Tuesday, 16 July 2013


The murder of Trayvon Martin and the acquittal of George Zimmerman should serve as a slap in the face to all people of conscience. Racism is a cancer in America.

by Rick Lime

Who’ll we kill next
To show you uppity folks we're still the boss
I see your black president and raise you one, piss in his pants, Glock wielding, son of the south
Don’t you stand on my ground
Wad up your worthless VRA and shove it
This is my country
I make the rules
And I’m tired
Tired of your rap, your hoodies, and your god damned affirmative action
I’m tired of your poverty
And I’m tired
Of you
Blaming me
You want what I got?
Well, you can’t have it.
Serve me my burger
And yes Trayvon, I do want fries with that
Clean my room, rake my lawn
And then, go away
Go home to your rats in the Corn Flakes tenement
With your dead president hanging on the wall
Go home to your ‘pappa’s in jail’ apartment
Go home and keep out of my sight
Listen up and listen good
In my country
Might does make right
And it’s not my fault
That you're not white

Sunday, 14 July 2013

Chaste Chicks

The grand kids wanted to hear a story, so I told them this one ...

Chaste Chicks
by Rick Lime

Gather round if you’ve nothing to do
I’ve a story that’s stranger than true
It’s a shaggy dog tale
Guaranteed not to fail
With a moral on which you can chew

Years ago we were driving around
From the rear I could hear an odd sound
So, I slowed down a crack
And I looked out the back
What comes next will amaze and astound

In the rear-view I stared in the face
Of a chicken who quickened her pace
When she opened her stride
And came up along side
I could tell that she wanted a race

Then she pulled out in front. What a bird!
Still, I know what you think “How absurd!”
You may scoff if you must
But we’ere left in the dust
And I floored it, I give you my word.

Up ahead, we could see where she turned
And some answers I thought we had earned
So I stopped and appealed 
To a man in his field
As I spoke to him, here’s what we learned

The farm was called “Betty & Greg’s”
They raised chickens from GMO eggs
When I blurted, aghast,
“They’re incredibly fast”
He responded “They all have three legs!”

“That explains it”, I heard myself say
I was still somewhat puzzled, but hey,
After what he just said
I would ask him instead
Why they chose to raise chickens that way

“There’s the boy and his mother” says he
“Right away, if you count it, we’re three”
He went on with a snort
“That’s a chicken leg short
‘Cuz we all want a drumstick, you see?”

What I asked then was “How did they taste
On a dinner plate, gravied and graced”
He replied, “I regret,
We’ve not caught any yet
Though there’s many a chick whose been chased.”

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

The Sad and Scary Death of Trayvon Martin

With all my heart I hope I'm wrong about the outcome of the George Zimmerman trial. But, even if I am, Florida's Stand Your Ground and Concealed Carry laws constitute a recipe for disaster.

The Sad and Scary Death of Trayvon Martin
by Rick Lime

In the past in the south you’d be lynched
By the cops or the Klan if you ‘ere pinched
In the sun shiny state
From the fears and the hate
It appears that they’ve not even inched

Trayvon Martin was killed for the crime
“Bein’ black in the wrong place and time”
In the rain in the dark
In a closed gated park
The young boy was shot down in his prime

Of the white man who shot the boy dead
And his family, a lot has been said
They’ve a good catholic home
On their lawn is a gnome
But for black folk there’s fear and there’s dread

When the man and the boy met that night
Some believe they got into a fight
Others say Tray was shot
When he ran and was caught
But the diff’rence it makes will be slight

‘Cuz, the sad fact we don’t want to see
Is the statute, the law, the decree
“Stand Your Ground” when afraid
Could’ve been tailor made
And the jury will have to agree

So, we’d best hold this simple truth dear
In our ignorance, crippling and sheer
That the guns that we own
Leave us scared and alone
And we can’t kill our way out of fear