pace
With speed killing birds
A new green death race
On Texas ranches
Windmills do abound
Pumping clean water
Greening thirsty ground
Windmills in Holland
Make flour so nice
That is green power
Where birds do not die
But these green windmills
Throughout the U.S.
And coastal waters
Are a killing mess
The fossils are dead
That make fossil fuel\
But green power death
Is wasteful and cruel
To all our dear birds
Who’ve seen friend splatter
We’ll change these windmills
Bird lives do matter
In September 2019, the journal “Science” announce the decline of approximately three billion birds over the past fifty years (1968 – 2018) in North America due to destroyed habitat. “Conservation Lost: 3 Billion Birds,” Texas Parks and Wildlife Magazine, January/February 2020, Volume 78, Number 1, page 12.
In May of 2022, the American Bird Conservancy stated that three billion birds have been killed by windfarms since 2019. “Windfarms Wreaking Havoc on Wildlife and Local Residents,” Alice Girodano, The Epoch Times, May 18-24, 2022, page A3
Sir Jack – Campaign Update #5
By William James Jonas III
I heard Speaker Pelosi
Use certain words today
Called Donald Trump a creature
And meant in a mean way
Of course we’re all not human
For instance I’m a duck
Is she now Madame Creature?
How low DC has sunk
When faced with angry quacking
I’d fly to lakes remote
But there’s just one Congress Swamp
It’s time to find some hope
Fellow elected creatures
We’re here for solutions
This name calling moves nothing
Like bikes with Peleton
Little ones need formula
Moms’ cars need cheaper gas
Let’s help out Americans
Instead of talking trash
The View won’t stop inflation
Fox News can’t fix Ukraine
So Congress must do something
Since Biden has no brain
With all these thoughts in my head
To Central Park I’ll slink
Leaving my office early
Pass by Trump’s skating rink
My campaign is in a funk
I feel the same way too
I won’t be a swamp creature
In some weird Congress zoo
Of all my Central Park haunts
The pond I like the best
It’s my home away from home
Your Congress Duck gets rest
Between the DC racket
Campaign activities
There’s just too much reacting
Like dogs biting at fleas
As I gazed across my pond
A sight confronted me
An example and lesson
A new key to DC
I saw buzzards flocked with geese
Enjoying the same pond
In a happy state of peace
Different with a bond
A duck need not be bird brained
Consider pros and cons
To make progress in Congress
You have to beat the odds
The buzzards are from Jersey
The geese from north of Maine
If they can live together
We’ve no room to complain
Just like those geese and buzzards
We’re living in shared space
Since none of us are leaving
We need to have more grace
The DC differences
Will always bring some grief
But that gap is no wider
Than buzzards versus geese
The sun will rise tomorrow
My campaign at full speed
And then we’ll work together
Just like buzzards and geese
Apostle Paul – Verse inspired by saintly service
By William James Jonas III
He opened the eyes of a blind man
But He shut mine so I could see
I walked the road to Damascus
But He led me through Galilee
I knew the law and obeyed it
Yes every word of it was true
But I knew not the spirit behind it
Or what the Spirit can do
When I was blinded by the light
I fell down on my knees
He said I am the Lord your God
Rise up and follow me
He said His name was Jesus
That I should rise and follow Him
And in that moment of glory
I felt my eyesight dim
Then someone took my hand
And then he led me on my way
I walked like a child through the darkness
To a brighter
Better
Day
1900 years after my beheading, these lyrics* became part of a musical called “Acts,” an instrument of the Spirit to witness, mentor, and minister. As Christian missionaries used that song, the message was not about my personality; I was never clever or charismatic by the standards of my day. The message, the only true message, is His message – one of service to His glory.
My sight was not returned for mere vision; blindness departed, scales fell off, so I could serve. A man, that I would have arrested days before, called me brother. How could he call me brother? Only in service to Him could we both understand.
After the Damascus road, life’s sublime simplicity reigned supreme, I only lived to serve Him.
It would be hard to explain the bliss of, in a moment, becoming unburdened from the regulations of righteousness and embracing certain Salvation in a risen Saviour. I had spent my life obsessed, worshiping if you will, rules, a set of rules I knew I could never master and would ultimately fail to follow in some way. Every Pharisee knows that his life of fixated compliance is doomed, yet we plod along, some of us profiting, some of us lying to ourselves, but all with the knowledge of final failure.
You see, I was a good Pharisee (Acts 7, 8, and 9) …
I was a good Pharisee
My teacher Gamaliel
I was a good Pharisee
I sought to do God’s will
I was a good Pharisee
Protect the law I must
I was a good Pharisee
New teachings I don’t trust
I was a good Pharisee
That Stephen must be stoned
I was a good Pharisee
I watched the killers’ clothes
I was a good Pharisee
I’d stop this Jesus trend
I was a good Pharisee
With chains I’ll silence them
I was a good Pharisee
Damascus must be cleansed
I was a good Pharisee
That road I did begin
Then Jesus confronted me
On that Damascus trail
Path of hate came to an end
And then my eyesight failed
A companion took my hand
A blinded Pharisee
Left at the home of Judas
Until a man called me
Ananias sent from God
Removed scales from my eyes
No longer good
But now saved
His Way is now my life
And so my life, my race, my service began ….
Paphos (Acts 13:1-12)
Antioch based
Growing His church
The Spirit calls
A new mission
Brethren hands laid
On me as Saul
Barnabas too
Now we venture
On to Cyprus
John Mark with us
Isle of Paphos
Leader with faith
Ears poison filed
False prophet Jew
Blasphemous name
Misleads leader
Merchant of lies
Will lose his eyes
Spirit fills me
To rebuke fraud
As Paul I curse
False advisor
Fraud becomes blind
Leader sees clear
The blinded fraud
Brings light for all
Iconium (Acts 14:1-5)
Iconium
New Place
Same hate
A synagogue
Same hate
Same fate
A multitude
Some Greeks
Some Jews
We speak boldly
Believers grow
Unbelievers
Find stones to throw
Rulers and Jews
Like status quo
We share Good News
Others must know
The Separation – Barnabas and Paul (Acts 15)
God brought us together
And we made a team
When some feared the old Saul
You defended me
The Spirit directed
Travel together
Preaching and baptizing
Shielded from danger
Jerusalem Council
Good News to protect
Christ’s creed of salvation
More than a Jew sect
As His truth unifies
Men tear us apart
Because you insisted
On bringing John Mark
The boy quit the last time
While on a mission
Yet you want him with you
That’s your decision
Even disagreement
Is a God-planned phase
I won’t travel with boys
We’ll go separate ways
One Way – Separate Ways (Acts 15:36-41)
We are one in spirit
We are of one accord
But mortals we remain
In service to the Lord
Where churches are planted
We must nurture to grow
Returning to each place
This is the time to go
Church planters and mentors
We serve to His glory
Who should travel with us
On this we don’t agree
In Silas I can trust
John Mark should come you say
His work is too urgent
For those that run away
We have sharp contention
On Mark we can’t agree
Our minds are both made up
We’ll serve God separately
We remain one spirit
And one in charity
Bringing the world Good News
His gift eternity
Paul and Silas (Acts 16)
Barnabas to Cyprus
Set sail with John Mark
My aide-de-campe’s Silas
We’ll visit new parts
Timotheus ready
To spread the Good News
First he’ll be circumcised
His mother a Jew
Delivering decrees
Apostles ordained
Establishing churches
More believe each day
Holy Ghost directed
Where to preach the Word
Macedonian call
A vision from God
Arriving Philippi
Women riverside
Lydia’s salvation
Her home we’ll abide
Faithful at the river
Thieves at market place
Using a vexed damsel
In soothsaying trade
While the girl spoke the truth
It was not of God
I cast her demons out
Thieves lost their con job
With magistrates as fools
We’re dragged off the street
Tore our clothes and beat us
Stocks secured our feet
Earthly bars in prison
Will not stop our praise
Midnight earthquake freed us
Roman jailer saved
That quake brought redemption
To the lost jailer
He washed all of our wounds
Claimed Christ as Saviour
Magistrate messenger
Says sneak out today
But Roman citizens
Do not act that way
So humbled and hoping
To avoid a scene
Apologies issued
They begged us to leave
We walked out of prison
To Lydia’s house
With brethren comforted
We could now move out
Athens v. Paul (Acts 17:15-17)
One man against Athens
May sound less than fair
When the spirit stirred me
I was quite prepared
Silas and Timothy
Had been called to come
Synagogues and idols
Were blocking the Son
One man against Athens
There’s no time to waste
Boldly preached the Gospel
Salvation the Way
Corinth (Acts 18:1-17)
Athens a memory
Arriving Corinth
Claudius’ hate has a scent
The emperor ordered
All Jews depart Rome
So we began making tents
Aquilla Priscilla
My new trusted team
Proclaiming New Covenant
First in the synagogue
Then to Justus’ home
Gentiles and Jews saw the Light
With Crispus converted
A temple chief gone
Skeptical Jews were enraged
Deputy Gallio
Asked to condemn me
But he will not play their game
Greeks now show their anger
On Jew Sosthenes
Without a Deputy care
The Lord told me to speak
And not hold my peace
For eighteen months I stayed there
Your Blood (Acts 18:6-8)
Your blood be upon your own heads
From that stain I am clean
You are to blame for your judgment
You do know what I mean
My message is of salvation
A message you reject
While Crispus has accepted Christ
You remain circumspect
So I will move to Justus’ house
Where believers await
Cling to your stupid laws and lies
You have chosen your fate
Where is your Holy Spirit? (Acts 19:1-7)
Where is your Holy Spirit?
I asked those twelve men
What is a Holy Spirit?
Where should I begin?
They claim to be believers
Baptized unto John
Repentance is half the path
There’s more to be done
Accepting Christ’s Salvation
The twelve were baptized
When I laid my hands on them
Spirit filled their life
Rome Calling (Acts 19:20-23)
The word of God grew
Prevailed mightily
Macedonia
I sent Timothy
The Spirit guides us
With joy we obey
Danger matters not
Jesus lights the Way
Purposed in spirit
Directs where I go
Jerusalem bound
And then I see Rome
My calling to Rome
Not a thought from me
The Spirit is clear
I serve His glory
Perhaps from the first
To Rome preordained
My greatest witness
One day to be slain
I will not come this way again (Acts 20)
Leaving is part of arriving anew
But this is the last time I will see you
Serving the Lord with all humility
I kept nothing back and taught publickly
Testifying both to Jews and to Greeks
Shewed you all things ye ought support the weak
It is more blessed to give than receive
Before I depart will you kneel with me
Embraces and tears we share with farewell
Jerusalem bound on this ship I sail
Jerusalem Unhinged (Acts 22)
At first the mob did listen
I gave my history
Gamaliel my teacher
As I fought blasphemy
With lineage unquestioned
And reputation clear
On the road to Damascus
Lord Jesus did appear
Why did I persecute Him?
Changed mission and lost sight
Ananias came to me
I now could see the Light
The mob a mere Pavlov dog
A rabid sea of flesh
When I use the word Gentile
My speech a waste of breath
The Jews erupt in barking
These dogs Romans can’t tame
The soldiers take me away
As they think I’m to blame
Clarity from Roman whips
May work for some Jew dogs
I’m a Free Born Citizen
To whip me breaks Rome’s law
This is all part of God’s plan
A promised destiny
Jerusalem is unhinged
Lost in a rabid sea
Whited Wall (Acts 23:1-10)
Jerusalem council
High priest manipulate
But I will speak to them
Christ’s love defeats their hate
As I claimed good conscience
Before God through that day
When the high priest slapped me
The Spirit had me say
You are a whited wall
Whose hue is but a lie
Paint conceals the cracked clay
No hope just foolish pride
Thou shalt not speak evil
Of rulers this I know
My words are but the truth
Priest’s white wash is exposed
Pharisees Sadducees
In peace they cannot dwell
Resurrection proclaimed
The mob turns on itself
Yet in their infighting
I’m a risked casualty
The chief captain ordered
Me moved in safety
Rome (Acts 23:11, 24:27, 26, 27, 28)
While still in Jerusalem
God told me I would see Rome
Escape to Caesarea
Felix never got his bribe
Agrippa heard my witness
But it was a waste of time
Lynching by High Priest did fail
As I appealed to Caesar
Traveling to Italy
Confirmed my pre-ordained path
Storm winds shipwreck and vipers
A path of faith won’t be stopped
The road was filled with brethren
Mixed in with denying Jews
Some will believe some will not
Gentile mission continues
Tied to a soldier in Rome
As I wait for my appeal
Preaching from a hired house
The Good News shared for two years
Herod’s Judgment Hall (Acts 23:32-35)
Herod’s Judgment Hall
That’s where I was kept
Herod’s Judgment Hall
King’s hall where I slept
Dumped by captain’s guard
In Caesarea
Governor received
And began to stall
Herod’s Judgment Hall
Prison or a room
Herod’s Judgment Hall
Protection from Jews
Felix wants to wait
Till accusers come
This will not delay
God’s will to be done
Herod’s Judgment Hall
I shared Good News there
Herod’s Judgment Hall
But ears would not hear
Tempest (Acts 27)
Centurion guarded
My destination Rome
To them merely cargo
Mission done then go home
The winds and the weather
Sailors respect and fear
I offer wise counsel
But insight they won’t hear
The timing and the routes
Defy current season
Roman soldier power
Not a slave to reason
But dangerous choices
Will punish the unwise
Tossed at sea and hopeless
They follow my advice
The spirit assures me
My ministry awaits
The fast must be broken
Human hunger to sate
Cargo becomes garbage
That is thrown overboard
Killing prisoners discussed
Not the plans of the Lord
Those capable to swim
Are the first overboard
Others will cling to life
Grasping wood to the shore
All passengers survive
No drowning on that day
As we gasp on the beach
I will show them the Way
Scripture does not mention
A soul saved from that wreck
Yet the witness remains
Of how God does protect
Home Confinement (Acts 28:30-31)
Two whole years
In a house of my own
Starving guests arrive each day
Food and drink
To nourish the spirit
His banquet knowing the Way
So I preach
Of the Kingdom of God
Salvation through Jesus Christ
Throughout Rome
The lost come to this place
Learning of eternal life
Souls are saved
Eternity assured
His Gospel with joy proclaimed
Victory
Is not bound by the fact
Caesar’s prisoner I remain
How I died matters not. How I lived in service to His glory is all that matters.
Mask Muddle – Sir Jack Campaign Update #3
By William James Jonas III
My voters are calling
For answers not guesses
Do they have to wear masks?
“Give us Nos or YESes!”
For subways in New York
Today’s answer is YES
But the New Jersey trains
All say NO! what a mess!
The Mayor of New York
With his answers unstraight
Simply cannot explain
How these masks keep us safe
Back in 2020
When some folks became ill
My campaign made some masks
That all had a duck bill
So then President Trump
And Doctor Fauci too
Said in just a few weeks
We would all whip this flu
“Let’s all put on a mask
And do not go to church
This will flatten the curve
Then we’ll return to work”
But that was way back then
Now voters call to ask
Seeking some clear guidance
On wearing these dumb masks
As New York’s Congress Duck
Constituents expect
The specific answers
To get passed this train wreck
Sir Jack will take the lead
To meet voter wishes
If not re-elected
My fate’s Chinese dishes
Evil chefs of China
Think that ducks of my age
Should be warm and quiet
Soaked in sauce spiced with sage
My opponent says masks
Are what science demands
His science seems shifty
Like the Oyster Bay sands
In New York it’s one way
New Jersey the other
Government seems insane
A crazy Big Brother
One thing is for certain
As to masks on your face
The rules always vary
Depending on the place
And there is some conflict
With two strong points of view
From the politicians
Between the red and blue
Democrats say one thing
Republicans converse
Both claim to have science
Which is better or worse?
Solutions of the past
Often can provide clues
Solving today’s problems
And that is what I’ll use
My voters lack answers
Cash is another lack
So hear my proposal
That will bring happy back
Two years ago my masks
With a duck’s bill you see
Gave my campaign a boost
That sent me to DC
The mask I present now
Uses actual bills
With Abraham Lincoln
No picture! They are real!
These masks are quite ideal
Where a mask you must wear
And then in your pocket
You will have bucks to spare
So with mask or no mask
You have obtained mask peace
Increasing your savings
Putting your mind at ease
Come by my headquarters
For masks made of money
Sir Jack has the answers
Some of them are funny
Sir Jack – Campaign Update #4
By William James Jonas III
Political campaigns
Have evolved a lot
Strategies of the past
Are not modern thought
Newspaper endorsements
Car bumper stickers
Have now gone the way of
Envelope lickers
It is technology
And how you’re trending
Days full of Breaking News
Drama unending
My Central Park podcasts
And Go Fund Me page
Boosted my first campaign
Ended homeless days
As a mandarin fowl
Things aren’t done with ease
Social media trolls
Claimed I was Chinese
In learning how to Tweet
There came some bad luck
Suspended for two weeks
When I misspelled duck
When the My Pillow Guy
Came to lend a hand
Some did not get my posts
I was shadow banned
Big Tech is in control
With algorithms
And without their platforms
A campaign can’t win
Each time one of my Tweets
Quotes President Trump
It gets redirected
To some cyber dump
Seems I’ve been targeted
Who can a duck trust?
Twitter has this new boss
His name Elon Musk
Elon says that Twitter
Is like a town square
If square’s are like China’s
Arrests happen there
Political discourse
Both sides get to rant
Elon’s Town Square Twitter
Sounds more tolerant
Or is it just a trick
CNN insists
“He’ll make all Tweets fly right!”
“We know he’s racist!”
HE gave Ukraine WiFi
Made billions of bucks
To Twitter I’ll return
The Town Square of Musk
While I am quite hopeful
Others have their doubts
Anything is better
Than these hateful shouts
With social media
Elon’s Twitter too
Your vote is what we need
Sir Jack’s asking you
Selfish Mouse
By William James Jonas III
This ship is my kingdom
A realm I will not share
Others may preach teamwork
To me that’s just hot air
If you try to join me
I welcome with fake smile
Exposing my sharp teeth
While hiding venal bile
Spirit killing insults
Mean spirited outbursts
Keep my team small and cowed
Outsiders are the worst
On my family ship
All others must get out
As we launch tomorrow
Selfishness is an art
A mere hundred deck chairs
Two tons of cheese on ice
Will serve my growing brood
I want no other mice
With only precious ones
I’ll cross the Atlantic
Not sharing pleasures of
HMS Titanic
Sir Jack the Mandarin Duck
Ukraine Blues
I got the Ukraine blues
Got the Ukraine blues
When I watch the news
I get the Ukraine blues
Call it a freedom fight
How can that be right5
Tyrants on both sides
So freedom I can’t find
In Russian and Ukraine
Things are just the same
Candidates that fail
Dictators put in jail
It’s just two presidents
That cage dissidents
They both seek success
So they control the press
I got the Ukraine blues
Got the Ukraine blues
Sick of the fake news
Gives me the Ukraine blues
Re-Elect Sir Jack – Campaign Update #1
By William James Jonas III
This re-election quest
Shares an obstacle with most
NYC Congressmen
Never get a chance to coast
I’m a GOP duck
Democrats say “Jack’s dead meat”
They’re pulling out the stops
As they work for my defeat
I constantly raise funds
Because campaign ads aren’t free
Two big names want me gone
George Soros and AOC
Listening to my voters
With responsive follow-up
This is what I promised
As Sir Jack their Congress Duck
Loyal constituents
Can still fall for dirty tricks
Soros will fund such lies
The thought of it makes me sick
Even happy voters
Sometimes can become confused
I know the other side
Controls all of the fake news
This week it was made clear
That my enemies play low
AOC told the press
They’ve recruited a Black Crow
I thought it was a lie
But then I saw it was true
CNN praised that Crow
As did the hosts of The View
That Democrat Black Crow
Is adored by mainstream press
When ending interviews
They always wish him success
Media calls me Duck
And fake news claims I’m Chinese
But they don’t call him Crow
They’ve anointed him BC
“Send BC to DC!”
That’s MSNBC’s chant
“BC’s Manhattan’s best!”
“He will do what that Duck can’t!”
When it comes to strange birds
The gold standard’s a Black Crow
You can never trust them
This is one thing I do know
The first Black Crow I met
By a Central Park trash can
He was eating pizza
Stolen from a homeless man
My Black Crow opponent
Looks like that old pizza thief
But I must share that tale
In a way voters believe
Defining enemies
My first step to beat BC
That Black Crow does not know
How tough politics can be
For this campaign season
It’s Sir Jack against BC
We will campaign and debate
For November victory
Re-Elect Sir Jack – Campaign Update #2
By William James Jonas III
My voters’ concerns
Must be listened to
As a Congress Duck
This is what I do
Subways are not safe
Citizens explain
But down in DC
They just talk Ukraine
Can a freedom fight
In a foreign land
Be more important
I don’t understand
With subways unsafe
New Yorkers get killed
But down in DC
Ukraine’s the talk still
Inflation worries
Our dollars buy less
But down in DC
Ukraine gets largess
Gas prices are high
Supply uncertain
All Joe Biden says
Blame it on Putin
Fighting for freedom
Defends innocents
So that should include
My constituents
Hear me President
And you Ms. VP
New York needs defense
Like those overseas
How dare you demand
My folks risk their lives
On dangerous streets
For your Russian fight
Hey New York voters!
I do have your back
Your freedom comes first
Please vote for Sir Jack
Would you … (John 13)
By William James Jonas III
Would you have washed their feet?
Not one had a real job
Would you have washed their feet?
The group was more than odd
Would you have washed their feet?
Dusty crusty and foul
Would you have washed their feet?
Or let them in your house
No station or status
Yet cleaned feet they expect
How could you clean those hooves
And keep one’s self respect
Cowardly feet He washed
Those of a traitor too
Clean feet left His supper
Betrayed Him to the Jews
24 feet He washed
One pair stood and denied
No clean feet were steadfast
All sought a place to hide
Would you have washed their feet?
Of course you would have not
But He did wash their feet
This undeserving lot
God did the dirty work
Ignored their foolish pride
To impart a lesson
Once more before He died
He washed more than their feet
Cleansing all dirty sin
Defeating Satan’s death
For life that never ends
You know what Jesus did
More than a simple task
Would you have washed their feet?
Is that too much to ask?
When I last spoke to Sir Jack, he was a newly elected Member of Congress. It was the winter of 2021, and he was already sensing a level of discouragement. As a new election cycle approaches, it was time to check in with New York’s most distinguished duck.
Congressman Sir Jack – Looking Forward – First Looking Back
By William James Jonas III
Clowns to the left
Clowns to the right
That scary Vice President laugh
Let me tell you
They don’t have a clue
A duck knows the dark side of daft
Old Uncle Daffy
Has nothing on them
Except they break laws
And have their own gym
While this whole country
Was kept from their work
Congress got full pay
The self-centered jerks
Some gossiping geese
Brought Ottawa news
Of a freedom fight
Where the bad guys lose
‘Flew to Canada
To meet trucker friends
Brought back some ideas
On how to begin
With every journey
Some parts are a chore
I am elected
Each month 24
So I’ll run again
Like those worthless slobs
But different from them
I work at this job
Truckers are like ducks
We know how to move
Re-elect Sir Jack
There’s much more to do!
It was clear to me that Sir Jack had the bit in his teeth (pretty amazing for a duck) and was ready to run (again). So, I asked him if he had a special plan to make an impact on the swamp we call Washington, DC.
Start Honking
One thing New Yorkers
Are taught when they’re born
To drive a car right
Keeping honking the horn
The honks say “I count!”
And “Don’t mess with me!”
“I know all my rights!”
“So watch it buddy!”
These New York voters
Sent me to DC
And then lost their nerve
To virus Chinese
They hid in their homes
Wore masks in their cars
Stopped going to church
And drinking in bars
The news people said
Fox and CNN
Just hide long enough
And all this will end
I went to Congress
To improve their lot
But things just got worse
With each booster shot
The warp speed vaccine
Got into arms fast
Does not make T-cells
That means they don’t last
The new President
And Italian troll
Will solve this crisis
When hell has grown cold
I am in Congress
And one lonely duck
Ready to give up
Then I saw those trucks
Those trucks from up north
Had become enraged
And in Canada
Its honks that bring change
When gossiping geese
Brought this honking news
I then had a plan
My voters could use
They know how to honk
How to vote for me
We can fix this mess
On to victory
Third Generation Drug Dealer
By William James Jonas III
I live on a hill billy rock pile
My name is Ellie Mae
Grandpa sold that moonshine
But I found much better pay
My Pa tried sellin’ oxycotin
He ate more than he sold
So I looked for a job
Those federal ones are gold
A prison is in the next holler
President Bush owed us
‘Got me a union job
Since I date Uncle Cleatus
I’m following family tradition
Drugs are a great payroll
Injecting these inmates
With stuff they call Vivitrol
They say Vivitrol is expensive
U.S. prisons burn cash
Mandated counseling
Is so much ethical trash
We lie about group treatment sessions
Paperwork swears we meet
‘Paid to help folks shoot up
This drug job cannot be beat
Omni-Clown
By William James Jonas III
Omni-Clown
Omni-Clown
Bringing you
More lock downs
Omni-Clown
Started where?
Foreign lab
Over there
“You’re racist!”
Yells the press
Just blame Trump
Their best guess
Orange man gone
Minor goal
Omni-Clown
Means control
Joe Biden
Beach ware mask
Kind of lost
May not last
Delaware
He should stay
Keep Red Phone
Far away
Tony F
Still a punk
Mad midget
Power drunk
“I’m science!”
The troll screams
Omni-Clown
His wet dream
Vaccinate
Or be damned
CNN
Does command
Does it stop
Omni-Clown?
Trust Fauci
And bow down
New boosters
Take them too
Just obey
As you moo
Take three jabs
And still sick
Omni-Clown
A mean trick
All the shots
And still dead
Old obese
Co morbid
Dead fat folk
Can’t complain
Omni-Clown
It’s a game
Little kids
You to lose
Omni-Clown
Shuts your school
Teachers pay
Union dues
Omni-Clown
New excuse
“Safety first”
Unions say
Teach with Zoom
Drink all day
Elections
Coming soon
Omni-Clown
Must be used
Vote by mail
Helps the dead
Elect those
Red states dread
USA
Screwed around
The new tool
Omni-Clown
Time
By William James Jonas III
‘Twas Minutes Before Six
That’s when my world changed
The FBI SWAT team
Just giggled with rage
By 6:02 A M
Glass strewn on the floor
Black clad with guns pointed
Life before no more
Just Minutes Before Six
What if I had died?
FBI missed their fun
Perhaps they would cry
Then minutes after six
And now to the news
A press conference of lies
Skewed government views
Did they need all those guns?
And battering ram
To open a glass door
Arrest one old man
The Minutes Before Six
Prelude to a play
The story’s not over
Truth will win the day
In Minutes Before Six
Freedom discarded
What we do not protect
Vanish unguarded
Guilty or innocent
How can it make sense
That morning machine guns
Serve arrest warrants
On the first Thursday morning of February 2016 at 6:02 AM, no less than six black clad FBI SWAT team members armed with automatic weapons destroyed the glass entrance to the San Antonio home of attorney William James Jonas III, LTC, U.S. Army, Retired. The purpose of the attack was to serve an arrest warrant, take Jonas into custody, and obtain computers and documents. The residence had been under FBI surveillance for months confirming the absence of any weapons or dangerous materials. Jonas had no criminal history. Explaining this level of force, a representative of the U.S. Pre-Trial Services said, “the FBI seems to enjoy this too much.” Immediately after the guilty verdict, the prosecuting attorney began his campaign for U.S. Congress.
Home Confinement – Acts 28:30-31
By William James Jonas III
Two whole years
In a house of my own
Starving guests arrive each day
Food and drink
To nourish the spirit
His banquet knowing the Way
So I preach
Of the kingdom of God
Salvation through Jesus Christ
Throughout Rome
The lost come to this place
Learning of eternal life
Souls are saved
Eternity assured
His Gospel with joy proclaimed
Victory
Is not bound by the fact
Caesar’s prisoner I remain
These days, Dad always picks-up.*
*Honoring William James Jonas, Junior (1936-2020)
Since Dad’s in heaven
This Fathers Day
Call timing’s no longer an art
No need to practice
Just what to say
Dad knows what I feel in my heart
I cannot hug him
Take him to brunch
For over-priced eggs
Good wine for lunch
But talk we can do
For hours on end
And recall all of the good times
Lessons taught and learned
From my best friend
With his help things turned out just fine
It’s pals forever
Pledged in my youth
Dad’s not really gone
It’s still the truth
I’m happy we talked
No need for tears
No one interrupts us these days
Dad, I do miss you
Grows every year
We’ll talk again soon I can’t wait
Pandas Weren’t Worth It
By William James Jonas III
Dear President Nixon
I know that you are dead
But you started something
That’s making me see red
You were my President
I was there till the end
No Sir we never met
Yet you were my true friend
We called them Red Chinese
In respect to Taiwan
You and Pat met Mao
The rules changed from then on
While the press hated you
The loved that killer Mao
Taiwan under the bus
The Commies became pals
So we got two pandas
To live in D.C.’s zoo
Black and white Red Chinese
Then Watergate got you
A bunch of time has passed
And Mao is dead like you
All we got from China
Were pandas and their flu
Past choices are most clear
From cheap seats with rear view
Knowing what we do now
Are pandas worth this flu?
Why China?
By William James Jonas III
Corona virus
It’s quite a disease
Once more I am glad
That I’m not Chinese
Flying to Beijing
For now is delayed
The world wrings its hands
As doctors explain
We don’t know the cause
We don’t know the cure
Started in China
On that we are sure
Free traders may think
My thoughts are a sin
But please remind me
Why we trade with them
I know it is cheap
I know they got cash
But trade with China
Gives more than a rash
They condemn Christians
And steal property
And create disease
That kills you and me
I do like pandas
The Great Wall I’ve seen
But dealing with them
Just never seems clean
To big to ignore
A fact that might be
But toxic and big
Is simply nasty
Ignoring it’s not
To avoid a mess
China is poison
It’s quite obvious
Bitten Hand
By William James Jonas III
Franklin Graham
Surprised you’re not
By ingratitude
New York took
Your healing team
Now is acting rude
Help from all
Is what they sought
And you were the first
Giving them
A hospital
Samaritan’s Purse
Franklin Graham
You dared to live
By the Word of Christ
Hated now
By the woke crowd
Rejecting His light
Ignore God
Is their demand
Or sick beds tear down
Your must be
LBGT
Or get out of town
Franklin Graham
Your bitten hand
Answering needs call
Following
Our Saviour’s steps
His hands pierced for all
Franklin Graham
Surprised you’re not
By ingratitude
America’s Back
By William James Jonas III
Co morbidity
Is the enemy
Killing us for years
Corona virus
By Chinese liars
Plays on childish fears
Doctors’ bad advice
Killed immunity
Propped us up with pills
Whored vaccinations
We became sicker
Pharma paid the bill
Corona corpses
Displayed to force us
To remain sick cows
Inactivity
Staring at TV
It’s time to clean house
This is a wake up call
About friends and foes
World Heath just turns tricks
No need to blame Trump
Diabetic slobs
Not his job to fix
Sick Americans
Can shelter in place
That’s a simple rule
When you’re fat and weak
You’re a disease mark
No need to close schools
Strong protect the weak
When strong take action
Time for us to act
Hand back their hand cuffs
State’s will open up
America’s back
It’s About Beds
By William James Jonas III
Consider the State of New York:
-Full beds in prisons mean cost to the State of New York.
-Full beds in nursing homes mean revenue to the operators.
-New York is rewarded by reducing prison costs as they can spend the money elsewhere.
-Nursing home operators survive by increasing revenue.
-Prison worker jobs are easier with fewer full bed, and as union members, their jobs are secure regardless of workload.
-Nursing homes close when revenues lag.
-Prison workers, as union members, vote.
-Nursing home operators support politicians that keep nursing home beds full.
-The Governor of New York is New York’s prison operator and has the ability to decide if nursing home beds, in New York, stay full based on health related policies.
IT IS LOGICAL FOR THE NEW YORK GOVERNOR TO ORDER NEW YORK NURSING HOMES TO TAKE COVID-19 POSITIVE CUSTOMERS WHILE EMPTYING STATE PRISON BEDS. SUCH AN ORDER MAKES NEW YORK NURSING HOMES LAWSUIT PROOF BY REMOVING ANY LIABILITY FOR COVID-19, AS THE ORDER SHARES NEW YORK’S SOVEREIGN IMMUNITY WITH THE NURSING HOME WHILE ASSURING A STEADY FLOW OF CUSTOMERS. EMPTY PRISON BEDS ALLOW SPENDING ELSEWHERE.
Why would New York Governor Andrew Cuomo issue an executive order requiring nursing homes to accept COVID-19 positive customers and a few weeks later, release dangerous inmates from New York state prisons?
It’s about money
It’s about votes
It’s about political support from nursing home operators
It’s about beds
Postscript – Cuomo’s COVID-19 Nursing Home Executive Order had a casualty that may cause some political pain as it hurts New York trial lawyers seeking to cash-in on COVID-19 nursing home injuries/deaths.
Cuomo’s COVID Casualty
By William James Jonas III
Hey trial lawyers
I’ve got bad news
Andrew Cuomo
Has just screwed you
His nursing homes
Are now immune
From your lawsuits
Corona blues
Those New York home
Got an order
Destroying your
Client fodder
COVID-19
Accept they must
Thus giving them
State protection
You trust Andy
And that was dumb
Try moving West
For lawsuit fun
Minneapoliced
By William James Jonas III
The police killed George Floyd
Because he was black
I will not stand by
It’s time to strike back
Progress has been slow
We must demand more
To honor George Floyd
Let’s go loot some stores
Hate by the police
Threatens all of us
To protests this crime
We will torch a bus
Bashing ATMs
The fault of the police
Burning property
Our message of peace
New York City Phase II
By William James Jonas III
Our pizza shop’s now open
The mayor said okay
With COVID-19 flattened
It’s time to make some hay
Where we once had ten tables
Inside we can seat two
A table on the sidewalk
And then the dumpster booth
Contact free delivery
Provides some revenue
But those orders are tricky
With BLM in view
Do not say “no black olives”
No olive bigotry
The same is true for pepper
Don’t say black, red, or green
If you say such nasty things
There’ll be consequences
Your home and face on tick tock
You’ll come to your senses
As you might guess these new rules
Our business model changed
Pizza sales won’t pay the bills
But there’s another way
Since our police are racists
As Black Lives taught us well
Getting rid of our police
Changes what we can sell
So when you order pizza
With extra pepper jack
Buy one of our machine guns
Along with meth or crack
Fake Noose
By William James Jonas III
No noose is good noose
Bubba does not agree
“My NASCAR racing slump”
“Systemic bigotry”
“A rope’s a rope you dope”
“And that rope is a crime”
“It’s about me you see”
“Give me my spot light time”
Race bait need not be real
To make the mad dogs snap
How stupid we’ve become
It’s time to take a nap
Enough
By William James Jonas III
If preachers and teachers are not essential
Your country is all messed up
While kids die on sidewalks mayors get haircuts
Not the time to defund cops
The doctors say its time to open the schools
Science should not be ignored
But we all know teacher unions hate science
As kids get stupid and bored
Amazon can’t bring children education
Fake news does not understand
When sick geezers can close an entire nation
Things have gotten out of hand
Gym Exodus
By William James Jonas III
I own a New York gym
And follow all the rules
Why does my Governor
Treat me like I’m a fool?
COVID had shut us down
That’s what’s said on TV
But New York’s shut down rules
Will be the death of me
Cuomo has these phases
They number one to four
When your number comes up
You can open your doors
Now something has happened
Worse than a mere blunder
Somehow our Empire State
Failed to give gyms numbers
One thing that is certain
As sure as Chinese Flu
It’s bad when your state says
“We will get back to you”
Gyms that can’t be opened
Fail like a dumb idea
Can’t wait for a number
I’m getting out of here
Palm Honor
John Th Ts
By William James Jonas III
I have stood by
This main thoroughfare
Not one morning
If anyone cares
From Bethany
To Jerusalem
By foot or colt
The only way in
They come to pray
But mostly to feast
All pass by me
The great and the last
And on this day
My life will conclude
Torn limb from limb
For a sacred use
A glory death
For me nonetheless
As my palms line
The path of Jesus
Thomas Revealed
By William James Jonas III
Your legacy remains off doubting him pulpits label you as doubting Thomas yet your life with him was off loyalty
Has hazardous trip made others tremble you said to die with him was above life loyal in the moment but mistaken
Because only with him is there true life risking all you new to walk with our Lord asked where he goes and to show the way
So could you have doubted his victory?
Thomas, I think you loved him so much
You just wanted to touch him one more time
In that selfish moment you paid the price
To be called doubting Thomas by all men
He knows the truth within your lion heart
Disciple not ready to say goodbye
Soon-to-be learning he never leaves us
Put up thy sword
John 3:16, 12:13, 18:11, 27
He said put up your sword
Yet we needed to fight
Yes we were outnumbered
But ours the side of right
The hate of Jews corrupt
An enemy not new
He is the son of God
And they refuse the truth
Entered Jerusalem
Less than a week ago
Hosanna the crowd cried
We twelve knew this was so
Now Judas brings a mob
Thugs working for chief priests
While they are more than me
With this sword I’m a beast
He said put up thy sword
I had only begun
He said put up thy sword
With swords I would have one
These haters are cowards
That’s why they came at night
Soft corrupt and greedy
They can’t defeat his light
He orders my sword sheathed
Speaks of the father’s cup
Allows them to prevail
In glee they tie him up
Before the cock will crew
My loyalty will fold
Thrice will I deny him
This sin he had foretold
So without swords of man
His victory is won
For God so loved the world
He gave his only son
Pilate Pushed
John 19 12:16
Thou art not Caesar’s friend
The chief priests hissed at me
Juice are just too complex
Why can’t they let me be
My job to keep the peace
On Chief priests I rely
Now they bring me Jesus
While screaming crucify
Without rhyme or reason
They want to kill this man
Demanding I help them
As only Romans can
It is a festival
I do not want a mob
They will inform Caesar
If I don’t do my job
A Roman governor
Should not be bossed by Jews
Giving in shuts them up
What do I have to lose
He Is Risen
By William James Jonas III
He is risen
That is the news
He is risen
I am confused
He is risen
A tomb empty
He is risen
I ran to see
He is risen
While Chief priests lie
Hiding from truths
Pay Roman bribes
He is risen
Coward am I
When he was chained
Three times denied
He is risen
And I failed him
Yet God’s promise
He is risen
We’re saved from death
But what to do
He is risen
Lord where are you?
And now his words
Return to me
He will see us
In Galilee
He is risen
Victory won
God loved the world
Gave us his son
He was here
Acts 12:1-6
Hearing the Passover throng
Through Jerusalem jail walls
The temple is cashing in
Display James severed head
King Herod plays to the crowd
When unleavened feast concludes
I will be the second act
A show to buy loyal Jews
These chains do not stop my prayers
My joy is doing his will
With a mission just begun
John the Baptist beheaded
Hating and lying Chief priests
Inflaming a crowds bloodlust
Chains for his prelude to death
A jail was his battle ground
This feast became victory
Claimed with cross and empty tomb
He was here he took my place
The work that he gave to me
Mission of his commission
His church praying unceasing
Wild chains and guards to remain
My death will come with no fear
At a time to his purpose
Jesus Christ was in this place
All America
By William James Jonas III
Moaning morning mammals
They chat on the TV
Acting almost life like
airbrushed humanity
Performing on Fox news
And MSNBC
Today show GMA
Each channel has the breed
Breaking stories constant
Always some new crisis
Who fixes the broke news
On Trump tweets or Isis
Some all red most are not
As they urge your buy-in
With bias that’s so clear
It’s not news it’s lying
Non were hired for smarts
They must think we’re that dumb
Just one morning listen
Will make your brain feel numb
Hate Mail
By William James Jonas III
You are a felon!
Ha Ha Ha!
That’s what the hate mail said
The guy writes me so often
He’d cry if I were dead
The hours that are wasted
In unkind notes to me
After a while
Make me smile
I’m a celebrity
Bilious letters
Like kind ones
Are just the price of fame
So keep those missives coming
And don’t misspell my name
Send My Hate Mail To Jesus
By William James Jonas III
Refrain: Send my hate mail to Jesus
I said to the postman
Send my hate mail to Jesus
He loves me so I can
Send my hate mail to Jesus
The sender needs him too
Send my hate mail to Jesus
He’ll take it postage due
Verse I: Hate mails’s found it way to me
Almost all my life
Business partners former friends
Children and Ex wife
Even folks I’ve never met
Somehow will write me
But I’ve found a special path
To serenity
Refrain
Verse II When the mail call brings to me
A new piece of hate
Venom takes a written form
Someone did create
I’m no good a dirty dog
It’s always the same,
Wonder who they wrote before
They found me to blame
Refrain
Missing
By William James Jonas III
My left thumb moved across my palm
As it had done for years
Somehow this time I caught myself
Inside I shed some tears
My thumb touched then my ring finger
You know a ring’s not there
A judge had it removed one day
Without a human care.
That ring never defined our love
Jail rules took it away
It’s one more thing I miss from you
Love does not miss a day
Answered Prayer
By William James Jonas III
Thank you Lord Jesus
You answered myt prayer
I asked from comfort
And absence of care
No money worries
Just rest for a spell
You gave that to me
In this prison cell
My boat of troubles
Was full to my eyes
Some I invited
Some were a surprise
It was overwhelming
My saddness was real
Now it’s all better
In concrete and steel
Living in prison
Is a simple life
Food is provided
And no home front strife
Quiet not lonely
Is my life today
Long talks with Jesus
As I read and pray
Jesus you did it
You brought me some peace
Life in satan’s town
Had been killing me
Not here forever
My sentence will end
But there’s no hurry
With you as my friend
Peter James and John Mt 17 1-9, 26:37 Lk 5:10, 8:5
By William James Jonas III
Friends with a shared business
We three called by him
Beside the sea formed us
As fishers of men
We were part of the twelve
Three times set apart
To witness his glory
Yet understood not
On a sacred summit
Jesus did commune
Elias and Moses
Told us tell no one
Then we were the escort
To Jairus home
As he raised his daughter
Us three in the room
The final time he called
For only us three
Was that final evening
In Gethsamane
We three were only men
But he made us more
Apostles of Jesus
We three for the Lord
Real Rights Restored
By William James Jonas III
Hey you bleeding hearts
Your two-faced game is clear
Letting felons vote
Will help you win next year
You are such selfish garbage
Agenda in plain sight
You don’t give a tinker’s cuss
About the Bill of Rights
If you stopped mirror gazing
And wanted to end harm
Read the Second Amendment
It’s the right to bear arms
The Constitution gave it
You punks took it away
Since you claim we paid our debt
Why don’t you act that way?
So stop your pompous preening
And give us liberty
You’re the ones that claim to care
Arms will make us free
“No, we don’t have NA (Narcotics Anonymous),
but we have 257 other activities to occupy your time.”
Warden C. Gomez, February 2019, FCI Gilmar, Glenville, West Virginia
By William James Jonas III
There is a theory
That some would suggest
The wardens don’t like
Drugs inmates ingest
But that is quite wrong
They like it this way
Cause they don’t allow
Chapters of NA
One thing is quite clear
So think it over
You only fight drugs
Promoting sober
The SHU (Special Housing Unit) does not work
Transfers are a waste
A sober inmate
The junkies can’t face
The only reason
For this inactiom
Is twelve steps apply
To warden’s addiction
With NA on site
There might be a risk
Someone might condemn
The booze in their desk
Fathers Day 2019
By William James Jonas III
My thoughts this year
Are far from new
As I give thanks
For all you do
Some how
Some way
Your gifts to me
Define the man
I seek to be
In all my years
I’ve not yet grasped
How you were there
The first and last
Your life and love
I celebrate
That you’re my Dad
This Fathers Day
Joseph – inspired from Matthew 1:16-2:23 and Luke 1:26-2:52
By William James Jonas III
My life was quiet
The prospects were good
King David as kin
My work was in wood
Nazareth business
And a fiance
In all earthly ways
I sure had it made
Until confronted
With a rumor wild
The one I’m to wed
Already with child
Plans now are a wreck
But what can one say
This is a disgrace
I’ll move on some way
Faith has always been
A part of my life
An angel appears
And said “Keep your wife”
A child born of God
I can’t comprehend
Jesus was my son
Yet more than a man
Torah and trade skills
He did quickly grasp
Me teaching my God?
Sometimes I just laughed
His body grew strong
Our world was in wait
I would not survive
To witness His fate
God so loved the world
He sent us His Son
Christ called one man Dad
And I was that one
“No we don’t have NA (narcotics anonymous), but we have 257 other activities to occupy your time.” Warden C. Gomez, FUCI-Gilmer, Glenville, West Virginia
There is a theory
That some would suggest
The wardens don’t like
Drugs inmates ingest
But that is quite wrong
They like it this way
‘Cause they don’t allow
Chapters of NA
One thing is quite clear
So think it over
You only fight drugs
Promoting sober
The SHU* does not work
Transfers are a waste
A sober inmate
The junkies can’t face
The only reason
For this inaction
Is twelve steps apply
To wardens’s addiction
With NA on site
There might be a risk
Some one might condemn
The booze in their desk
* Special Housing Unit
UNICOR Blues
By William James Jonas III
Unicor blues, oh Unicor blues
Wearin’ that khaki, no tennis shoes
Start work at eight do nothing ‘til two
Never in red with Unicor blues
Got a lot of time, no drugs to kick
Caseworker say no programs to pick
The thing to avoid is bein’ bored
That’s why I’m workin’ at Unicor
Unicor blues, my Unicor blues
Only thing I’ve lost is my IQ
Start work at eight, do nothin’ ‘til two
Can’t stay in bed with Unicor blues
Tried kitchen work, the money’s for real
You’re paid two bucks, the rest you just steal
Egg for two stamps ‘aint my set of shoes
I like singin’, the Unicor blues
The library work, that is ok
Nothin’ to do, read papers all day
But I want a job that is big news
The gig like that is Unicor blues
Unicor workers, we have it made
Walk to the warehouse, always get paid
Don’t ask the question, what do we do
You’re in the band, play Unicor blues
Unicor blues, yeah Unicor blues
Union conditions without the dues
Not really a business, don’t be confused
Just doin’ time and Unicor blues
Each Day
By William James Jonas III
Each day is a mountain
Three parts compose
The summit Gods spirit
The eternal goal,
With my human body
Physical is core
I must be strenght building
For what is in store
God’s spirit with my strength
Then will manifest
Each day new creations
His love to attest
If each of theese pieces
Are within each day
What remains matters not
Paradise awaits
Sharing Time
By William James Jonas III
My Great love, I ask you not
To serve prison time with me
That service would be alone
As I am already free
Earthly confines matter naught
When our spirits are entwined
Days are filled with thoughts of you
And new insights for all time
Poems I write are not escape
It is our reality
My hand touches yours each day
As your face I always see
So while the miles between us
Still remain a wretched fact
Our soul mate life continues
Together great bliss expect
Three Monkeys
By William James Jonas III
Three young monkey on the beach
Know it’s time to have a drink
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Thirsty monkeys with big cups
For lemonade cool and pink
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Ocean swim with eight armed friend
He gets scared and makes blue ink
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Monkey wander in the woods
Skunk jumps out and quickly stinks
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Monkeys sitting back at school
Watchful teachers never blink
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Monkeys see a movie star
Her gold chain has many links
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Hungry monkeys eat good food
Nutrients A to zinc
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Helpful monkeys do cleanup
Washing dishes in the sink
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Sleepy monkeys say their prayers
Time to get their forty winks
One is happy, one is sad
One does not know what to think
Inspired by Reverend John Lewis, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
SHU (Special Housing Unit)
Life in the SHU
By William James Jonas III
Life in the SHU, Life in the SHU
Roomservice daily, orange rubber shoes
Why are you here, don’t have a clue
Breakfast in bed that’s life in the SHU
SHU life’s easy, no work to do
They pick up laundry, no walk for you
Nice plastic mugs, make your own brew
Meds are delivered, Living’ in SHU
Things can get strange, livin’ in SHU
Thre’s a transvestite, what can you do
Just act normal, aint’ about you
Who is the cellmate, one more day through
Your door is locked, most of the time
No rush to get up, everything’s fine
Get your K2, after count time
Sometimes it’s not good. Might be SHU slime
I went to SHU, Christmas last year,
Was selling pictures, Porno Reindeer
Is that a crime, not very clear
Could use a lawyer, send me one here
Life in the SHU, Life in the SHU
Just have a good time, what can they do
You are still here, too bad for you
Order some books, don’t gripe in SHU
On 3/20/2019, the National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine and the National Institute on Drug Abuse issues a report requiring prisons to offer Suboxone
(buprenorphine) funded by Medicare.
Prison Junkie Alert
By William James Jonas III
Hey there cellie, I’ve got real good news
Help’s on it’s way, for our drug abuse
Now pretty soon, things will be just fine
We’ll get Suboxone, In our pill lline
The Feds sure hate, them ole opiods
They got a plan, that’s great for us boys
The story in “USA Today” says “act now”
And “do not delay”
It’s time to rejoice, prison junkies
Make prison pushers lower their fees
Your market’s blown, Thank you Uncle Sam
Now we can get high, paid by the man
*USA Today 4/3/19 Opinion Today’s topic
Opiod Epidemie by Bill Sternberg
Dear Sparticus
By William James Jonas III
Hey Corey Bookie
We understand that
Your’re thinking about
A second Step Act
Before you rush off
get dad back on his feet
Think what he does
When he’s on the street
He’s high all the time
Like he’s in the can
But today his rent
Is paid by the man
When he’s selling drugs
Inside Prison walls
All our bills get paid
And he’s fed by y’all
You may mean well pal
You don’t have a clue
Keep dad in prison
We’ll sent cash to you
Space Available
By William James Jonas III
Quitters listen, stay on your back
When you hate school, it hates you back
But there’s a place, you will fit in
There’s lots of room, it’s called prison
You can watch sports play cards or chess
No one will care, if you’re a mess
You’ll pay for drugs, but that’s the same
Where you are now, avoiding blame, no charge for rooms, a free meal plan
Just sit around, and blame the man
Stop being sad, you’re almost there
They’ll love your dreads, or unique hair
Folk owe you stuff, well you are right
Your long term home, almost in sight
Tattoos are cheap, and no one rants
‘bout child support, or baggy pants
This is great news, you can stay high
Get your spot now, this gig’s for life
Do not worry, about release
It never works, for good junkies
Not being smart, a home run hit
the less you know, the more you fit
No Second Step Act
By William James Jonas III
First moments in prison, are just a bit surreal
Do humans live this way? Do they know how we feel?
But now a year has passed an end of time for grief
I look around, and I have found
A great sense of relief, cause this population
Is toxic with a T, and can add not a thing
To the land of the free, prisons house animals
A hateful chicken coop, few even read or write
Or function in a group, undisciplined junkies
With no redeeming skills, if we were freed
We’d surely breed, increassing social ills
Dollars housing each one, prevents even more son’s
Keeping us under key, is very wise indeed
Guards are another group that really should not breed
While guards are free to roam, their procreation stalls
As they prefer sex found, within prison walls
Reformers back to sleep, you know what you do
Don’t mess up a good thing, we’re thinkling about you
Eager Weasel
By William James Jonas III
Beware of eager weasels with desks near the boss
Gossip is their god, self promotion at all costs
Masking initiative, suggestions at a snap
Claiming to be helpful but that’s a bunch of crap
These shallow sacks of silly can’t spell the word team
Posturing as powerful, that’s their twisted dream
Eager Weasels never breed, they love themselves so
Work around I’ve found that’s best for weasels you know
Introduction to “Buck Fever”
By William James Jonas III
When President George W. Bush decided to reward West Virginia voters with a shiny new prison in Gilmer County, the federal holiday list did not include Appalachia’s observance of deer slaughter. Notwithstanding this government oversight, culture has triumphed over a federal payroll.
Buck Fever – Ode to a West Virginia Prison Guard
‘Hope you get a big deer
That is what they say
Instead of good morning
Or have a nice day
The month is November
Appalachian state
Get yourself a ten point
Or you will not rate
If you’re a prison guard
Life just aint complete
‘Less you got a freezer
That’s full a’ deer meat
All felons are sleeping
The warden’s away
It’s hunting season
Boss man’s gotta play
Pokey (to the tune “Okie from Muskogee”)
By William James Jonas III
We don’t smoke marijuana in the pokey
Meds are free for us and paid by you
Sometimes things get tense and there is a lockdown
We lay in bed smokin’ that K2
That’s the life ya lead when you’re in the pokey
No rent for our rooms and food is free
Taxman ‘aint allowed here at the pokey
I’ll watch sports you keep your liberty
Back To School
By William James Jonas III
Ray don’t like his cage
Ray stays in a rage
Ray know white folk don’t care
Ray say life ‘aint fair
Ray has got no breaks
Ray’s judge’s on the take
Ray don’t have no hope
Ray wants to smoke dope
Ray shouldn’t feel this way
He’s in First Grade
And this is his first day
La Perla
By William James Jonas III
The secret to romance, according to a certain inmate demographic, is La Perla (the pearl) sometimes called a domino or marble. While the name, size, and procedure for installation, in the penis, vary, it’s advocates swear to the satisfaction of wives and girlfriends.
Recently, the story of La Perla made its way to Hawaii and the sing-a-long bar of the legendary Don Ho commissioned new lyrics to that signature song “Tiny Bubbles.”
Tiny Pebbles
Tiny pebble
In my dick
Makes her happy
That’s the trick
Magic pebble
Makes her feel good all over
And it’s a feelin’ that she will be feelin’ from me everytime
Zoo
By William James Jonas III
Quebec flight to Miami delayed at mid-point
In fact the whole truip was a bust
As head of the family gaggle please know
A perfect venue for all was a must
The mountain retreat serene
But kids wanted something to do
No worries I said as we tucked them in bed
This place has a wonderful zoo
A zoo! That’s boring! The adolescents moaned
But little ones were satisfied
Oh give it a shot do not be a snot
Don’t complain until you have tried
Expectations in check we went to inspect
The local animal collection
And we were please to see a menagerie
About us in every direction
Big and small animals from far and near
Little ones looked on without fear
From Africa, South of the Border
Even some freaks with genetic disorders
The zoo was a calm and peaceful dear place
The animals there adored their own space
Our days were a dream we loved our quaint zoo
When departure came the kids were quite blue
We have discovered this wonderful zone
When flights are delayed this is a great home
“One thing we will miss” the younger ones said
Is the way the animals feed us bread
This report came from a family of Canadian Geese visiting Federal Correctional Institution – Gilmer, Glenville, West Virginia when there south bound travels were delayed.
Unicor is the Federal Prison Industries Program
Unicor Blues
By William James Jonas III
Unicor blues, oh Unicor blues
Wearin’ that khaki, no tennis shoes
Start work at eight, do nothin’ ’til two
Never in red with Unicor blues
Got a lot of time, no drugs to kick
Caseworker say no programs to pick
The thing to avoid, is bein’ bored
That’s why I’m workin’ at Unicor
Unicor blues, my Unicor blues
Only thing I’ve lost is my IQ
Start work at eight, do nothin’ ’til two
Can’t stay in bed with Unicor blues
Tried kitchen work, them money’s for real
You’re paid two bucks, the rest you just steal
Egg for two stamps, ‘aint my set of shoes
I like singin’, the Unicor blues
The library work, that is ok
Nothin’ to do, read papers all day
But I want a job, that is big news
The gig like that is Unicor blues
Unicor workers, we have it made
Walk to the warehouse, always get paid
Don’t ask the question, what do we do
You’re in the band play Unicor blues
Unicor blues yeah Unicor blues
Union conditions without the dues
Not really a business, don’t be confused
Just doin’ time and Unicor blues
Getting Over The Wall
By William James Jonas III
President Trump had taken a nap
It was three AM
And then his smart phone buzzed with a text
The buzz from a friend
The text from Manny the Mexican Prez
Short and in English of course
Trump said “Love that guy” kissed Melania
Walked like a cat to his porch
With a sleeping bride
Trump calls from outside
Manny’s message brought intrigue
“Trump, if you want a wall, keep your eye on the ball.
Follow my Mexican lead.
Yankees can build
But I got workers
That need jobs now and work cheep.”
Then came Manny’s chide
“Your cost of supplies
In US is way too steep.
Stop arguing with that old West Coast hag
And her two-faced snobs
Go to your office
And write me a check
I will do your job
A Mexican wall will be best of all.
We build cheap, fast, strong.
You get your dumb wall
I get Yankee cash
Let’s just get along”
“It’s a deal” Trump told the Mexican Prez
“Except paying you”
“I guessed you might blink at that” Manny winked
“Here is what to do”
“My labor, the best and ready to work
Supplies are already ordered
The check you do send we will just pretend
Buys a wall on MY southern border”
“I knew we could be pals
Let’s do lunch with the gals
No staff, let’s just have some fun
I have always said”
As Trump went to bed
“Two walls are better than one.”
West Virgnia Travel Safety
By William James Jonas III
Well thar you are Ethel
The news man was clair
The areo plane crashed
‘Cause of human air
Maybe mechanical
The air was real bad
When air crashes air planes
Thangs sure nuf are sad
So if you ride them planes
Make sure to take care
Trust nothin’ that ‘aint yours
Jus’ brang your own air
Eager Weasel
By William James Jonas III
Beware of eager weasels with desks near the boss
Gossip is their god, self promotion at all costs
Masking initiative, suggestions at a snap
Claiming to be helpful, but that’s a bunch of crap
These shallow sacks of silly can’t spell the word team
Posturing as powerful, that’s their twisted dream
Eager Weasels never breed, they love themselves so
Work around I’ve found, that’s best for weasels you know
John
By William James Jonas III
They killed my cousin today
Now with Father you see
A wilderness voice silenced
Echoes eternally
A camel haired clarion
John the Baptist his name
Angels told of his birth
My coming he proclaimed
But men with power
Kill men without
To gain girls favor
While it may seem cruel
They are just lost
Awaiting Saviour
John’s time has now passed
Mine has begun
Victory at last
With death of Son
Bethesda Pool Jn 5:1-15
By William James Jonas III
While Jerusalem feasts
A crowd at Sheep Gate
Bethesda awaiting
Pool waters rotate
Angels stirring the pool
Bring promises of healing
Thirty eight years sickness
In one man heart breaking
Our Master asks the man
“Do you want to be well”
“Is that not clear? I’m here
To the stirred pool, please help”
“Rise take your bed and walk”
His voice came to the man
Knowing not t’was Jesus
Yet up he got and ran
Later in the temple
With health he met Our Lord
“See you have been made well
Stay strong and sin no more”
The man now was in awe
To all Jews he did tell
How at pool Bethesda
Jesus had made him well
Mount Moments Mt 6
By William James Jonas III
From a mountain lectern, His wisdom came forth
Guiding our path closer to God
Crowds listen closely to His immortal words
The Way to glories beyond
Seeking earthly praise of heavenly labor
Absurd when you work for the Lord
Show boating piety with cheers from the pit
Chasing neighbors’ positive word
Cheapens Godly efforts, makes His praise unfit
Act in simple silence, as you do good things
Stop playing your trumpet, see what Father brings
Your left hand’s charity, and all acts of alms
Need be known by no one, even your left palm
The Father sees all, and from Him Blessings flow
Accolades of this world are cheap circus shows
Two masters honored, impossibility
One Master is ruler of eternity
When you approach prayer
There’s no need for flare
Find ye a closet forthwith
Ignore pagan creeds
He knows every need
Seek first the kingdom that’s His
Deviled Pigs Mt 8:28-34 Mk 5:1-20 Lk 8:26-39
By William James Jonas III
Tombs of Gergesenes
Two possessed men reside
Blocking all road travel
From Jesus cannot hide
“Why do you torment us
Before it is the time
If you must cast us out
Place us in nearby swine”
Jesus told the demons “Go”
The pigs were quickly found
Tormented beasts ran east
Dove in the sea and drown
Swine shepherds without herd
Ran into the city
Proclaiming what happened
Asking local pity
A delegation came
Speaking to our Master
Requesting we leave town
Fearing more disaster
Over Sight Jn 9
By William James Jonas III
Always blind
Born that way
Jesus sees
Men ask why
Father’s sins
Or of I
Neither one
Master says
Works of God
Manifest
Within me
Spit made clay
On my eyes
Then pool wash
Siloam
Now I see
Neighbours doubt
It is me
I was healed
By Jesus
Where is He
I know not
Pharisees
Question me
My miracle
Is a sin
No healing
On Shabbat
Work that day
Not of God
Mom and dad
Must confirm
Birth blindness
But they fear
Jewish wrath
Temple ban
Silence safe
Once again
I am asked
Who healed you
Story’s same
They got mad
Kick me out
Jesus heard
Of my plight
He found me
Then I said
I believe
Pharisee
Cannot see
Why blind men
Have no sin
What The Band Saw Mt 9:18-29 Mk 5:21-43 Lk 8:40-56
By William James Jonas III
My work is with music, and death drives our trade
When the wealthy die, there’s money to be made
Our group of flute players, are not profiteers
We play when death comes, just a part of group tears
The house of Jairus, is our gig today
The guy’s daughter died, his wife asked us to play
Jairus a synagogue source of great power
Was gone as his child, saw her final last hour
Where he was who knew, he just rushed down the street
Screaming about some guy, named Jesus to meet
So now we are playing as mourners lament
And we have no clue, where sad father went
Distraught daddy returns, there are five of them
The group is Jesus, John, Peter, James, and him
“Your daughter is dead; do not waste Teacher’s time.”
But Jesus took control, the crowd sent outside
From a quiet corner, we saw what he said
“Parents, Peace Be With You, your daughter’s not dead.”
With words “Talith cumi” He told the young thing
And then she got up as if it was morning
“This child is hungry, give her something to eat.”
He swore all to silence, and walked down the street.
Almost Stoned Jn 10:22-42
By William James Jonas III
Dedication feast
Always draws a crowd
To Solomon’s porch
The temple gets loud
“Hey Jesus! Talk straight!
End all of this doubt
Are you the true Christ?
Say it, in or out?”
“What more can be said
When you don’t believe?
Work’s in Father’s name
You just do not see.
My sheep know my voice
While goats move along
My sheep know that I
And Father are one.”
“Now you have done it!”
The mob sent its cry
“Your good works are fine,
But blasphemers die.”
“Check with your lawyers
Before stoning spree.
Father’s work I do.
See that and believe.”
While crowds befuddled
By Son of Man
Jesus departed from
Their wicked hands
Gold Fish Coins Mt 17:24-27
By William James Jonas III
One day it was
Jesus and me
Capernaum gate
Just arriving
Then the temple
Collector came
Asking for taxes
In the Lord’s name
Does your Teacher
Pay temple fees?
Of course he does
I said with ease
He expected to get the call
To pay this man acting for God
Then we discussed how earthly kings
Never collect from their siblings
“Nevertheless, we will pay them”
Avoiding a situation
“Go find a hook, cast in the sea
Returning fish, will have money.”
Corn Pickers Mt 12:1-8 Mk 2:23-28 Lk 6:1-5
By William James Jonas III
It may be Shabbat
But travel we will
Earthly days numbered
So much to fulfill
As I instructed
We carry no kit
Disciples hungry
Corn satisfies it
Until some big wig
At the synagogue
Starts quoting torah
And Shabbat laws
Since they are readers
They need to recall
David’s shewbread meal
With no priests at all
Yes it is Sabbath
But do not complain
Even on this day
Son of Man does reign
Sea Stroll Mt 14-25-33 Mk 6:47-52 Jn 6:15-21
By William James Jonas III
The travels with Him
Have reached a new place
Electrified folk
Want kings of their race
So he’s mountain top
And we are at sea
Strong winds are blowing
Save us is our plea
It is the fourth watch
Strong winds boat filling
Jesus approaches
Walking not swimming
We think we have died
He says “It is I”
And as he steps in
Our destination
Stone Choice Jn 8:1-12
By William James Jonas III
Mount of Olives refuge, to temple morning walk
People hungry for the Word, listen to me talk
Pencil pushers interrupt, dragging in a girl
Screaming words adultery, stones Moses says hurl
“But Rabbi, what say you” asked by the scheming scribes
Meriting not a response, on the ground I write
Pharisaic scribes move slow, often repeat questions
They’re still here, I looked up, offered this suggestion
Yonder is a rock pile, and you have your target
Find sinless rock tossers, get the stoning started
Writing in the dirt undone, so back to my task
Mean men are full of sin, where they went, I didn’t ask
Girl remained, still ashamed, “Where are your accusers?”
They are gone, you go on, to a sinless future
The world of Light
I bring to you
To end darkness and strife
So follow me
As is to be
And have the Light of Life
Hypocrisy’s No Secret Lk 12:1-3
By William James Jonas III
The Pharisee
The Pharisee
Always Bringing
Hypocrisy
That’s their leaven
Jesus warns
When they comment
One sees their horns
Overshadow
Is a failure
All that’s covered
Is discovered
Whispers in ears
Now housetop cheers
Dark won’t abide
Light from His side
A Keeper Mt 19:16-22 Mk 10:17-22 Lk 18:18-23
By William James Jonas III
All my rich friends relaxed, but I never slept
They bragged what they had, while all knew what I KEPT
Moses ten laws I KEPT all of my life
No coveting neighbors riches or wife
So I asked good Jesus my question great
What rule KEPT would assure heavenly fate
Instead or responding as ‘thought He should
He started asking why I called Him good
We agreed God is the only source of goodness that is pure
But my question remained for a path to heaven that is sure
Since commandments I KEPT every one every day
Jesus said it was treasure I must give away
My wealth to the poor and then follow Him
Was His response for a life without end
Now I was quite sad, had some wine and then wept
He did not understand all that I had KEPT
Betrayal Jn 13:18-30 Mt 16:14-25 Mk 14:10-21 Lk 22:21-23
By William James Jonas III
Twelve disciples loyal, we were to one another
He was our Lord Teacher, and so we all were brothers
Knowledge flowed from Him, we saw beyond today
Beside Messiah, for vanquished Rome we prayed
Now it’s uncertain, He talks of sacrifice
His death the price for, blissful eternal life
Some moments hopeful, an entry for a king
Now it’s betrayal, within our sacred ring
That yesterday so far away
One of us a traitor surreal
Yet He assured apostate near
The Jesus to us would reveal
From our steadfast band
Would come black seeds of hate
Enabling Master’s death
Bright coins for His fate
As He reached the bread, that he would hand to me
I could not believe my role that was to be
As the morsel touched the hand, touching silver soon
Satan grabbed all my being, as I left the room
“What you do, do quickly,” were His words to me
My guileless brothers thought, I left for shopping
But feasts were not a thought
As I met chief priests
On this day
I’d betray
Holy Prince of Peace
I Hate Myself Mt 4:19, 14:25-31, 16:16-17, 26:69-75 Mk 8:31-33, 14:66-72 Lk 22:54-62
By William James Jonas III
He promised I would learn life as a fisher of men.
I was no longer a fisherman.
My learning, a collection of failures.
Yet, I know He is the Christ; He smiled when I said that.
A singular time.
I thought we should fight hateful ones.
He called me Satan.
At sea, I sought to walk with Him.
Almost drowned in lack of faith.
I remained at His side, desperate to comprehend
His next blow confirmed my lowliness
He told me
Before morning light, I would thrice deny my Master and Messiah
Devastated unbelieving of my future fecklessness
Disoriented but not unarmed, I attacked when goons of nasty high priests came for Him.
My attack condemned with a rebuke that I doubted angelic battalions on call
He is now gone
I am a scared fisherman
Survival seems all that is real
They will kill me as soon as they prove I am connected to Him
A damsel, a maid, and then a group asks,
If I know Jesus
In fear and distress, I proclaimed, each time, that obviously I did not
His gaze found me as the cock crew
The hideous forecast fulfilled
I am now in a courtyard corner alone
Having learned that I hate myself
Soul Food Mt 14:14-23 Mk 6:34-46 Lk 9:10-17 Jn 6:1-15
By William James Jonas III
It seems to happen where ever we go
The crowds come for Jesus they all want to know
Without preparation they rush to see Him
No room or board plans yet much more than a whim
Yet people get hungry and there’s food in town
“Master, send them away to eat and lie down”
As He commanded, we carry no larder
Still feeding the mob is what He has ordered
Five loaves and two fishes is all we have found
The multitude is told to sit on the ground
And after He blesses the fishes and bread
We pass food about and all people get fed
Five thousand men and beyond were filled that day
Then our Teacher went up to a mountain to pray
Transfiguration Lk 9:28-35 Mt 17:1-13 Mk 9:1-13
By William James Jonas III
The Master called three of us John, James, and me
A mountain before us to climb, pray, and see
Exhausted but with Him, the summit our goal
A spiritual retreat, as He fed our soul
His prayer brought bright light to His face and His hands
His garments were glistering white as the sands
My body is weak so sleep came as I feared
Not so when Moses and Elijah appeared
We but observers to their sacred exchange
Death venue Jerusalem as they explained
I then spoke out to suggest what should be done
Three tabernacles we build for these great ones
A cloud covered us with God’s voice deep within
“Jesus is my beloved Son; now hear Him”
Taxman Zach Lk 19:1-9
By William James Jonas III
Rome’s good for business, least it’s good for me
Caesar gets his piece, and I take a fee
Most folks thing I’m a no good so and so
That’s life as chief tax man in Jericho
Being the “big cheese” does not make me tall
Not quite a midget, I’m just rather small
Crowds circled Jesus, I climbed up a tree
See Him I must, but I’m just four foot three
The amazing Master walked as He taught
Came under my tree, and then He looked up
He called out my name, I came to His side
“Make haste for at thy house I must abide.”
The hate-laced crowd was completely aghast
“Jesus should not spend his time with such trash.”
His tender mercy enveloped my heart
A changed life for me, I knew where to start
Half of my wealth for the poor it is needed
Four fold repayment for those I’ve cheated
He spoke of salvation, I said Amen
As He called me a son of Abraham
Advent
By William James Jonas III
A holiday created of pagan sequence
Covered with colored lights of no consequence
Piercing this absurd costume of man
Eternal Light proclaiming His plan
Of life and joy and eternal bliss
God as a child, betrayed with a kiss
A salvation path brings peace on earth
We honor the gift of Jesus’ Birth
Merry Christmas
By William James Jonas III
As you gather for this time
To worship and adore
God’s gift of life sublime
And bliss for evermore
My gift to you
Are thoughts of love
A brighter view
Brought from above
When bells will sing
Of freedom’s ring
Heavenly News
By William James Jonas III
Heaven announced, God’s boy birth
Creator on earth for man,
To see and hear,
The hate and fear,
Part of the sacred plan,
Men of stars took note,
Of the declaration,
Did exit castles
Seeking true salvation
So began a path
With rare trinkets of wealth
Hoping to behold
The gift of God Himself
First To Know
By William James Jonas III
On a lonely cold night
‘Flock was mountainside
Away from the wild beasts
As best we could hide
When black darkness destroyed by clarion call
To proclaim peace on earth and good will for all
Our eyes transfixed angel messenger
God was now on this earth in a crib manger
Joe’s Donkey
By William James Jonas III
He owns three of us, somehow he picked me
We walk a few miles, then she has to pee
Joe is my master, he builds things with wood
Mary’s the rider, life’s essence of good
Rome has decreed, so travel we must
Back to Joe’s hometown, Bethlehem or bust
A trip to pay tax just seems very odd
For our sacred road’s a pathway to God
Is it a mission of great consequence?
I’m just a donkey, no omnipotence
I walk with great care, my precious Mary
Carries a baby, we can’t wait to see
As the time is near, the birth will take place
I know this child brings His amazing grace
No Vacancy
By William James Jonas III
This inn’s been mine for a dozen years or more
Empty rooms are always right there on my mind
I’m often repairing the roof or the floor
My bill payments are short and never on time
But serving the traveler is more than a whim
Shelter’s a promise at the Bethlehem Inn
So crowds of the season may be good for debts
But I seek to help all the ones life forgets
The empty room curse that I do truly dread
Is when I cannot give a lost soul a bed
So it broke my heart one “No Vacancy” night
A couple appeared a most pitiful sight
Young and expecting with no friends in this town
Just here for the census, no place to lay down
I checked three full times, there’s no room in the lodge
Meager was the offer, they took the garage
A few hours later, I checked on the two
And to my surprise, they knew how to make do
The nursery was arranged the best it could be
As they prepared for their blessed boy baby
A heavenly presence was guiding their moves
Stepping away humbled, no more I could do
The trio remained, with us for awhile
The boy was happy, he made us all smile
What the government calls, they can send away
The three disappeared where to I cannot say
I prayed they’d return, saved a room just in case
We were blessed just once more to see that child’s face
And my heart assures this I know my dear friend
Get ready, that boy is coming back again
I’m Glad You Were Born
By William James Jonas III
Books claim your summer birth, yet your season is this one each year
‘Not sure that day’s import, my greatest care is you came right here
Dates and places precise, will meet a prophecy
But getting these things right, did not save my lost life
Pay debts to make me free
Governments picked a winter date
For work to end, and kith and kin
To congregate and celebrate
How your blessed birth, brought peace to earth
While some men may not see
This gift of life
And end to strife
My thought supreme
This time of year
Simple and well worn
I pray this day
My God and King
Thank you for being born
Missing Boy
By William James Jonas III
He is not my son, but I do my best
In my care He is, for that I am blessed
And now He’s missing, this Passover trip
A twelve-year-old prank? I’m losing my grip
This curious boy should not disappear
His mother’s a wreck with dark raging fear
While not a rebel, the norm for his age
Lone children get hurt, no way to assuage
He’s not with uncles, or nephews or aunts
In Jerusalem, finding Him’s slim chance
Then we see our boy, in temple no less
A student a teacher, relaxed with his class
The kid’s not unkind, but he seems non-plussed
That we did not know, Father’s work comes first
He Came To My Show
By William James Jonas III
The road is my home, that and my stage
The crowd matters not, souls must be saved
My role is to warn, and heed the call
He will be here soon, to claim us all
Then as I began, matinee show
He found me backstage, blessed face a glow
Why did you show-up? My cousin friend
I merely forecast, world without end
He had other plans, things to fulfill
Then I baptized Him, that was God’s will
He is my Saviour, His will be done
When He came on stage, God blessed His Son
The Duel
By William James Jonas III
A man, He was more
But human the same
Opponent he faced
Stole souls as a game
Without any food
Forty days had passed
And yet one with God
Much more than a fast
Dark forces can tempt
Stones to become bread
That shot was not close
As souls will be fed
The next bullet came
Was cloaked as a dare
Jump off of this cliff
To prove that God cares
Reckless gunfighters
See not He is one
Testing Dad is not
The role of the Son
With one shot to spare
He prepared to win
Promising the world
By bowing to him
Another stray shot
The duel was complete
With Christ’s victory
Satan hit the street
Net Dropping
By William James Jonas III
The fishing was bad, no worse could it get
’til came the advice, on where to drop net
Advice from the shore, is never worth spit
If they were so smart, they’d have their own net
These words were unique, that came from a source
Speaking with power, t’was Jesus of course
So I moved the nets, as he instructed
The day all but lost, more than disgusted
And when the nets filled, beyond wildest dreams
A perfect days work, or that’s how it seemed
It was from His words, the catch came we agree
So we did not pause, when He said “follow me”
Thirst – John 4
By William James Jonas III
Galilee trip, is not far
Samaria to Sychar
Where Jacob built a deep well
Six hours then, rest a spell
We looked for food, at the well he remained
She drew water, without a husband’s name
His drink request, to her seemed out of place
Jews do not speak, to Samarian race
“Woman listen, as I intend
For you to never thirst again”
He then revealed God’s whole plan
Spirit and Truth for all man
Big Shots – Matthew 12:38-41
By William James Jonas III
The masters of words and law
Possessed self image quite fine
And unsure of Jesus’ rank
They asked him to give a sign
You dirty old men
Pretending no sin
Nineveh, that was your sign
Jonah, a fish
Three days dismissed
You are beyond warning time
I will repeat, simple and clear
If you were truly wise
You would open your eyes
Greater than Jonah is here
Why Stories? Matthew 13:10-16
By William James Jonas III
Teacher, Rabbi, Saviour, Friend
To us great things impart
Yet as we walk town to town
It’s tales day in and out
You have come to claim a throne
And share wisdom profound
Yet simple lesson sessions
Appear to be dumbed down
“They must have stories” He warned
All are not as you
The great heaven mysteries
Are for you blessed few
They have ears that do not hear
And eyes that lack real sight
The parable will fulfill
Their comprehension plight
Stories are the Father’s path
That I share with them
So transcending sight and sound
To forgive their sins
Servant’s Entrance Luke 19:28-40
By William James Jonas III
Jerusalem bound stopping at Bethphage
Mount of Olives prepare for next stage
A colt is waiting not far from here
We take for the Lord for the time is near
The pony retires it’s rider less life
Transporting a king that ends worldly strife
Our Master riding the crowds singing praise
The Pharisees panic when voices are raised
“Teacher rebuke them; do not let them shout”
“If I silence them, the stones would cry out.”
Tidy Temple Matthew 21:12-16 / Mark 11:15-18
By William James Jonas III
Father’s House has been messed up
By creepy punks and thieves
Ripping off the faithful
Ignored by Pharisees
Tables, they have got to go
Dove merchants a disgrace
I am not mad just certain
This trash must leave this place
My mission here is teaching
And that’s what I will do
As for chief priests they’re the least
The message is for you
Eternal Meal
By William James Jonas III
As in years before, we twelve were with Him
Celebrating freedom from Pharaoh’s whim
Recalling the time, the hour at hand
To end slavery, here we were again
Blessing the unleavened loaves He then said
“This is my body, in the form of bread”
And then as he took God’s fruit of the vine
Sharing His blood in the cup of red wine
This Pesach meal was forever transformed
Remembrance of Him, Supper of our Lord
As our work today looks toward the time
In Father’s kingdom there’s eternal wine
Gethsemane
By William James Jonas III
I asked them to come with me here to pray
Connection at night prepare for next day
My hour is close and as man I’m alone
Prayers with my friends will ease the pain to come
Blood flows from my pores my heart is cut deep
Yet my trusted men have fallen asleep
Again I call them and say stay with me
Be my prayer companions at Gethsemane
The body is weak at least in their case
My task still remains save the human race
Dozed off once again, I speak to Father
But now they awake, guards in the garden
ETA Unknown Matthew 23:36-44
By William James Jonas III
You will never know for sure, the hour of judgment day
Fools of Noah’s time confirmed, how quickly wrath held sway
Fat and happy perverts, celebrate with no pain
Dieting tomorrow, then it started to rain
There will be no difference, with hour that’s not known
Two men working the field, then one is alone
Grinding mill with women, working all in pairs
Unknown hour cometh, one will not be there
As the master of his house, in fact would have stayed home
To guard his hearth from the thief, had attack time been known
Watch therefore we do not know Son of Man’s return hour
Claiming faithful cleansed by His Majesty and Power
Thank God You Weren’t There
By William James Jonas III
You are still my King, Though missing today
‘Got up this morning, To grieve and to pray
Your death expected, The prophecy clear
Your death for our life, The hour came near
And then you were dead, I wished you weren’t right
Redemption’s remote, With your corpse in sight
A few of us ran, Coward’s not a curse
We all are the weak, For better no worse
My feet were frozen, Along with my heart
I went to the tomb, For healing to start
Each visit the same, Dead flesh needed care
Until this third day, Thank God you weren’t there!
Emmaus Walk
By William James Jonas III
You don’t understand, we told the strange man
He is Messiah, fulfilling God’s plan
Why is he still gone? some don’t comprehend
But he will be back to rule without end
Your questions are odd, manner familiar
Stay with us tonight, and share our dinner
The came the moment when bread was broken
He looked straight at us, we knew it was Him
Christ Jesus returned, bringing salvation
A gift we can’t earn, a new creation
Sheep Feeding Time
By William James Jonas III
When you died that day, our loss extreme
So craven and weak, with broken dreams
Your promised return, fishing today
Bountiful catch, we dine and pray
Now you’re asking me, cowardly Pete
Validate my love, and go feed sheep
How when where and why, a fool might ask
Yet I love you, Lord, now to the task
You soon will depart, and work will I
By feeding you sheep, until I die
Now It’s Our Job
By William James Jonas III
Eleven shell shocked soldiers, no one in the lead
Master triumphed over death, perhaps so could we
The next step unsure, it’s Rome we feared
And then as promised, our Lord appeared
Was it really Him? Who else could it be?
So He let us touch, holes in his body
The cocoon of love, now became a shell
To protect our work, His Good News to tell
Where to go unsure, what means far and near?
But proclaim we will, Christ’s truth is our spear
You Taught Me Thanksgiving
By William James Jonas III
A day
Was all
It was
To you
To eat
Miss work
Not much
To do
And then
At once
A world
Began
Of thanks
And love
And pies
Pecan
Ten years
Of bliss
You gave
To me
And shared
What thanks
Was meant
To be
Washington and Lee (Fall 1980)
By William James Jonas III
Washington and Lee University, Lexington, Virginia
Drove her to the airport
She’s back on the plane
I’m in Virginia
Walking in the rain
The weekend was magic
These are college years
But scholarship calls me
To books through the tears
Heart heavy as I walk
Freshman love-sick blues
On the library route
Past the chapel pews
As the wind hits my face
Stepping with great care
Fallen leaves on wet path
Some float in the air
A bold transformation
Of summer’s bright green
Into stunning red gold
Hues I’d never seen
There I manage the loss
My first lover friend
With colors of autumn
Shenandoah blend.
Sir Jack – The Homeless Mandarin Duck – Central Park NY
By William James Jonas III
The name is Sir Jack, a Mandarin Duck
A park’s now my home, and plum out of luck
Audubon Boston, has taken my case
There are perks when you are an endangered race
Was born in China, a nasty old hole
A trip to New York, missed date with rice bowl
Traveling solo, best way of goin’
Group travel with ducks, is worse than poison
New home’s a penthouse, viewingCentral Park
Owned by two humans, Phoebe and Big Marc
Big Marc loved the birds, Phoebe loved Big Marc
Until I got dumped, into Central Park
While still loving birds, Marc made a new friend
Big Marc left Phoebe, my gig had to end
When I came to New York
Danger I did not see
That I would get fired
By someone named Phoebe
A return trip to China would make me cry
Once home’s Central Park South, to leave is to die
The park is getting cold
Big Marc’s in the Keys
Gracey Mansion’s too old
No pond, just some trees
But I’m in a bind, and don’t have great need
A walk-up will do, with a bath tub please.
Shabbat
By William James Jonas III
Shabbat, Shalom
No one,
At Home.
Don’t work, don’t play
Read books,
And pray.
Some claim,
Rest day
From what you say
No work
6 days
Sleepless, always
Connect
To God
Or try
At least
For the free feast
Come back
Shabbat
You’re all
I’ve got.
Reality Check
By William James Jonas III
They kicked in your door,
And then read you some rights,
Why would you believe,
A goon with a flashlight,
With his machine gun,
Bad breath and dumb look,
Destroy and arrest,
Are the steps in their book.
A lawyer for free,
That is worth what you paid,
He works for the thugs,
It is all a charade,
You are played the fool,
And presented a deal,
Like a starving dog,
You take the poison meal,
Are you just a child?
Or a street idiot?
The deal just helped them,
You did more than forget
Grow up, stop playing,
Black face minstrel show
Your only power
Is when you tell them ‘No’
They told you to plea
It could be worse than you think
But most daddy’s girls
Live at home and wear pink.
Ranch Verse
By William James Jonas III
Since the days of the Republic*, Jonas’ family
Has been ranching in the Texas Hill Country
(West Centra Texas). From his grandad,
Parents, and uncles he learned how to
Raise sheep, goats and cows with a good
Horse and a good dog. Wishing for rain,
With fences that washed away in most any
Storm, fighting a losing battle with the
Coyote, and watching the grasses in
Each pasture for when to move stock,
Were part of being a rancher on the
Home Place or East Place. In the Hill
Country, ranching is what you did; that
Land is called a place (i.e. not a ranch).
Jonas went on to apply rancher resilience
In his life beyond the pasture. Currently
Living in the Appalachian Mountains of Gilmer
County West Virginia, Jonas plans to
Return to Kimble County, Texas to wish
For rain, repair fences, and try to
Get caught up with what needs to be
Done on the place.
*The Republic of Texas joined the United States February 1846
Pokey
By William James Jonas III
We don’t smoke marijuana in the pokey
Meds are free for us and paid by you
Sometimes things get tense and there is a lockdown
We lay in bed smokin’ that K2
That’s the life ya lead when
You’re in the pokey
No rent for our rooms and food is free
Tax man ain’t allowed here at the pokey
I’ll watch sports, you keep your liberty.
My Mom
By William James Jonas III
Our world was big when I was small
And you were with me through it all
Moving was part of Dad’s assignment
Change is life with boss man government
You gave so much I did not understand
With precious lessons on my path to
We were friends, you and me, when I was with none?
I have no greater gift than being your son.
Heartbreaks I bring you, yes, even today
The tears you have shed, I cannot repay
You have never denied me and often paid a great price
And forgave me each time I ignored your loving advice
Bright days are ahead, I know this is true
A future that is all because of you.
My Dad
By William James Jonas III
Larger than life is a cliché
Always for me, that’s you each day
Others were coach, you’re my biggest fan
Loving support, the model man
Loss of control you did not teach
I picked that up beyond your reach
But you were there, stood in the breach
Helped me heal up, and never preached
Endured the drama that has been my path
A safe place to cry, the best place to laugh
Tested, pestered, disappointed, let down
Without showing anger you still stuck around
To listen, be helpful and provide a plan
While showing the meaning of father and man
One thing is quite certain, I don’t meet your best
You gave me the goodness and forgave the rest.
Mule Wanted
By William James Jonas III
For thirty years,
I could be found,
Astride my gelding,
Riding around,
No shirt, leather chaps,
Burned skin, sweat, and dirt,
Chasin’ strays, fixin’ fences,
I never got hurt,
Then college, law school,
Army and career,
Took the reins from the ranch,
For the next thirty years,
And straight to the pain,
That comes with success,
No more chasin’ strays,
My life was a mess,
Of politics pomp,
And, of course, private planes,
But hands become cold,
When you’re without reins,
Rejecting that show,
Began a new quest,
Do you want my place?
Please do be my guest,
So, back to the ranch
Ain’t nothing to catch,
No need to ride horses,
My age will not match,
The years will be happy
There’re/There are things to up keep
Water troughs, water gaps,
For cows, goats and sheep
Still, I will ride
You can always do more
When your two legs,
Are riding on four,
For me no more horses,
It’s my old man’s rule
‘Cause back on the ranch,
I am riding a mule.
Missing Christmas
By William James Jonas III
I’m not going to see you for Christmas this year
Not news to you I’d say
The papers report all of my complications
And why I am away
At this time of peace on earth, my war rages on
To seize the victory or be a prisoned pawn
Either way it is the same, Dad is not around
You are used to it by now, how I let you down
No more glum, I love you so
And be of blessed cheer
I will find you in my dreams
Of freedom for next year.
Halloween
By William James Jonas III
Halloween was last week
Still thinking of you
Trick o’ treat ninjastyle
Your face not in view
But signature green eyes
Through slits in a mask
Assure me it was you
My first, best, and last
A decade has gone by
Costumes and you change
Halloween fun with you
In my heart remains.
In 1930, Fabulous Is Not Late
By William James Jonas III
Fabulous is not late
You’ve been told before
If you check that damn watch
I will hit the door
Looking so amazing
I do for just you
Just one way to reflect
That your love is true
Yes, I am right here
Don’t act so surprised
Who cares if I’m late?
I always arrive
The party’s a gas
Our usual crowd
As long as it’s jazz
It can’t be too loud
Since this is your party
The fun can begin
If you want to just talk
Bring me some good gin.
Eye was gonna lose
By William James Jonas III
Eye was gonna lose
That’s the story told
The victim a rapper
Eighteen years old.
Actors from Brooklyn
Fake making a point
About a rigged system
Youths in the joint.
Cry baby players
Ignore when men choose
To give in and say
Eye was gonna lose.
What made you so smart?
What advice you took?
How dumb can you be
To sing from their book.
How is it their fault
As you cry the blues
When you stop trying
You will always lose.
Calling in Sick – Buck Fever
By William James Jonas III
Ode to a West Virginia Prison Guard
Hope you get a big deer
That is what they say
Instead of good morning
Or have a nice day
The month is November
Appalachian state
Get yourself a ten point
Or you will not rate
If you’re a prison guard
Life just ain’t complete
‘Less you got a freezer
That’s full of deer meat
All felons are sleeping
The Warden’s away
It is hunting season
Boss man’s gotta play.
Birthday
By William James Jonas III
Sorry I missed your birthday
My best excuse so far
Not quite dead
In the Fed
No idea where you are
Only have your phone number
No way that I’ll call
‘Cause you’ll pick up
And with my luck
Another bill I won’t pay, that’s all
Still, this is your Happy Birthday
You can save it for next year
By that time
Things will be fine
Celebrating for you up here.
Back ridin’ soon
By William James Jonas III
Knocked off again
That’s no surprise
I play to win
That means survive
Arenas I pick
The bull a guess
It takes just one
For great success
In my years ridin’ hard
Not much happens quick
Falling’s part of the climb
And then that big pick
Will give the ride
That will change your career
You’re now the best
The one that the bulls fear
I’ll get there some day
That time will come
The right rodeo
On the right one
Takes me from good
To great in one ride
Fame will find me
Time is on my side
But first I must learn how to walk again
Last night’s ride was tough, I need time to mend
Make no mistake, you will see me in lights
Thanks for stopping by, tell my nurse goodnight.
Advent
By William James Jonas III
A holiday created of pagan sequence
Covered with colored lights of no consequence
Piercing this absurd costume of man
Eternal light proclaiming His plan
Of Life and Joy and eternal bliss
God as a child betrayed with a kiss
A salvation path brings peace on earth
We honor the gift of Jesus’ birth.
13,000 Bucks
By William James Jonas III
Hunting season’s first day, West Virginia’s rep
Thirteen thousand bucks killed, Mountaineer’s beloved
Just imagine pre-dawn
At each male deer house
An early corn breakfast
With children and spouse
Then daylight came calling
Dad kissed mother and daughter
Walked out in the open
And then promptly got slaughtered
On that Appalachian day
It was not a crime
‘though it happened so they say
Thirteen thousand times
Others may not like my bleeding-heart tale
Describing buck deer like a human male
Is it easier
To just blindly accept
Statistics that make
One day’s hunting correct
How in this small state, on one single day
So many horned deer, were ready to slay
That is why I suggest
As a very wise geezer
Many a first day buck
Greeted morn from the freezer.
Pushing II
By William James Jonas III
Pushing Through
Pushing To
Pushing Threw
Through with all the waste
Fear is just a taste
Jackals run the show
Blind men do not know
We are through
Going to
Passage threw
Dragon Zoo
Garbage cannot hide
Highway suicide
It may be home to you
But that’s not pushing thro
Screaming
By William James Jonas III
Why are you screaming
There’s nothing to do
Why are you screaming
No one’s hearing you
Until you stop screaming
Nobody will care
Cause anyone screaming
We know isn’t there
1 Comment
Tenzin
March 8, 2022 at 4:38 amHello William
Enjoyed your verse. Your iambic pentameter is a little off, but your choice of word erases that faux pas? Did you study poetry before jail, or was it something you began there?
I googled you. As we tend to do out here. I was a little afraid you might be the donor of genetic material that sired the modern abomination to music known as ‘The Jonas Brothers”. Boy, was I relieved when you turned out to be a white collar criminal!
Sarcasm aside. It’s great work. Really enjoyed it. Going by the structure of your prose, and your reluctance to flesh something out, choosing to make it condensed and meaningful, I wonder if you have thought about attempting some ‘haikus’? I think this might be a great vessel for your work.
All the best.
T