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Julie Grenness Aug 2016
In Oz, we don't like political jokes,
Here, they all get elected, folks,
Pollies sell their souls for money,
Their salaries aren't even funny,
Then they get super to retire,
Better candidates we should hire,
Different from our oldies and veterans,
They're on measly financial plans,
Yes, that's why we don't like political jokes,
Here,  they all get elected, folks.
Feedback welcome.
Amy Perry Aug 2016
We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.

Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.

We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.

Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.

This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.

The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.

Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.

I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.

To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:

Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.

To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.
Sincerely, the Millenials
A night of lying, awhile
And you'll lay wither further asleep
Though Nashville star will impart
Where a toad her nonpareil but torrent
Will a string of vapor hit sitting president
And ready their maquiladora in this proud forest of thought.
Maquiladora in Taiwan
Swanswart Aug 2016
This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?

This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?

This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is  
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
  (after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.

This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?

This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?

This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.  
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.

This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!
Randy Johnson Jul 2016
When Bernie Sanders endorsed Hillary Clinton, he sold out.
He let his supporters down and he's two-faced, there's no doubt.
One day Bernie told his supporters that Hillary is unfit.
Four weeks later he vowed to help her get elected, he's a hypocrite.
A person is judged because of the things that he or she does.
Sanders is two-faced, he isn't the man who I thought he was.
Brent Kincaid Jul 2016
Randolf the bluenosed bigot
Much preferred to tell a lie;
Even if truth fit better
But he never quite knew why.
It was the way he grew up
Telling tales instead of truth.
It was the way his folks were
Ever since his very youth.

Lists of people are no good;
Black and yellow are the worst.
There is a list of who's okay.
White Republicans come first.
And if the truth is told here
Rights belong just to the white.
Granting rights to gals and gays
Never can be truly right.

Randolf thinks God's on his side.;
Made some of the people best.
Being Caucasian and Christian
Puts him ahead of all the rest.
Randolf thinks we all should do
What his religion says to do.
All of that crap about equality,
Randolf doesn't think it's true.
A master's whistle commands,
On a hunt, to the hounds,

To chase and not fail,
The deer's blood scented trail

Scraped by a swift arrow,
Flying through the nest of a true sparrow

Tearing apart,
The hatchling, from it's young spirit

The broken soul of its mother,
And bloodstain, on her quill feather
something political may be
Adam Webster Jul 2016
Send the immigrants back; unfortunately the referendum was based on that.
Misplaced Hate,
Created by power,
Forcing a debate of the darkest hour.
Hate towards immigration, but wait!
What if you need an operation?
The health service is crumbling, needs multiculturalism to keep the cogs turning.
So you want a debate on immigration?
Let’s talk about your integration.
What’s your heritage?  
Where is your blood line from?
I doubt it will be a solely British one!
Our kids walk the streets with knives and guns, yet our politicians talk with plums.
Claim to understand society, but driving flash cars is their priority.
Don’t give a **** about local business rather see corporations strip our economy.
Self-Serving politicians feed the fat cats ambition, Cameron or Corbyn? It’s us the people who are suffering!
A bodice is twice alight
shape as earth brings forth tide
with nocturnal séance align
with splendid sight woven bare
that navel join where bona fide
trump her inlay again this year
round her aura so, rather she unwinds
though hers now pounds sound lure
in downtown bistro local bar none
this getaway always supreme nightly!
an immense garment intervene great séance
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