Working Man

I’ve got a lot of weight to pull
but none to throw around,
a nose to the grindstone attitude
to keep from losing ground.

I used to be the backbone
of a nation that is great,
but I seem to have grown expendable
it may already be too late.

In this global village
lowest bidder gets the job,
companies were once proud to earn
today it seems they rob.

The bottom line dictates it all
ethics it seems have died,
profit became the holy grail
elbowing decency aside.

We are getting what we pay for
as we seek the lowest price,
a self fulfilling prophecy
we’ll be paying for it twice.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Bilingual

I speak English and profanity
when moved by wrath to curse
and as emotions heighten
it goes from bad to worse.

To come out swinging verbally
takes no muscles or physique,
anyone can say the words
no matter strong or weak.

Kids pick it up by listening
their usual way to learn,
as their innocent personalities
take an ugly turn.

We teach the dreadful euphemisms
for excrement and sex,
as they wait with baited breath
to learn what's coming next.

By calling names with anger
or in dreaded blasphemy,
we reveal the baser self
that is part of you and me.

A wicked sin the Bible says
but who reads that today?
Only the truest indication
that we have lost our way.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Suicide Bomber

Souls lost in shadow of hatred
defeated and crying in pain,
being misled about God’s will
the world’s convinced you’re insane.

Believing your lives are well spent
in blasts of murder and rage,
to please Allah and the prophet
shows we’ll never be on the same page.

From ambition of violence and murder
your legacy is fear and sorrow,
reviled and despised in the present
remembered with horror tomorrow.

This twisted mindset of bloodletting
is driving you farther away
from the forgiveness we seek in the heavens
you will discover on judgment day.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Basic Brute

From way down deep he feels the tug
not knowing where it’s from,
realizing if it’s needed
the strength would surely come.

Lifetimes spent in calm pursuits
never raising hand to fight
but knowing well the last resort
would be superior might.

Youngsters often heed the call
and march off to the drum,
sizing up the man inside
to see if he's the one.

A substitute so civilized
are sporting teams galore,
for releasing the aggression
within since days of yore.

Gentleman or ruffian
young old or in between,
feel the power within ourselves
and know what it could mean.

To tame it as a lapdog
be seen as calm and mild
allows us a great privilege;
the trust of a small child.

Our ladies and our little ones
are who the strength is for,
preserving them in quiet peace
sharing love forevermore.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

New Old Fight

The violence and hatred is breaking my heart
someone has gone and let another war start.
Can't they just see? Don't they just know,
that nobody wins when blood starts to flow.

One death breeds another they trade tit for tat
until its too late and there's no going back.
Misery and fear is all they can win
it seems they would learn, but they're at it again.

Politics, religion, money or land
none of it's worth the life of a man.
But the slaughter is wholesale from their war machine
as the soul of mankind is again heard to scream.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Which Way

Shall we march the world as conquerors
as tyrants did of old?
Amassing power and riches
for which their souls were sold.

Or should we be a Christian nation
the enlightenment of all,
not follow these crippled leaders
as they stumble toward the fall.

Thinking independent thoughts
is what made our country great,
to that rational we must return
before it is too late.

Corrupt shortsighted profiteers
hold the reins of power,
before the idols of wealth and greed
they worship and they cower.

Our soldiers guard the silk road
being told that keeps us free,
from enemies in abundance
as far as the eye can see.

We grow weary of the slaughter
vying for influence and great wealth,
as repayment for our misdeeds
approaches us in stealth.

The sand castle we inhabit
will be swept out on the tide,
then a desolate barren beachhead
is where we will abide.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Palestine

Why must you children of Abraham
fight among yourselves?
You share a common heritage
and the water from the wells.

Bad things can only happen
if you continue with your fight,
our greatest fear is that it spreads
and sets the world alight.

Traits and customs make you brothers
and you worship the same God,
dwelling upon the very land
that Moses and Abraham trod.

If the two of you could get along
that land might be a garden,
but to co-operate and reach a deal
means first exchanging pardons.

Please subdue the hatred
that’s eating at you hearts,
if not for you then for your children
they deserve a better start.

Put down your guns and seek the life
that’s good for both your tribes,
bring forth the milk and honey
the scriptures all describe.

God loves you both in equal measure
scripture tells you so,
please love him back and live in peace
to let his blessings flow.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Economies of the Soul

Tell me please the price of these;
love and peace, not war
raising children without fear
content forevermore.

To put aside the sin of pride
and live for someone else,
laying down the heavy load
of living for yourself.

Learn to see that I or me
is not where to place your trust
relying on your human strength
only when you must.

by Robert Quinn

all rights reserved

Armory

There is a room where seven swords
are hung upon the wall,
but against the words written there
they can’t compete at all.

Threatening blade can only turn
hearts so cold and hard,
but made to warm and soften by
words written by the bard.

It’s there he sits among his arms
aging veteran of the war,
seeking now to sooth and heal
soul of man remaining sore.

Battles fought have never brought
the solace people seek,
fear and pride and anger
against kindness can’t compete.

The swords he wielded in his youth
bear mute witness when,
he takes a weapon of greater power
attacking paper with his pen.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Unending Cycle

My sword I hung upon the wall
my steed put out to pasture,
the arts and letters of the peace
I've determined now to master.

Warring is a terrible thing
eating at the soul of man,
traced to the serpent in the tree
from whence it all began.

The sins of Cain hang over us
with every bloody stroke,
envy greed and jealousy
the fires of hate do stoke.

Weary now and wounded
in body and my soul,
retreating to a place of rest
my spirit to console.

Armor grown uncomfortable
remorse heavy on the heart,
hearth and field and family
beckon for another start.

Trade killing ground for cropland
and weapon for a plow,
bounty of my homeland
becomes my succor now.

Old enemies being vanquished
passion and fury spent,
remembering in bewilderment
wondering where they went.

The world turns on beneath us
rushing to tomorrow,
more lives spent in madness
drowning us in sorrow.

What be the master’s judgment
of sins done in his name
with appetite for conquest
impossible to tame.

Veterans stunned and weakened
offer counsel to deaf ears,
witness of new conflicts
leading to more tears.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Universal Soldier

There has always been one constant;
being afraid has never changed.
In men’s’ first battle they used clubs
so frightened they were deranged.

No flag or drum or bugle
could ever curb the fear,
for our very miserable lives
that are always held so dear.

Multitudes of lonely men
who sparked their women’s fears,
even upon returning
responsible for their tears.

The reasons are many and varied
that we march in anger or pride,
resolving in every battle
to avenge the ones who died.

Rolling the drums and caissons
merely increases the debt,
raising the stakes and certainty
there will be more blood to let.

The peoples’ ideal hero
they say is one who dares,
but the definition of courage
is fear that’s said its prayers.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Galling Glory

As we celebrate the sacrifice
and courage of our vets
I ponder how a monster's heart
justifies the blood he lets.

From emperors conquering neighbors
to blood feuds between old kings
tyrants fielded legions
for the power that it brings.

To slay and vanquish mercilessly
in pursuit of glory gained,
diminished his humanity
it faltered and it waned.

Making war is a wanton act
disguised so cleverly,
cloak it in your rational
twisting the truth that be.

Wave the flag call down the Gods
bend them to your will,
ambitious leaders marched to war
I grieve as they do it still.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved

Common Ground

They attack us
we attack them,
in a cycle of retribution
here we go again.

A holy war in the name of God
I don’t want to hear it,
a twisted misguided philosophy
the whole world has come to fear it.

The God we know says, “Love each other”
do not fight and kill,
we cannot slay our neighbor
and claim it is his will.

But the Muslim Koran does condone
the slaughter of innocents,
those who do so in his name
are a frightening development.

This rabid form of hatred
is approaching lunacy,
its escalation out of control
has long since frightened me.

Civilization could come apart
before we find common ground,
in the name of all that’s holy
somewhere it must be found.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved