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Skyler M May 6
Don’t wanna be restrained to,
Allow for the politicians abuse,
Freedom from the celebrity ruse,
As I struggle with these hues,
Red, White, and Blue.

We’re like toys,
We make noise,
Bring them joy,
We’re easy to poise.

Grab me by my hair,
Throw me in the chair,
Scream at me, “It’s not fair!,”
You say, “You’re a burden I can’t bare.”
I’ll kick your teeth out, it’s only fair.

Life couldn’t give you a more silver spoon,
Sat up in your high chair, tightening our noose,
Drinking from a sippy cup, it’s alcohol abuse,
I hope you forget that karma is on the loose.
Cause we’re coming for you.

Half-dead brutes,
***** of dried prunes,
Master of child abuse,
You are the fake news.

Others will avoid,
You will destroy,
The bombs you deploy,
For the middle east oil,
Brainwashed toys are easy to exploit.
neth jones Apr 7
we kip through all the ****** on the news
i left the device on a radio channal
  awoke to it burning up static and turned it off

silence as falcon overviews us
ultraviolet sight
  looking for neon spots and trails of *****
            markings that may betray the entrance of our dwelling

i put the kettle on

our voices are clayed
            by our
   confessing inner multitude
but they're recorded all the same

i pour a cup of tea

our pattern of submission
        is signal tweaked
maintainance by murmers
****** thorough
        through our glacial surrender

i take a sip

silence as
aided by the clear weather
   a drone nips out its choice targets

we were not selected
neither us or any neighbour
but far away ;
a story heard on the device
Has anyone survived, that remembers 1969,
Everyone, was experimenting with drugs,
You’re still alive, you were supposed, to die.
Peace & Love were the greetings, with,
Bright colorful flowers to brighten up each day,
Sharing, looking for the cool, positive in each other,
Giving hitchhiker’s a ride, no one in that extra seat anyway.
The Wood stock concert, held in muddy farm fields,
That season the farmers, lost some yield, as a pond,
Was their bath tub, they passed around, and shared meals,
Touching each other,
Showed love, sharing a sandwich, or ****, was no big deal.
Hundreds of thousands, left their homes, to protest,
Their feelings, and what they believed, they stood up proud,
The way Americans should be.
Protesting the politicians, for picking, shipping young people,
Across the seas, to fight in Viet Nam, they didn’t know why,
Or believe, the day they left, the last time for many of them,
Their homeland, they would ever see. Events that change history,
Marijuana legal today, politicians taxed it, so now it’s good, ok,
Those boys that came back, from war in body bags, they still lay.
The Original: Tom Maxwell © 3/30/2022 AD
4:20pm
Svode Mar 6
I feel like Christian Bale
in that one movie
"Am I... the American ******?"

the emic and etic personas
collapse in pantomime
like how the Donald destroyed democracy and civil rights for four years.

I feel like the average citizen
who has no choice but to vote
so that I don't get deported once again
a crime is a true government official
a crime is a true government identity
a crime is a identity of a crime
a crime is a identity of a true government official
a true identity is a true crime
a true identity is a true official
crime pays its do

crime pays its do of identity
crime is a do crime of identity
crime is a do crime of an official
crime is a do crime of a government official
a do government is a do government official
official is a do government official
official is a do government identity

a true government is a true identity
the government is a true government
identity is identity of a true identity
identity is identity of a true government
crime is an identity of the government
crime is an identity of an identity
a true identity is a true government
my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words from the renaissance for instance words liked gracious,extravaganza,etc... this poem is about the official of the u.s. government true identity. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.
Deep Feb 7
I'm tired of dancing
on your whims,
You are showing colours
like an authoritarian government
Randy Johnson Jan 26
I make money that is not real.
I love to make counterfeit bills.
I have a contact who steals the paper that the government makes.
My counterfeit money looks like the real thing, I make no mistakes.
I counterfeit fifty dollar bills.
I have talent and I have skill.
I make fifteen million bucks of counterfeit bills every year.
But something has gone wrong, the Secret Service is here.
They just busted down my door and I'm being placed under arrest.
It's a pity that they found me because when it comes to making counterfeit money, I'm the best.
I thought my operation was fool proof, I didn't know that I would fail.
I underestimated the Secret Service and now I am going to rot in jail.
Comfort's embrace is
false and choking.
The masses gag in
their sleep, subdued
by its silken constraints.
I do not have a president;
I have a King
Who trumps the Trump
And trumps the Chump,
And works for seven
Days a week for Heaven,
Not Beijing. ​
The laws I observe are God-sent.
Dave Robertson Dec 2021
For every craven decision
undecided, so chums can slide,
callous in pursuit of cash,
kings of the UK trash pile

Borders discussed through arrogant huffs
on last minute deadlines that always die
rolling from meeting to meeting
indicated by all that foreign wine and cheese:
such is the country, such is the disease
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