Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
FBI #1 suspect
CIA #2 suspect
Nothing new here.
Traveler Tim
I play by the rules day in and day out,
Showing my class, wielding my clout.
I take the hard blows time and again,
Knowing my patience shan't be in vain.

Joe's on the ropes, all by himself,
Waiting around to be dumped on the shelf,
Restraint is my friend, as I pull back and watch,
Those flailing wild jabs I so easily dodge.

There's one rule to fighting, it's Biding your time,
Showing him up, using his dime,
Keeping ones cool, letting him dance,
Then all in one motion - destructively prance.

There's rhyme to the reason for the 12
Rounds to be,
So everyone knows, all clearly can see,
The prowess of one, the demise of the other,
An abject defeat, no spin as a buffer.

The guys just a has been yet I'm giving him grace,
Watching him flail, not setting the pace,
The fun's in the waiting, a matter of time,
For him to fall over, his crown to be mine.
To make us think
Robert Ippaso Jun 29
Mumbling, stumbling, inaudible rambling,
The pity, the pain all but Biden now feel,
A spent man bereft, resorting to grumbling,
The fishing line out for opponents to reel.

How did we now reach this insufferable place,
Where a once wily Joe spun his fine web,
Enticing, enveloping with street gotten grace,
His mock Irish banter making folks fall in step.

The ravage of age, that indiscriminate scythe,
Lacking compassion, blind in its grasp,
Cutting down poppy's both lowly and high,
Never once stopping to ponder or ask.

So it falls to the man, with loving advice,
To know when to pen those few final chapters,
Leave it too late and it's a roll of the dice,
A legacy lost and good name in tatters.

Blind pride a sheer folly at most times in life,
Obscuring the path that shows us the way,
The one to traverse with safety not strife,
Avoiding its grasp, not falling its prey.

Country the goal before lowly ambition,
Wisdom and service the call for each day,
This is America's greatest tradition
The foundation from which no leader should sway.
To make us think
Where to now, uncharted waters,
Two men vying, two men scheming,
Biden gloating, Trump now reeling,
Storm clouds gathering, eyes aloft.

So much anger, consternation,
A million words spewed every day,
Talking heads intent to sway,
Incessant noise drowning our senses.

Gone all reason, truth abated,
Daggers drawn, no time to ponder,
Where is grace, we're left to wonder,
Faint the beacon that shone so bright,

No aim but personal agendas,
Winning the game, no regard to cost,
So much broken, so much lost,
Legacies destroyed, a worthy prize?

Is there hope, slithers of light,
Where discourse and civility prevail,
Or just a forlorn dream, to no avail,
With troughs too deep, waves too rough.

Yet storms pass, the sun burns through,
Foreboding clouds soon dissipate,
Destructive winds gradually abate,
The dawn of hope a promise fresh.

America was born of freedom,
A welcome port, a haven sure,
Ideals the core, intentions pure,
Democracy the linchpin, autocracy despised.

So with heavy heart we bear,
This foisted moment of division,
Holding steadfast for our vision
Of one country united in a dream.
To make us think
Anais Vionet May 30
He’s a very famous shell-man.
Who thought he was coated with teflon.
Can a narcissist be taught a lesson?
By him, the prosecutor and judge were threatened,
could the legal system withstand his aggression?
Yeah, his guilt was proven beyond question,
and now he's a 34-time convicted felon.
What’s he going to tell poor little Barron?
I doubt the judge will send him to prison,
but there are still some outstanding questions.
Like will his followers shake their obsession?
Will craven Republicans still nominate him?
Ken Pepiton May 23
Called to the word, duty.
- three poemlings -
- for American Memorial Day

Memorialized worth weighed.
-- what would I memorialize?

Duty weighed
in the commons
this due debt each reader obeys,
leaving any original touch alive in logos
used to fit reasons why and how for now,
using memorialized excuses for active wars
calling ceaselessly hero wannabes
to hold true earnest faith in wars reasons
being  a duty, an aliegiance,
only that which must be done,
while young in wordless wonder of mutual nonsense
if sense and sensitivity persist past understanding.

Look up. Imagine ever, imagine now, ever
after all we think or ask is made apparent,

an artifice, a made thing, not made by hand,

the heavens and all that in them is, like us,
too complex to guess self formed, as if
no reason, no rational balance law
enforces re-ality always,
in our own time.

------------------

After all, now, is what we be
as sensing sanity beings
in cosmic chaos bound
to spiral ever more ceaseless.

Learning life's way.
Spinning enforcing will…
per hap and chance ifery.

According to a whim,
whether mine or another's,

I venture not to say I know,
for in this time I'm bound in,

I am bound to ever learn and
so, to confess the process,
ready made, pre-installed,

whimsical reification of wha-tifery
we may imagine without words.

Symbolic jestures, gestating
waiting. Making up secret signs,

lo' I see, you know, that I am
naked, first idea tasted
raw ality init run on
gaseous, formless
we, us ones, awe
forms framed in lucid

lackadaisical tension loosing.

------------------


Phased perrenial philo response,
sponsored by the guy who lied to you.

Truth beknownst, as knowledge
and understood wisdom,
wissen wishin' kennen
kennethed upto me,

may, is my word today.
I may say I think, and think
I may.

Enter, if you will, you may, here;
for to hear a wink reminds us, we;
persistent sophistries relax ourselves,
into the one thing we all think we are.

Yes. There and then, we think we are.
I am of a mind to accept the similarity.

I am out acting out-ist-ence, seeming
something informationally nebulous,

a thought, unfit for children's
undeveloped world stage character,

- in the software under our skin
- we are gaseous by simile being
- breaths used time and again, sigh
signs of all the stages, phazes of us, this

we who seek and find delight,
in learning who lied and why,

when truth telling gets you kilt. Dead,
memorialized with a national holiday
a day set apart to acknowledge duty
done gone
totally off kilter,
tipped too far,
to fill the vessles, not a few,
as duty to the professor.

- as one ever learns one is
- nothing but a bit of it,
- reality as we imagine.

Under the umbrella of religational
authority, we tie our mind's axe
in a bundle of barrel staves,

and offer liberty means to set minds
loose enough to imagine freedom

from authorities existing in the paradigm
fitted to the model citizen, for when
a memorial day comes to our we mind,
we finish realizing this is Spaceship Earth,
our only home,
star orbiting, gravitational bloom of life,

in which, remember, we
join mind in mind,
using recyclable whims, thinking
peace given once, can never be untaken,
like breath, grace for grace, Chabad -
made mock of only
by those who hold lies true, fools,
seeing themselves
chosen warriors
for justice,
military minded solo scripturants
led - re educated
to believe
in the bayonet spirit
during duty programming for killers,
for killers are what duty calls heros,
pledged, soul deep
to hate others, all lying daemons
of the destructive mindset calling Christmas
either
a whole cloth fabrication
or
a message which must be authorized,
to proclaim accomplished, once
for all. Under 501-3C tax freedom
only certified
saints disciples can claim
to listen, and spew anointed mass,
listen, repeat in vain the rosary chant,
hmm. hear the apparitions told the children,
to say we see, only leave being true this story,
for the rest of your lives, or
burn in faithless shame
for not relaying the message
to be carried into battle, believed

as taught, accepted as heel-stomp proof, troof.
-on Earth…
When one becomes a true citizen… one imagined
as having peaceful access
to all the freedoms promised,
when dead to all intents and purposes,
upon successful passage through mid-life.

Breathe,
remembering indeed.

It is one's duty, in the form of gaseous we,
to breathe and remember being one,
among the current crop on Earth,
breathing  members involved
in letting peace be realized as us,
whose task is mocking gods of war.
An innocent's reaction to David Victor Hanson's reasons to trust Trumpians.
ZACK GRAM Apr 17
Trump is Gods King
Trumps My Lawyer
JellyRoll praised God
The World needs Jesus Christ
President Trump 2024
All Courts an Jury is Corrupt
You Got Tik Tok
No Proof is Viral
Its against Every President
Im Going To Call Green Burreit
We will Capture You
Its already Begun
80 year Man War
Demo Repub
False Voter Fraud
Georgia an Ohio
14 to 15
Lies More Votes
Your Vote is Below Electoral
15 to 16 70 to 45
Trump 2024
Korea Russia China
Jerusalem
Japan Germany
Saudiarabia
South Africa
BRAZIL SPAIN
TEXAS MEXICO
post 1 viral Speech
Interest 8$ not 3.3
Bitcoin Crash
Gas 3.3
5$ 5 miles
Preach
Preach
Preach
Preach Trump 2024
November Bombs Away
Just like Our Last
80 Year War
Vote Its Up 2 You
Francie Lynch Apr 12
The eye of the hurricaine is still and lonely.
The sands on the beach are left untouched.
The church pews sit empty.
The store shelves are scant.
The pitches are quiet,
The playgrounds are empty.
The fields are burnt.
The waters are grey.
The air about is thick and acrid.
The windows are shuttered, doors are barred.
There are no moving bodies on the streets.
Cars sit idly parked.
Schools are childless.
Does this sound like the dawn of the apocolypse,
Or another four years.
Robert Ippaso Feb 29
I have a plan
Yes it may be unconventional,
But as a fan
I assure you its success will be intentional.

Most of you may know me
My talent feted shore to shore,
With puppets real as all can see
Talking, singing and much more.

I know I have a skill
And the will to use it right,
Some may say a magic pill
A potent weapon that can bite.

Now that I'm finally a Star
I need embrace the social causes,
No longer propping up the bar
I'm great at mimicking the poses.

One such thought that came my way
To help the old man pull it off,
It's for me to do and say
While he covers with a cough.

I can crouch behind the stand
Prop him up as best I must,
Work his head with my free hand
With experience I'll adjust.

All dear Joe needs do is focus
Read the screen and move his lips,
They won't know that's it's all bogus
That I've written all the scripts.

Only this way can he win
As my famous mates all say,
A little magic is no sin
If I get him through each day.

Should he stray I've got a treat
An ice cream cone well in his sight,
Only once his tasks complete
Will I let him take a bite.

I'm a patriot as all can see
I'll move mountains to beat Trump,
If Joe's to win it’s up to me
And if he flags I've got the pump.
Obviously combining humor and satire...with maybe a touch of insight?
There seems to be no escape.  
    The MAGA cult groupies are all queued up.
Tickets in hand, they gather their baggage
     Lining up to board the leaky ship
For a one-way trip to the bottom of the sea.

Their bags are exceedingly heavy -
    Filled with their leader's failures
Formed of laundered cash, ****,
    Top Secret document theft, fraud,
Abandonment of faithful allies
    and defenders of Ukrainian freedom.

There are no first class seats on this ship
     because there are no first class passengers.
They long ago sold off all they should value
     to stand by a creepy hotel clerk
Consumed by arrogance and self - idolatry.

Their hero arrives in a three-piece suit
     to escort them to their cabins
As soon as he scrapes the mashed potatoes
     off his corruption soaked soul

But wait - there seem to be empty seats
     Many former voyagers are turning away
tearing their tickets as they go.
      They tell how they’ve had it.
With lies and losing and treachery.

Too bad for them - for you see,
       There's no place like the ocean floor
To gurgle on the wrong side of history.
Next page