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Mark Wanless Jul 2021
someone does something
i will defend myself hard
hospital for all
Humpty Trumpty
sat on his wall
bleating and blathering,
condemning us all.

"I know the way,
I'm better than you,"
Tweeted he every night
over his golf course view.

"I don't care for
and not so much
Well, at least not the Dems and
those on the

I prefer instead
those painted orange,
like me,
in fine Italian shoes.

I'm the President now,
I decide
if the sky stays blue...
not the the artists or the scientists...
and certainly not

I'll make this Country great again!
You'll see,
I know what to do!
Put your faith in me,
a 'Billionaire'!
I promise,
I'll tell you true!"

Hollered he up high,
his chubby fingers crossed,
as his great jowels blubbered,
and his voice quaked with frost.

"I wonder," thought I,
reading his alternate 'facts' of the day,

"Maybe he wouldn't be so grumpy
if his daddy had loved him more,
or at all,
or maybe,
just maybe,
if his fat greedy hands
weren't so
Sent to DJT in his first 100. May it grace the cover of my FBI file, should I have such a file.
I have no desire to eat,
When the dollar keeps
getting higher,
Another night of fighting sleep,
Father, my eyes are so tired,
So much time I've wasted,
I haven't done enough,
enough to make my life count.

Dear Jesus, I can feel your pain,
Does this ink bleed in vain,
I don't understand...
why I can't let go,
if it's all in your hands,
I'm not complaining,
Yet I can't explain it.

Before I could careless,
if tomorrow never came,
Now it's different,
I worry if I close my eyes,
that they won't open to see another
blue sky,
Oh Jesus, does it even matter at all,
since you already know who will & who won't fall.
Will my soul still breathe,
if my body, it should leave.

I can't breathe in,
My thoughts are spinning,
I need a bite to eat,
I need some sleep,
But I'm afraid I'll miss a chance
to fix what I broke in the past.

Father, my eyes are too tired,
too weak to weep,
I won't risk losing a chance,
by closing these eyes tonight,
Don't let this ink bleed in vain,
show me how to do it right,
and I will this time.

I don't know how to let go
of things I don't own, of thing's
I didn't know,
I don't know how to let go
of what thing's that I have,
I don't know how to let go
of the thing's I know.
I know You are in control,
Oh God, I'm in debt,
Make me pay what I owe
before from my body,
it's time for my soul to go.
It's just what I said but impossible to explain. So if you can get something out of my words inked with blood then maybe you can explain it better to me.
Julie Grenness May 2020
When  did  I learn somewhere,
That Capitalism does not care,
Should have realized when  I was young,
Economies flourish best with guns,
Over here in Oz, you see,
Iron ore and uranium, basically,
These fund our economy,
Is the human race naive?
Depends on what you believe,
Uncle Sam will want you and you,
Take care, young chicks and dudes,
Armed conflict soon everywhere,
When the Covid antidote is here,
Capitalism does not even care....
Feedback welcome.
onlylovepoetry May 2020
what does her true voice sound like?*

going on seven, maybe eight years,
know the thumbprint of her stylish,
at twenty paces, her tower recognizable,
leaning in, she is the garden, can’t tell
where the garden ends and she begins

she opens the pages and lets slip out the
exposed flora+fauna of of her heart’s eyes observatory,
revelation unintended but wanted, she can’t be helped,
for she, both a revealer, reveler, party girl, beat poet

know her
in the bursting:  of the spring welcoming festival
in the bursting:                     of the season of loves busted unhappiness,
I know her well enough but not at all

in the sparse, frozen soil, and in the contra-blooming,
in every season, she warps my judgement,
with words unheard, unknown, the dictionary my accompanist,
what she says is a language purportedly in common, maybe not,
she takes me on a tour of her symphonic insights,
as my foreign tour guide

enwrapped, entrapped, I am, as she crooks her hair, in the
curved shape of a question mark top,
unknowing what does her voice sound like?

try different versions, a tasting menu of mellifluous, and
imagine myself to sleep, wondering and wandering,

what does her voice sound like?

off to sleep,
smiling, frowning
upside downing

11:51pm Tue May 5
Faizel Farzee May 2020
covid -19
a killer unseen, without uttering a threat
it has the world pulling at every nerve, it has them down on their knees.
It has people creating songs about going crazy in quarantine
While Trump is really going crazy,
he cant throw money at it
for someone like him, this is unseen,
now his true colours shows
his fake, while the world bleeds
he is still trying to save his stake.
he has ample, yet he still pulls at every last cent.

If you cant see this, he must have stolen your eyes
he keeps it with all his supporters minds,
it's in his refridgerator, he keeps it on ice.
locked in a safe
now they all mindless, so they play by his rules
yet he control the outcome of dice.
he dont care about the human race
you can clearly see it on his unsympathetic face.

Why dint he react in haste,
maybe his just slow?
He is worth 8 billoin dollers, i really dont think thats the case
he cares more about the economy,and  losing face
he knows if the US economy drops
at the table in the whitehouse, he has to set china a plate.
give them the morning paper run their bath
and under his breath, he would have to quietly hate.

He would rather let the world burn,

They miscalculated this whole situation
they thought they were unleashing an attack
they forgot to disable the homing pigeon
it did a 180, knocked at their door, politely disclaimed Hi , I'm back.
Talking about money he has to track, that they paid to create this monster
is it just me or has the whole world been smoking crack.
we glossed over that, i get it  
He can even in song confess, our hands will still be tied
money is power, an intoxicating lust
the jury has already been bought, the justice system unjust.
truths are not pretty, neither is the world
so the darker truths we have to highlight
this whole situation, it's like im living in the zone of twilight
my mind cant compute, it doesnt feel right, what nex, t get abducted at night, now aliens can be real, parralel universes
truth shivering in fright this unholy night.
Cherries Miedema Apr 2020
When the universe gently pushes these songs into your life.... Child, you got to survive.
Eat your lettuce with salt and pepper.
Die die die inside!
Swallow swallow swallow all of your pride!

Spread your legs.
And lay those eggs.
No regrets cause you gotta make them proud and glad.
Your little naked chubby body on the bed.

Cute cute cuty.
Rare crazy beauty.
Pout your lips and touch your skin.
You are so tender, just surrender.
You will never really win!

Spread your arms.
Cling on to these charms.
And no resting your head.
You gotta find ways till you're dead.

When the universe gently pushes these songs into your life.
Child, you got to survive.
Eat your bread with salt and pepper.
Dead dead dead inside!
Stare stare stare at your dissaster left behind!

Ah ah ah. That does not feel right!
Left Foot Poet Feb 2018
what does the W stand for

my 2:00am friend?

left feet touching and yet I am clueless, unsure in what language I should compile the possibilities and

reread my poem and shotgun taken aback

you make my urgency feel so trifling

and I read your are back but you are more gone for,
love’s  misfortune has you, graced,
like a hole in the barbed wire fence,
had bled you dry and let the seeds for
the next planting go astray;
this is comprehended for my fences
are so busted in so many places that
all the animals escaped only to return
at feeding time, their curiosity of the outside world

and W has limited infinite answers

for there are no names that begin with W
for farmers in our native tongues

suspect if you are reading this it must be after 2:00,
indeed it’s 4:07am, and the puzzlement is face flushing,
annoying and curiously intriguing...

and i remain,
“sincerely” yours

L.F. Poet

p.s. thanks for reading my stuff
Julie Grenness Sep 2019
People do like mischief and chatter,
Really, what does it all matter?
It is only about chaff and stuff,
In 100 years, we shall all be dust,
This is what makes me meaner,
As I empty more dust from the vacuum cleaner,
We shall all be a little pile of dust,
And our pets, a tiny heap of fluff!
Feedback welcome.
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