The FBI chief, Mr. Comey,
was loved by Trump like his best *****.
For he went around hintin'
about emails and Clinton,
making Trump fans excited and foamy.
But then Comey provided reflection
upon Trump aides and Russian connection.
Trump did protest and howl,
stamp his feet and cry foul,
for the tide has turned since the election.
Trump thinks Comey is guilty of slander,
though his Hillary probe raised no dander.
So I guess Trump's excuse
is what's good for the goose
simply does not apply to the gander!
So why Donald Trump am I hounding
through this verse and this poetic pounding?
It's Trump's hypocrisy
that so motivates me
and we're used to it!... That's what's astounding!
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at: www.trumpoet.com
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/fCptHs7V8uc
Written: May 11, 2017
The day will come where it takes a mortician
to show you there are worse things than your depression.
Death and/or dismemberment.
It's not just a falsified insurance claim.
The day you fell to your knees and wept over the great pacific ocean
In the city of angels you were humbled by its majestic potion.
A message in a bottle sent.
Or it was swept carelessly away in the rain.
The day you spoke about your loneliness sitting in an upright-coffin-confession.
Adjacent to the man who ***** children to make himself feel... more... man.
Literally, I meant.
Did that yet distract your pain?
The day you cried to the doctor about your back and lack of motion.
She had just finished up hospice for her cancer-ridden husband over the phone.
Off to die, he was sent.
But, oh, that little tiny pain.
The day you complained to your flat-mate about your job being so mundane.
As she opened the letter from her employer who fired her, after ****** her, to avoid the human resource claim.
You were hell-bent.
As she went insane.
The day you cried to your best friend about your second wedding being destroyed by the rain.
He was a man who had never felt the embrace of love, the ability to cherish, the passion and pain of a woman, he had paralyzed legs, no woman had ever loved him.
Booooooo-hoo your costume got wet.
You've never even tried to see anothers suffering.
Perspective. What is torture to me, may seem idiotic to another, and vice versa.
I forgive too quickly,
To me this is sickening
The beast inside of me, unleashed
Wishes to be a blade, unsheathed
Released into the world
Spinning, twist and twirl
Manipulate events, unfurl
A masterpiece, coloured swirls
It makes me feel helpless
I have too many morals
I follow them whether they help me
Or alone, I call
I have warned them
It's the last chance they will get
The satisfaction may be real
But I may end up in regret
a short, sharp ******* poetry... I am not satisfied even though it feels right. I guess the message is clear though, and that's good
I sat in this dark room
reloading the empty gun.
I gazed at it, ran my fingers across it,
reached for my target and fired!
But the page remained blank.
I had every intent, but no motive.
Because although I wanted you dead,
I refused to move on.
Read more at TravelsInBondage.wordpress.com
When I'm at my job, I always get inspired
So I sneak away to write, I'm gonna get fired
But when I get home, I'm feeling too tired
So I just write at work, I'm gonna get fired
I was lost in my head the day I got hired
It's just gotten worse, I'm gonna get fired
I'm always sneaking away to write poetry while I'm working. They love me, though. Don't worry, I'm not really going to get fired.
And ps I wrote this and my last 5 poems at work.
I hand-over my heart
Wrap it up in every single thing I do
For it all to come to a screeching halt
Over a few hours... of a few days... of a whole year
Of sweat blood and tears.
All I have left to show:
A few extra pennies
A fuller resume
Warm memories of inspired children
Cold memories of anger and spite
A tepid heart searching for the light
Two legs, arms, a brain and back
Use 'em and put your *** to use
Look alive and pick up the slack
Here you work or get the noose!
You want the almighty paycheck
But you don't wanna do the time
You're just a pain in my neck
And you're not worth my dime!
I get to run things for a reason
Six years I've worked this kitchen
If you choose to be a lazy heathen
See the wall with tallies written!
I need you like a hole in the head
Plenty of people who need a job
Sloths like yourself make me see red
NOW GET OUT OF THE SHOP!
— The End —