STANDING JUST OFF STAGE - The Road to Poland… for us.

If we do not Learn from History ...then we must repeat it: Fascism in the 21st Century

In this issue of "In the Pureland of the Volcanos" this initial page introduction of the "background frame", that presence that lay behind the disparate daily events depicted in each collection, comes to the forefront and is the matter of the poems in the present collection.

Just as the Previous Chapbook taught us The History Lesson, a History we didn’t want to repeat - unfortunately THIS Chapbook shows us a VISION of America in the Near Future we will live through if we haven’t learned that Lesson!

Our Mailidy Part 1 - Homeless in Eden

Oregon deficits


Street camps

Our Mailidy Part 2 - - Hate and Exploitation


June 18, 1844: The Provisional Government passes Oregon’s first black exclusion law. It states that blacks who tried to settle in Oregon would be publicly whipped – thirty-nine lashes, repeated every six months – until they left Oregon.

December 19, 1844: The Exclusion Law is changed. Blacks who tried to settle in Oregon would not be whipped; instead, they would be forced to do public labor.

November 9, 1857: Oregon voters approve the Oregon constitution, which bans both slavery and new black residents in Oregon. It makes it illegal for blacks to own real estate, make contracts, vote, or use the legal system. [see above]

Oregon constitution of 1857      Section 35 of article I.

      "No free Negro, or Mulatto, not residing in this state at the time of the adoption of this constitution,  

      shall come, reside, or be within this state, or hold any real estate, or make any contracts, or

      maintain any suit therein; an the Legislative Assembly shall provide by penal laws, for the removal,

      by public officers, of all such Negroes, and Mulattos, and for their effectual exclusion from the

      state, and for the punishment of persons who shall bring them into the state, or employ, or harbor



Fiery crosses and marchers in Ku Klux Klan (KKK) regalia were common sights in Oregon and the nation during the 1920s. The social and economic problems following World War I only partly explain why this organization, with its southern heritage of racism and violence, appealed to the overwhelmingly white, native-born, and Protestant population of Oregon…

... and few Oregonians questioned the Klan's doctrines of white supremacy, Protestantism, and "One-Hundred Per Cent Americanism.".

My "Our Town" , Cottage Grove came to host one of 10 Klaverns in Oregon.


“I don’t want our culture diluted. We need to close the borders now and let everyone assimilate to a Western, white, English-speaking way of life.” Gavin McInnes

Those who enter the third degree [of the Proud Boys] have demonstrated their commitment by getting a Proud Boys tattoo...

[and] “The fourth [degree of the Proud Boys] is reserved for those who have gotten in a “fight for the cause.”



from the second part of the Poetry Cycle The Crowning Skull of Earth

[ Heard once again at the The Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2017 ]    


We like it because it’s FUN to be Cruel!


[MALES repeat building to a Victory Crescendo when arriving at the rumble.]

What do we do, we feisty boys

marching in step

our Homeland to come

we boys of the banner

and men of the drum

with the asocial shits of

the RED 5th Column?

what is to be done?

what is to be done by

we boys of the banner

and men of the drum?

We beat our drum and cock our gun

da-dum-dee dum. da-dum-dee dum

we take to the streets and make them run

da-dum-dee dum, da-dum-dee dum

da-dum-dee dum, da-dum-dee dum.

the weak boys and the foreign scum,

the beaky Jew, the Banker scum?

Just fuck them! fuck them! [shouted with lust]

fuck the fucking lot of them!      [shouted with lust]

da-dum-dee dum.

da-dum-dee dum.


[FEMALES repeat as long as they are marching with the MEN]

hammer in hand

hand with hammer

brothers stand taller

shoulder to shoulder

shoulder to shoulder

boot to boot     [EMPHATIC]

hammer in hand

hand with hammer

[slap truncheon on palm starting each line]


[repeat the opening three stanzas stamping as if still marching when assembling for the CALL TO ACTION!]

[FALL, 2023]


It's my home. I mow my lawn.

My front door is a locked door

I can put between me and the World

and all that goes on.

When I die the sale of my house

will pay my debt to the bank,

property tax and credit cards

- all of them.

Holding my cup, with my last

swallow of coffee, at the sink

at the kitchen window I see

an old man with the brass hose-

grip from the hose I use for watering.

He is standing naked and in bare feet

under a blanket, blinking back at me.

I wonder who will buy the things he's stealing.

It’s disconcerting to go into your kitchen

and see a young college dropout drinking milk

at your refrigerator, the back door open,

his eyes full of apology.

Mothers and children sorting garbage

sit on the curb. Pulling out of the garage,

One is careful not to bump them

on the way to work. Our eyes meet without a word.

We cannot go on pretending. There is no excuse

for the homeless to choose the life of thieves.

I have taken out a loan for a Defense from the Homeless

Retrofit Kit and a pro installer for security.

Who has turned all these white people into zombies?

Who will collect them from our streets? They carry

feral children, the need for drug money and

the opportunity for prostitution like dogs carry fleas.

If there was an election I'd vote to no longer see

Them as I drive by from the sidewalk looking back at me.

Once again my front door would be locked

and the world would remain someplace

far from me.


THE TRAIN TO MI CASA BAJA - It's a Soul Train. Soul Train...

In the ear pop concussion and jaw drop shock

of Reverend Dr. King jr.’s assassination

in Memphis Tennessee, mom and dad

having finished their after dinner martini

turned on the Black and White TV and watched with me

the Chicago police riot and rage like Morlocks

against their mortal enemy

- the Eloi-like children of Democracy dubbed 'Hippy'.

This was ’68, I was turning 18, and for me

after the jolt and loss of hope

with the R.F.K. assassination,

if asked in ’69 I would say

I never thought I myself would survive

to see 68, a birthday that seemed as far

as Alpha Centauri,

(4 point 3 light years away), and me

driving a ’59 VW bug, (named Lucifer Sam

after the Pink Floyd’s cat), a cute

little beast that floored was itself lucky

to reach 60! For me 68 was a landmark year

so far over the horizon of space-time

it seemed like science fiction to me.

Even then, the more apocalyptic Republican,

and grim John Birch Society Men were secretly

driving the first spikes for laying the rails

that would go all the way some day

from Arcadia to Santa Anita race-track and then

all the way down Alta and Baja California

to a dark Arena locked below La Paz

in a A New Oz called “Mi Casa Baja”

in a brave new world in which, without precedent

the Supreme Court, after RBG’s assassination,

made serving a full “Term of War” a term

that Congress could grant a President. But back then,

The first time Arcadia served America as a detention facility

it was in Word War Two when it was an All American

Concentration Camp for 18,000 Japanese, after legally

being stripped of Civil Rights like Home and Property.

Now once again, in 2032, to accompany

America’s Joint Military “Mexican Domestic Intervention"

as part of the resurrected and pumped up New WAR PLAN GREEN,

Arcadia would serve to house Mexican citizens whose status

had been demoted by Presidential writ

(dutifully rubber-stamped by our Court Supreme),

a demotion that dropped them in stages

from Citizen to Civilian, and then to Resident Alien,

and given Train Tickets with a bar-code

to match the RFT chip stuck in their backs.

So it was that the Bus and Train Terminal at Santa Anita


became the beginning of a set of iron tracks

that would end badly for Them,

the Deported,

the new Draft Dodger,

those who carried the pox of defiance,

and those labelled “Mexican”

now that Arcadia and the Santa Anita Racetrack

served as an ‘American Drancy’ with its secret

kept bottled up at the far off End of the Line

like a fine wine they only serve

those with reservations to dine

in “Mi Casa Baja”, where every family is assigned

its own house and a work assignment to pay their way

and regain the pride of the autonomous.

To prosper in communities Hispanic and homogenous.

Communities color-coded, yet, hidden behind

the retaining walls of long bland freeways - anonymous

developments with bland names Like ‘Little Green Lawns’

and “Pools and Shade”. Scores of them all tucked away

stacked behind La Paz southward into arroyos and valleys

where only their designers could find them, as if… if Estado Libre y Soberano de Baja California Sur

were being groomed to play its part at the other end

of the 1,344 kilometer

run of double iron rails

between Civilization and a Final Solution

down in America’s own Poland.

down in America’s own Poland.

down in America’s own Poland.