Category Archives: Politics

A.H. Scott: Sour Moneybags’ Dumbasssss Song

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A.H. Scott: Sour Moneybags’ Dumbasssss Song

 

Poetry by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2018

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Sour Moneybags’ Dumbasssss Song

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Tweets don’t fail me now!

Tweets don’t fail me now!

Tweets don’t fail me now!

On the run

Ain’t no pun

Feelin’ the strain on my feet, as under the sun my old body is beat

Hellhounds on my trail

I’m being persecuted beyond the pale

Gotta run from “The Man”

Cuz’ I’m a renegade without no plan or power

Oh, who am I kiddin’, I’m “The Man” livin’ in the Ivory Tower

They call me Prez,

But, behind my back they call me Sauer

Mueller’s on my case

But, no crimes are mine

Not even a trace

Gotta stick it to “The Man”

Cuz’ I’m a poor l’il lamb

Just ignore the fact that I’m outta’ the crib with my pappy’s platinum rib

Gold home plate is ever so great

But, I’m a lonely man in the peoples’ house all alone

Yet, there is that certain something that melts my heart and keeps me from turning to stone

As long as I have that aqua chirper, I sure as hell ain’t alone

Tweets don’t fail me now!

Tweets don’t fail me now!

Gavel’s gonna’ get me, if I stand still

Nancy P. lookin’ at me and is goin’ in for the kill

Gotta put on a mask of strength

Even though I’m on the short end of length

Dames! Dames! Ruining my game

RBG is the Energizer Bunny and fit as a fiddle

She’s older than me, but I’m a tantrum toddler that dribbles

My iron grip is startin’ to slip with every pushback of democracy’s nibble

But, I’m new to this job, ya’ gotta remember that fact

Two years running and I still ain’t got no tact

Gotta’ keep on the run

Ya’ know I ain’t no nun

Ya’ know I ain’t no monk

Damn, gotta keep on runnin’, to keep out of this funk

But, Mueller’s crampin’ my style

Now, Dems ain’t lettin’ me have no more fun

Guard rails be damned, I’m drivin’ this mutha of a country off the razor’s edge

After all, I’m running this show with my orange glow

Yet, nobody realizes that hazy hue is actually my halo

Promises, promises, I screech again and again

Gonna make a run for the border and get me some cashin’

Makin’ them Mexicans pay for my wall is my key voting blocks’ passion

Sour Moneybags spouting gibberish of worker bees praising him for shutdown

While, fed employees’ cash flow is running down

Tweets don’t fail me now!

Tweets don’t fail me now!

My dumbass song won’t do me wrong

This is my song, am I wrong? Am I wrong?

Cuz’ it got me where I am all along

Gazing out my window, I see the little bluebird

As it flies by, I run outside and give it a wave

Little bluebird comes closer towards me

It must be quite brave

A fat turd from that bird lands in my eye

Screaming, I cry, “Why? Why? Why?”

Tweet is my friend, again and again

Yet, sweet bird of blue is a myth that is ever so true

When a tweet comes from the soul which is sour, call of the barbarian is diminished in power

Tweet defeat

He CAN be beat

Dems don’t fail us now!

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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here:http://tonywardstudio.com/blog/a-h-scott-crumblin-dice/

 

Also posted in Blog, Current Events, Environment, Friends of TWS, History, News, Popular Culture, Women

A.H. Scott: Piddler On The Roof

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Illustrations and Text by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2018

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PIDDLER ON THE ROOF

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Artwork by Thomcat23 for Tony Ward Studio. Copyright 2018

Artwork by Thomcat23 for Tony Ward Studio

 

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He piddles here

He piddles there

When he piddles, inhabitants of the Earth better beware

Is it so hard to ask for a man to be of class?

To the Piddler On the Roof, his core is crass

Piddler, oh Piddler, we all are screwed!

Piddler, oh Piddler, why do you do what you do?

He moans and howls of how there are no connections to the bear

But, around every corner the sounds of coins and linkage are heard

Not some grand conspiracy it has to be

Just coincidence of business ties that bind the Piddler On the Roof to the neighborhood of the Black Sea

Piddler On The Roof keeps parroting that there is no proof

He must think we’re fools and we’re all goofs

If we all were asked right in this moment where we get our pay, I bet we all could answer that question without delay

Yet, for Piddler On The Roof, he avoids that question and turns reality to sway

I’m a rich man he boasts, again and again and again

But, as the truth is exposed bit by bit, it proves he’s gotta bow to those who butters his toast

His affinity for strongmen is known near and far

But, if you ask to see his tax returns, he’ll tell ya’ that’s going a bit too far

His allegiance to business is damningly raw

Just ignore that tale of the bone saw

Maybe the royal one had it done

Or, maybe some rogue element went off the script

Either way, Piddler On The Roof has gotta defend the ties that bind

If you ask him about morality, he’ll say that’s a bore and a grind

Howling at the moon from the roof of the house of white, he piddles with delight

He cares not of what others think

But, he should, for the hunt for justice is on the brink

A man of stature and focus is on your tainted trail

Better wise up, Piddler, ‘cuz your phony act is about to fail

That yearning of yours to keep up appearances is swirling swiftly down the drain

Uncorked!

Unplugged!

Unhinged!

Bought & Sold!

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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here:http://tonywardstudio.com/blog/a-h-scott-the-devil-and-the-catholic-church/

 

Also posted in Affiliates, Blog, Current Events, Environment, Friends of TWS, History, News, Poetry, Popular Culture, Women

Ed Simmons: Venice Beach Trashed

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Photography and Text by Ed Simmons, Copyright 2018

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VENICE BEACH TRASHED

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OK, like the way most things go in Venice, we should hope too that this is transitory. God only knows it ain’t normal this blight. Walk out onto the sand, step in someone’s shit, maybe get stuck by a syringe flung out from someone’s tent.  This group shows literally no respect. For half a century I’ve floated in and out of  Venice Beach, California.  LA’s ghetto on the sand. I’ve watched  it change. Every time it seems when an uproar over one group is raised and the group gets run out, something worse always fills the vacuum.  What i’m seeing today, for tomorrow is scary.

House keeping on the sand.  Yeah, thats right. Weekly maid service for the homeless. What happens each Friday, people camped out on the sand, camped out on most all the side alleys connecting the Speedway to the Ocean Front Walk.  They gather up whatever belongings they wish to keep, then move it up and out of the way, while waiting for the mess they don’t want to be taken away.  So, I wonder whether this “Every Friday Morning Venice Beach Cleanup Routine” might just be feeding a vicious cycle of co-dependency.  These kooks, not cleaning up their own mess, leaving their trash all over the side streets and sand, should be fined handsomely, then run out of town. 

Certainly what we’re seeing here is a public health problem. However, I’m guessing some of this situation could get resolved soon.  After years of blocking chainstores from occupying any boardwalk storefront space, Starbucks is helping out by contributing some decent restroom facilities.  Lord knows, the public bathrooms haven’t been able to handle the homeless load.

In other news, Snapchat employees moved in to town.  The rents went up and the price for a regular cup of coffee went up too. I recently went with a friend for some lunch. New management at an old spot set in. We ordered a couple chicken enchalada’s, each with rice and beans, no chips, no salsa, no service, no cheese, $26 bucks, yes,… $26.00 bucks! I said no cheese on the beans! With Snap Inc. grabbing up all the space on market street, acquiring so many of the storefronts/properties along the boardwalk, prices for everything, everywhere across town now seem to be double what they used to be! They ran the artists out. A  few were able to find other spaces, but Market Street was gutted, for years this Venice Street was filled with studios and galleries. Well that ended quick. Snapchat has decided maybe it be better now to move their urban campus to the Santa Monica Airport. It goes without saying things are really hurting here in this little gem of a beach town. I’m praying for life to get better, not continuing to get worse.

Ya really gotta watch your bike in Venice Beach.  Seems a lot of wrenching goes on down by the Ocean Front Walk. One could lose a wheel or a seat as fast as a blink of an eye. Early in the morning, right after the first of the month, out on the boardwalk riding, you see signs that people out here been spinning in circles all night, all sprung, so much random stuff flung everywhere. Its sad. Seems anymore all of this is just accepted as normal. ITS NOT!

 Please don’t let me be misunderstood.  I’ve at times come back to Venice homeless too.  Almost anyone can be chopped off at the knees. The Venice Beach community has always had compassion for the down and out. A diverse community of locals, some of whom I’ve known near 40 years in Dogtown  all have a home. I know this guy, this old friend is a savant. I was hanging with him just the other day. We were talking about all this mess left out all around his home. You don’t see any tents pitched anywhere near his spot. His oasis. He keeps it clean. So we were talking, I told him my birthday was coming up in a few days. That I was turning 66. He said “your a Dragon”. I said yes, a Water Dragon. His eyes lit up.  He said “interesting you know that, I  then said my Mother was an Earth Dragon”. Then we started talking about the order of elements in the  Chinese Astrological Chart and how it represented a cyclical world, then “The Boy” took off on an oratory  of both Chinese Astrology, the Zodiac,  then finished up with a Miles Davis primer.  That old friend I admire. He ain’t letting go of his Venice Beach.  Much respect for him! 

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http://tonywardstudio.com/blog/ed-simmons-jay-adams-local-hero/

Ed Simmons: Self Portrait. Copyright 2018

About The Author: Ed Simmons is a documentary photographer and assistant to Tony Ward, based in Los Angeles, California. To access additional articles by Ed Simmons, click herehttp://tonywardstudio.com/blog/ed-simmons-jay-adams-local-hero/

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Vote: November 6, 2016

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Vote! November 6, 2018

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Bob Shell: Stone Walls Do Not a Prison Make

 

 

 Bob Shell: Letters From Prison #27

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Letters by Bob Shell, Copyright 2018

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Photography by Julie Chu, Aja Butane, Katherine Jania & Zoe, Copyright 2018

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Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage.

We’ve all heard that old saying, but where does it come from? It’s the beginning of the last stanza of the poem “To Althea, from Prison” written in 1642 by Richard Lovelace, while imprisoned in Gatehouse Prison. His crime? He had petitioned to have the 1640 Clergy Act annulled. Today, no one knows for certain who Althea was, or if she was even real, but she lives on in that romantic poem. BTW, the full stanza goes:

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;

Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage;

If I have freedom in my love

And in my soul am free,

Angels alone, that soar above,

Enjoy such liberty.

If you want to read the whole poem, it’s on Wikipedia. Someone set the lyrics to music, and Dave Swarbrick does an excellent version on Fairport Convention’s album Nine. I was fortunate enough to be photographing Dave on stage during my music photographer days and lost all interest in photography when he launched into the fiddle intro to Althea (I say fiddle, but I believe Dave was playing a viola that night). I learned years later that Dave was struggling with hearing loss, probably from all those years on stage in front of giant amplifiers. I’m partially deaf today in my right ear, the one that was usually toward the amps when I was on stage right. Fairport was opening for Traffic on that early 70s tour, and, for my money put on a better show.

But back to poor Richard pining for Althea through his bars. Let me tell you something, Richard. Stone walls (or concrete today) do a pretty damned effective prison make!

Modern prisons are modular structures made of interlocking precast concrete slabs. The slabs are lifted into place with cranes during construction. You may find signs that the slabs were lying flat at one time in the form of muddy boot prints going across walls that no one bothered to clean off. These “build a prison kits” go together quickly, almost like building with Lego blocks. Once finished they generally are T-shaped buildings, with each arm of the T being a “pod” with cells on three sides, plus showers, and a flat concrete floor with stainless steel tables with attached seats anchored to the floor. Cells generally are about 8 x 12 feet on the inside with the door on one of the 8 foot walls and a small window on the other. Except that the designers of the prison I’m in right now decided to omit the windows. Inside each cell are two bunks attached to the walls, a very small table attached to a wall with one or two seats, also attached to the wall, and a one-piece stainless steel sink/toilet, also attached to a wall. Nothing movable! I’ve been in four different Virginia prisons in the last ten years, and they’re pretty much the same with minor variations. Storage space for personal belongings in cells is very limited, usually an under-bed locker, either welded to the bottom bunk or sliding on the floor so it can be pushed under the bottom bunk. Speaking of bunks, they’re steel slabs. We are given “mattresses” for comfort, two-inch thick foam pads that are more like yoga mats than real mattresses. I used to have a “medical mattress” prescribed by a DOC doctor, but the DOC eliminated them several years ago. It was about six inches thick and very comfortable. I guess they don’t want us to be comfortable. I’m certainly not. I’m writing this at four in the morning, unable to sleep, an all too common problem here. For towels or whatever there are two “hooks” on one wall. These are straight metal rods about three inches long with a ball on the end that fits into a socket attached to the wall. The ball is a friction fit into the socket, so if you put too much weight on it, it collapses. Why? “We don’t want no hangings.”

I really don’t understand what anyone thinks they’re accomplishing by warehousing people this way. They no longer call these places prisons. Now they’re “Correctional Centers.”. I guess the word “prison” has become non-PC. But I can tell you from personal experience that damn little correction takes place. Oh, they have programs and classes, they will tell you. I’ve “been down” ten years as of last September and have yet to be offered a seat in one of those programs or classes. I’ve certainly not been rehabilitated! Nor did I need to be. I was doing just fine, making a good living from photography and writing, and at the peak of my career. And the state brought my whole life crashing down over events that never even happened except in the imagination of an incompetent quack of a medical examiner. I’ve posted details at www.bobshelltruth.com under News Updates.

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About The Author: Bob Shell is a professional photographer, author and former editor in chief of Shutterbug Magazine. He is currently serving a 35 year sentence for involuntary manslaughter for the death of Marion Franklin, one of his former models. Shell was recently moved from Pocahontas State Correctional Center, Pocahontas, Virginia to River North Correctional Center 329 Dellbrook Lane Independence, VA 24348.  Mr. Shell continues to claim his innocence. He is serving the 11th year of his sentence. To read more letters from prison by Bob Shell, click herehttp://tonyward.com/bob-shell-whats-wrong-with-the-american-justice-system/

 

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