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So what I helped a bit,
Turned a blind eye,
Have I not always taught him
To reach for the sky?

He’s a good boy,
Maybe just lost,
But he tries so **** hard
Little knowing the cost.

I must though admit
I too was quite thrown
By the sheer huge amounts
Of payments since shown.

And then here comes Trump
Full of his bluster,
Figuring we’re the Indians
And somehow he’s General Custer.

I know facts aren’t his bag,
He’s short with the truth,
But even he can’t deny
Custer’s end was uncouth.

Peppered with arrows,
Stripped to the skin,
A little demeaning
To want to be him?

But then I forget
The guy’s a big star
And with make-believe
He’s clearly gone far.

Time for a reckoning,
My boot’s on my foot
A strong upward kick
And he’ll surely stay put.
I’m sure I’m quite right,
I cannot be wrong,
I was always so bright.
My memory’s strong.

I well racked my brain,
Considered all facts
And with consummate strain
Followed the tracks.

The Kurds were not there
Nowhere in sight,
This I declare
Knowing I’m right.

That day on the beaches,
With fighting so strong,
As history teaches,
No Kurds came along.

Now they seek succor,
Too late by a mile,
When so far in the gutter
They needn’t me dial.

They claim we should help them,
Protect them from foes,
It’s me they condemn
For their long list of woes.

Get with the program,
Move it along
Hurry and scram
From the conquering throng.

Don’t try and convince me
I’ve made the wrong choice,
I’m sure you’ll agree
You haven’t a voice.
In my infinite wisdom
I tell you this thing,
In this here my kingdom
Will the pendulum swing;

One minute the Kurds
So cute in their garb,
The other the Turks
With their venomous barb.

The former I’m told
Are people to trust,
But I just like the bold
That don’t self-combust.

Give me a winner,
A strong man each time,
I’d rather a sinner
Who’ll follow my line.

Call me ‘cold-hearted’
But what do I care,
The process now started
Depicts my great flair.

Like a conductor
I set forth the tone,
The finest instructor
The world’s ever known.

Let’s finish this bleating
And follow my lead,
So the Kurds get a beating,
A serious nosebleed;

They’re nothing to me,
Just a festering sore,
I hereby decree
This subject’s a bore.
Robert Ippaso Sep 25
Now they’ve done it, this is real,
Trying hard my job to steal,
Why they’d want it no-one knows,
This frenzied pack of feeding crows.

Impeach for this, Impeach for that,
A sirens’ song that just falls flat,
They little know I planned the lot,
Goading Biden to this spot.

I may be brazen but I’m not dumb,
To simple traps I don’t succumb,
A life of deals, of double talk,
I choose the prey I want to stalk.

Let them rejoice, exchange high fives,
Parade on air flaunting their knives,
While all the time I’m hard at work,
Piling dirt on that servile clerk.

Six feet deep or even more
Is how I’ll settle this one score,
And then who’s left – two ****** fools,
The one just blabbers, the other drools.

So bring it on, I wait with glee,
For all the world this show to see,
Four more years with me on top,
All their efforts one huge flop.
Adam Schmitt Sep 21
The president has to tell himself things
To keep himself from drowning
he says he that has fins
To keep himself from falling
he says he that has wings
To keep himself from hurting
he says he's immune to all stings
To keep himself happy
he says that he always wins
To keep himself going
it's to these, and more, which he clings
The president has to tell himself things,
so he's not that unlike me
lighthearted doggerel that came out of a day dream
Ken Pepiton Aug 30
Wonder this today, what if
we
are.
We are
existent in ever only in the life we leave
graffiti to prove we examined and proved it worthy.

We swore
to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth
vicariously a thousand times,
because Pop watched Perry Mason,

we were on the bench being waited for,
endurance is encouraged for the same reason faith

is evident.

"Mortgage the farm, Pop, I got G.I. life insurance."
Uncle's last letter, afore he was made sacred

for our own American Dream, it seems, now.

Mortal tyranny
finds little worth in the 20th percentile signed
away in
death pledges held in banks of money
multipliers, who take our thousand and lend me ten

to deposit at interest less than I pay,

this we learned, is the way of thrift
in 1928, then in 1985, then in 2008
after that enough is enough

old men should not
spend no time to find
the purpose of each breath…

we're here to find the reason war is tolerated here.

The days of fewer humans, past now in haps,
left lies formed from living words
in old Sybline rants simple subtle
sublime, impulse urge
twisted in slang to become science
when only insiders are conscious of using
writing to lock meaning in unutterable names

Ha. That lie. The unspeakable name game,
perverted priests have played
with passion,
proud, puffed up butchers,
heirs of
Moses guessing, fingers crossed, a word
to the wise is enough.

Say I am,
Popeye.
How long will that be funny?

Timing is perceivable as everything, but so long as

eternity and infinity and twisted paths along the surface
of myelinated axioms,
exist
slick as snot,
it's not.
Now,
here we be. Redeemed. Useless mutterings picked up
in passant

considering the ant, scouting, marking, remaining in the dark
grout
of the tiled counter-top, aware of being brown on sterile
white ceramic surfaces
intensified florescent reflecting high gloss,
-- good god--

ah, Tender-eyed Leah meet Rhea impulsive creative dia
metrically opposed - as
to randomness on any level.
We square?
--
This, I think, is why war is thought tolerated here.

Right angle messages tweaked, to fit
fractures from the days when only evil was imagined
shapeless, having form in
no shape, save some old wives tales all fused with spite
esprit
expressed in rhymey verse
or, worse, glossolalia
its inverse, aha, wordplay, verse-ification

springs hope eternal, spits in the dust, fine-ground red
ochre clay from far away

brought to our place in time on muddy iron feet

A voice arose,
shake the clay from your feet,
-- the feet of them who buried thy lying sack o'
-- those clay clad feet, did I read, at the door, stood they…
-- some translation of Ananias and Saphira,

Uri, Uri! Libsi libsi
Uz zek Sigh-own

libsi big de tipart-tech, ye ru say limnal
sub
dis-error
agent of
Isaiah 57: 2 for the Jesus freaque
frequency of
calm in confusion's unpacking, fission
sometimes
haps
as the firstborn under the cloud of unknowing
emerge afraid to lie.

Nurses whisper, listener listen
emulate Socrates
in knowing
Plato could carry quite a load. But listen,

who admits to knowing nothing? be real, this takes time…

The spit in the clay, rub that in yer eye?
watchasee…
men, like trees… yeh, some say they see that here.
Phonetic Hebrew from Strong's Pre-computer era concordance of every word in the KJV. A grimoire of the benefucent sort for sure. Aitia proof.
Stephen James Aug 16
a man with slavery
deep in his ancestry
asked a simple question
at Beto's town hall

he wanted to know
white Beto's thoughts
regarding illegal aliens
and American jobs

in reply Beto said
without an ounce of dread
that legal Americans
refuse to work cotton gins

and to the shock and amazement
of every non-racist
the crowd then roared
with thunderous applause
a poem
Stephen James Aug 16
with the same integrity
she had
when filling out
her Rutgers application

your medicaid
and social security
would soon become
her next victims
a poem
Stephen James Aug 16
sees a mansion
and exclaims "No one should have that!"
then upon hearing this
a 10 year old girl
with dreams
and aspirations
no longer has a reason
to work hard
and use her imagination
Bernie 2020
the president's past tax returns

might well haunt him yet

they'll be made available for

Democrats to freely vet


on the figures being thoroughly

scrutinized

any anomalies shall be heavily

criticized


as we all know the devil is always

in the fine detail

where no executive order will be

seen to prevail


congress won't let up on its

relentless quest

in finding revenue that wasn't

paid unto an IRS request
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