- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barnes

And, and, well, 
I am emperor
the force, the answer, the solution,

I know, have known, will always know
and I will share this with my people,
who love me, who love me, love me,

because they know all I say is true,
the facts, the answer, the solution,
because I am emperor,

the force, the answer, the solution
I will prevail since
I have the answer, the solution,

and all those who defy me
are frauds and fools
wearing and bearing false

knowledge against the 
incontrovertible fact that
I am emperor,

the force, the answer, the solution
and through this and by me will
all be saved or not,

and I could not care less, 
since I am the emperor, 
the force, the solution

until I no longer am 
even a dark smudge of this
bestial horror,

that even when I, 
crashing and tossing
in ruined bedding,

bleed out to the wounded
world the sad truth
that I am nothing.

Where There Are No Lies

- by Linn Barnes

Where there are no Lies
-Linn Barnes

There are no lies
in the greening spring
the rising crops
and speed of Finn
racing round the property
walking the high grass
wet with the dew
fixing a fence post
tuning a lute
humming a tune
smiling at dawn
rising into the 
glory of another 
just day.

But that is 
being threatened
plowed under
by grim realities
by haunted visions
crumbling the rhythm 
with the no count
reality seeping into 
the very pores of things.

Then blink once
and then twice
re-fancy the glade
the hill to the river
the sound of the pileated
swooping through the trees
the raspy cough of the deer
the Spring gobble of the tom
the sweet laughter of someone
near who watches and cares for 
your every move and breath.

Trump's lying

- by Linn Barnes

trump's lying
-Linn Barnes 

trump’s lying
he’s lying
trump’s lying 
he’s lying
trump’s lying
he’s lying




The Waning Moon

- by Linn Barnes

The Waning Moon 
-Linn Barnes

I am cripple dancing
falling into a dead heap

turning again and again 
while the music of the end

creeps into the moment 
where the volume is high

where the light glistens and
illuminates the horror

of the certain end
at the bottom of the

pool where the snakes
have established dominion

and learned to drink the 
putrid blood of the drowned

where no guards are present
where no lives may be saved

where a past shall be worshipped
and an ugly future clad beyond clear

shall shine no mirrors 
leading any where

save the faint reflections 
of the waning moon 

beams cast in fear


- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barnes

O Donald
whoever you are
you have missed the train 
back to queens
wherever that is
but there is no home
for you here
so you must 
find that train
that will take you 
home to where it
all began to unravel

O Donald
while the foolery had
a moment for some 
then when the curtain 
was lifted and the 
game began to shut down
the disaster screamed
for the dead and ruined
you’d left in the rut
as you ran for cover
over the bodies piled up
while the nation finally
caught on to what 
a fuck up you are

and now even the next 
train will never 
get you home

you are lost Donald
sputtering and gagging
nonsense lyrics 
which finally not a 
sentient soul alive
can compute

and the death rain
tumbles and soaks 
your terminal traces
which will vanish 
in the burning sun
now exploding the horizon

The Staff

- by Linn Barnes

The Staff
-Linn Barnes

Today I made a staff
a grand mosaic staff

for strutting around 
with no one around

dreaming of parted seas
and swarms of insects

as if with this new weapon
I now govern the flow

of the virus on my land
now a safe haven

since me and my staff
are now in charge

but even if I’m wrong
is there a glimmer that

I’m not or at least
that I’m competing

with the best theories 
in a land where we

really have no idea
what we’re dealing with

as each day brings more
sad evidence to the

proposition that we are
bumbling toward

a cliff of great sorrow
to the bottom of nowhere

The Glance

- by Linn Barnes

The Glance
-Linn Barnes

One glance
do you mean me

do I not glimmer shine
and grace the treetops

where the blue birds collide
with the shadow of the earth

which sprinkles its grace
upon the long notes

shimmering and delivering
fuel upon the pyre of the

dead soon to come waltzing 
into the realm of eternity

do you not see that I 
am among you


- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barnes

looks like mikey might walk
which really chaps and grates

he is such a worthless fraud
traitor liar and grim faced fool

that he’s really not worth a second 
glance on a rainy day of sky-diving frogs

into a carbon heap of crippled
dying scorpions carrying twenty five

tons of canova cocktail into
the oval office posing as beluga

on hamburger rolls with plenty 
of catch up on the side

no this man should be of 
no interest to anybody

as long as he remains
where he so justly belongs

where it’s dark as a dungeon 
and damp as the dew

where the rain never falls 
and the sun never shines

until this bastard has 
rightly served his time

The Hill

- by Linn Barnes

The Hill

It’s been raining in the Blue Ridge,
pouring down the gutters on the house,

and crashing on the metal roof 
of my studio on the wooded hill

which I kind of like when 
I play either guitar, mandolin

or fiddle all cranked up 
and bent by Dali-esque reverbs

into landscapes sparked with sound, 
maddening fury and delight, while

eagles savage the river below me,
stamping deer trample all about me,

even an occasional black bear 
peering into my large window

on the east from all the many trails below
and about me where life lives and processes

endlessly to unknown rhythms and dark cadences
illuminating with the light pouring in from the east

the glory or despair of my chosen time 
here in solitude on the hill in my dreams.


- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barnes

Today, toward dusk, a bear approached me
and announced that he was a griz,

which I took issue with, knowing 
full well that we only have black bears

in these parts, but he was not thwarted, 
and threatened to do the griz thing on me

if I didn’t re-consider my original observation,
to wit I replied, I would run him through

with my sword, a medieval relic I sometimes
carry about on the land we own and

carefully care for, which brings me into 
a primal understanding of what and

where I am, and, surprise of surprises,
the foolish, fraud griz turned tail

and slunk off into the evening light,
clearing the Spring evening glow

of the stench of lies and fraud,
dumped untowardly in my path, 

and the light shown soft and green
before my happy eyes grinning softly,

as I sheathed the silver blade.

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