Obama was the nicest guy - Intelligent and cool.
Comparatively speaking, his successor plays the fool.
Ridiculous and baseless tweets, The Donald can't avoid.
His recent missives indicate he's turning paranoid.
Barack Obama seems to be Trump's ongoing obsession.
Obama saved the U.S.A. from Bush-induced recession.
The Donald hates Barack's success and can't leave it alone,
and Trump, now "off the rails", claims Obama bugged his phone!
Trump's offered no supporting facts for his emphatic claim.
No warrants from the F.B.I. or C.I.A. to blame.
Perhaps he thinks Barack Obama has a super-power
that lets him fly high in the sky to break into Trump Tower.
So, do you wonder, Donald Trump, just where Barack is now?
Is he there behind the curtains? Is he in the walls somehow?
Is he watching from the ceiling? Is he in the chandelier?
Is he in your 15th closet? Do these thoughts fill you with fear?
Is he down at Mar-a-Lago, in the old groundskeeper's shed?
Is he disguised just like Melania, right there in your bed?
The truth may be much worse than that! Does it fill you with dread,
to realize Barack is living... deep inside your head?
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/lYz2aE59x1E
Written March 11, 2017
Police the police
Police the people who police the police
They're out to get us!
Hold on to Power
At all costs!
Have you seen the Master Magician around lately?
He who shows you a mirror with his right hand
While he picks your pocket with his left hand
He whose tongue tells you tales of a bogeyman
As his eyes induce you to part with your keys
He who wears the most beautiful of masks
To hide the psychopath that lurks within
Have you seen this Master Magician around lately?
He who will empty your pockets and ask for more
He who will become the master of your home
He who will convince you: “its all for your own good!”
It is in our nature to deceive
When among apex predators
We hide our true intentions
In our minds
We make enemies of friends
Wary of what games they play
Friendships becoming wars of attrition
Subvert each other's eyes
Cloud each other's visions
And building intelligence caches
Waiting for the moment
To air out dirty laundry
To instigate and spread propaganda
A new era of Cold War
As if social interactions
Are but chess games
Who will sacrifice the pawns
Who will take the queen
Who will kill the king
Or are we but pretending to be jesters
Or rooks silently waiting in the corner?
Life's a beach
And then you die;
Your privacy's breached,
But you've nothing to hide.
Their argument's weak
And you still take their side.
Why is it that each
Time they further occupy
Our lives, there's not a peep--
No matter how humongous the lie?
Instead we continue to sleep-
Walk and push revolution aside.
If you care not for secrets to keep,
Don't open your mouth wide;
'Cause you can't have freedom of speech
With nothing to say. Open your eyes.
Where the fuck is all the fuss?
They keep track of every detail
And continue to follow us
Around; our footprints leave trails
To every part of us, ranging from our hate and lust;
Every letter in every email;
Every phone call to loved ones and people of trust.
Our whole lives are on sale.
Where the fuck is the anger and disgust?
They feel every spot like the blind feel Braille.
Shouldn't we be kicking up dust
Until there's no record or tales
Of our privacy? We must readjust;
We're crawling at a snail's
Pace while they grow more robust.
Ever heard of how Winston and Julia failed?
Also, I'm sorry for posting pieces that I consider crap; I'm truggling with a heavy block at the moment.
I'ʍ a sքʏ ɨռtօ ɦɛʀ sօʊʟ
A tʀɛasʊʀɛ tʀօʋɛ;
Oʄ sɨʟʋɛʀ aռɖ ɢօʟɖ.
©Earl jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry
I'm a spy into her soul
A treasure trove;
Of silver and gold,
Because of them
Rules & rules again
Using all their could to hold me away
Ignoring all about my love
Spying me like an adept
Expecting I'm gonna forget
Do not expect me to do it
Hard as it could be
Enraged towards them
All a can is thinkin'
Rage inside me
To never forget him
My Body is clean !!!
My mind is away !!
From bushes and corners Tom loiters to savour
Husbands and wives and their peculiar behaviour
The silhouette figures on blinds almost closed
Like shadow play theatre on ordinary roads
Where windows with not quite drawn curtains allows
Couples indulging their marital vows
Private acts performed in not quite plain sight
The ghosts of romance at play in the night
The lamp light chiaroscuros of foreign bedrooms
Throw degraded contortions of old brides and grooms
Tom watches from the darkness with spyglasses and lenses
To catch loss of control and obligatory frenzies
It's a street side peepshow that’s given for free
For him in the bushes from where they can't see
Looking for something that strikes him familiar
So he can rest easy and know we're all similar
Society would no doubt brand Tom a monstrosity
But lust without caution sparks natural curiosity
So he catches the secrets of those old heterosexuals
Whose flesh tones through curtain gaps make peeping consensual.