REOPEN KENNEDY CASE

What scans the framers in pitted lens so darkly caverned met

e'er looms a Camelot entombed in sotted stains of silken sweat;

patrons feted to theatricals where no tickets found could bus

nor carry a load so tranquil lost and spewed on all of us.

Decorators of interiors lack judgment nearing perfect math

as triggernometers shoot down all pixelations in their path;

no physics barred, no thought upturned, found to stop the lies

followed down rabbit warrens so convoluted beyond their wise.

Sixth floor turret gleams in Dealey Sun, hawkers share the loot

and you see 'em doling "truth" but evidentiary in cahoots

with barken bums and specters cast dark shadows on the knoll

and mimic prize in other quarters, distract to keep control.

Beware the errant wand'rer found in questions for hard knocks;

raincoat-wearing libertines beckon unwary astray in coaly locks

actual-fantasy notwithstanding some loom to loon the course,

distracting casual interest with page after page of shithorse.

Blessings, like petals remain to fall on race's gallant victor,

the one who should mangle the tide and clasp the truer picture;

should such remain - even single frame - one glimpse would seal the fates

and love's labors lost in sixty-three might steal the champion's place.

Lies do nothing but lie around, tripping unwary questor still -

fifty years on, we find others piling e'en more lies atop the hill;

yon glassy knoll grows high and steep to smell of fresh manure,

renewed so constant by more lies than truth bearers can endure.

Atop that summit, looking down, the wider lens paints another truth

to find the shadowy figure standing in frame, accused by his youth;

written off too quickly, rushed to grave, as gravely we move for'd

and try to take the higher ground, attempt to ignore each base word.

Travails pester, sores may fester, but truth stands undamaged strong -

climbing the knoll we are assured that it resides against all wrong;

plotters plot can be forgot, knew them by traces' lingering stench,

proclamations from them will be renounced by some much higher bench.

The shadow men, those shallow sins who perforce deface all mankind,

can hardly stand gainst truth, profound disgrace one might find;

flag planted in darkened night upon that knoll will stand in dawn

as a beacon for truth-seeking souls, ignoring detractors' spawn.

How long the journey, how faint the cries of wisdom in sea of swine

where ignoring Amos, as is their wont, wins kudos instead of spine;

tuck tail and run is their greatest strength, spreading nails behind

to trip up any who try to follow, or those who've lost their mind.

Let's put to rest the sallow trade, where truth is not ever found,

let's roust the toads from upturned stones, gather them around

and laugh hearty jest but nothing more, not even some stern rebuke:

time's too short to waste on cleaning up all the slimy stuff they puke.

Bravo, Terry! 

More excellence from the maestro.

You should consider publishing a small compendium of your JFK assassination poetry, Terry. 

Well done Terry and what Stan said!

Thanks, everyone.

Stan, that is an excellent suggestion. In fact, the volume Conspiracy Threads is scheduled to come out later this month.

The truth shall duly prevail Terry.

Well put to those who loathe it.

Stan Dane at April 16, 2016 at 2:41 PM

More excellence from the maestro.

You should consider publishing a small compendium of your JFK assassination poetry, Terry. 

Coudn't agree more, Stan. Some outstanding material - not least this latest offering. A cross between Shakespeare and Ochs!

Excellent, Terry.

Fortunate to have such an eloquent voice on the right side of things.

Terry, words don't fail you that is for sure, bro. I second, third, fourth and fifth, Stan's suggestion.