internet wingnuts...
nah nah nah whatcha thinkin?
whatcha thinkin....you spelled it wrong
whatcha thinkin...you didnt capitalize
are you satan's spawn you cant write that here
i will come to your house and eat your dog
nah nah nah whatcha thinkin?
ill follow you round tearing you down till you let me kiss you
ill fill your mailbox full of hate till you love me
i will tell everyone what a horrible person you are
till you let me in
who are you....keep me warm....let me hate you
wingnuts....wingnuts everywhere
whoever invented the block list should get a freakin sainthood
whatcha thinking you cant block me
ill just make a new profile
fill your inbox full of hate till you love me

DUMPY TRUMPY

Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****.
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****.
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.

Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.

Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.

Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.

Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.

"I once thought I had mono for an entire year. It turned out I was just really bored."--Wayne Campbell, *Wayne's World

Pass this
        night un-
*******
                                            wingnuts­.
Opened
        casing
showing
                                 ­            my guts.

Fragmented seconds ticking, slipping
through the widening span
                                     of these small hands.
I've unlocked                         my innards
and the truth is out: it's mostly rusting gears.
I've wound down.                 I've ground up
days and weeks, upended months,
spilled crumbs
                         of my years
on pages, aging fast.
The faces show it's late,
                                        so late.

Time's up.
          Trickling
out of
                                        habits
Gutter
        ­   nights are
washing
                                         ashes
Into
                 Yawning
                                              Faces
fille­d up
                  with questions
                                              falling
f­rom the corners of
their weary, sunburnt eyes.

I'll tick off one more weekend, crossing
panels off a page.
                               Discard a month.
They've opened                    the archives
and the story's old, the golden paper cracks.
The faces,                               blank pages,
rifle past through volumes' deaf--
--'ning greys.
                        Intentions
forgotten, filtered through
the seasons' blurring hum.

                                              It's so late.

I can't seem to catch a break
My luck is marred by misfortune
I pass the dance squads grooving to tunes coming out of their ghetto blaster
Shaved ice and snow cones
Party foul!
Lamps busted get an adhesive

They went sightseeing
Dabbling in the art of hiking
More or less wandering
It may sound off putting to some

He is a delightful chap
He's good with wingnuts and transistors
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls
Cut up the buckwheat
For an incomparable meal
Empty out the ashtrays and spittoons
The epilogues of habits
Solve improper fractions
You got nothing else better to do
Recite the silicone soliloquy

Fritter away the votes for the popularity contest
Because you've spoken your mind
Here comes The Pony Express
Here I come looking disheveled
We're all onions, peel back the layers and look for yourself
Play it by ear

We can hear you panting
The lazy work horse
With a hostile mentality
And portentous attitude
Go alphabetize the tiles in the bathroom

"Crime is common, logic is rare"
But she has defied that statement
When she waltzed in, and looked for the emergency exits
And found a sense of humor amongst her latchkey misery and love life tragedies

As the clueless boys on blue try to fill their quota
And the ones in deep thought assess situations
While putting lipstick on pigs in a blanket
During the inspection of a chalk line ****** scene

Words by: Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2021.

There is such a thing
As white privilege
And to the manner born
A seventeen year old white boy
Who killed two men  
Now is a paragon
For all that ails our divided country
And frankly put is wrong

Wingnuts will parade him
As  a profile in courage
Others will lambaste him
With words that disparage
The justice system that let him go
Was simply a miscarrage
Cos he’s presented as a hero instead
Of the murderer of the two men dead

How did he get away with it
Some are bound to ask?
No doubt others will celebrate
By raising their flask
Though it’s a travesty
To say the very least
What he’s become if you ask me
Is a savage beast

What have we become
I’d just like to know?
Cos we will have to reap
The sordid seeds we sow
The American experiment
Has quite a ways to go
I hope that she makes it
Even though I don’t know









Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2021.  All rights reserved.