Author Archives: Mike Falconer

After a career in the entertainment lighting business encompassing, sales, technical support, marketing, photography, and writing, I now manage and market veterinary hospitals.

The Age of Cruelty

Don’t get involved in politics
Say the recipients of unrealized privilege
Don’t argue and have a good life
The world is a joke and learn how to laugh
say those who look and behave towards the mean
1 + 1 = 5

47 did something I approved of for once
Calling the Department of Defense
The Department of War
Because that is what it is
We defend jack shit
But boy,
We sure do like invading places
And involving ourselves in the wars of other peoples
Since 1945, too numerous to mention
I know this because I was going to list them all
But lists make for a poor excuse for poetry

But maybe we can be just as honest about all our institutions

The Department of Corporate Corruption
The Central Insurgency Agency
The Federal Bureau of Imprisonment
The Department of Hypocrisy and Human Suffering
The National Spying Agency
The Bought and Paid for Court

Will this be known as The Age of Cruelty?

If there is anyone left to think and feel

To see through the copaganda
And to rage against the regime

In the same week as more mass shootings, bomb threats,
Legal backing for racial profiling,
And a political podcaster reaping what they sowed
There is the horror of a movie about 50 young men
Volunteering to walk or be shot
In an America without hope
Based on a book that horrified me
when I was 13

Yet it Is tame compared to being a school kid in America today

Or watching the political violence
On the bleeding edge of tipping us into war

Hey, now we have a department for that

I always dismissed most dystopian fiction
I believed the line
“So this is how democracy dies – with thunderous applause”
Never believed that it would be like watching a slow-motion car crash
The majority feeling impotent to affect change
A piece of flotsam on troubled waters

It is not enough to call it unacceptable
It is not enough to say that it is a distraction
And protesting…

If congress and the courts can’t protect us
Then what are they for
Why do we pay for them,
Their health insurance
Their pensions

We are not a rogue state
We are a failed state
A police state
A disunited state

Police and governments who can’t tell the difference between anti-Semitic, anti-Zionist, and people protesting genocide

I will never forgive the Democrats for making me agree
with Marjorie Taylor Fucking Greene

I saw a post with a soldier saying we should have faith and trust our troops
As they patrol our streets with guns
Ready to backup a secret police force as it disappears people
One underclass at a time
Every Military Junta says to trust them at the start

To a people without hope
In an age of cruelty.

Image by James Ensor, Death Chasing the Flock of Mortals, 1896

(Fold)

Change
It starts with a change
An aberration straying from the norm
Unexpected, yet foreseeable
Once one removes the patriotic blinders
The exceptionalism myth
Taught in school to glaze over the slavery, genocide , and empire building
It can happen here
It can happen to us

(Fold)

And then the question becomes
What if we want to undo that change?
It’s simple right?
Reclaim our rose tinted view of the world?
Putting renewed faith in the institutions that failed us
The definition of madness
Doing the same nonsense again
And again

(Unfold)

But the marks are still there
The history of abusing the things we are supposed to hold most dear
The betrayal of shared values
A fracturing of belonging
And these things can now happen again
Because the taboos have been broken

(Refold)

And now there is a road map of fault lines
Well traveled and now a playbook
Much easier for one more step
One more outrage
That is ignored
Or accepted

(Fold)

And to slide

(Fold)

An inexorable slippage into what we have always said we despised

(Fold)

And the realization

(Fold)

That this is what we are
Smaller, less important
To ourselves
And to others
Fallible
And not in a position to lecture anyone

(Unfold)

Because the scars of what we have done to ourselves are not going away
It will never be the same again
And maybe we should just…

(Crumple)

Start again.

@wordoutlet

A reading of my poem “(Fold)” at the @spotlightpoetrylv open mic on 9/4/25 at @TavernaCostera in Las Vegas. Not the greatest of videos (sorry) but the audience were awesome. #creatorsearchinsights #spokenpoetry #poetry #lasvegaspoet #deepmeaningpoetry

♬ Talkin’ Gangsta – The808Wizrd

Adrift

I just don’t understand where I’m from any more
I don’t recognize the place I used to call home
Even looking through the lens of an adopted home
Dissent and all
All the way to dissident

But I’m now adrift
From what is a different kind of authoritarian nightmare

One that removed the right to silence in the name crime and punishment
One that broke from Europe in the name of an empire of old
One that watches every street corner in the name of public safety
One that suppresses free speech in the name of genocide
One that legalized cruelty to trans people in the name of protecting women
One that broke the internet in name of the safety of children
One that waves the flag of little England and pickets the hotels of refugees
One that sends people to jail for a tweet or a Facebook post

What have you become
How dare you

It’s an authoritarian world
It would seem
We just have to live in it.

Image from www.freepik.com

The Ballad of Mr. Pig’s Farm

Mr. Pig had taken ownership of the farm
The Farm had some problems
Not least the legacy of the 46 former owners
And Mr. Pig was determined to fix the problems his way
“I’m going to make this farm great again” said Mr. Pig

The sheep looked on concerned
They knew something of Mr. Pig
And most of them did not like what they had seen
But there were also sheep who thought the world of Mr. Pig
“King Pig” they called him
“He’ll make us great again and punish those who need punished” they continued
Who needed punished exactly
they could not quite agree on

Now the Farm used wolves to control the sheep
It also used them to protect against wolves from other farms and wolves from the forest
Mr. Pig secretly wanted to be a wolf, so he gave them whatever they wanted
He removed their leashes
He removed their collars
He bought them whatever they wanted paid for with the wool of the sheep

The majority of the sheep bleated in complaint
“What are you doing?
We did not want this,
We have rights”
Mr. Pig just laughed
“I make the rules, and this is for your own safety”

With every change on the Farm, most of the sheep bleated in complaint
Mr. Pig tied red bandanas on the most loyal of sheep
To let the wolves know which ones were his supporters
“Don’t be difficult, don’t argue” said the sheep with red bandannas
“Mr. Pig is going to bring us the good life, learn to take a joke”

Every night the sheep could hear the wolves
Not just patrolling the fence line
But inside their pen
The wolves no longer talked to the sheep
And had started to wear masks
The sheep could no longer tell one wolf from another
When morning came one of the sheep would be missing
Usually a brown or black one
And the wolves would be a little fatter

“We are better than the sheep” sang the wolves
“The Wolves are making the farm great again,
Long live Mr. Pig,
We tow the thin red line”

Mr. Pig made money by selling the sheep’s wool
But Mr. Pig wanted more
He was a pig after all
“I have a biggly new place for some of you to live” said Mr. Pig to the sheep
“Where you will be safe and secure
and most importantly with your own kind”

The brown and black sheep were herded onto trucks by the wolves
And they were never seen again by the remaining sheep
“Where are our brown and black friends?”
said some of the remaining sheep, usually the ones without red bandannas
“They are living their best lives” said Mr. Pig looking at his brand-new gold watch

Soon it was the rainbow-colored sheep who were rounded up and loaded onto trucks
“There is no place for your type here” said Mr. Pig
The sheep, knowing that complaining to Mr. Pig would make no difference, complained to each other
“When will this stop?”
“It could happen to us!”
“It couldn’t happen to us” said the sheep with red bandannas
“We trust Mr. Pig”
But they looked a little nervous to the other sheep

The herd of sheep grew ever smaller and smaller
As Mr. Pig and the wolves grew fatter and fatter
The wolves had grown so fat that they no longer listened to Mr. Pig
They knew he lied
Only cared about money
And he was just a pig after all

When the last truck full of sheep left for the slaughterhouse
The sheep bleated “How could you do this to us Mr. Pig, we loved you”
Their red bandannas offsetting their snow-white coats
Mr. Pig replied “This is just the art of the deal and you are just sheep after all”

Mr. Pig gazed out over his orderly empty farm
“My farm is finally great” he said
Spotting some remaining sheep shit he told his wolves to take care of it
But wolves don’t eat shit at the best of times
And they no longer had sheep to eat
The farm did not seem great to them
So they pounced on Mr. Pig and ate him alive
For while the wolves liked mutton they also liked ham
And they were wolves after all

After trying on Mr. Pigs clothes and deciding they were not for wolves
They melted away into the forest leaving the farm abandoned, decaying, and rotting
The legacy of Mr. Pig

Image a combination of works by Imágenes Cristianas y Poderosas and Charly Gutmann from Pixabay

His Story

Those who prevent history from being read intend to repeat it

Bombs bombs bombs
It’s all distraction for money and power
Sixteen million dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Grift grift grift
Look to the left, look to the right
Two hundred million dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Chaos chaos chaos
Show us your papers, show me some ID
Two hundred and five million dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Those who prevent history from being taught intend to repeat it

Disburse, disburse, disburse
Hands behind your back, stop resisting
Six hundred and eight point four million dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Hate, hate, hate
Make America great again
Three point nine billion dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Buy, buy, buy
Deport the homegrowns
Eight billion dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Those who prevent history from being learned intend to repeat it

Fear, fear, fear
Prosecute Obama for treason
Forty-five billion dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Tariff, Tariff, Tariff
Free Ghislaine Maxwell for testimony
One hundred and seventy billion dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Lies, Lies, Lies
Visit the gift shop at Alligator Alcatraz
Five Trillion Dollars
Forget about Jeffrey Epstein

Those who prevent history from being understood intend to repeat it.

Image: The Deadly Sins Dominated by Death by James Ensor

@wordoutlet

A reading of my poem “His Story” at the Speakin Weird open mic at the Gailic Lane Cafe in Aberdeen, Scotland on March 16th 2026. This poem was written in July 2025 and it’s more relevant now than ever. #creatorsearchinsights #spokenpoetry #poem #poetry #deepmeaningpoetry

♬ Villains Beat – Walter Landors

Unreliable Narrator now on sale!

My new collection of poetry, Unreliable Narrator, is now available for sale from Avantpop Books.

From the book jacket:

"Commentary is inherently untrustworthy. By definition, it is one person’s view shared with others. Our self-narration of our personal lives, of our thoughts and beliefs, our very world is a one-sided affair. How reliable a narrator can we be of ourselves and how we view the world? Should we accept the inherent unreliability of our daily lives in what we are told, in what we read, and in what we watch? 

In this third volume of poetry from Las Vegas poet Mike Falconer, we explore the writer’s views of politics, historical events, his personal life, and the place he calls home as an unreliable narrator. 
Whether he is to be trusted is up to you."

https://avantpopbooks.com/products/unreliable-narrator-poems-by-mike-falconer

Unreliable Narrator

Mike Falconer’s third book of poems, Unreliable Narrator, is now available for preorder.

“Commentary is inherently untrustworthy. By definition, it is one person’s view shared with others. Our self-narration of our personal lives, of our thoughts and beliefs, our very world is a one-sided affair. How reliable a narrator can we be of ourselves and how we view the world? Should we accept the inherent unreliability of our daily lives in what we are told, in what we read, and in what we watch? 

In this third volume of poetry from Las Vegas poet Mike Falconer, we explore the writer’s views of politics, historical events, his personal life, and the place he calls home as an unreliable narrator.
 
Whether he is to be trusted is up to you.” 

Death Cult

We are the death cult
The victims of history
Never again
Turned into never against us
But not, never by us
Drunk on our power
Paid for by Americans with no healthcare

We are the death cult
Genocide an instrument of statecraft
Avoidance of prosecution for corruption
And of course crimes against humanity
But for what do we care about international law
Here in the killing fields of the stateless

We are the death cult
Using the West’s own hand wringing
Against themselves
They would rather go blind
Than be reminded of turning an blind eye eighty years ago
The tail that wags the dog

We are the death cult
Absolutists till the day we die
There is no middle ground
Just our ground
Gifted by god, history, and the racism of others
That dovetails with the racism of our own apartheid

We are the death cult
Making the most powerful nation on earth our bitch
Our client state
War and politics as a zero sum game
Bombs in personal devices
Poisoning rice with opiates
Killing the hungry
Annihilating the dispossessed

We are the death cult
And if you have not realized yet we don’t care
We are Samson
We will pull the temple down around us all
Dancing on the tightrope of World War Three
The arbiters of the language of mass murder
Destroying all criticism by proxy
For what do we care about racism
As long as you support our nationalism

For we are the death cult.

Image from https://publicdomainreview.org/

No Kings

No Kings
Tweaked by their puppet strings

No emperors
Losing their tempers

No dictators
Trying to be crusaders

No disappearances
And prosecutions for interference

No overseas prisons
Except for politicians

No secret police
Patrolling the streets

No masked public servants
Acting as insurgents

No facial recognition
Storing biometric data without permission

No plastic munitions
Used without preconditions

No tear gas
Used to suppress and harass

No curfew
The authorities are still supposed to serve you

No troops on our streets
Under the pretext of a breach of the peace

No martial law
That we all foresaw

No military parades
Feeding into orange charades

No unbridled executive power
A human centipede waiting to devour

No sacking of the public purse
Make the billionaires reimburse

No oligarchs
Instead start quoting Marx

No plutocrats
They are like sewer rats

No Fascism 
Turning the screws on the class system

No Supreme Court
They are brought and paid like an escort

No Freedom
In this fiefdom

No republicans
Who seem to want to go back to Dickens

No democrats
They are like Guildenstern and Rosencrantz

No bill of rights
Not even the highlights

No constitution
Without revolution

No Kings

Orange is Not a Colour

Two of my poems are in a new collection from the UK edited by Finn Hall and published by A Blot from the Blue.

“Orange is Not a Colour: Poems against totalitarianism” is an anthology featuring poets from Scotland, Wales, England, France, Sweden, Australia, Malaysia, Singapore, India, Mexico, and the USA.

I’m humbled to have “The Clown Show” and “Coup d’état” included with so many great poems and poets.

Orange is Not a Colour can be purchased here.