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Robert Ippaso Jul 19
Why would I do this
What was in my head
My charmed life of bliss
Perhaps irreparably dead?

Yes I'm a fighter
A grifter of old,
I deserve a fate brighter
But on this I've been rolled.

Politics such a foul game
They claim I'm the one crooked,
But these hacks put me to shame
With actions deceitful and wicked.

Still you know what they say
When you're in the arena riding that bull,
Hold on tight and don't sway
The harder it bucks the stronger you pull.

Melania's not happy,
The kids out of sight,
While I may sometimes get snappy
It’s when I’m alone in the dead of the night.

Truth socials' my outlet
Where I vent and I rage
An invaluable asset
With my fans to engage.

For despite all my troubles
I'm still leading the pack
Supporting my struggles
They all have my back.

Biden is scheming
When the guy remembers at all,
In most polls I am far leading
Now he's praying I'll fall.

The media is gloating
With me as their lead,
In money they're floating
When Trump is their creed.

So maybe it's worth it
This journey of pain,
The path to outwit
And put these connivers to shame.

With me as your President
The US will be great
My abilities so undeniably evident
I’m clearly your best Head of State.
Robert Ippaso Jun 16
Can you believe it, indicted again,
By a bunch of pure zealots, callous grey men,
Political hacks given the task,
To take down the Don and in the limelight then bask.
Find any cause, invent a good ruse,
Just make it stick, all tricks good to use.

But boxes of stuff, how low can they get,
Papers with socks stacked in the shower, some wet,
All safely collected in my place at the beach,
Easy to find, easy to reach.
Just mere mementos of my time as the Boss,
Not something I’d part with or wantonly toss.

Now they accuse me under some act,
With great media fanfare like milk to a cat,
Gloating, backslapping each other in turn,
Pouring on fuel, hoping I burn.
Little sick people don't they recall
They tried this before and I embarrassed them all.

To be top of news is clearly my ace,
Providing the fame and my favorite space,
For me to then weave my own brand of spin
And just like last time, that got me straight in.
But if this turn they're sure I've been finally licked,
They won't even feel how hard they've been kicked.
Robert Ippaso May 26
Little upstart, young showboat
Lots of bluster full of gloat,
Been there minutes, thinks he knows,
Blind ambition and it shows.

They say he's bright and tough to boot,
Compared to me, now that's a hoot,
What's Yale and Harvard, simply names,
The constant ones he repeatedly proclaims.

As to the Navy, are we to be impressed,
He only served so he'd be thought best dressed;
The lawyer bit, now that brings on a shiver,
The very thought entwines my liver.

Now as to his wife,
I will admit she's rather nice,
But then let's pause to look at mine,
And tell me if she doesn't her outshine.

So there's no doubt whichever way you cut it,
I Trump this kid with character and wit,
He may be smart, but I'm the stable Genius,
Him all hot air, with me my smarts are intravenous.

As I ponder how I should react,
Knowing I’m the very best at tact,
I thought I'd stick to what I do so well,
While he drones on, I'll just my winning vision sell.

America needs me, not some kid wet behind the ears,
Whose monotone delivery brings us all to sleepy tears,
With me you get that vibrant lively spark
The choice quite clear, a Guppy or a Shark?
Why this inhumane suffering
A constant tale of slaughtering
Innocents who die
Forever in the earth to lie.

Do we need to see far more
All that suffering and gore
Lives of children cut so short
Simple targets used for sport.

Voices shout that guns don't ****
But every day the headlines shrill
Another victim and far more
So many names we can't keep score.

Assault weapons are for war
Inflicting wounds that burst with gore
When will we all say 'enough'
A word too many find so tough.

If there's one thing we need to grasp
The burning question we must ask
Is our indifference complicit
With so much misery explicit.

While we posture and debate
Lifeless bodies lie prostrate
Have they truly died in vain
For a freedom quite insane?
Robert Ippaso Apr 27
Why oh why have we become so woke
To the point of companies going near broke,
All for the sake of garnering support
From vocal fringes, then quietly rushing to abort.

Is the effort worth the prize
Pandering to an audience that must surely realize
Division is not the path to integration
Empowering voices that just believe in denigration.

Acceptance is rarely mandated or imposed,
It's a result of customs willingly transposed
To reflect a kinder more inclusive world
And in the process eliminating the absurd.

Activism can often be the kernel for steep
But in the wrong hands is alienating and deranged,
With effects that counter all that would be good
Demeaning the very essence for which they stood.

We the silent throngs just watch and wonder,
What's brought on this wave of mindless thunder,
Strife and upheaval causing nothing but confusion,
Resulting in a world of societal delusion.

Democracy is not another word for anarchy,
Where a vocal few usurp reality for fantasy,
But one of tolerance and communal understanding
To mold a world where actions are outstanding.

Where parent is not set against their child,
Or leaving differing opinions unreconciled,
Where sexuality does not become a sword,
Or Race the blade to cut across the board.

When will politicians and the media say enough,
Accepting that their narrative is huff and gruff,
Full of potholes and dead ends
Turning people into enemies not friends?

Why not allow good sense and wisdom take the stage,
Willing denigrators to turn another page,
Supporting causes that are simply just
Thereby forging a society sure to last.
These are poems for the victims and survivors of the Nashville Covenant School shootings.

Nashville Covenant Call to Love
by Michael R. Burch

Our hearts are broken today
for our children's small bodies lie broken;
let us gather them up, as we may,
that the truth of our Love may be spoken;
then, when we have put them away
to nevermore dream, or be woken,
let us think of the living, and pray
for true Love, not some miserable token,
to command us, for strength to obey.

For a Nashville Covenant Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch

Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails, when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream while winter scowls
and nights compound dark frosts with snow?
Where does the butterfly go?

Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?

And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?

Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...

Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...

Brief mayfly of a child,
to live nine artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...

Epitaph for a Nashville Covenant Student
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

As springs’ budding blossoms emerge
the raptors glide mercilessly.
—Michael R. Burch

I wrote this haiku-like poem on 3-27-2023 after the Nashville Covenant school shooting massacre.

This poem is for mothers who lost children at Nashville Covenant and in other similar tragedies...

by Michael R. Burch

How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
Of one fallen star.

I Pray Tonight
by Michael R. Burch

for the Nashville Covenant survivors

I pray tonight
the starry light
surround you.

I pray
each day
that, come what may,
no dark thing confound you.

I pray ere the morrow
an end to your sorrow.
May angels' white chorales
sing, and astound you.

Nashville Covenant Call to Action
by Michael R. Burch

We see their small coffins
and our hearts break,
so we ask the NRA—
"Did you make a mistake?"

And we vow to save the next child
for sweet love's sake,
but also to protect ourselves
from such heartache.

The lives, safety and happiness of our children depend on our ability to persuade the NRA and its political lackeys to stop exalting money and political gain above the life, liberty and happiness of innocents. What is the cost of banning assault weapons, compared to the ultimate price innocents pay when they are used by madmen playing Rambo in classrooms and theaters? Ironically, just hours before the Sandy Hook massacre, in a weekly column that I wrote for the Nashville City Paper, I pointed out that right-wing politicians are not just demanding the "right" of citizens to bear loaded handguns into restaurants that serve alcohol and bars — a combustible mix. No, people who call themselves "conservative Christians" in collusion with the NRA and its gun lobby are demanding the right to carry assault weapons everywhere ... which "logically" means into universities, high schools, grade schools, kindergartens, pre-schools, Sunday schools and maternity wards. When I wrote this, I was speaking ironically — I thought — but then a few hours later the NRA and its political minions made me seem like a prophet.

Sandy Hook Shooting Gallery
by Michael R. Burch

If we live by the rule of the gun
what can a child do,
but run?

Sixteen of the students who died at Sandy Hook were six years old; the other four students were seven. I wrote the poem below for another child gunned down by a madman. While we cannot legislate sanity, we can be sane enough to legislate away the "right" of serial killers to purchase assault weapons so easily. We can defend many small victims from such carnage, if "we the people" have the wisdom and the will to defend them.

Child of 9-11
by Michael R. Burch

a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who was born
on September 11, 2001 and died at age nine,
shot to death ...

Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm — I hope you hear it.

Much love I bring — I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.

Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the brutal things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.

And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.

Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...

I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bear them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.

The Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings left 27 students and educators dead, and question our nation's sanity and resolve to put children's lives above money and politics.

This haiku makes me think of the students and teachers of Sandy Hook, who were trapped in a war zone:

stood at the end of the hall
in the long shadows
—Watanabe Hakusen, translation by Michael R. Burch

Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch

If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.

It seems to me that the NRA has declared a war — an open season — on our children, by insisting that assault weapons must be available to every Tom, **** and ***** Harry. But what will we, the people, say and do?

Whence Now?
by Michael R. Burch

Grown darkly accustomed to grief,
will we ever turn over a new leaf?

by Michael R. Burch

Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.

Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.

Something unforgettable is past—
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
and finality has swept into a corner where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.

The three students shot and killed in the Nashville Covenant School massacre were all nine-year-olds. They were identified as Evelyn Dieckhaus, Hallie Scruggs and William Kinney. Three adults were also killed in the shooting: Cynthia Peak, Mike Hill and Katherine Koonce. It is no longer good enough to talk about loving our children and praying for them to be safe. We have to protect them from mass murderers armed with assault weapons. The alleged serial killer, Audrey Hale, was reportedly armed with an AR-style rifle and an AR-style pistol. In more civilized nations citizens cannot legally purchase such military-grade weapons. The Nashville Covenant massacre marked the 19th shooting at an American school or university, so far in the first three months of 2023, according to CNN.

Keywords/Tags: Nashville, Nashville Covenant, Nashville Covenant Presbyterian School, school shooting, shootings, massacre, children, kids, students, child abuse, gun control, America, United States, USA, death, deaths, ******, serial ******, massacre, bereavement, class, classes
Robert Ippaso Feb 28
I cackle and I giggle
I'm a friendly sort of gal
And when I’m quite excited
I'll give a little twirl.

Why would all this be funny
As It's simply who I am
Just a smart and chatty lady
Not a sour old boring man?

The job I do is tiresome
Cleaning up after my boss
Helping prompt him and remind him
For he's often at a loss.

People need to understand
As the ‘Spare’ it's really tough
If you harbor any doubts
Ask Prince Harry just how rough.

We poor souls haven't a rudder
A proper job to give us strength
Maybe why we're such a target
Nipped and pricked with every breath.

The sad part is I'll never be
The leader only I can clearly see
The first woman to Preside
The gig I thought was meant for me.

But what the heck let's have some fun
Doing the little that I do
A skill of mine if truth be told
As often I simply haven't got a clue.
Robert Ippaso Feb 23
What is Woke
Unbridled intention or activism shrouded by an enveloping cloak?
Doing Good
Embracing causes from some unwritten book.
Driving Equity
Is there some clarity or just another term for charity.
For set boundaries to be given a clear voice.
A novel fad or a path to personal renewal?
Gay Rights
To live a life without the need for constant fights.
Homeless Plight
Society's need to choose what's wrong or right.
Substance Abuse
An epidemic that needs firm action not excuse.
Open Borders
If uncontrolled a breeding ground for horrors.
Carbon Neutral
A stark requirement lest our future be most brutal.
Glass Ceiling
Breaking boundaries seemingly unyielding.
Me Too
Spiking conversations that once were just taboo.

There's no ready song book
To how this should sound or simply just look,
The line is precariously fine
When our social mores often turn on the tone of a solitary line.
Some we get right
Where the path may be bathed in moral sunlight,
Others might flail
Promoted by Twitters’ loud mocking wail.
But try we so must
To craft a society that’s fair and inherently just.
While criticism is rarely benign
To also care deeply is never malign.
So let us unite if not all then just some
To craft a new world where we’re different but One.
Robert Ippaso Feb 13
So what I kept some stuff
A few small keepsakes, merely fluff
They make such noise, so much dumb fuss
Their indignation careening like a bus.

Now they think I'll spill the beans
Use my powers by any means
I can clearly hear their screams
Trying to figure out my schemes.

All hot air like a balloon
Their pouting makes me want to swoon
The media bellows noon to noon
More newsworthy than the landing on the moon.

But oh what fun when dear old Joe
Was caught with files of which he didn't know
Or so he claimed to hear the crow
Of countless minders rushing to and fro.

And now comes Pence my dear old friend
Whose pious indignation never seems to bend
So let me just this little message send
He who laughs first laughs loudest in the end.
Robert Ippaso Sep 2022
Legs pumping, muscles screaming
Eyes transfixed, seeing but not seeing,
Mind wandering sometimes dreaming
Heart thumping, loudly beating.
Body glistening, pace increasing,
No thought other than just breathing,
Inner voice gently pleading,
It's against me that you're competing.
Hardened gaze, resolve seeking
Any thought of slowing down but fleeting,
End in sight, goal achieving,
In determination solely now believing.
Then it’s done, smile cracking
Hands on thighs, tension fast releasing,
Time to rest, morning breeze fast cooling,
A sense of private purpose sweeping.
This day’s success a moment surely fleeting,
Yet little tops this burst of joyful feeling.
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