The Artless Artist …by Jessie 12/05

Art historians, Art Critics, Art Brokers and Dealers
Pompous bags of wind, inflating the sails of a ship that will never sail
Full of hype, full of themselves, full of crap
Turning nothing into something
Spewing toxic dribble from their mouths
Talking to hear themselves talk
Who is listening?
Impressing no one but themselves with their circular talk that leads no where
Believing they are on the cutting edge of creative thoughts
If you understand what they are saying, then you can’t possibly comprehend
If nothing they say makes sense, you are lifted to a higher plain of consciousness
Noses in the air, Merlot in a glass, and masks  
Standing around; everyone stroking each other’s egos
Pretending to see into the artists mind
Hoping no one will figure them out
Afraid to question the other
Exposing the scam they have all created
Bold, brush strokes, color, composition, genius
Buzz words to throw around in crowed, snobbish circles
None are artists, but submerge themselves in art
Thinking they can create… if not the art…the artist
Misguided, and too blind to know it
Take away their ignorance and what do they have left?
The false façade of empty creativity

You promised us you’d make the country great again
And that you would build a Mexican wall.
You said you’d make America bigly wonderful
And that you were the smartest of them all.
You said you’d keep the immigrants from coming
To take away our jobs and ruin our land.
You finally came around to getting rid of gays
Now that they are getting out of hand.

Scamboozled, that’s what we got.
We’re hoodwinked. By all the things you’re not.
Plum snookered by all your fancy words.
We’re still waiting for what we heard.

You said you’d fix the country with your knowledge
Of how business should be conducted.
So how come we are starting to feel
Like Russians came here and we’ve been abducted?
You promised you’d put the best minds to work
But you hired a bunch of babbling stupid clowns.
Watching your soap opera presidency
Has really begun to get a lot of us down.

Scamboozled, that’s what we got.
We’re hoodwinked. By all the things you’re not.
Plum snookered by all your fancy words.
We’re still waiting for what we heard.

You said you’d never take any vacations yourself
And be like that black guy you hate
But you have taken forty seven golfing weekends
And plan a two week vacation to date.
When you first got your self elected to the job
It looked like a new era was in reach.
Now I think I’ll join with the majority
And see if we can’t all get you impeached.

Scamboozled, that’s what we got.
We’re hoodwinked. By all the things you’re not.
Plum snookered by all your fancy words.
We’re still waiting for what we heard.

I’m not going to make money by
Creating some clever gadget.
That costs too much for advertising
To fit in my future budget.
I’m not going to write a book yet
Because they are hard to sell.
I decided against self-help seminars.
Sitting through those is hell.

I’m not going to learn hairdressing
So I can be a pricey hair ******.
I’m not going to write recipes to show
A hundred ways to use a blender.
I ruled out auditioning for **** flicks
I’m far to shy for all that.
I won’t be trying to make viral videos
Of adorable fuzzy little cats.

You won’t be hearing any hit songs
Written by me, myself and I.
I can’t carry a tune and can’t rhyme
So, right away I won’t even try.
I can’t paint and I can’t draw at all
So, I won’t be a world-class artist.
I won’t become a rocket scientist
In math I was never the smartest.

I'm not going to start some con game
And leave them all in the lurch.
Well, in a manner of speaking I am,
Because I'm starting a church.
I’ll spend tons of money on my home
And make a big flashy cathedral
Then spend lots of time bragging
How it’s all so very spiritual.

People will send me lots of cash thinking.
That will get them into heaven.
I’ll make more money selling God to them
Than owning a thousand 7-11s.
I’ll only need to convince my followers that
I have the get-out-of-hell-free card;
That I am the path to understanding God
And that just can’t be that hard.

I am glad I lived this long
So I could be on the internet.
I always wanted a ****** life
And though I haven’t got there yet
I am close, I can see it now
Throngs and hordes of ***** people;
Hundreds want to ****** me.
Several sites want to enlarge me,
I blush, nobody wants to reduce me.

I get fifty or so messages a day
Telling me how hot they are.
They treat me like I am a king
Or a kind of ****** superstar.
Calling me like sirens on rocks
They do, at least, until I get
To the part where I must pay
To get laid on the internet.

I have asked enough questions
Some of them embarrassing
To get the idea and understand
Why it’s me they are harassing.
By even clicking on their site
I’ve proved that I am a fool.
They say to themselves, I’m sure
“Will you look at this gullible tool?

Oh, and the promises they make!
They will rock my world with a word.
They will tell me the hottest things
That a schmuck like me ever heard.
But to clear the air, when they ask
For card numbers I don’t make a peep.
I am as ***** as a drunken rabbit
But first and foremost, I am cheap.

He came to me with a cry of help
in his voice and his demeanor,
I felt a feeling too dreaded
Empathy
So lost on human souls that it is weakness
I listened to his tale
an accident,
a sister in need
I went with him, understanding coursing through my foolish mind
And we walked
And we waited
And we parted

Later, after I had recounted my story to others
I had learned
Scandal, lies,
a robbery
I had lost everything and more
The good deed I had committed was a lie,
a farce
I had helped him and been ravaged
My empathy and understanding
filled instead with pure rage
I had been nice
I would no longer
and if I saw him again
well, nothing…...

Freezing Moon* by the stereo
and as a bed poet
I'm takin' a ****.

Did you know about that guy
who slit his wrist… on this? she says.
No; Martha, Jessica, Julia: but still…

Here, alone, with the MacBook Air
- or was it Pro? Nevertheless,
an useless tool for worthless ****.

****, Pr0n, Pony - *******.

Here, alone, I and only I writes with the capital I.
And after the **** has gone
it feeds the air with oriental glams of leprosy:

and after a long working day I am not afraid,
watching its face, as I'm flushing it in the toilet
just like all the *******' poetries @ Home-Poetry.

There are ladies on the internet
Who are offering me joy.
They say they can transform me
To a man instead of a boy.
Another guy has promised me
A massive ***** size.
I’m not sure I am comfortable
To that talk from a guy.

Another woman from Nigeria
Said her husband has died
With a bank account chock full
Of Krugerands inside.
All they want from me they say
Is a check for one grand
And they will put half of the gold
Into my greedy hand.

Now, that and the ***** ladies
They say live near my place
Are part of what the internet
Pushes daily into my face.
But I have become smarter now
And I fully understand
That buxom comely lass is really
A fifty five year-old man.

Bill Gates will not be sending me
A lifetime Disney Park pass.
And there are no fifty dollar diamonds,
They are all made of glass.
There is no secret bank account
In Nigeria, I truly feel.
But that pill that makes my ***** grow?
Now that, I am sure, is real.

Do you honestly have nothing more to do
Than make multiple accounts with the last name stephani,
and contact every ******* person on hellopoetry?
trying to scam or spam or whatever the hell it is you do
To try and manipulate good people who don't even know you?
Take your blessing and shove it up your ****
If you really liked our profiles you'd follow us
Instead of being
The most pathetic creep on hellopoetry.
Sincerely,
not today, not ever
Not hellopoetry