Category Archives: Nostradamus speaks…

Terrorists are strapped in suicide belts

(Nostradamus speaks) Terrorists are strapped in suicide belts Holding plebs hostage to two-party rules: Vote for either of the supreme dolts Or be known for all time as utter fools. Print Friendly

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In the city of fratricidal love

(Nostradamus speaks) In the city of fratricidal love Corporatists embrace militarists. The serfs’ protector is given the shove And exile to the angry purists. Print Friendly

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In two thousand and sixteen, the Rust Belt

(Nostradamus speaks) In two thousand and sixteen, the Rust Belt Clamors for snake oil to massage the hurt; Betrayal of the working man and noble Lies lead the mob into the burning street. Print Friendly

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In the city heart of unending rust flash

(Nostradamus speaks) In city heart of unending rust flash Knives, cutting hate and fascist polish; Avarice unites the slick demagogues In rancid clamor that the “crooked” blush. Print Friendly

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In hottest winter the Water Bearer

(Nostradamus speaks) In hottest winter the Water Bearer offers stellar poison to the New World: Reptiles fill palace chambers with terror and a new American flag unfurled. Print Friendly

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White muddies to shades of brown and Negro

(Nostradamus speaks) White muddies to shades of brown and Negro And how the rage of class turns on its head! O the dream of race from so long ago Wakes to find a foreign future instead. Print Friendly

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When the calendar turns twenty thirty

(Nostradamus speaks) When the calendar turns twenty thirty, O the frightened will flock to Florida; The burden will crack apart the party And the land sink into foul miasma. Print Friendly

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In the last days, the frigid antipodes

(Nostradamus speaks) In the last days, the frigid antipodes will melt and flood away the lowlands; seas will rise and salt the coastal cities, and the homeless wander in angry bands. Print Friendly

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As the bright leaves of November flutter

(Nostradamus speaks) As the bright leaves of November flutter Across the barren fields  like little flames, The poor will rise against the high born lords And set fire to their political dreams. Print Friendly

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