Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday

“Hallelujah!” they cried, palm branches high,
As the King rode in,

But few of them remained when He in pain
Died for our sins.


Entry into Jerusalem

“Set Three,” Poems by Day Williams

When Spies Run Free

When spies run free, then why not me
Across the NSA?
I can record the campaign plans
Of billionaires with cares
The other side will not collide
Because we will assure their loss
I share the best intel with zest
When spies run free.

When spies run free, why not thee?
Uranium will glow
I will enrich my family
Pay to play in my prime
Run with the wind across the sea
And trade your country’s best
To reach the zone where it’s been stolen
When spies run free.

When spies run free, then history
May lay our secrets bare
Such theft can be a mockery
Of patriots called
To share their lights in planet nights
Men have no friends in treachery
The conscience gnaws despite the cause
When spies run free.


Last Days

The homeless in America are cold
While Senators lean back in their sleek cars;
Abusive nightmares haunt the children’s nights
As parents huddle drunk in dingy bars.

The Dollar is adored from coast to coast
While prophets are attacked (or worse) ignored;
T.V. delights in violence and sex
As its consumers stay smug, drugged and bored.

As Chastity’s regarded as a curse,
Fidelity’s assailed on every side;
With easy money couples get divorced
As if the Lord, who hates all sin, has died.

The leaders lose their sight of Christ’s tall cross
And masses stumble under weights of sins;
The Trivial is worshiped at new shrines
And Lucifer cannot conceal his grin.

Men trample rights of widows and the poor,
Few hear the silent screams of those unborn
Who are aborted–murdered by the wolves
Who howl, “Rejoice!” when all who know should mourn.

The prophet Daniel said in the Last Days
Man’s knowledge will increase, and yet Saint Paul
Declared that knowledge puffs man up, and that
It’s love, which never fails, that’s over all.

For God so loved the world he gave his Son,
And an eternal life belongs to you
If you believe in Christ, the one God sent,
The Root of David who makes all things new.

The stone has rolled and Jesus is alive,
He will return as Judge of goats and sheep;
Now is the time to pray, the Day is near,
For those who labor in the Lord will reap.

~Day Williams

Workin’ for the FBI

Tell me a tale, you go to jail
You give me guff, you’ll see who’s tough
You get me pissed, you’re on the list
When you are killed, I am fulfilled

I’m workin’ for the FBI
I’m a law enforcement guy

You lie to me, you won’t be free,
Don’t call me out, I’ve got big clout
You “patriots” are monkey butts
You “citizens” are firing pins

I’m workin’ for the FBI
I’m a law enforcement guy

Embarrass us, we’ll fight and fuss
That Finicum was overcome
A cowboy hero was one big zero.
Don’t mess with fate, dude, we shoot straight

I’m workin’ for the FBI
I’m a law enforcement guy

You want the law? That’s us, McGraw
We’ll find pretexts if we are vexed
We lost some texts while having sex
And we’re perplexed below our necks

I’m workin’ for the FBI
I’m a law enforcement guy

You’ll go to jail and have no bail
We’ll hide your file with you’re in trial
You’ll never budge, we own the judge
So we can say she’ll go our way

I’m workin’ for the FBI
I’m a law enforcement guy

We want your guns, don’t fight us, son
We know the route, we’ll stage a shoot
You’ll walk and run to take the guns
So we’ll have power and you will cower

~Day Williams

Senators’ Delight

If anyone causes one of these little ones–those who believe in me–to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.
~Mt. 18:6

Before the vote, they drink and gloat,
Strong men on basement chairs;
They make the boys provide their joy,
And toast their love affairs

With blood and gore and sex-slave whores.
They chortle at forced sex,
The power pushes through their pores;
They crack the children’s necks.

The children’s pain excites their brains,
The world at their command:
They’re at the top and each new crop
Delights their ancient glands.

They can excuse each act they do
With clever rationales
As they abuse, pervert, subdue
The powerless with pals.

They smugly own the Nowhere Zone
Where consciences are seared;
With double face they win their race,
Their words and might revered.

With wealth untold, their acts are bold
(Protected from above);
They have beguiled your missing child,
That boy, that girl, you love.

The day they die, no angels cry
To see them fall below,
As sulfur fire won’t quench desire,
They burn in lava flows.

~Day Williams


The hostess sells her paintings, thirty bills
Apiece, to pay divorce attorney’s fees;
Sammy swallows two hundred fifty pills
And drinks green tea for immortality,

And Nancy Narcissist preens in front of
Seven antique mirrors while the Vid Man
Records her every gesture in self-love
To make a monument for her mad fans.

High heels, big wheels, dark deals, sharp steals,
Stakeout is two doors down,
Rough drugs, bad thugs, warm hugs, good bugs,
This party’s goin’ down.

Psycho Sal checks the bathroom medicines,
Hot Pants the Supermodel checks for lint
On Stocktrader Tom’s sleeve; he drinks and grins
At Sallie’s dirty jokes (she’s worth a mint)

As she plays the latest music, knows the words
To every track and turns her back to Jack,
Who winks at her across a couch and bores
His editor, who suffers heart attacks.

High heels, big wheels, dark deals, sharp steals,
Stakeout is two doors down,
Rough drugs, bad thugs, warm hugs, good bugs,
This party’s goin’ down.

The Scientologist concocts a tale
To keep her on the tabloid covers; strange
Professor Vaughn has cut his penis off,
Tells students that the President’s deranged.

A kitchen pair play spoons to backwoods tunes,
Tuxedo Tom has tickets for the show,
Front-row seats for an aging pop tycoon
Who sells him his fresh drugs from Mexico.

High heels, big wheels, dark deals, sharp steals,
Stakeout is two doors down,
Rough drugs, bad thugs, warm hugs, good bugs,
This party’s goin’ down.

The rapper spills a drink and mops it up
With Cover Girl’s fur coat, her belt, her lace;
The late-night host slips her a mickey, licks
Her ear and cheek, and keeps a poker face.

The rising starlet bats her eyelashes
At the producer who has lost his wife–
A plane crash in the Andes–she lunges fast
At him as he derides the right to life.

High heels, big wheels, dark deals, sharp steals,
Stakeout is two doors down,
Rough drugs, bad thugs, warm hugs, good bugs,
This party’s goin’ down.

She checks her cell and pops a pill, she stops
To reapply her lipstick, blush,  and rouge
While Greenwich Village painter-man talks shop
About his triptych featured in the Louvre.

The Gender Studies major wants her X
To be a Y, so she has joined a cult
Where chromosomes are curdled by swan necks
In Psilocybin syrup for results.

High heels, big wheels, dark deals, sharp steals,
Stakeout is two doors down,
Rough drugs, bad thugs, warm hugs, good bugs,
This party’s goin’ down.

The upstairs bedrooms brew with body heat,
And no one talks about the campaign man
Who lured two girls downstairs with bags of sweets
And stories how he fought the Ku Klux Klan.

Behind the banister the nightgown kids
Sneak peeks at smoke and drinks and tailored clothes
‘Til Mom shoos them upstairs to watch their vids
Of princesses who would not decompose.

High heels, big wheels, dark deals, sharp steals,
Stakeout is two doors down,
Rough drugs, bad thugs, warm hugs, good bugs,
This party’s goin’ down.

The anti-fascist who derailed a train
Announces that the honored guest has come
With spells to share her Spirit-Cooking pain,
To make the babies squirm and squall in tubs,

To drink for power the adrenochrome,
To hypnotize with lights and chants and codes.
“With eyes wide shut start fires to chomp down homes,
Destroy the Old, bring in what will corrode.”

High heels, big wheels, dark deals, sharp steals
Stakeout is two doors down,
Rough drugs, bad thugs, warm hugs, good bugs
This party’s goin’ down.

~Day Williams

Becoming Sixty-Four

I’m coming up
On sixty-four
I’ll need a cane
To walk the floor

I’ll rise to pee
Ten times a night
Sometimes I’ll see
The food I bite

My bald pate shines
From porch to shed
A baseball cap
Will hide my head

I will employ
More doctors than
The wrinkles in
My swollen hands

I’ll check obits
If I’m not there
I’ll wander ‘round
In underwear

I’ll sport new teeth,
New hips, new hair,
I’ll have no job,
I’ll have no cares

‘Cept when I drift
Around the block
I’ll stop to pick
Up colored rocks

And trudge with cane
To First and Vine
And ask myself,
“Which house is mine?”

I’ll drive a car
When I can’t see
Firemen will lift
Me from a tree

I’ll tell about
My childhood pond
While grownups snore
And children yawn

I won’t recall
My childhood friends
Nor they me:
So do lives end.

I’ll mow the lawn
If I have aid:
While you cut grass
I’ll rest in shade

I’ll plant some seeds
And make them grow
Then wipe them out
With rake and hoe

My wife will ask,
“What of those seeds?”
“What seeds?” I’ll say,
“I took out weeds.”

And we’ll relax
On rocking chairs
And talk of days
When I had hair

As crickets chirp
And pigeons coo
I’ll fall asleep
And you will snooze . . .

We’ll whirl and twirl
On golden streets
Where no one cries
And life is sweet.

~Day Williams

Renegades in Jail

By stops and starts the storm arose:
Warm wind, soft rain, light snow.
At first it landed on the clothes
And did not brush the soul.

The storm increased as more awoke
And prayed for God to send
Sterner storms that would pick and poke
Beneath the skin, and end

The reign of renegades who’d gone
Unfazed by rising winds,
Lawbreakers who would wink and don
Cloaks that protected skins.

The wind bit hard, no longer warm,
And crawled inside the heart.
Poor reason perished in the storm,
Bright minds had lost their art

To plant deceit in treachery.
An evil plan recoils
Upon its maker, who won’t see
The traps until he’s foiled.

The wind bit hard, and when the sun
Came out from clouds and shone,
The renegades, their senses stunned,
Were found in cells, alone.

~Day Williams

Joe’s Movie

The local market offered me fresh fruit;
I held a bag of strawberries when Joe,
Film-maker who has never worn a suit,
Asked me to view his latest cut at home.

“This nightmare fogged my mind and followed me,
No matter how I tried to shake it off,
I shot the scenes as best my memory
Conceived it, though I may be growing soft.

Did we win World War II?” he asked his tea
As though I wasn’t there, and slid a disc
Into his player by a Harper Lee
Bird book to which he fixed a paper clip.

“A girl from the north woods gave me this book,”
He said, “when I left Phoenix for her place,
Which had been chaos, but on second look,
A midnight climax spruced up her mad space.”

“How did you feel?” I questioned. “Glad! I . . . Oh,
She made me feel I’d gone through gates to stars,
And we played like Bohemians in a grove,
Like we were space Marines who circled Mars.”

“Why aren’t you with her anymore?” I quizzed.
He caught himself, then wryly said, “Sometimes
You build a burger and make it sizzle . . .
Sometimes it tastes like Ajax dipped in grime.

What I am telling you . . . you understand?”
“No, here’s a coin if you will tell me more.”
And like a pro he said, “She met a man
Who talked of pizza, cheese, and dominoes,

Who salivated over hot dog stands
And went ballistic if the plumbing leaked,
As though he’d kill the man, for cash in hand,
Who caused it, rich or poor, urbane or geek.”

“So they weren’t meant to be?” “He skipped out on
Her; we’ve lost touch since she went to D.C.—
Another missing D.C. girl–foregone
Conclusion if you knew her company.”

“What of this movie you have filmed?” I asked.
“Inception plays among Joint Chiefs of Staff
Where Pentagon commanders wear black masks
Into great halls where spies take polygraphs

As Clockwork Orange chimes in Dulce base
While horrid mutants whimper underground
And robot soldiers run a close-watched race,
Roswell to Sandy Hook to Proving Ground.

Meanwhile, at Jekyll Island, bankers plot— ”
“I’m sorry, but I must go home to see
The missus,” said I, “and our boy, the tot,
Wants me to help him decorate the tree.”

And Joe I never saw again, though he’d
Sent postcards postmarked only with a “Q”:
The locals found his body late one eve
And deputies recovered his canoe.

~Day Williams


Day Williams created this graphic depiction of this letter.

“Set Two,” Poems by Day Williams

“Well, Doctor, what have we got—a Republic or a Monarchy?”
Benjamin Franklin: “A Republic, if you can keep it.” (1787)

The Constitution

In this land’s law, the Constitution is
Supreme, the highest law, authority
To which state courts and constitutions are
Subordinate, north, south, and sea to sea.

When We the People formed this government,
We emphasized the people’s right to rule,
Not Kings and Queens, with ways we could amend
The Constitution, the foundation, tool

In People’s hands not to be lightly changed,
A tool requiring constant vigilance
To keep the Union and establish Justice,
Keep peace at home, provide for our defense,

Promote the common Welfare, and secure
Liberty’s Blessings to ourselves and our
Posterity; and as no man is pure,
We formed three branches to check and balance power.

Stand for free speech, free press, the right to teach
Your child of lovingkindness and God’s kingdom;
The right to use your guns, so Tyranny
Won’t march you to a grave as a naked thing.

The power structure can’t infringe on rights
Of people to petition Government
To redress grievances, or to assemble
Peaceably to declare their discontent.

You can’t be forced to house a soldier, or,
If you are jailed, to pay excessive bail,
Or to relinquish worship of the Lord,
Or to lose work because you read in Braille.

Don’t let the government inside your home
Unless police have warrants in their hands;
You need not testify against your own
Self; Government must pay to take your lands.

You have the right to have a lawyer plea
Your case, protect your rights, and keep you free;
You have the rights to jury trial and
To counsel even if you can’t pay fees.

The warden cannot punish you with cruel,
Strange punishment–you’re not his chump or fool,
And you retain your right to worship God
And freely speak, within a prison’s rules.

The Feds must honor rights of fifty States
To legislate for citizens as they
Deem best, and people and the States retain
More rights than what the Bill of Rights contains.

The Government must honor equal rights
And Law’s due process for the citizens,
And courts interpret laws with oversight,
Enforcing rights of women, children, and men.

Keep this Republic, which is based upon
The Holy Bible and the Constitution,
And disregard connivers, cranks and cons
Who peddle hollow claims of new solutions.

The Founders knew about deceitful hearts,
How men and women mean well but go wrong,
And they relied on people to give thanks,
Seek wisdom, and obey the Lord, who’s strong.

~Day Williams

How to Make a Poem

Of many ways to make a poem, let
Me tell you one: First, you ignore the phones
(A habit you acquire when you’re in debt);
And second, you write letters to your foes

And tell them how their hatred helped you grow
And bloom; third, you wiggle thumbs and toes
Behind a light and draw the silhouettes
On walls which run with beads of jogger sweat.

You are not done. You rip your four-room heart
From chest and focus through a microscope
To know for whom it beats, and why, and where.

For forty days behold great works of art.
Then take a pen or pencil hooked to hope
And faith and love, and write about your cares.

~Day Williams

Youtube Shrink

I’m here for free, your youtube shrink
Expert in modern doublethink
You drive your people to the brink
Your armor has a host of chinks

You didn’t sing all words to a song
You’re neurologically wrong
My manual says you meet each prong
And you’re demented as King Kong

I am the shrink
In one look I know
That you can’t think
And have to go

Criteria in DSM
Says you are ill in your brain stem
See specialists in businessmen
Then take a trip to Bethlehem

I went for th’other candidate
Because you harbor too much hate
CNN tells me you’re third-rate
And you have too much body weight

I am the shrink
In one look I know
That you can’t think
And have to go

Political views make no diff
I can interpret hieroglyphs
I recommend you take a skiff
To Grand Canyon and jump off a cliff

And when you’re gone I’ll diagnose
Your family from feet to nose
I’ll judge your son by highs and lows
I’ll judge your wife by model clothes

I am the shrink
In one look I know
That you can’t think
And have to go

~Day Williams

Ephesians Chapter Six

1 Children, obey your parents in the Lord,

For this is right The first commandment with

A promise is this: 2 “Honor both your father


And mother, 3 that it may go well with you

And that you may enjoy long life on earth.”

4 Fathers, do not exasperate your children;


Instead, raise them up in the training and

Instruction of the Lord. 5 You slaves,

Obey your earthly masters with respect


And fear, and with sincerity of heart,

Just as you would obey Christ. 6 Work hard

For them not only when your masters are


Watching, but also when they aren’t; work hard

With gladness all the time as slaves of Christ,

Not slaves of men, 7 and do the will of God


With all your hearts 8 because you know that for

The good things which a man may do, the Lord

Will bless him, whether he is slave or free.


9 And masters, treat your slaves in the same way.

Don’t threaten them; remember that you too

Are slaves of Christ, who has no favorites.


10 Lastly, be strong in God and his great power

11 Put on all of the armor of the Lord

So you can take your stand against the devil’s


Schemes, 12 for we do not wrestle flesh and blood,

But wrestle principalities and powers,

Rulers of darkness in this world, and we


Wrestle the wicked spirits in high realms.

13 So put on all the armor of the Lord,

So when the day of evil comes, you’ll stand


Your ground, and after you’ve done all, to stand.

14 Therefore stand firm, your waist buckled ‘round with

The belt of truth, and having on the breastplate


Of righteousness, 15 and your feet fitted with

The preparation of the gospel of

Peace; 16 above all, take up the shield of faith


To smother all the flaming arrows of

The evil one, 17 and take the helmet of

Salvation and the Spirit’s sword, which is


The word of God, 18 and pray always with all

Prayers and requests while in the Spirit.

With this in mind, remain alert and keep


On praying constantly for all the saints.

19 Pray for me, too, and ask the Lord to give

Me the right words as I speak boldly of


The mystery of the gospel, 20 for which I

Am an ambassador in chains. Pray that

I will declare it boldly, as I should.


21 So that you also may know how we are,

Tychicus, a beloved brother and

A faithful servant in the Lord, will tell


You everything. 22 I’m sending him to you

For this specific purpose, so that you

May know how we are getting on, and so


He may encourage you. 23 May God give peace

To you, my brothers, with His love in faith

From God the Father and Lord Jesus Christ.


24 May God’s grace and His blessing be on all

Who love our Lord Jesus Christ and his call.



California Cove

                you kings, be wise;

Be warned, you earthly rulers.

~Psalm 2:10

From New York, Texas, and D.C.
The weaving spiders come
To heap up fame and wealth and might
And pluck the precious plums.

They spend some hours with employees
They pull the boys’ pants down
The Manly Coven thrills to cooks
Who profit from the clowns

And Doctor Octopus plays chess
In evening’s afterglow
As Thomas Paine stands in sun’s light
Outside California Cove

The Wicked Witch, her dreams are sleazy
“Bring my hammer and my toy,”
She joins her girlfriend in a basement
Where she keeps her golden boys

A jet brings Wild Bill Hickok
With coke from railroad tracks:
“These women are my property
The rest of you, go back”

And the lawyers from the swamp
Have bought a porn star’s trove;
Foundations skim donations
At California Cove


Throughout the day the finches stay
And sing in leafy trees
While men come near, their conscience seared,
And party in the breeze

No self-control, no righteous goals,
No trust in God at all
They trust in flesh from birth to death,
Ignoring heaven’s call.

They revel in the stink and sin
For two weeks on the go
Where spiders weave and men deceive
At California Cove


Underground rooms are busy
Prince Charming spurns his bride
The Madames travel from North Beach

To view the homicides

Miss Fuddy Duddy, she knows too much
Time for her to go
They’ll cover the hit with a plane crash
Nobody will ever know

Monk Rasputin, who romps with maids,
Ruined Chicago’s homes
He’ll lead the rituals
At California Cove

Powermongers give talks
Beside a tree-lined lake
And they pretend that they don’t care
What titles they may take

Their eyes transfixed by symbols
From ancient Babylon
They phrase their buzz words expertly
Nodding to the Ku Klux Klan

But their disguises aren’t so good
Down at the bordello
Where videos are made and stored
At California Cove

Freddy Krueger scared the limo
That drove along Elm Street
Beside a grassy knoll
Where nightmares took their seats

And Caesar, guard on his right side,
Shot the peace candidate
Who would have stopped a foreign war
Where profits come from hate

Weaving spiders fondly recall
Cave Men from long ago
Who fixed and tricked the sleeping giant
At California Cove

Jason  Bourne, self-assigned his task,
Arranges knives and guns,
No matter why, the bullet flies,
He’ll notch another one.

Director Jay, on public pay,
Dislikes a journalist,
He calls a pal and pays his way,
“That meddler won’t  be missed.”

Twisted men meet and scratch their rears
They fight their vertigo
By acting like they have no fears
At California Cove.

Down trails, by trees, up forest tracks
Cave men hunt dangerous game
No deputy can find the bodies
And no one is to blame

Hog farmers come to clean the mess
The Cave Men leave behind
They’ll never tell the coppers
On what the pigs have dined

And by Washington’s Monument
The narcissists run moles
Who spy on Paine and Jefferson
At California Cove

Now Cassius, looking long and lean,
Phoned his bookie for a bet
A high-placed man would die that night,
A hardship he won’t regret

He forges 302s for Brutus
Persuading him to join
The pool of high-stakes players
With shiny Power Points

He wears fine suits and flashes smiles
As in a puppet show
You wouldn’t know his savage weeks
At California Cove

Now by the guarded entrance gate
Protesters carry signs,
A fat head sticks out from a limo
And in a high voice whines,

Nurse Ratched will repair your head,
You nonconformist freaks,
She’ll shock your brain ‘til you comply
And you can’t even squeak”

The limo speeds inside the place
As though a racer drove
For fun and games and care in flames
At California Cove


“We’ll rule the world,” the Prince intones
“Peasants will bow and scrape,
And that is sweet, for we’re elite
And they descend from apes.

We’ll poison food and medicine,
Their air not fit to breathe,
Reduce their numbers from thick to thin,
Take fillings from their teeth

We’ll have more room to roam and hunt
We’ll make our own Utopia”
To loud applause from makers of laws
At California Cove.

A songbird formed his whole career
By turning on his land
He sided with the enemies,

Gave them his helping hand

The songbird plans his funeral
As though he will soon die
But Grandpa knows he lied again
He’ll fake his death and fly

An orb or planet deep in space,
An isle off Mexico,
Nowhere to hide when he’s allied
With California Cove

In strides the smiling oil man
And he conducts a dance
He rests inside an ivy coffin
And takes the kids for romance

He stores his conscience in a vault
Buried in an ocean trench
He tramps across the forest camp
To a girl he calls his wench

And Dr. Szell says open wide
He’ll probe for what you know
And if it hurts, why, tell the men
At California Cove

Rick Blaine rides to the airport in fog
With Ilsa as time goes by
He makes a heart-break tarmac deal
A patriot would buy

And Rocky’s ready for a fight
With clowns who harm his kids
And he will pound Count Dracula
‘Til his jawbone falls to bits

In subterfuge and trickery
The hungry ply their trade
The prostitutes have more morals
Than Cave Men who make AIDS.

Before the panic and debris
Lucky Larry nibbled toast
He checked fine print on policies
Assured to claim the most

Put options placed for profits max
In their overflowing cups
Godfathers took a front-row seat
To watch the nukes blow up

Goldfinger envies them so much
He will attend the Owl Show
To participate in sacrifice
At California Cove.

As innocents are shot to death
Sheriff Hoyt says stand down
He takes his orders from half-high,
From Wendy and the clowns.

His handler, hideous harridan,
Runs spies in her domain
Wendy sells her country for a kiss
And tries to blackmail Tom Paine

A body on a beach tells tales
About the lawns she mows
Don’t double-cross that horrid boss
At California Cove

Dr. Downer creates diseases
So he can sell the cure
And puts the profits through a laundry
While he goes on a tour

Harry Lime promotes disorders
And bigger DSM’s
He will sell you pills through your doc
So he can buy more gems

He claims they’ll solve your problems
And keep you status quo
If you will buy his merchandise
At California Cove

Cleopatra has sailed her barge
Downriver to the sea
While Antony professes love
He’s down on his knees

She smiles and checks computer files
That tell her all she needs
She’ll scare him with the dirt she has
And satisfy her greed

Her bank accounts are empty
Funds disappeared in holes
But she’ll replenish them with work
From California Cove.

Too bad a minion in the crew
Has had enough of this
He hands the queen some poisoned wine
And seals it with a kiss

And she bestows her shameless smirk
And downs the wine with flair
And says, “I’ll never be arrested–
Nobody would dare!”

And as she chokes and gasps
Her terror and panic grow:
“I should have told the truth
About California Cove.”

The pirate-profiteers hoist flags
Along the river bank:
“We’re only here for gold, you louts,
When tough, we’ll break ranks.”

Some ask them for their balance sheet
They plunge into a funk:
“If you invade our privacy
We’ll put you in a trunk.”

The Cave Men greet confusing men
Who play their puppet shows
And keep Tom Paine in heavy chains
At California Cove

Darth Vader types the false flag scripts
His lackies carry out
And he eliminates the fools
Who harbor righteous doubts

Storm troopers come in force to drag
Off those who have switched sides
“You must remain in Darth’s plantation
Or we will tan your hide.”

The humble people in their fog
Don’t know which way to go
So Cave Men sneer and keep control
At California Cove.

Bonnie and Clyde’s machine guns
Have rusted in a heap
While they formed a foundation
To pillage sleeping sheep

“Honor? Integrity?
Those are for little folks.
We’re masters of the world,”
A Naked Cave man spoke.

Funny how planes smoke and crash
When people get too close
Funny about the accidents
From California Cove.

Hannibal Lector  has escaped

To grab a tasty bite
At Jimmy’s pizzeria
Where news anchors alight

Gordon Gekko works the phones
He’s shorted casino stock
Travis Bickle, wearing suit and tie,
Works with him round the clock

The Joker says he’ll bomb a building
To punish those in the know
And Dr. Downer joins him
At California Cove.

Norman Bates runs in the shower stall
A butcher knife in hand
And Ellen Ripley slams his groin
Up through his thyroid gland

And Atticus is standing up,
A prosecutor now,
With his unsealed indictments
He’ll drive the justice plow

The Power Boys, like cornered rats,
Will bite to overthrow
The people’s choice and champ
At California Cove

Benedict Arnold in crosshairs
Behaves like he’s on meth
In the sewers, swamps, and cesspools
The songbird fakes his death

Potter the banker owns the town
Foreclosing on each one
Robin Hood shoots him with arrows
Because he owns no gun

The Cave Men party through the night
The Robber Barons gloat
Rape victims have nowhere to go
At California Cove

Tom Paine has started a storm
Ben Franklin flies a kite
The villagers wake up, clear-eyed,
The dawning of the light

And Harry Callahan has chased
The crooks from pole to pole
And when he cocks his forty-four
He knows they’ve sold their souls.

The moon is blood, the stars go out,
Hawaiian lava flows
And not a soul has worshiped God
At California Cove


And Pilate in his power place
Questions the renegade:
“Why are you here? You aren’t King Lear,
You would not share your name”

“I am the Light,” the man replied,
And Pilate’s face turned white,
“I will not leave those who believe,
But your heart isn’t right”

And Pilate said, “You’re innocent”

Washes his hands in a bowl
“Your pain begins for mankind’s sins
At California Cove.”



The billionaire without a care
Gave up his playboy style
To serve a land he understands
In a time of shadow trials

He set in place many an ace
To trump the kings and queens
Who undermine the green felt lines
With their card-count machine

With God the lead, he will indeed
Incarcerate the foes
Whose whines and cries won’t save their lives
At California Cove

~Day Williams

Poet, lawyer, social and political commentator


Wait until someone puts these words to music and sings them.


Grateful Dead, Desolation Row 


” data-hasqtip=”5″>Hebrews 9:14:

How much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered Himself without blemish to God, cleanse your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?


(Psalm 141:2)
I’ll Lift My Hands
I’ll lift my hands
As sacrifice
In evening to
You, Jesus Christ.
#Gospel #Psalm #poetry

Death Has Died
The Son of God
Was crucified
And rose again,
So Death has died.
#Gospel #Jesus #poetry

(Psalm 20:1)
May God Reply
May God reply
To you when you
Are in distress
And feeling blue.
#Psalm #poetry


Sonnet 99

John, baptize me at River Jordan’s bank,
Pour Jesus’ cleansing water on my head.
May He, through Love, make white my sins so black
And I’ll be born again and by Him fed

For I have sunk as low as man can go
And only He can lift me up again
To walk the plan he set me long ago
Before I was conceived in lands of men.

My destiny, O Lord, is in thy hands;
To you I have entrusted heart and soul.
You are the God of gods who reigns forevermore . . .

Release me, Lord, from mortal flesh’s bands
And wash me, cleanse my spirit, make me whole,
Lord, let us work together at the core.

Sonnet 100 (Peter)

Sorrow and joy were mixed at suppertime:
He washed my feet but said that I’d betray
Him. “Never,” I said, “that would be a crime.”
We’d been together from the start, the day

He called me from the nets. “You will, three times,
Before the cock crows,” he went on. “Come pray
Inside Gethsemane with me.” Now I’m
A zealous man, but God formed me from clay.

He had to wake me when the torch lights came.
I drew my sword, slashed off an ear, he healed
It, soldiers took him. Down the trail I crept

To fireside warmth. Three times they asked – no game–
And I denied three times. Long gone, that meal.
The cock crew. I went out and wept and wept.

~Day Williams


“Set One,” Poems by Day Williams

Wake Up, Sleepyhead

Sunlight streaks across your bed
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead
The rooster crows, the horse is fed,
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead

On the back porch the kittens mew
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead
The grasses sip the morning dew
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead

Fish are swimming in the pond
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead
Grandpa stretches, Grandma yawns
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead

The west wind whispers in the willows
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead
Take your head off your pillow
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead

Barn cats scout for mice to catch
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead
Put on your pants with many patches
Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead

~Day Williams


Jehu, Ahab, and Jezebel

Jehu drives his chariot at a furious pace,
Ahab, scared, enters the battle in disguise,
Jezebel slathers makeup on her face.
On Ahab’s battlefield an arrow flies

To Ahab’s chest–he gasps his last breaths;
Jehu calls to eunuchs on the upper floor,
“Throw the wicked woman to her death!”
Dogs consume her, as prophesied before.


The Land of Never

Have you ever been so clever
You visited the Land of Never?
“Never will I eat the foods that make me fat,
Never will I say those awful words
Like Heckedy Schmekedy drat,”
Or in a moment of practiced pique
When your bottom’s fallen in the creek:
“Never ever will I do that again,
No horse could drag me through that glen,”
Or when your friend and you
have a falling out,
A spat where you cross your arms and shout,
“That’s it, never will I be your friend!
Never! Never! Never! The End!” . . .
it’s not the end,
now is it?
You’ll eat the pie despite the pounds and zits,
You’ll say some awful things
Because they have a righteous ring,
You’ll take that trip to somewhere far away,
Smiling as you wipe off spray,
You’ll call your friends
And make amends,
You’ll say, “Did I say ‘Never’”?
For me that’s far too clever.
Let’s take a walk
Around the block,
Pluck a dandelion on the fly,
Pick out Orion in the sky.
Whatever we may endeavor
Let’s steer clear
Of the Land of Never.”

Nevada to Jerusalem

(“His word is in my heart like a fire,
a fire shut up in my bones.
I am weary of holding it in;
indeed, I cannot.”–Jer. 20:9)

This is a country for a holy man:
Deserts like Moses knew, Sierra snows
As white as souls wiped clean, and tourist bands
Who come to plug the emptiness in souls
By playing slot machines: in short, a land
Where Paul and Peter might have rivaled shows,
Teaching Christ crucified upon a tree,
To fill those voids with Gospel truth for free.

A man of middle age cannot aspire
To a youngster’s speed, and plods along to court
To plead the cause of clients, rich and poor,
Sinners all. He’ll bring God a sad report
Unless his bones are burnt by holy fire,
And like a faithful witness he exhorts
Those who prefer to mock and toss the dice
Rather than seek a place in Paradise.

Angels and demons fight an unseen war,
Hendrix replaces Bach, police patrols
Bust drunks and punks, and mourn the liquor store
And crankster’s needle, symptoms of a soul
So self-indulgent Conscience works no more,
A lethal weapon on remote control.
God calls for many, is answered by few,
And battles rage on every avenue.

When Bride and Bridegroom meet in air, foreknown,
God’s trumpet call will stun the West and East,
As he, the chosen precious cornerstone
Who built a nation of his royal priests,
Returns and claims the spotless Bride, his own,
To take her to the Lamb’s Great Wedding Feast
Prepared in heavenly Jerusalem
By him who was, and is, and is to come.


Ronald the Crankster

The needle slips inside the vein,
The tubing tight around
The arm, and Ronald feels a rush
That lifts him off the ground

Of the men’s bathroom stall at the hall
Where bowlers knock down pins.
The needle and the tubing go
Back in the pack. He grins

And springs out to the Reno street
To dumpster-dive and score
Once more in a parking lot
Near a casino floor.

“This is my change of lifestyle, cop,
I slam the speed and go
Outside to root in garbage, not
Like cranksters at the windows,

Listening to walls. I used to be
An alcoholic. . . . Why,
With all the tweakers round, stop me,
A long-time Reno guy?”


May God give wisdom to the leaders of the lands,
May they observe their vows and peace accords,
May men and women turn their hearts from selfishness
And serve the highest calling of the Lord.

May I pay creditors and live within my means,
May I be paid according to my worth,
May I bless others with poetic words of love
And works that fall like gentle rains on earth.

May holy leaders raise a standard clear and tall,
With righteousness to guide each citizen,
May God’s best candidates be number one in votes . . .
May this sad earth have peace, my countrymen.


I was a dewdrop
On a green blade of grass
And I clung to that blade

All morning

Until the sun came out
And beat on me
Blue Note

A French horn player on 32nd Street
Squeezed a note from his loins
and his guts and his heart,

Filched a note from the space
between the earth and the moon,

Caressed a note for a woman
with green eyes,

Smuggled a note from the tenements,
the smoke-filled bars
and the garbage-strewn streets,

a blue note

That soared up the skyscrapers’ bellies
And sauntered over a funeral procession
on Seventh Avenue,

a blue note

That glided over the college students
who lounged in the sun at Washington Square,
Spun round,

And drifted into the harbor,
Plunged into the ocean
and fell asleep.


“Rainbow Melody”
By Day Williams

I Hurt My Friend

I hurt my friend

And can’t forget

My evil deeds . . .

I’m in his debt.

New York City

A prisoner who had forgotten chains,
Day wakened in another place, New York,
Discovered that his chains were tight, and fought
To free himself from demons’ teeth and nails.

Skyscrapers’ lights illuminated dusk
On Broadway, Times Square, and Fifth Avenue;
High heels of debutantes and office girls
Clicked like a Bushman’s speech; bag ladies picked
Through rubbish in a canister for cans
To peddle; taxis honked in traffic jams;
Electric billboards blinked and boasted wares;
The junkies jostled corporate lawyers’ wives
And friends who shopped at Saks Fifth Avenue
For blouses, skirts and dresses; models posed
By sculptures; traffic lights winked green and red;
The watchman for the three-card monte game
Whistled a warning to confederates;
Graffiti subway cars slid open doors,
Received the gangs, the clerks, the poets’ peers.

I Held Your Hand
I held your hand when your spirit was crushed
As though a truck had flattened your best dog;
I kept you warm during the night-time hush,
And when you entered swamps and had to slog

By roots and branches, treading carefully,
I caught you when you lost your balance, dear,
Kept you from falling in the muck to knees,
And when you made it through, I smiled and cheered.

When storms struck me and I was not so strong,
I could not see my way through fog and rain;
I stumbled like a blind man with no song
To lift his spirits from the doubt and pain,

And you dropped me like a stranger on the road
And never stopped to help me bear my load.





The Con Artists

The Con Artists

At first they laughed
At their smooth job
And joked how they
Had fooled the mob.

They loved the house
They had acquired;
Their lies had bought
All they desired.

The years wore on,
Food tasted bad,
Sleep came too hard
And they turned mad,

Not mad in ways
The friends could see,
But madness like
Life was off-key.

The words they said
Sounded remote;
Scared of a knock,
They couldn’t gloat

When thinking back
On their big con;
And when they rose
At early dawn,

Their hearts were bare
From self-deceit:
Another day
With nothing sweet.

~Day Williams

April 14: “Catherine of Siena” by Day Williams



 Catherine of Siena

A person who believes that Jesus Christ

Is Lord and Savior of the World is called

A saint through faith, the substance of the things


Hoped for, the evidence of things not seen;

And in the Catholic Church some souls are known

As saints and doctors by the grace of God.


The blessed Catherine of Siena, born

A twin upon Annunciation Day,

The last of thirteen children who survived,


Professed her love for God through holiness

When wars and plagues had shaken faith and hope

In city-states of Tuscany where walls


Protected citizens from outside harm.

Her father’s trade was dyeing wool; his wife,

Madonna Lapa, ruled the family.

This daughter destined to direct the Popes,

Young Caterina Benincasa, taught

Herself to say the Angelus at five,


And knelt upon the steps of stairs at home

To say an Ave Maria, step by step.

When she was six years old, she looked across


Valle Piatta to the abbey church

Of San Domenico; above its roof

She saw the Savior of the World, who sat


In bishop’s robes upon a royal throne,

The treble Papal crown upon His head.

Beside the Lord were Peter, Paul and John,


And Jesus raised His hand and blessed the girl,

Who stood enraptured while the love of God

Abounded in her soul, a cup that gushed.


Her brother called to her; she did not move.

He had to take her arm to make her wake

As though from sleep, transformed forevermore.


She swam beneath the water in the sea

Of love, and vowed when seven she would be

The bride of Christ, and of no other man,


A virgin pure in body and in soul.

In times alone with God she learned to build

An inner cell within her soul which she


Would never leave, despite temptation’s pull

And the entreaties from her family,

Who wanted to arrange a groom for her.


Forced to divulge her vow of chastity,

She told her parents that her will was fixed:

“It would be easier to melt a stone


Than tear this resolution from my heart.

I must obey the Lord before all men;

My Bridegroom is so rich that He will give


Me all I need, if you should throw me out.”

The twelve-year-old prevailed; no more would they

Attempt to wed her to a mortal man,


Although she lived beneath her parents’ roof

Another seven years, her room a cell

Beside the landing, ten by sixteen feet.


O Catherine, if I had one-tenth your zeal,

What miracles could God perform through me,

What battles could He win for souls of men!


The revelation of the Trinity

Was hers through meditation, solitude,

And the denial of her self: three times


A day she scourged her body with a chain

Of iron: once for her own sins, once more

For sins of every living soul, and once


For souls in purgatory, giving Christ,

Her Lord and Savior, blood for blood, ‘til blood

Ran down her shoulders in her sacred cell.


Within her parents’ house where she would sleep

For half an hour on every other day

On planks of wood when she was not in prayer.


The holy teen’s devout desire to join

An order of St. Dominic was quenched

At last when she received the robe and veil,


In white to symbolize her purity,

And the black cape, in black as sign of death

Unto this world and of humility.


Eternal blessedness is knowing God,

God as He is; thus she renounced the world,

That which is vanishing, for unity


With Him who suffered on the cross of love.

She gave belongings to the poor, and cared

For sickest of the sick in darkest hours,


Even when stinking wounds made others leave,

And patients shouted blasphemies at her.

Companions said that when she prayed, she rose


Above the floor so high that one could place

A hand between the woman and the floor;

When she received the Body of the Lord,


She would withdraw in ecstasy, as stiff

And as insensible as Lazarus

Four days inside the cave before the Lord


Commanded him to rise and leave the tomb.

When Catherine’s soul was lifted to commune

With Love Incarnate, she could not perceive


A needle in her foot, and passersby

Who doubted her sincerity would kick

The girl who lay insensate in the street.


At twenty-two she ate no solid food,

And for long times the Eucharist alone

Provided nourishment for her who drank,


In mystic flights, from Jesus’ wounded side.

Christ let her see His secrets, and equipped

Her with the gifts of grace to call her forth,


His weapon in the battle for men’s souls.

One story of a multitude is all

I have the space to tell of how she saved


The souls of men through visions and her prayers.

One winter day two wagons took two men,

Condemned to suffer torture and then death,


Around the town as executioners

Used red-hot tongs to tear and burn their flesh.

The robbers, chained to stakes, reviled the Lord


As townsmen shook and shuddered in alarm;

But Catherine of Siena, who had seen

The wagons pass, retired to beg in prayer


For Christ to save the wretches’ souls, as He

Had saved the robber crucified by Him.

The wagons drove up to a city gate,


The Porta della Giustitia,

And there beneath the arch stood Christ, who wore

A crown of thorns and bled from head to toe.


Caught up in Spirit, Catherine saw the Lord;

The robbers saw Him too, and when He saw

Their eyes and hearts, defiance in them broke.


These highwaymen called for a priest, confessed

Their sins, sang hymns, and met their deaths content.

The very moment that they died redeemed,


The praying virgin woke from ecstasy,

For love of God and mankind for His sake

Was all the mystic knew worth living for.


The exile of the Popes to Avignon

(Franciscans called it Babylonia,

And hung their harps on poplars as they wept)


Disrupted Rome, corrupted faith, and left

Believers rudderless and insecure.

The Roman churches lay in ruins, priests


Had morals of degenerates, and law

Was lost as factions fought and clutched for power.

God sent as punishment the plague, Black Death,


Which killed one-half of Europe’s populace.

In thirteen-fifty St. Birgitta, a seer

From Sweden, heard the call to cleanse the Church.


She went to Rome and urged the Pope to leave

His capital in Avignon, lest he

Should suffer wrath from God– but he refused.


As John the Baptist heralded the work

And ministry of Christ, Birgitta ran

Before the mystic saint who wrought success,


The Pope’s return to Rome from Avignon,

For Catherine told Pope Gregory that he

Had made a vow when Cardinal to move


To Rome if ever he became the Pope,

A vow which he had never told a soul.

At thirty-three, the age her Bridegroom died,


Suffering, paralyzed below the waist,

As she lay on her bed of wooden boards,

The purest dove accused herself of sins,


And cried aloud, “My honor!  Never!  Praise

And honor to Christ crucified alone!”

In April thirteen-eighty Catherine gave


Her spirit to the Father’s hands.

In spring a million buds appear on trees;

In winter snowflakes fall from clouds, each one


Unique in pattern, each a gift to earth,

And as each bud and snowflake offers gifts

That come from it alone, so every child


Who’s born again of God, among the millions, bears

And offers special gifts, the gifts of grace

And mercy to the Lord and humankind.


This daughter of a wealthy family

Used special gifts to lead and move the Popes

And men of lower rank to follow God.


Greater than special gifts that Catherine had

Through her ascetic life and ministry

Was intimacy she possessed with Christ;


She loved the Lord with heart and soul and strength,

And fixed her eyes on Jesus’ wounds; she knew

None are redeemed without the blood of Christ.


She served her Bridegroom, clove right by His side,

Surrendered self with zeal, and gave up pride

As she renounced the world to be His bride.

Jezebel’s Chant

Cool earth, hot water fevered in cauldrons’ space,
White flames, dog’s eyes, shine on my painted face,
Dim, moon; grasp, earth; roar, winds; disturb the seers,
White blazes, dogs unleashed, unlock Baal’s spears,
Flash in nights, dogs, sink fangs in enemies,
Unearth sweet corpses; spread their disease:
Let not the prophet come
Before he’s been struck dumb,
Prophet who acts like a boss,
May my spells spell his loss,
My power shall increase,
He and his God shall cease.

~Day Williams

April 14: News

Day Williams created this graphic depiction of this date.

April 14

As soon as all the kings of the Amorites who were beyond the Jordan to the west, and all the kings of the Canaanites who were by the sea, heard that the LORD had dried up the waters of the Jordan for the people of Israel until they had crossed over, their hearts melted and there was no longer any spirit in them because of the people of Israel.
–Joshua 5:1
Like cold water to a thirsty soul,
so is good news from a far country.
–Proverbs 25:25

But now Timothy has come to us from you and brought us good news about your faith and love, and that you always have good memories of us, wanting to see us, as we also want to see you.
–1 Thessalonians 3:6


His Eternal Symphony – Poem by Day Williams

“Sadness and sorrow are all I know, “
Said the violin to the bow.
Said the bow to the violin, 
“Our Lord has conquered strongholds of sin.”

“The path has thorns, the forest is thick, “
Said the kettle drum to the sticks.
Said the sticks to the kettle drum, 
“Through our Lord’s power we overcome.”

Watch the Conductor wave His baton
We’re His instruments arranged on the lawn, 
Each instrument a part in harmony
In His eternal symphony.

“I’m ill, can’t see, and can’t walk far, “
Said the pick to the guitar.
Said the guitar to the pick, 
“He heals the lame, the blind, and the sick.”

“My face is muddy, my clothes aren’t clean, “
Said the hands to the tambourine.
Said the tambourine to the hands, 
“His blood washes clean each woman and man.”

Watch the Conductor wave His baton
We’re His instruments arranged on the lawn, 
Each instrument a part in harmony
In His eternal symphony.

“I’m in a crowd, yet feel alone, “
Said the mouthpiece to the slide trombone.
Said the slide trombone to the mouthpiece, 
“The Nazarene will meet your deepest needs.”

“I’m unsure of my faith as on I go, “
Said the key to the piano.
Said the piano to the key, 
“The Holy Spirit is your guarantee.”

Watch the Conductor wave His baton
We’re His instruments arranged on the lawn, 
Each instrument a part in harmony
In His eternal symphony.

~Day Williams